Scourge – Fragments of Yesterday II

TBL: Hey, readers. Aren't you happy? I mean, I got this one out in under the two month mark! I'd do a dance, but that's not my thing...

Another warning this time, though one that's, in my opinion, hardly warranted: there's a brief bit of slash in this chapter. Really, it's only a paragraph – literally – so there's no reason to be upset.

You're trapped in here with nothing but a gun and a single bullet. Somethin's stalkin' ya from the shadows, and there's only one chance. Better make it count.

Disclaimer: I, Tainted Blood Lust, do not own the Harry Potter franchise. I also do not own the Naruto franchise. I make no money in writing this.

Also, the definition for 'scourge' is directly from Wikipedia's sister dictionary/thesaurus website. Therefore, it is not mine.

The reference for Pan Gu came from , and the one for the kissar came from . The lynx symbolism came from .com. All other reference information came from .

Enjoy.

X

SCOURGE

(n.) a persistent pest, illness, or source of trouble; cause of suffering to people

X

August 26, 1352

Master – Lucius Malfoy to many, but a name he didn't dare speak – was in the main study room with the grand door to it locked. Dobby, as a house elf, had magical powers most wizards could only dream of and so had overcome the wards Master had set up to watch him from the shadows. Of course, with this, bitter thoughts of his slavery and that of many generations before him came to the house elf. They, his kind, were thought by those wizards as being mindless things, less than dirt and born to serve. But, this was so very far from the truth. Though bound to these puny, distorted bodies and shackled to servitude, they had not always been this way. Aeons ago, their kind had been forced into this life by the magic of a powerful being – one man, god, and demon all at once. It, however, could not take away all of what made them unique. Among few others remained the gift of memory. As the years passed, the lives of past house elves were remembered by the later generations, a genetic memory of sorts. And so, Dobby understood; he knew of their fall from grace and once mighty race, and, most importantly, he knew the curse would one day be broken by their savior. It was a destined thing, unable to be stopped by anyone. Dobby looked forward, as did all house elves, to this day.

Master had a glass of a potent, sweet-smelling wine, but it was only absently held, without the intention of being drunk. What held his attention, though, was the plain, thin black book sitting on the table before him. It was out of place, this simple and ordinary book, and so unlike anything else Master had. And yet, he was utterly fascinated with it.

Dobby understood exactly why this interested him so. Unbeknownst to anyone but themselves, house elves could see things none else could. Around the book, there was an aura, black as scorched brimstone and aware. It was like the Morning Star, trapped in darkness and ever-awaiting the chance to break loose, to rain down fire across the lands. This entity was an evil that could not be given any other title. The house elf could not discern exactly what use it was for, but undoubtedly, that purpose wasn't for anything good. Perhaps, he theorized, the book was an instrument of the Dark Lord's. It was a hypothesis that certainly fit, as the Dark Lord controlled Master like a favored puppet, a creation completely malleable to its creator's whims and without any sort of will of its own.

"Soon," Master whispered passionately, and his was the voice of a zealot, wholly devoted, body and soul, to his cause. He had the mentality of one, treading the drop between the shallow and deeps ends of insanity. In him, justice was a black and white thing, where one was either for or against the Higher Plan, and the Higher Plan, a vague but glorious vision, was a better world fated to be. A world where magic was might and those muggles, those inferior cretins, were naught but slaves, their present rise halted and lost in memory and history. Master was a puppet who, even in his knowledge of servitude, savored his role like a man given water in the middle of a desert, who gave up control without regret. It disgusted Dobby to the core. Slavery was not a choice – but accepting it was.

Master, thinking he was in the company of no one, let out a hiccup of a laugh. His pale eyes, trained solely on the book, were wide and fanatical, holding a reverence usually reserved for the faithful gazing upon their deity materialized at long last. His hiccup-laughs soon evolved into cackling, unhinged sounds, the sort of giggle of a crazed man would make but lined with the maliciousness of a hyena's call as it stalked a young, helpless gazelle. A glint that already lay in his eyes, that of an imagined plan which boded nothing good, only increased in fervor.

