NOTE TO ALL: THE DISCLAIMER AND MARKS INDICATED IN THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THIS STORY ARE CONSIDERED BINDING FOR ALL PARTS OF THIS STORY.
(Scratches head embarassedly) Well... didn't expect the great response I got on this story. I was real iffy about it, but now you've cemented me into doing it. Thanks guys.
Reviews:
j: (Reads review, breaks out laughing) Goku Potter?!? Holy shit man! (keeps laughing) All right, all right, I will give you this one. I never realized how much it DID resemble DBZ until I read your review. I promise, however, that unlike DBZ, every other line will not be "HUARRRGGGH!" or some variation thereof.
(Falls on floor and almost chokes to death on laughter) Oh man. Goku Potter. That is a new one....
Somebody mentioned that it was like Power Rangers. I assure you that this is not the Power Rangers, my friend. (Snorts laughter)
Maybe I shouldn't do this... you guys are weird... :). (incredulous voice in background: Power Rangers and DBZ? What the?)
Oh well. Kudos to all who reviewed! And now...
"SHOWTIME!"
Chapter 2
Winds of Change
Outside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Second day of classes.
Seamus Finnegan looked up into the sky, and as he did so he saw nothing but white clouds and a bright sun. He lowered his gaze as he and a group of other Gryffindors walked through the grounds, returning from classes with Hagrid outside. Today had been particularly entertaining; they'd gotten to deal with rare tentacled creatures called Homner's Land-Walking Squids (or, more commonly, Homners) that could walk on land and were regarded as exceptionally intelligent. Seamus liked animals; they respected him, and he liked that. Of the group of Gryffindors he was with, Seamus had gotten the most compliments from Hagrid, who'd told him that he was the best " Homner tamer ah've ever seen! The bloody thing likes ye!"
And so it had; the giant squid-thing had rubbed itself against him like a dog, and he'd almost gotten to the point where it would allow itself to be ridden. Homner's were ferociously loyal creatures, almost more so than dogs, and they were commonly ridden in the plains of Germany, their native land. Interestingly enough, few people knew of their existence. Muggles, of course, didn't know (German students often practiced their Memory Charms from Homner-back, practicing so they could hit Muggles while on the run) but even most Wizards outside of Germany did not know Homners existed. Seamus thought they were kind of fun, and better yet, if he could master Homner riding, it would be a skill his parents knew nothing about. Although Seamus did not know why he felt this way, he did know that he loved to have a life outside his parents. To have skills and powers they'd never dreamed of. To be better than them, in all the ways of his life.
As Seamus kept walking to the grounds of Hogwarts, he was completely unaware that Dumbledore was watching him, from high up in his tower.
" I believe you will do just fine," Dumbledore muttered to himself, as he turned around and made a checkmark on a small book behind him. " Yes, I believe you will do perfectly."
The small book was a listing of all of Hogwart's students. The checkmark was right beside a small box that said " Finnegan, Seamus."
" One down, seven to go," Dumbledore said, as he dipped his pen in ink.
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Gryffindor Tower, Girls' Dormitory, same time.
Hermione looked around, making sure no one was glancing at her. No one was; the room was empty. All Gryffindors were supposed to be finishing classes with Hagrid, but Dumbledore had told her and Ron to stay behind today, to await news on Harry. Hermione had been more than happy to oblige; she had some illegal reading material to cover, and the nosy snoops of the Girls' Dormitory would be more than happy to have some rope to hang Hermione on. She was almost completely unsoiled, and far better than any of them at magic- but that did not mean her skin was stone or that her ears were deaf. She heard the taunts of "Mudblood" whispered beneath their breath when she passed; she heard the things they whispered when they saw her at her studies. Bookworm, Muggle child, Falseborn (an extremely ancient term that had fallen out of favor centuries ago, but was enjoying a modern-day revival as a term for a Muggle-born witch), the million other things they said to hurt her.
But she always responded in her head with "So what." She was a witch, and she possessed greater power than any of them had ever dreamed of; and this book was going to help her gain even more power, power that was greater and purer than any power. The power of knowledge.
Hermione opened the book. It was an illegal handbook that detailed the true history of the Giant Wars, covering not just the Giant's atrocities but Wizard atrocities as well, that told the full truth and not just the winner's side. Because of this, the authorities hated it, for they were the ones who had wanted to change history; but truth could not be stopped, even if it had to hide in darkness to protect itself. There were many Wizards who knew the truth, who heard it from grandfathers or great-grandfathers, who wrote it down and kept it all. And Hermione was one of the few who sought it out, who looked for this truth, and who found it every now and then, who found pieces of that great and golden thing, truth.
Hermione began reading, and her face was full of the simple, happy joy of a child discovering a new toy. Reading had been and always would be Hermione's greatest pleasure; it had been her first escape, from the cold dull world she lived in, from the kids who tormented her over her teeth and her glasses and just the general way she looked; it had been her first love. In it's pages she had discovered magic, real magic, and though she was now a witch, she knew that no spellcraft would ever match the enchantment of a single book. No enchantment could.
