Author's Note: Oh hey guys. Hurricane Sandy just came and put its windy genitals in my face, but I'm still alive and kicking. After I write this chapter, I'm going to fight her with a baseball bat. Wish me luck.
Kaleidoscope
There was power in the world, but he wasn't a part of this power. The Ancestors slinging spells that unmade cities, the full muster force of the association, the church's silent, deadly executioners, the four hundred faceless families who fought demons, and the jointure of the natives and Europeans who conquered the New World to create magic made to fight, they were the power.
He was just a sewer denizen, one who learned about the toes not to step on and the toes to cut off without a second thought. It had always been this way, since the aegis of the Bumblebee's protection had left him.
The wizards of the European continent lived sheltered lives. They were in the lap of their greatest enemies, but the burning flame kept them safe for as long as anyone could remember.
The First Blaze of Merlin, the voice of the soul, the power that didn't give, the power that took away. As long as they didn't stray far from the light of the Flame, they would be safe.
But he was a wandmaker, someone who coded the mysterious world into objects that leant the wizards whom Dumbledore protected with power to defend themselves from one another.
He was always the least of three. When he stood besides the two giants of the magical world, Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald as the last students of Livius the Light Mage. When he stood besides the two giants of England during the war, Augusta Longbottom and Alain Fortescue as the Trifecta that took entire cities after the fated landing at Normandy.
He was always Ollivander, a family name that produced weapons for greater men to wield.
Linus had not been satisfied with this. First he sought to create a more perfect wand, which he could use himself against the Dark Lord when the man named Tom Riddle rose to challenge what he believed was all the power in the world.
The Mages, the Churchmen, the Hunters, the Americans, they may laugh at the expense of wizards, but when a single star burned bright, the star of the wizard was bright enough to set the world on fire.
But then he had realized that the true path to more knowledge lay in runes. Runes to encode his wands better, inscribed in the core by hand. Runes to redirect and change the meanings, beef up the efficiency of his spells.
This was why he was running through a disgusting slum in Tel Aviv, dodging spells and bullets and what have you, with a book tucked under his arm.
He felt a crossbow bolt of all things slam into his back as he cleared the anti-apparition wards, but it didn't quite matter. He had won this one. He would live to play games with the big men.
Ever Since the Word
One thing that Harry learned about Daphne Greengrass was that she very much enjoyed sitting and thinking. During these times, her hair would inevitably fall in front of her face and she would push it away from her eyes in a flash of blonde that broke his train of thoughts.
Neville was not quite as comfortable with himself, fiddling with his nails, combing his hair with his fingers and drumming on the seats as though he felt as though there was something fundamentally wrong with the way the world sat but couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Harry took the time to analyze the way he acted through the more still moments of the day. He would swing his legs over the edge of the seat rather monotonously, and he would play with the pages of the transfiguration manual that he was reading.
Harry thought of the things that Dumbledore had said about magic. There seemed to be an element of repetition to it, something fundamental to the way the old man moved. Someone with less knowledge of the world's secrets would have called it grace. Harry called it strength.
"I think it's a good time to change into our robes," Neville said after the conversation that wasn't quite there lulled to a halt. Daphne stepped out of the compartment with her robes folded between her arms and Neville followed suit, leaving Harry in the compartment. He looked over the suddenly empty train car and shrugged. He pulled off his sweater and draped the robe over his shoulders, slotting his arms into them. In several seconds, Neville had returned.
"What do you think of her, mate?"
The question, at the surface, seemed to be a reach for his opinion, but as Harry watched Neville's eyes, he realized that it was more of a test. If Harry didn't answer in a certain way, he doubted that he would be great friends with Neville. It was pretty clear that the two had been friends for longer than he had met them.
But he wouldn't lie. "Quiet. I don't know her very well yet."
"Fair," Neville said, nodding, his face unreadable. Harry thought he saw a spark of relief in the other boy's eyes, but it was gone before he could figure what was quite relieving about his answer.
They were quiet for a while longer before Neville broke in the silence.
"It's just that she doesn't have that many friends. Her mum and my dad get along pretty well, so I'd see her sometimes, but she's never really gone to muggle school like I did and I never saw her at most of the gatherings."
"Gatherings?" Harry was interested.
"Oh, me and Daphne, we're both pureblooded, and most of the time, pureblood parents like it when their kids play with other pureblood kids."
"So what about people who aren't?" People like me was implied.
"Oh." Neville looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I don't think they find out about magic until they're our age. My dad was kicking a stink about some bill they had in the Wizengamot to take away the magical children from muggles several years ago."
Harry nodded absentmindedly, thinking about his relatives. The thought traveled in a straight line from his relatives to his own talents, his own abilities, of his own making.
Daphne stepped back into the compartment with a kind of daintiness and sat quietly. Harry took a second look at her, trying to evaluate her again.
Abruptly, the train ground to a halt and the lights flickered out. Harry shrugged and grabbed his trunk, but Daphne put her hand on his.
"Hold it. We're not at Hogwarts yet."
Harry stared at her, vaguely confused. "But the train stopped."