"Yes," he hissed out like one in the throes of ecstasy, eyes almost closed but unable to completely cut out his view of the book. Another giggle escaped him, short and hysterical. There was a moment of silence before he broke it, shouting out, "Yes! YES!"

Dobby's jump went unnoticed as he was startled by the sudden, loud declaration. However, he was not the least bit surprised. Master's mind had been deteriorating for years, like the slow decomposition of a corpse. Though he kept it to himself and tightly locked up the insanity near others, Master could not keep this from Dobby. The house elf could have sensed it in him even if he hadn't been keeping an eye on the wizard. Master's journey to nothingness was a falling line of dominoes. To try and stop this chain reaction would only worsen the damage. Not that Dobby would try to.

"He," Master got out between laughs,"will... will... he will..."

They stopped for a brief moment as a wide grin split Master's face in a most disturbing manner. Then, "COME ALIVE AGAIN!"

The house elf felt a cold shiver run its course down his spine. Surely, he could not mean...? But, Dobby couldn't live in denial, couldn't ignore his thoughts screaming out. Master meant to... he meant to bring back the Dark Lord. Even just acknowledging this in his own mind, not aloud, brought about the stirrings of a powerful panic in the face of the very real possibility of his return. His small heart beat a hasty rhythm as a dull roar pervaded his hearing until the words of Master came as if he were underwater.

However, it was not enough to block out the man's muttered plans recited only to himself. Dobby didn't hear the whole of it, but one name in particular jumped out at him. Harry Potter.

That taste of panic grew exponentially after that. Harry Potter – the only one to defeat the Dark Lord. Dobby could not allow Potter to be taken out of the picture, could not allow the only one capable of doing that again to die. For, the house elf felt it in his bones that he would indeed return one day. Potter had to be warned at all costs. The boy wouldn't go back to Hogwarts, the house elf decided. It was the only way.

Death was the only thing that could stop Dobby now.

X

October 28, 1352

Severus Snape sneered in his usual manner at the class before him and once again wondered just why he had decided to take on this job. Oh yes, that was the reason why – Dumbledore and his merry band of hypocrites. In the safety of his own mind, Severus played out several scenarios of the old wizard's brutal death. Each was intensely satisfying.

Quite obviously, the Potions Master was in a horrible mood.

The group of second years – a combination of Gryffindors and Slytherins, the worst pairing of Houses to ever exist – all paid only half of their attention to him. After only five minutes into the class. Frankly, Severus could imagine that teaching chickens would be better than this. Expression further souring with this (not unusual) thought, he finally spoke, "Today, we will be making the first stage of the Drought of Self Consumption. It's the simplest stage, as I don't expect you cretins to have much in the way of brains. Hopefully, though, you'll at least get something right."

The faces staring at him were dreadfully confused. Like a simple-minded sheep inside of a butcher shop, gazing upon its dead fellows. Their professor sighed heavily in a put-upon way, "It's commonly referred to as the 'Man-Eater Potion,' you imbeciles."

There were then (finally) dawning looks of comprehension on their faces. Well, most of them, at any rate. Severus hated their incompetence but knew that, alas, it was more likely for the Earthly Realm to suddenly disappear than for every single student of his to understand even a simple concept. As his condescending gaze roamed over the second years, it eventually came upon Harry Potter. He ceased this to stare solely at Potter, body frozen and mind analyzing what his eyes took in without any real belief in it. The boy met his stare easily, his piercing green eyes wild yet filled with a cold, inhuman calculation. It was certainly a contradiction but the only accurate description available.

Eyes were said to be the windows to the soul, and in Potter's innermost being, he saw that unnatural monster nesting in the shadows, twining around Potter with cold, slick scales. Severus saw it every time he dared lock gazes with the boy. However, instead of whispering sins to him from afar, the monster shared Potter's green stare, one and the same with him. They were not dual personalities but one soul in two bodies.

It terrified Severus like none other.