And it had been reading, after all, that had led her to her own self-declared purpose in life: to find truth. To find truth no matter where it lay, in the deepest abyss of the ocean, in the far-away land of the stars, in the black hearts of men or in the song of angels. She did not care where it was; that single shining golden thing was her object and her goal. Everything fell second to that, even her friends. Even the man she thought she loved was second to that- Harry Potter was a great man, but he would never hold a candle to truth. Truth was the beginning and end for her.
Hermione continued to read, content that even though she had paid a one-eyed warlock of ill-repute for this book, that even though she had to step into darkness to find it, she had found truth.
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In his tower Dumbledore made another mark, this time next to "Granger, Hermione."
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Infirmary of Hogwarts, same time.
Draco moaned and opened his eyes, looking up at the walls of the infirmary. As he looked around and tried to figure out why he was here, his memory came back to him with a crash. With another moan, he lay his head back on the covers.
Harry Potter. Harry Potter had bested him. That was why he was here.
Draco looked to his right and to his left, trying to find Potter. Where was he? The bastard. He would get up right now and go stab him through the throat with the sharpest object he could find-
As Draco tried to get up, he felt pain stab through his upper body and lay back down. With no one around to hear him complain, he bit back a groan. Though he whined and complained a great deal, Draco was actually far tougher than most people supposed; it was just that when you whined or complained, you found it easier to get people to do what you wanted them to. A simple trick, but one that almost never failed. Draco was an expert at manipulating people, and was not above the occasional "weak little me" act if that was what the situation required.
As Draco mentally replayed what had happened on the train, he felt a moment of strong self-hate when he recalled his weakness during the fight. A strong voice, a sharp voice, cut through his self-hate like a razor-thin whip and spoke in his mind. It was, as always, the voice of his father, the voice that spoke to him whenever he failed or did not do as he should.
[ You failed me, Draco,] his father said, his tones icy and bitter and emotionally disgusted, as they always were when speaking of his son. [ I forgave the failure aboard the train last semester because you were jumped, but this-! You had the perfect chance! Harry Potter attacked you! Why did you not slay him! Why, son! Why? Are you too weak, perhaps? Too weak to best Potter? What worth do you have to me now? What worth could you possibly hold for me? None, Draco, that's what! None!]
Draco moaned again, and his face was at once both childish and old, eager to please and desperately, deeply, hurt.
" I'm sorry, Father..." Draco cried, as he slowly slipped from consciousness and fell back into a healing doze.
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Dumbledore made another checkmark besides "Malfoy, Draco."
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Snape's Potions Class, same time.
Cho Chang looked up from her spellbook, her eyes still red and puffy where she had been crying. It had been almost two years since Cedric's death, yet still she cried for him at night. Still she cried for the man she had loved.
As Snape began droning about the effects of a Chimerageist potion (which would supposedly summon a fierce Chimera when thrown to the ground) and how to counter it, Cho thought about her lost love. Her time with Cedric had been short but sweet, and somehow, his loss had been more devastating to her than she could bear. She still cried in the night, sometimes, when she thought about him....
Why had it hurt so bad? Why had Cedric's loss cut her to the bone like that? She'd only known him for a few semesters, and only in the last of those had she been his girlfriend. Only in the last of those had they told each other so much....
As Cho sat there and thought about Cedric, as tears began to form in her eyes yet again for the man she had lost, Snape looked at her from the corner of his eye (the focus of his eyes was a young, dumb pupil who'd screwed up the Chimerageist potion) and sighed. Poor girl. Contrary to popular belief, Snape was not a complete monster (though he had been once, hadn't he? A total monster, a being beyond belief) and did have some sympathy in his heart for those who had suffered. In fact, that sympathy had been the one thing that had pulled him out of darkness....
Mentally shaking his head, he continued railing at the stupid Ravenclaw (Is that an oxymoron? one part of his brain wondered even as he thought this) and left Cho be. Those who suffered were best left to their own devices, until the mechanics of grief had swept over them and through them, washing out the pain.
Cho, unaware of Snape's kindness, cried on.
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Dumbledore nodded his head in his Tower. He made another checkmark in his book. This one was next to "Chang, Cho."
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Gryffindor Tower, Male Dormitory. Same time.
Ron sat on the edge of the bed, playing Wizard chess without much real zeal for the game. Currently one of his Knights was cursing and taunting a Bishop.
" Come and get me, ye damn pansy!" the knight laughed, bending over and mooning the bishop.
" I say!" the bishop declared, looking quite shocked at the knight's behavior and fluttering his left hand to his face. " What awful behavior!"
" That's right laddie," the knight said, chuckling. " Kiss my great big fat ass! I'm coming for ye!"
" Queen, get rid of him," Ron said, moving his white Queen to the attack. The Queen, one hand over her smile, walked over to the offending knight and conked him over the head. The knight swooned, fell over, and was soon kicked off the board by the Queen. The Bishop stood there and looked self-righteous up until a Pawn walked up and stabbed him with it's short spear. The Bishop went down and rolled off the field.