Daphne shook her head. "When my mum used to tell me stories about Hogwarts, she'd say that we pulled into Hogsmeade station when the moon rose." She gestured at the setting sun. "Wands out."
True to her word, in a moment, there was a loud explosion of some sort which rocked the train, sending both of them careening back into their seats. A high pitched whine that Harry had not noticed earlier faded away.
"The wards have fallen," Daphne said, distinctly troubled by the fact. A line of worry creased her forehead and she pushed several strands of hair out of her eye.
There was another bang, the sound of a compartment door opening and harsh, indistinct shouting. A loud wail in the distance.
"Reducto!" called an older voice, several years Harry's senior. Another bang. The same voice gave a pained shouted as a shick of metal entering skin was heard.
"That's an arrow. Did you hear the sound of it being fired?" Daphne asked, half in confirmation, half in resignation.
Another bang, another compartment door. The wailing increased.
"They're not killing the students," she decided. "They're looking for someone."
Harry stared at her.
"You or me, then, Harry. Me for my mum, and you because you're Harry Potter. It's time to put your dragonslaying skills to the test."
Harry chuckled humorlessly. "I've never even seen a dragon before."
"Well then, we're just fucked right," Neville grumbled. He walked to the door, opened it slowly, then pointed his wand down the hallway at a group of men dressed in red robes that were threatening students with a crossbow. His face was screwed up in thought for a moment, then he began to draw patterns with his wand, patterns that Harry recalled seeing Dumbledore flying through. Neville's motions, however, seemed choppy and awkward in comparison.
"Ardentes petram," he whispered, drawing his wand back and snapping it forward at the group.
A modestly sized chunk of red-hot rock grew from the dust in the hallway and shot towards the group. Daphne pulled Neville back in and closed the door.
"You fool. You don't have to see the results of your spell to know it happened," she hissed, even as there was a decisive thunk of rock hitting someone and the someone screamed.
"Spread out!" someone shouted. "Kill whoever hit me." His words were accompanied by another pained grunt.
And then, abruptly once more, there was a roar of flame, and a very familiar voice. "Keep all the compartment doors closed."
"Albus Dumbledore!" Neville whispered, hope lighting up his face.
Daphne and Harry nodded in relief.
"Fiendfyre!"
The roar of flame grew to a deafening volume, with the snarls of big cats and the hiss of snakes polluting Harry's quiet. Amid it all, there a beautiful song was heard. Harry tried to closed his eyes and let himself slip into his knowledge of his eyes, but the song was making it very, very difficult.
Find your center, Harry, find it. Make it happen.
Harry hugged his wand to his chest, the proof of his magic heating in his hand beside his arm and a red haze settled inside his eyes, the song pushing alongside it.
The song was guiding the flame, this fiendfyre, that Dumbledore has summoned.
The flame slowly died to a halt and the roar couldn't be heard anymore. In tandem, all the compartment doors opened.
"Has anyone been hurt?" Dumbledore's voice boomed down the train from one end to another.
"Professor, it's Wood. He's taken something to the shoulder."
Dumbledore nodded, walked past Harry and sparing both him and Daphne a thorough glance before he picked up the aforementioned Wood as though he the boy weighed nothing and disappeared in a rush of wind.
A final message boomed through the walls. "Everyone will enter their compartment once more and the train will resume its journey to Hogsmeade station."
Harry did not hear any of this, as he was staring at the morbid piles of ash on the ground with no small amount of fascination.
Too Young For Tragedy
When Albus Dumbledore needed to leave, he left. There was always something that took him with urgency, picked him up off his feet and deposited him somewhere that was not around Nicholas.
The man sighed as he walked off, ignoring the proceedings that were sure to get violent. Zelretch wouldn't let it get out of hand, and the Green could handle herself quite well.
Nicholas chose the moment of silence that Dumbledore commanded to draw from the Philosopher's Stone, to find a moment when he was simply not where he was.
"Home at last, dear?" came the ethereal voice of Perenelle Flamel as he opened his eyes to the red and brown carpeting that his feet were now pushing into.
He sat besides his longest lover without a hint of fanfare and sighed.
"How goes it at the Association?"
"Fine. Albus left, so I left."
A musical laugh that raised his spirits filled the room. Perenelle was beautiful, but her voice was even more so, melodic and perfect to his ears in equal amounts.
"A drink?"
She had left a tumbler of whisky on the coffee table for him. Nicholas smiled and downed half of it in a gulp.
Her hands ghosted over his shoulders and his smile brightened further.
"Albus tells me that young Harry Potter is attending Hogwarts this year, with little Astrid's daughter."
Perenelle's fingers pushed into his tired muscles. "I wonder…"
"Even good eggs can make for a bad breakfast."
Perenelle laughed. "Oh, there's no need to speak in riddles around me. Arcueid came calling this morning while you were away."
Nicholas turned to face her sharply.
"Oh, it wasn't a big deal. She promised to kill me, at some point in history. I told her that there were far worse things to fear than death, and she got rather angry."
"Was there property damage?"
"No."
"Well then."
Perenelle rested her head against his chest, her hair pooling about him. "I think she's beginning to feel the influence of the world on her. Human beings… have a nasty ability to make people like us care."
Nicholas kissed the top of her head.