It was, in a way, Tom Riddle – the Dark Lord Voldemort, or, to many, You-Know-Who, whichever one preferred – all over again with His grand ideals, charisma, and ability to suck even the most innocent of souls into the abyss He inhabited and alone ruled. Severus could see the chain-shawl of Destiny heavy around Potter's shoulders, leading him by the neck to greatness, just as the Dark Lord's had. His Lord had also had a certain cruelty that went beyond human to Him, freely shining in those distinctive, sanguine eyes.

But despite all these similarities, Severus could tell that while the Dark Lord had already reached the end of His potential, Potter's own climb to his limit had not yet ended and was unlikely to soon. The boy, if given an opportunity, would surpass Him as one predator eventually outlasted its competitor to become apex. The monster behind his Lord's eyes did not mirror Potter's own, for the boy's was more – more powerful, more engulfed in the blackness of evil, more of everything that went into the definition of a monster.

And this was the reason why Severus Snape, one of the Dark Lord Voldemort's best commanders, trembled so in the thorny grasp of Potter's cruel and ever-hungering gaze.

In a brief moment of insanity, he wondered why blood was not that unnatural shade of green. Surely, it would make more sense for the essence of physical life to match the soul of this man-god-demon? Perhaps, he pondered, the substance was actually green. People, ignorant creatures they were, simply did not see it, refused to believe the truth in front of their eyes. He had always, before meeting Potter, thought that red was the rightful color, to mirror the Dark Lord's gaze. After all, He was the greatest wizard to ever bless their kind's existence. But, he realized, Potter transcended this to easily surpass the Dark Lord – or, at least, he would in some years' time. So therefore, this ignored green was proof that the world's blood was the boy's to take, as it was rightfully his, he reasoned. It all made perfect sense to the Potions Master at the time, a type of logic only the insane could understand.

One of the students coughed (lightly, as to not gain punishment from the professor for 'disrupting the class'), and Severus was broken out of his trance, escaping the thoughts he preferred to bury. The staring match hadn't lasted more than a minute or two, but it had felt like hours, torturous hours of unearthing unwanted truths to have them shoved down his throat. He realized he had a light coat of sweat upon his skin and that, out of sight, his hands were shaking. He saw Potter inhale deeply, something few noticed and only Severus knew the reason for, and knew that, by the lazy, satisfied grin curling Potter's lips, the boy could somehow smell the fear wafting from the professor like a heavy perfume. To take his mind off of this disturbing concept, he continued to start that day's lesson.

"The instructions for this potion," he said then flicked his wand toward the stone wall behind him in a gesture that seemed nonchalant, "will be up on the wall."

Indeed, they did appear in Severus' spidery scrawl, colored white as to be easily seen on the wall blackened from the large amounts of potion fumes from whenever a student (that Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom, as the case for second years went this time) made a gross mistake in preparing the lesson's designated potion. It was a readable script, if barely. Thus, Severus did not concern himself with the inability of some students to decipher it. Besides, if they were prepared, they would have the necessary book.

He added in his usual acidic tone, "It is also on page thirty-four of your book. I cannot help you if you are incapable of finding exactly where it is. Those with at least half a brain should be able to manage, so I expect those of you with less to grow some more."

As appalling (and frankly, unexpected) as it was, that had happened one or two times during his career. He had refused to correct the sheer idiocy it took to follow the steps for a random potion on another page when they didn't know which symbols represented sixty-seven. It was sink or swim in life, and he was not going to prolong their journey to an inevitable drowning. Spirits knew this Realm was better off without those sort procreating. Severus was obviously a firm believer in low intelligence being passed on from generation to generation, as he had not seen much to contradict this over the years. Truly, magickind produced some incredibly stupid offspring.

"First, you will..." the professor began to explain as a supplement to the lesson. When he had first started teaching, he had not done this, leaving the class to flounder on their own without any sort of help. They could rely on the book, he had reasoned without much thought to it. However, after this, Dumbledore had threatened him (in his own, half-insane little way) to do a a better job teaching them or forget he had ever took up this task in the first place. Consequently, this meant that Severus would take on a different, non-teaching job within Hogwarts, as the Headmaster needed the Potions Master in his reach, and as there were so few available jobs fitting this description, he would most likely become the school's caretaker. And what a lowly, disgusting role that was.