Soon it was down to a single Black King valiantly running his ass off against a Knight, a Queen, the White King, and three Pawns (each of whom suffered from short attention spans and wandered off at inopportune moments, allowing the King to escape time and time again). Ron ordered his soldiers about with only half his mind, while the rest of it wandered and wondered. Where was Harry? What had Dumbledore meant when he said to "stay in the rooms until the calling begins?" What was he talking about?
As a White Queen bitched her head off at a White Knight who took it all stoicly, and as a Black King ran and ran from a Pawn who had suddenly turned insane, Ron pondered over the fate of his friend... and possibly the fate of the future. As the maniacal Pawn caught the King in a corner, Ron sighed and shook his head. He could see none of it.
None of it at all.
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In his tower, Dumbledore made another mark. This was next to "Weasley, Ron."
" Interesting," he muttered to himself, as he dipped his quill in the pot for more ink. " Very interesting indeed."
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Professor Trelawney's Divination Class, same time.
Parvati Patil focused her mind, feeling some of the free fall that always accompanied attempts to pierce the border ethereal and cross into the realm of the future. This new magic the class was working on was based on Yoga-kina (which Muggles used to, in a bastardized form they called Yoga, which had far more body movements and almost no mind concentration) and had the students sitting in a circle, lotus fashion, eyes closed and hands laid on their knees with thumb and forefinger touching. Trelawney's soft, gentle voice (Harry and the others might find it annoying and hokey, but Parvati found it enchanting) whispered to them to slowly feel better than this world, to go beyond it, to be... more...
As the students focused, Parvati felt the world slip away.... felt all things pass her by....
{horns on the far wind}
Parvati almost snapped her eyes open. What was this?
{a great army}
It was like
{a Black General above it all}
hearing something on a radio that was playing tunes you couldn't recognize
{knights on spiders laughing and laughing}
but knew all the same, like hearing those songs fritz out in the static and
{an army of white, of wolves and white}
losing them and hearing them all the same.
{white soldiers holding swords and standing strong}
And then something happened and it became more than a radio; it was a TV.
{ He stands before them, mounted on his foul acromantula, it's fangs split wide in a devil's grin, holding his black sword above him, waving it and screaming to death, to war, to victory, and they scream back at him, and as his horned helmet turns, she catches sight of him- of the real him- of a glimpse of flesh and eyes in the visor of his helm, and the two eyes caught in the chain about his neck, and she knows him, and she fears him, the same person she knows and yet radically different.
As he stands on a field of burned black, on a wasteland of brown, he turns and shouts at them, shouts at them to charge, and as they charge, she sees faces, so many faces that she knows and yet doesn't, and among these faces she might or might not know there are many horrid things; a Necromancer who is barely a slip of a girl, wings spread wide as a skull dangles about her neck; a laughing madwoman, astride an insane giant of screaming faces and hungry maws, whip of dragon's hide held firm in her hand; a huge, bulking man, a jewel ingrown on his face and his eyes hungry as a crocodile's.
And there is one other, one who scares her the most, because she knows him best, they ALL know him best, he is the Jester, he is the One who Laughs, he is the nightmare, he is the monster, he is Harry Potter.
And as she tumbles and falls, as the masks of a joker surround her and laugh and cry, as the world turns black and she crumbles, she screams.
She screams.}
------------------------------------------------------------------------
A scream cut the air of Hogwarts, disrupting Dumbledore from his thoughts, and he looked down at the book, pen raised but hesitant, as he carried on some internal debate. Finally nodding his head, he made a mark next to "Patil, Parvati" in the book.
" They may well need you, before this is through," Dumbledore muttered to himself, as he turned the page and began his search anew.
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Grounds of Hogwarts, same time.
The scream broke through the thin film of concentration Ernie Macmillan had built up around himself, and as it pierced the air, his heart stopped. Ernie was a somewhat pompous fellow, but as a general rule he was quite stout-hearted; the Sorting Hat had almost placed him in Gryffindor, before stating that though he was brave, he had the mind of a Hufflepuff (this last it had shouted for all to hear). Despite this bravery, however, Ernie found himself deeply, deeply afraid. That scream was terrifying; it sounded like someone had stood before the doorway of Hell and opened it, and now stood there, screaming as the sights within tore the sanity from their mind. He'd thought the sound had made his heart stop, but found he'd been wrong on that account; his heart was simply beating so fast that he was unable to distinguish individual beats. Ernie panted as fear tore through him, and when the scream at last ended, he found he was shaking. He wasn't an exception, though; all the other Hufflepuffs around him were shaking as well, minds almost unhinged by that sonic blast from afar. As chill autumn winds blew through the grounds, Ernie and his House simply stood there, waiting.
Waiting for what they did not know. They just... waited.
