Split
I do not own Harry Potter. This story is purely written for fun, not for any profit.
Hello everybody. This is my first attempt to write a Harry Potter fanfiction. Please read and review.
Chapter 1
Agen, France, 1531
The only jewellery shop in the city was empty in the morning. The owner sat beside a table. He was checking some jewels when someone walked into his shop.
"Bonjour, monsieur." The owner greeted the visitor. The man standing before him was wearing an emerald green cloak. He was old, with long pointy white beard and a bald head. His skin was wrinkled. In his left hand, he had a black coloured walking stick. He had a ring with a small red stone in his right hand.
"Bonjour." The man replied. He was speaking French in a very light British accent. His voice was not loud, but it has some authoritative aura.
"I believe that you sell and buy jewelleries." The man said," I have some gold for sale."
The owner looked at the table where the stranger put those things he wanted to sell. There were three gold chains, a gold ring and some gold cutlery.
"Monsieur, there are chains but no lockets." The owner asked while weighing the items.
"There are lockets. But those are family heirlooms and I will not sell them. I will rather end my life before selling them."
"I can understand monsieur." The owner said in a sad smile. These types of people were not really uncommon for him. There were many scions of old and ancient families, who came into his shop to sell jewelleries. They would sell everything, unlike this man who was protective over his family heirlooms.
"I can give you one hundred Francs for these items." He said.
The stranger did not said anything, just nodded his head. The owner gave him hundred gold coins in a small bag.
"Merci, monsieur." The stranger said.
"Merci. If you have any other things to sell, monsieur, then do not hesitate to come here."
The stranger smiled at the owner and left the jewellery shop. His next destination would be the inn.
The innkeeper greeted him with a smile and directed him towards his usual table. He had the usual bread and soup.
A group of young men were sitting beside his table. One of them was telling a story. The other men were listening to him.
"And we tied the witch to the stake. Her two demon babies were also tied. You know, we thought she had offered herself to demon. She actually confessed during interrogation that she was a witch. But when we were just about to light the fire, the unthinkable happened."
"What happened?" one of the listener asked, curiosity was dripping from his voice.
"God's wrath was upon us. I still shake with fear if I thought about it. It turned out that the girl was innocent."
"What are you saying?", now every men and women in the inn were listening the story, except of our old stranger, who was silently breaking his bread.
"The day was bright and sunny. But out of the blue, a storm came, and we heard the roar of a lion. At first, we thought that it was the witch, but then we saw him."
"Who was there?" A middle aged woman asked.
"The man was tall. He had long red hair and beard. He was dressed in a red and golden cloak. There was a silver rapier in his hand. A big lion was walking with him."
"Then?" An old man asked. He had a glass of wine in his hand, but forgot to drink.
"The bishop and the priest of local church were there too. That man walked to the priest said only one word to him. Confess." The story-teller licked his lips, and then in one sip, he drank his wine. Then he again began telling his story.
"Then something happened. Something beyond our imagination, something that disgusted all of us. The priest confessed his lust at the young widow, the mother of twin babies. She constantly refused him, so out of revenge, he plotted against her. He wanted to burn her alive. The crowd started demanding justice, but the stranger rebuked all of us. He said that God has vested the authority of justice only to the king, and warned us not to take justice in our own hands. He also said if we again tried to mob justice, then we will all be at the receiving end of God's thunder."
"But she confessed, right?" One man asked.
"May be that poor girl could not bear the torture anymore." A new voice boomed into the inn.
Every one present in the inn were looking at the source of the new voice. The man was young. He went to the counter and purchased a bottle of wine. Then he walked towards the door, but before leaving, he turned again.
"They had burn her babies with red hot iron, in front of her own eyes. At that time she made her choice. She thought that maybe she will have peace in her death."
The man then went out of the inn.
"Who is he?" one young man asked.
"He is new here. Came from Paris a few days ago. But that guy is shady. Someone said that he is some kind of warlock, that he can predict future." The story teller said.
Our old stranger was just finished his meal. He was standing up from the bench when he felt the familiar feeling of a parchment under his leg. There was a piece of folded parchment on the floor. He took the parchment and opened it. There was something written on it in French.
"Master of the king of snakes, you thought that your personal crusade can save the world, and then you are wrong. Mankind will change, but it will take time. You had an argument with your friends, and left your home. But do you know the consequences? Your house will be corrupted. Your students will kill under your name. If you want to know more, meet me at the local apothecary. Your well wisher, N."
The old man put the parchment in his robe's pocket and walked outside the inn. He was walking in a calm mood, but in his mind, there were thousands of questions running like a storm. In a moment, he found himself in front of the apothecary. It was a small, poorly lit shop. Right now, only one man was standing inside. It was the strange young man from the inn.
The old man entered into the apothecary. The young man directly looked into his eyes.
"I see you got my letter. Thank you for coming."
"How do you know all this?" The old man asked.
"Look into my mind. I know you can. Get the wand out and look."
The old man's hands were shaking. He somehow collected himself and took out a small black wooden stick. He pointed the stick to the young man's forehead. Then he muttered a word.
"Leglimens."
A few moments after, the old stranger was walking in the road. His face was pale. He was walking feebly, as if he lost much of his energy. He somehow reached his home, a small shack. Then he went to his living room and sat on the floor, silent tears were flowing from his eyes.
After finishing his fourth bottle, the last in his house, the old man was now fully intoxicated. He took out a small knife from his pocket and start scratching the wooden floor of the room. He was carving mindlessly with shaking hands, when suddenly his hand slipped from the knife's handle and went down, slashing his palm.
Drops of blood starts pouring on the floor, and on the carvings. The intoxicated old man did not care for his wound. He just slept on the floor.
What he did not see was the carvings on the floor with blood on them. The carvings were now glowing with white beams. Then a white light came from the floor, engulfing the whole room.
When the white light finally disappeared, the small room was empty. There was no sign of the old man.
At the same time, the young prophet in his room smiled to himself. He was looking in front of him, where a pot of water was placed over a metal tripod.
"The future is now in your hands, my friend."
A/N: Please read and review.