So, starting with his third year of being the Potions professor, he began to talk to the students about what they were about to make, pounding into their heads the basics of potion-making and other bits of knowledge they needed to learn. Immediately, he had noticed a huge difference in the quality of their work, as well as their scores on the end-of-the-year tests. Satisfied with this, Severus had not changed a single thing in his method once since beginning it.

After five or so minutes of explaining and answering the occasional question, he let the students begin working on the assignment. The base that they had to prepare for this potion consisted of essence of hemlock and had to be heated then simmered with a low flame. This, they had no problems with (which was a relief). It was at the next step that something went wrong – so, so very wrong.

The first actual ingredient to be added was the raw meat of a human – organ, muscle, or anything else, as it really didn't matter. Technically, it was still a legal thing to use in potion-making, though it inevitably made the students queasy and unwilling. (Also, the British Ministry of Magic was on the fence on this issue, as the sources had a dubious nature where consent was concerned. Severus suspected it would soon be outlawed, adding Britain to the long list of magical governments that banned using parts taken from a human in any kind of magic, potions or otherwise.) As a solution to this, the professor told them every year without fail that the book's instructions had a mistake in them, that it was actually animal parts they were using. He often heard them whispering in the halls after this particular lesson: why would a potion they made in Hogwarts involve such an ingredient that toed the line between the acceptance and rejection of society? Severus let them remain blinded by their innocence. Once in the world outside of Hogwarts, they would shed this and see things in a different light, so he need not interfere.

Severus had to hand out this ingredient to each personally, as too many times before had a student wasted the stock in their clumsiness brought about by squeamishness. He gave them muscle for the most part, as that was a pretty much universal animal (or human) section and thus difficult to distinguish the origin of. The last student he went to, way in the back corner and blending in with the shadows, was Potter. His eyes had been, as Severus had observed out of the corner of his vision, a bit wide and darkened with anticipation and a twisted delight. By the time he stood directly in front of the boy's table, Potter's eyes were almost black and bordered on demonic. A long tongue reached out to lick lips curled into a sinister grin in one slow motion, and his gaze was attached solely to the scrap of meat in the professor's grasp. He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring like a wolf catching the scent of prey, and Potter's eyes became hooded.

Severus went to take a small step back, but inexplicably, unexpectedly found himself moving forward, instead. Invisible strings tugged at him, pulling him further toward the boy, as if he were a mere marionette. The Potion Master's movements were smooth but felt wooden to him, and no matter how hard he struggled, he was still at the student's mercy. Not a single person glanced over as they diligently worked on their potions, and Severus for once cursed the mindset he had instilled in them.

It felt like hours, those few seconds it took for Potter to lure him around the table. As soon as he was a centimeter away from his captor's form, the boy plucked the meat out of his hand like a striking viper and quickly threw it into his mouth. The professor stood there, frozen even as Potter's hold on him vanished, to watch him unhurriedly chew the piece of human flesh. A few drops of blood escaped his mouth, running down his chin grotesquely, and Potter swiped his finger to collect them. He extended the appendage, as if to taunt Severus, to tell him that the boy could not possibly be stopped in his search to quench this horrible, horrible thirst, and lapped up the blood on it. It was almost a seductive action, yet the display was forever tainted by the knowledge of exactly what Potter had eaten. He finally swallowed it then gave Severus what was not so much a grin as a savage baring of teeth, and the blood now painted them a faint red. His stomach churned in disgust and fear.

See? the smile seemed to say. This is what can happen – happen to you.