After a short time they turned around and walked quickly to Hagrid's, saying nothing to each other. But Ernie kept standing there a little longer than the others, staring up at Hogwarts.
Because he still felt that something was happening.
Something he would be part of.
His heart began to beat faster again, keeping time to a song running in his veins, a song that spoke in a thousand voices, a song of blood.
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Dumbledore nodded and made another checkmark, this time next to "Macmillan, Ernie."
" As you choose, so shall it be," he said to no one in particular. He dipped his pen in the inkpot, preparing it to make another mark.
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Halls of Hogwarts, same time.
Neville Longbottom looked above him, because that was where the sound had come from- and also, because that was where the future seemed to be for him. It was strange, it was stupid, it was foolish- but it was also true. He couldn't deny the voice in his head that said that something had just happened, and that that something heralded a brand new world he had just entered, one in which he might cast off his image as a klutz and emerge as a great new something. Maybe he was just dreaming... but it felt right.
As Neville looked upwards, someone jostled him, muttering something about "damned fool" as they did so- and suddenly feeling mad, feeling wronged, Neville stuck his foot out and tripped him. The other student sprawled on the floor, robes forming a black puddle around him.
" What are you doing?" the student, who Neville dimly recognized as Terry Boot, shouted.
" What did you call me?" Neville shouted, feeling that if he really had entered a brave new world, he might as well stand.
" Whatever I want to, you idiot! The hell's wrong with you?" Terry got up, dusting himself off, and shot his hand out to grab Neville. " Don't you ever trip me again, you little freak! Or I swear I'll..."
" That's enough, Mr. Boot," Filch said, as he suddenly appeared out of a hallway somewhere. " I believe you can let go of Mr. Longbottom now. And come to detention, of course." Filch smiled, his teeth seeming to gleam wickedly.
" This little brat tripped me! He bloody tripped me!" Terry protested, though he was letting go of Neville as he did so. " He's the one who should be in trouble, not me!"
" I know that," Filch said, smiling. " Mrs. Norris saw it all." The cat appeared as if the name were a cue, rubbing against Filch's legs. " You may say he tripped you, but she says different. She says that while shoving him, you accidentally tripped on his feet by your own actions. And now you're attacking him to make up for your mistake." Filch grinned again. " Now get along to class. I'll expect you at detention later- right now I've other business to attend to. Scat."
Terry left, snarling at Neville as he went, his face promising that the two had unfinished business that would be concluded later on.
After he left, Filch turned to Neville and said, " It's hard, isn't it?"
Neville looked at him, his mind an utter blank, and said, " What?"
" Being a Squib." Filch looked both embarassed, saddened, and angry, all at the same time, as he said this. " It's hard."
Neville's anger flashed out. " I'm not a Squib!" he protested violently, glancing around even as he did so, trying to see who was watching this conversation, who would be whispering about it later and laughing at poor dumb Neville. His fears were unfounded; this corner of Hogwarts currently belonged just to Neville and Mr. Filch.
" Yell all you like," Filch said, shaking his head as sadness became the dominant emotion on his face, " but it won't change a thing. A Squib's a Squib. It's what we are. It's all we'll ever be."
" I'M NOT A SQUIB!" Neville screamed, before turning and running as fast as he could, as far as he could, fleeing from hateful old Filch, from the accusations of being a Squib, from Fate itself.
Filch shook his head slowly and turned away, heading down a long hallway which led to a door where two troublemakers were preparing to pour Dragon Bile on the lock, fusing it and making the door completely inoperable. Filch yelled at them, and at his feet Mrs. Norris rubbed against him, trying to console him as best she could.
Down the hall, Neville ran, tears streaking his face.
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Dumbledore made a final mark in his tower, nodding his head as he did so. Putting the pen back in it's pot, he tapped this final entry, entitled " Longbottom, Neville."
" I hope you can do it," he muttered. " For all our sakes."
And he turned and opened the window, letting a fresh breeze blow through the room. Anyone looking at him in that moment would have seen a terribly, terribly old man. A man who, himself, felt like crying but would not cry- too many long years had passed for him to allow himself to cry in any but the worst situations.
But it was a close thing.
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"Even a Serpent Can Bleed"
Notes, Section 2
' Before I write where I have hidden these things, let me tell you what they are. We four set out to remake the very World of Wizards, and in doing so created Hogwarts. When we created Hogwarts, we thought we had made a mark- a very definitive mark- on this world. But we wondered if we had done enough. We wondered, in our arrogance (and I cannot write youthful arrogance, because it was I and Helga- the two oldest members- who were actually most driven on the point), if we had done enough to be remembered forever. If we had done enough to be worth remembering, years from now.'
' So we set out to rewrite the most basic laws of Wizarding. We looked at every magic there was, and in each we found a weakness we could not overcome. We looked at the Elements and thought, " We need one stronger." We looked at Necromancy and said, " We need one less evil." We looked at Divination, and said, " We need one more sure." We looked at each branch of magic, and found it wanting. So we created our own.'
' The Magic of Nine Souls. The Magic of the Spirits.'
' And in doing so, we damned ourselves.'
- R & R please!
(Scratches head embarassedly) Well... didn't expect the great response I got on this story. I was real iffy about it, but now you've cemented me into doing it. Thanks guys.
Reviews:
j: (Reads review, breaks out laughing) Goku Potter?!? Holy shit man! (keeps laughing) All right, all right, I will give you this one. I never realized how much it DID resemble DBZ until I read your review. I promise, however, that unlike DBZ, every other line will not be "HUARRRGGGH!" or some variation thereof.
(Falls on floor and almost chokes to death on laughter) Oh man. Goku Potter. That is a new one....
Somebody mentioned that it was like Power Rangers. I assure you that this is not the Power Rangers, my friend. (Snorts laughter)
Maybe I shouldn't do this... you guys are weird... :). (incredulous voice in background: Power Rangers and DBZ? What the?)
Oh well. Kudos to all who reviewed! And now...
"SHOWTIME!"
Chapter 2
Winds of Change
Outside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Second day of classes.
Seamus Finnegan looked up into the sky, and as he did so he saw nothing but white clouds and a bright sun. He lowered his gaze as he and a group of other Gryffindors walked through the grounds, returning from classes with Hagrid outside. Today had been particularly entertaining; they'd gotten to deal with rare tentacled creatures called Homner's Land-Walking Squids (or, more commonly, Homners) that could walk on land and were regarded as exceptionally intelligent. Seamus liked animals; they respected him, and he liked that. Of the group of Gryffindors he was with, Seamus had gotten the most compliments from Hagrid, who'd told him that he was the best " Homner tamer ah've ever seen! The bloody thing likes ye!"
And so it had; the giant squid-thing had rubbed itself against him like a dog, and he'd almost gotten to the point where it would allow itself to be ridden. Homner's were ferociously loyal creatures, almost more so than dogs, and they were commonly ridden in the plains of Germany, their native land. Interestingly enough, few people knew of their existence. Muggles, of course, didn't know (German students often practiced their Memory Charms from Homner-back, practicing so they could hit Muggles while on the run) but even most Wizards outside of Germany did not know Homners existed. Seamus thought they were kind of fun, and better yet, if he could master Homner riding, it would be a skill his parents knew nothing about. Although Seamus did not know why he felt this way, he did know that he loved to have a life outside his parents. To have skills and powers they'd never dreamed of. To be better than them, in all the ways of his life.
As Seamus kept walking to the grounds of Hogwarts, he was completely unaware that Dumbledore was watching him, from high up in his tower.
" I believe you will do just fine," Dumbledore muttered to himself, as he turned around and made a checkmark on a small book behind him. " Yes, I believe you will do perfectly."
The small book was a listing of all of Hogwart's students. The checkmark was right beside a small box that said " Finnegan, Seamus."
" One down, seven to go," Dumbledore said, as he dipped his pen in ink.
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Gryffindor Tower, Girls' Dormitory, same time.
Hermione looked around, making sure no one was glancing at her. No one was; the room was empty. All Gryffindors were supposed to be finishing classes with Hagrid, but Dumbledore had told her and Ron to stay behind today, to await news on Harry. Hermione had been more than happy to oblige; she had some illegal reading material to cover, and the nosy snoops of the Girls' Dormitory would be more than happy to have some rope to hang Hermione on. She was almost completely unsoiled, and far better than any of them at magic- but that did not mean her skin was stone or that her ears were deaf. She heard the taunts of "Mudblood" whispered beneath their breath when she passed; she heard the things they whispered when they saw her at her studies. Bookworm, Muggle child, Falseborn (an extremely ancient term that had fallen out of favor centuries ago, but was enjoying a modern-day revival as a term for a Muggle-born witch), the million other things they said to hurt her.
But she always responded in her head with "So what." She was a witch, and she possessed greater power than any of them had ever dreamed of; and this book was going to help her gain even more power, power that was greater and purer than any power. The power of knowledge.
Hermione opened the book. It was an illegal handbook that detailed the true history of the Giant Wars, covering not just the Giant's atrocities but Wizard atrocities as well, that told the full truth and not just the winner's side. Because of this, the authorities hated it, for they were the ones who had wanted to change history; but truth could not be stopped, even if it had to hide in darkness to protect itself. There were many Wizards who knew the truth, who heard it from grandfathers or great-grandfathers, who wrote it down and kept it all. And Hermione was one of the few who sought it out, who looked for this truth, and who found it every now and then, who found pieces of that great and golden thing, truth.
Hermione began reading, and her face was full of the simple, happy joy of a child discovering a new toy. Reading had been and always would be Hermione's greatest pleasure; it had been her first escape, from the cold dull world she lived in, from the kids who tormented her over her teeth and her glasses and just the general way she looked; it had been her first love. In it's pages she had discovered magic, real magic, and though she was now a witch, she knew that no spellcraft would ever match the enchantment of a single book. No enchantment could.