"Would you happen to have some more?" Potter whispered with the voice of a kelpie, calling sweetly from deep, black waters of death to ensnare all those listening in his net. Dragging his victims to their demises without ever a complaint from them, he would devour the masses, leaving them entranced even as their flesh was stripped from the bone. He chuckled lowly, a deep sound like his usual but different, and the Potions Master realized what made it so – that vile, shadowy monster. It was sharing Potter's voice now, exerting its control to silently explain to Severus, torment him with the knowledge that this connection went far deeper than he had estimated, that the boy was as much Harry Potter as he was that unnatural being inside.

The last few bits of human flesh in the charmed pouch on Severus' belt floated out of it to land in front of Potter with soft plops. He immediately grabbed one to eat that one too, eyes locked with the Potions Master's the whole time. When he finished it, he said with an air of mocking, "That was ever so nice of you. Thank you."

Severus' body shuddered violently, and he abruptly jerked back, finally realizing he alone controlled his own body once more. Heart beating wildly and sweat covering him, he wasted no time making his way back to his desk at the front. He shakily sat in his chair with little grace, eyes staring straight ahead at nothing as his thoughts consumed him.

Near the end of the class, the professor eventually calmed himself down as much as one could in such a situation. The students, one by one, came up to hand in their finished product, and he paid them as much attention as he could, which amounted to little. He hollowly dismissed them, and as they all exited, Potter included, he felt only a soul-deep relief like he had never experienced before. In the brief respite between classes, he tried to further settle himself. It was a futile effort.

And, as the next batch of students came in to begin learning, it, this stunning revelation, came to him, a truth that had been there all along but had remained out of sight until now. It hit him with a force that seemed as if it were real and physical. He remembered reading of it once long ago as a young man searching for a way to greatness, foolishly blinded by dreams and visions of being the Dark Lord's equal, and the description fit Potter perfectly, so wholly that it could not be anything else.

Wendigo.

X

October 31, 1352

"Mudbloods, beware!" a young yet (barely) masculine voice shouted out, the source out of sight but definitely near. "It's coming for you, filthy mongrels!"

Even before Minerva McGonagall turned the corner, she knew it was that annoying brat of a Malfoy. Though she did not teach him, Minerva knew him well enough. Malfoy was the worst of this year's second years through and through. Of all the Houses. He was a nuisance, thinking himself more powerful than the reality of it was. Every time she caught sight of the boy, the Fire Arts professor could easily picture a peacock in his place; it certainly fit perfectly well. Really, what had Lucius Malfoy been teaching his son all these years?

In coming across Malfoy once more as she rounded the corner, Minerva expected to see the boy, his cronies, and a lone victim. (Unfair odds for sure, but that was the way Malfoy handled things.) She was surprised to see a good sized crowd huddled in a semicircle around Malfoy, who was pointing his finger at the muggleborns of the group with a wide grin. He looked malicious and mean-spirited, sure, but there was a distinct lack of intimidation, making him seem all the more a twelve year old. A few muggleborns shrunk back a bit, but there was little fear in them. Malfoy's attempt to induce terror was, simply put, quite pathetic.

The only other person the crowd gathered around besides Malfoy was George Weasley, one of Minerva's own. While the blond failure spouted out his ineffective 'threats,' Weasley stood there wide-eyed and pale like a frightened rabbit. His eyes darted to and fro in obvious panic but never really absorbed what they saw. He was jittery and jumped every time Malfoy's volume passed a certain line.

Minerva, upon seeing the writing on the section of wall behind Weasley, could fully see the reason for this behavior. The red letters had the possibility of being something else, but the second she saw them, the professor knew exactly what they were painted with – blood. They were so eerily, so horribly familiar, invoking a great, weighty dread within her. Her mind screamed to her that he was long dead, that it couldn't possibly be his work. But, sure as the sun rose every morning, undeniable proof sat in front of her and unburied memories Minerva had, over the years, slowly forgot. Oh, how they taunted her now.

It was an uneasy supper in the Great Hall, for sure. Minerva, now a seventh year, felt this more keenly than the less experienced, lower years. There was only silence beyond the usual sounds of eating and utensils against plates and bowls. Everyone, including the professors, was rattled, shaken in the wake of having their own mortality thrown in their faces. Their eyes had the beginnings of being haunted in them, that bias against hope slowly forming. She also felt this in herself but could not stop its progression. After October's last day, happiness had become a precious commodity in Hogwarts. Genuine happiness even more so.