And it had been reading, after all, that had led her to her own self-declared purpose in life: to find truth. To find truth no matter where it lay, in the deepest abyss of the ocean, in the far-away land of the stars, in the black hearts of men or in the song of angels. She did not care where it was; that single shining golden thing was her object and her goal. Everything fell second to that, even her friends. Even the man she thought she loved was second to that- Harry Potter was a great man, but he would never hold a candle to truth. Truth was the beginning and end for her.
Hermione continued to read, content that even though she had paid a one-eyed warlock of ill-repute for this book, that even though she had to step into darkness to find it, she had found truth.
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In his tower Dumbledore made another mark, this time next to "Granger, Hermione."
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Infirmary of Hogwarts, same time.
Draco moaned and opened his eyes, looking up at the walls of the infirmary. As he looked around and tried to figure out why he was here, his memory came back to him with a crash. With another moan, he lay his head back on the covers.
Harry Potter. Harry Potter had bested him. That was why he was here.
Draco looked to his right and to his left, trying to find Potter. Where was he? The bastard. He would get up right now and go stab him through the throat with the sharpest object he could find-
As Draco tried to get up, he felt pain stab through his upper body and lay back down. With no one around to hear him complain, he bit back a groan. Though he whined and complained a great deal, Draco was actually far tougher than most people supposed; it was just that when you whined or complained, you found it easier to get people to do what you wanted them to. A simple trick, but one that almost never failed. Draco was an expert at manipulating people, and was not above the occasional "weak little me" act if that was what the situation required.
As Draco mentally replayed what had happened on the train, he felt a moment of strong self-hate when he recalled his weakness during the fight. A strong voice, a sharp voice, cut through his self-hate like a razor-thin whip and spoke in his mind. It was, as always, the voice of his father, the voice that spoke to him whenever he failed or did not do as he should.
[ You failed me, Draco,] his father said, his tones icy and bitter and emotionally disgusted, as they always were when speaking of his son. [ I forgave the failure aboard the train last semester because you were jumped, but this-! You had the perfect chance! Harry Potter attacked you! Why did you not slay him! Why, son! Why? Are you too weak, perhaps? Too weak to best Potter? What worth do you have to me now? What worth could you possibly hold for me? None, Draco, that's what! None!]
Draco moaned again, and his face was at once both childish and old, eager to please and desperately, deeply, hurt.
" I'm sorry, Father..." Draco cried, as he slowly slipped from consciousness and fell back into a healing doze.
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Dumbledore made another checkmark besides "Malfoy, Draco."
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Snape's Potions Class, same time.
Cho Chang looked up from her spellbook, her eyes still red and puffy where she had been crying. It had been almost two years since Cedric's death, yet still she cried for him at night. Still she cried for the man she had loved.
As Snape began droning about the effects of a Chimerageist potion (which would supposedly summon a fierce Chimera when thrown to the ground) and how to counter it, Cho thought about her lost love. Her time with Cedric had been short but sweet, and somehow, his loss had been more devastating to her than she could bear. She still cried in the night, sometimes, when she thought about him....
Why had it hurt so bad? Why had Cedric's loss cut her to the bone like that? She'd only known him for a few semesters, and only in the last of those had she been his girlfriend. Only in the last of those had they told each other so much....
As Cho sat there and thought about Cedric, as tears began to form in her eyes yet again for the man she had lost, Snape looked at her from the corner of his eye (the focus of his eyes was a young, dumb pupil who'd screwed up the Chimerageist potion) and sighed. Poor girl. Contrary to popular belief, Snape was not a complete monster (though he had been once, hadn't he? A total monster, a being beyond belief) and did have some sympathy in his heart for those who had suffered. In fact, that sympathy had been the one thing that had pulled him out of darkness....
Mentally shaking his head, he continued railing at the stupid Ravenclaw (Is that an oxymoron? one part of his brain wondered even as he thought this) and left Cho be. Those who suffered were best left to their own devices, until the mechanics of grief had swept over them and through them, washing out the pain.
Cho, unaware of Snape's kindness, cried on.
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Dumbledore nodded his head in his Tower. He made another checkmark in his book. This one was next to "Chang, Cho."
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Gryffindor Tower, Male Dormitory. Same time.
Ron sat on the edge of the bed, playing Wizard chess without much real zeal for the game. Currently one of his Knights was cursing and taunting a Bishop.
" Come and get me, ye damn pansy!" the knight laughed, bending over and mooning the bishop.
" I say!" the bishop declared, looking quite shocked at the knight's behavior and fluttering his left hand to his face. " What awful behavior!"
" That's right laddie," the knight said, chuckling. " Kiss my great big fat ass! I'm coming for ye!"
" Queen, get rid of him," Ron said, moving his white Queen to the attack. The Queen, one hand over her smile, walked over to the offending knight and conked him over the head. The knight swooned, fell over, and was soon kicked off the board by the Queen. The Bishop stood there and looked self-righteous up until a Pawn walked up and stabbed him with it's short spear. The Bishop went down and rolled off the field.
Soon it was down to a single Black King valiantly running his ass off against a Knight, a Queen, the White King, and three Pawns (each of whom suffered from short attention spans and wandered off at inopportune moments, allowing the King to escape time and time again). Ron ordered his soldiers about with only half his mind, while the rest of it wandered and wondered. Where was Harry? What had Dumbledore meant when he said to "stay in the rooms until the calling begins?" What was he talking about?
As a White Queen bitched her head off at a White Knight who took it all stoicly, and as a Black King ran and ran from a Pawn who had suddenly turned insane, Ron pondered over the fate of his friend... and possibly the fate of the future. As the maniacal Pawn caught the King in a corner, Ron sighed and shook his head. He could see none of it.
None of it at all.
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In his tower, Dumbledore made another mark. This was next to "Weasley, Ron."
" Interesting," he muttered to himself, as he dipped his quill in the pot for more ink. " Very interesting indeed."
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Professor Trelawney's Divination Class, same time.
Parvati Patil focused her mind, feeling some of the free fall that always accompanied attempts to pierce the border ethereal and cross into the realm of the future. This new magic the class was working on was based on Yoga-kina (which Muggles used to, in a bastardized form they called Yoga, which had far more body movements and almost no mind concentration) and had the students sitting in a circle, lotus fashion, eyes closed and hands laid on their knees with thumb and forefinger touching. Trelawney's soft, gentle voice (Harry and the others might find it annoying and hokey, but Parvati found it enchanting) whispered to them to slowly feel better than this world, to go beyond it, to be... more...
As the students focused, Parvati felt the world slip away.... felt all things pass her by....
{horns on the far wind}
Parvati almost snapped her eyes open. What was this?
{a great army}
It was like
{a Black General above it all}
hearing something on a radio that was playing tunes you couldn't recognize
{knights on spiders laughing and laughing}
but knew all the same, like hearing those songs fritz out in the static and
{an army of white, of wolves and white}
losing them and hearing them all the same.
{white soldiers holding swords and standing strong}
And then something happened and it became more than a radio; it was a TV.
{ He stands before them, mounted on his foul acromantula, it's fangs split wide in a devil's grin, holding his black sword above him, waving it and screaming to death, to war, to victory, and they scream back at him, and as his horned helmet turns, she catches sight of him- of the real him- of a glimpse of flesh and eyes in the visor of his helm, and the two eyes caught in the chain about his neck, and she knows him, and she fears him, the same person she knows and yet radically different.
As he stands on a field of burned black, on a wasteland of brown, he turns and shouts at them, shouts at them to charge, and as they charge, she sees faces, so many faces that she knows and yet doesn't, and among these faces she might or might not know there are many horrid things; a Necromancer who is barely a slip of a girl, wings spread wide as a skull dangles about her neck; a laughing madwoman, astride an insane giant of screaming faces and hungry maws, whip of dragon's hide held firm in her hand; a huge, bulking man, a jewel ingrown on his face and his eyes hungry as a crocodile's.
And there is one other, one who scares her the most, because she knows him best, they ALL know him best, he is the Jester, he is the One who Laughs, he is the nightmare, he is the monster, he is Harry Potter.
And as she tumbles and falls, as the masks of a joker surround her and laugh and cry, as the world turns black and she crumbles, she screams.
She screams.}
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A scream cut the air of Hogwarts, disrupting Dumbledore from his thoughts, and he looked down at the book, pen raised but hesitant, as he carried on some internal debate. Finally nodding his head, he made a mark next to "Patil, Parvati" in the book.
" They may well need you, before this is through," Dumbledore muttered to himself, as he turned the page and began his search anew.
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Grounds of Hogwarts, same time.
The scream broke through the thin film of concentration Ernie Macmillan had built up around himself, and as it pierced the air, his heart stopped. Ernie was a somewhat pompous fellow, but as a general rule he was quite stout-hearted; the Sorting Hat had almost placed him in Gryffindor, before stating that though he was brave, he had the mind of a Hufflepuff (this last it had shouted for all to hear). Despite this bravery, however, Ernie found himself deeply, deeply afraid. That scream was terrifying; it sounded like someone had stood before the doorway of Hell and opened it, and now stood there, screaming as the sights within tore the sanity from their mind. He'd thought the sound had made his heart stop, but found he'd been wrong on that account; his heart was simply beating so fast that he was unable to distinguish individual beats. Ernie panted as fear tore through him, and when the scream at last ended, he found he was shaking. He wasn't an exception, though; all the other Hufflepuffs around him were shaking as well, minds almost unhinged by that sonic blast from afar. As chill autumn winds blew through the grounds, Ernie and his House simply stood there, waiting.
Waiting for what they did not know. They just... waited.
After a short time they turned around and walked quickly to Hagrid's, saying nothing to each other. But Ernie kept standing there a little longer than the others, staring up at Hogwarts.