On the thirty-first, the first victim – and the start of this horror – had been found. It had been a first year Hufflepuff, sweet and innocent even in death. She had been spotted in an abandoned classroom by an unlucky student that day, her body already defiled by a week's worth of decay and rot. The school caretaker still wasn't able to completely get rid of the stench after two months.

The girl had died in a relatively painless and quick manner. The rumors on exactly how varied, but this fact was true in all of them. It was a minor comfort at best.

What made the students uneasy and disturbed was that the Hufflepuff girl was certainly not the last. Earlier in the day, the fifth victim, a third year Gryffindor, had been found, this time blatantly placed in a hallway near the Water Arts classroom. The state in which each corpse was in had steadily worsened with each succession. Each left Minerva sickened, but the most current one almost made her physically ill.

The Gryffindor had been fresh at the time of discovery. Her body was pristine, not a mark on her. In fact, it looked as if she had simply laid down and peacefully died where she sat. Not much later, the information on how she died had gotten out – or, at least, the reasons that had been ruled out. Not a heart attack, not a disease; not a spell, even. Everyone was obviously puzzled at this, and what was more was that it bred an even worse fear inside them. If they knew the cause, then they could defend against it; without this, the unknown further cornered them into a desperate position.

The only marred feature on the girl was her eyes. Like every victim after the that first Hufflepuff, they were missing, perhaps plucked out or perhaps not. Perhaps eaten, like a crow pecking at those soft, soulless orbs that were always the first part to be enjoyed. It was impossible to tell what had happened to them beyond their missing status this time, as the eye sockets were burnt to the bone, scorched into ash by some great power. A wide area around them, too, was blackened, a perfect circle radiating from where the pupil would have been. The girl's mouth was open in one last scream rendered silent. Her head was raised to the ceiling, as if crying out to a Spirit in the sky for help and, in her last moments, salvation from this torture.

Behind her, painted on the wall in dried blood, was a message, as there had been with each and every victim. With every one, it was also a different set of words, but all rhymed and all with the same taunt.

The bond that connects –

can you figure out this?

A hint to the wary:

here comes the ferry

to carry the lifeless

when gold not of metal collects.

This lynx, feline of Sight

foretold the future's path

and of jackal-headed Seth.

But there is no flight from Death

and no escape from wrath

for those who speak of hope's light.

The time of six is near;

who next will meet their fear?

Those neat, fancy words of sanguine mocked them all, laughed at their helplessness with glee. Underneath the lines lay a picture of a lynx, also in blood, as accurate and lifelike as the real creature. It's eyes were as black as the girl's, where the horrid paint was thickly layered, and the two mirrored each other perfectly. The feline, though, had an almost vulpine, silently sinister grin, all sharp, needle-like teeth and malice. Though not animated, it seemed to stare at whomever looked at it, seeing their soul and future just as a real lynx did.

This time, instead of merely hearing rumors, Minerva had seen the scene, had sensed the lingering presence of Death, colder than all the ice of the Earthly Realm. As she ate her food in small, reluctant movements, she could not control the shaking of her hands and the similar, terrified trembling of her mind. She stared at her meal only, head down, but saw not meat and vegetables but her own, imagined death in the same manner. It was a horrible but unstoppable image.

Had she only looked forward toward the Slytherin table across from her, Minerva would have seen Tom Riddle, would have seen his secretly smug, satisfied look. She would have seen the perfect face that hid those abyssal eyes – the eyes of a killer.

The Fire Arts professor came back to herself an undetermined amount of time later. Nothing had changed in the meanwhile, Malfoy's propaganda still spewing out of his mouth in that annoying voice of his. Minerva got herself together and quickly strode over to the crowd, calling out for the students to disperse. She tried desperately to ignore the memories trailing at her heels like a particularly vicious dog. It was an effort only half rewarded, the memory-hound ceasing its biting but still lurking closely behind to stalk her every move.