Because he still felt that something was happening.
Something he would be part of.
His heart began to beat faster again, keeping time to a song running in his veins, a song that spoke in a thousand voices, a song of blood.
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Dumbledore nodded and made another checkmark, this time next to "Macmillan, Ernie."
" As you choose, so shall it be," he said to no one in particular. He dipped his pen in the inkpot, preparing it to make another mark.
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Halls of Hogwarts, same time.
Neville Longbottom looked above him, because that was where the sound had come from- and also, because that was where the future seemed to be for him. It was strange, it was stupid, it was foolish- but it was also true. He couldn't deny the voice in his head that said that something had just happened, and that that something heralded a brand new world he had just entered, one in which he might cast off his image as a klutz and emerge as a great new something. Maybe he was just dreaming... but it felt right.
As Neville looked upwards, someone jostled him, muttering something about "damned fool" as they did so- and suddenly feeling mad, feeling wronged, Neville stuck his foot out and tripped him. The other student sprawled on the floor, robes forming a black puddle around him.
" What are you doing?" the student, who Neville dimly recognized as Terry Boot, shouted.
" What did you call me?" Neville shouted, feeling that if he really had entered a brave new world, he might as well stand.
" Whatever I want to, you idiot! The hell's wrong with you?" Terry got up, dusting himself off, and shot his hand out to grab Neville. " Don't you ever trip me again, you little freak! Or I swear I'll..."
" That's enough, Mr. Boot," Filch said, as he suddenly appeared out of a hallway somewhere. " I believe you can let go of Mr. Longbottom now. And come to detention, of course." Filch smiled, his teeth seeming to gleam wickedly.
" This little brat tripped me! He bloody tripped me!" Terry protested, though he was letting go of Neville as he did so. " He's the one who should be in trouble, not me!"
" I know that," Filch said, smiling. " Mrs. Norris saw it all." The cat appeared as if the name were a cue, rubbing against Filch's legs. " You may say he tripped you, but she says different. She says that while shoving him, you accidentally tripped on his feet by your own actions. And now you're attacking him to make up for your mistake." Filch grinned again. " Now get along to class. I'll expect you at detention later- right now I've other business to attend to. Scat."
Terry left, snarling at Neville as he went, his face promising that the two had unfinished business that would be concluded later on.
After he left, Filch turned to Neville and said, " It's hard, isn't it?"
Neville looked at him, his mind an utter blank, and said, " What?"
" Being a Squib." Filch looked both embarassed, saddened, and angry, all at the same time, as he said this. " It's hard."
Neville's anger flashed out. " I'm not a Squib!" he protested violently, glancing around even as he did so, trying to see who was watching this conversation, who would be whispering about it later and laughing at poor dumb Neville. His fears were unfounded; this corner of Hogwarts currently belonged just to Neville and Mr. Filch.
" Yell all you like," Filch said, shaking his head as sadness became the dominant emotion on his face, " but it won't change a thing. A Squib's a Squib. It's what we are. It's all we'll ever be."
" I'M NOT A SQUIB!" Neville screamed, before turning and running as fast as he could, as far as he could, fleeing from hateful old Filch, from the accusations of being a Squib, from Fate itself.
Filch shook his head slowly and turned away, heading down a long hallway which led to a door where two troublemakers were preparing to pour Dragon Bile on the lock, fusing it and making the door completely inoperable. Filch yelled at them, and at his feet Mrs. Norris rubbed against him, trying to console him as best she could.
Down the hall, Neville ran, tears streaking his face.
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Dumbledore made a final mark in his tower, nodding his head as he did so. Putting the pen back in it's pot, he tapped this final entry, entitled " Longbottom, Neville."
" I hope you can do it," he muttered. " For all our sakes."
And he turned and opened the window, letting a fresh breeze blow through the room. Anyone looking at him in that moment would have seen a terribly, terribly old man. A man who, himself, felt like crying but would not cry- too many long years had passed for him to allow himself to cry in any but the worst situations.
But it was a close thing.
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"Even a Serpent Can Bleed"
Notes, Section 2
' Before I write where I have hidden these things, let me tell you what they are. We four set out to remake the very World of Wizards, and in doing so created Hogwarts. When we created Hogwarts, we thought we had made a mark- a very definitive mark- on this world. But we wondered if we had done enough. We wondered, in our arrogance (and I cannot write youthful arrogance, because it was I and Helga- the two oldest members- who were actually most driven on the point), if we had done enough to be remembered forever. If we had done enough to be worth remembering, years from now.'
' So we set out to rewrite the most basic laws of Wizarding. We looked at every magic there was, and in each we found a weakness we could not overcome. We looked at the Elements and thought, " We need one stronger." We looked at Necromancy and said, " We need one less evil." We looked at Divination, and said, " We need one more sure." We looked at each branch of magic, and found it wanting. So we created our own.'
' The Magic of Nine Souls. The Magic of the Spirits.'
' And in doing so, we damned ourselves.'
- R & R please!