The children didn't obey her, chattering amongst themselves and generally ignoring her. Quite a few, though, looked to Minerva out of the corner of their eye with nervous, wary expressions. It was ingrained into them to follow the orders of a professor, or a superior in general. Some part in them, she knew, rebelled against their choice with desperate pleas, however the bloody message and, most importantly of all, perhaps, the scapegoat to this whole mess remained more interesting by far. Had she been more focused on reality and not holding the memories at bay, Minerva might have been able to settle them, but such was not the case.

When Albus Dumbledore, looking as calm and affable as ever, came around the corner, though, there was an immediate hush. The old wizard's hands were clasped behind his back in a gentle manner, but the lines of his face were harsh with a seriousness covering the horror that shone faintly in his eyes. There was also a certain breed of anger, protective and dark, in the very bottom of the pile, barely detectable but telling in its ability to be seen at all.

The masses parted silently around him as he walked to the focal point of their attention, like earth and sky parting before their creator. He seemed to grow taller, in spirit and in the students' perceptions, as they did so. The Headmaster caught sight of the writing upon the wall once he reached it, and even if he hadn't heard the whispers hauntingly familiar to him, the physical proof destroyed what Minerva realized to be hopeful doubt. The wrinkles deepened as something, fragile and full of longing for the better days, curled up tightly to die in that instinct-fueled defensive position. She wondered if Albus' remaining self, the shell of a man disguising itself as strong, would diffuse into the school and its occupants, further shaping his beloved land.

Done reading, he turned to George Weasley, and the boy froze like a rabbit, his own horror reflecting Albus' but not mirroring it in exact shape. Nearby, Malfoy grinned with delight and looked ready to make some caustic, prejudiced comment. He took an unusual amount of pleasure out of this, but it was unsurprising, considering the age old Weasley-Malfoy feud that could be quite vicious at times. Even that, though, could not continue in the face of Albus' stern look. It was not a glare but came startlingly close, proof of the man's great upset, and it also showed, if only to Minerva, that the same memory-hound followed in his shadow, too.

Albus glanced around the crowd, taking in the accusing faces and assessing the situation. From there, he drew his conclusions, and not taking sorrow-filled eyes from the three bloody lines, he quietly, almost harshly asked the Weasley boy what had happened.

The Fire Arts professor was starkly reminded of the same question posed to Tom Riddle so long ago. Riddle had been suspected by Albus all along, the Headmaster had confided in her one day, but the slippery serpent was truly worthy of the title 'Slytherin' and had evaded every attempt to pin the murders on him. Rubeus Hagrid had been arrested instead after Riddle had tried to play them all like puppets to dance around as he willed. And dance they did.

The evidence had been somewhat shaky and left little to stand on. But, really, who would believe it was actually Riddle, the very definition of a perfect student? In the end, no one.

Minerva wondered if this was the same case once more. Deep in her, she knew it was, but it was from a shadowed corner, thus something she locked away. Oh, how it flailed and raged in its cage, screaming out with ignored words. Nevertheless, it remained chained.

One image, though, broke free and was brought to the forefront of her thoughts: Harry Potter's gleaming eyes, terrifying in their similarity, on that very first day in her class. No, she told herself firmly, refusing to even think the possibility, Potter didn't do this; he had nothing in common with Riddle. That vile, bestial thing lurking behind the boy's gaze was merely a trick of the light. Nothing more.

X

January 1, 1353

Albus stared into the richly red wine in his glass as if it held all the secrets of the universe, alone in his office and alone in his thoughts. He would, on a normal year, be in the Great Hall with all his employees (the students were undoubtedly asleep by now, as it was well past curfew) to celebrate the beginning of a new year. It was just past midnight, meaning that the party would still be going strong, and more than likely, it would do so for a few more hours. It was a rare occasion to let loose without consequence for a day, thus a time they waited for anxiously. Albus, too, would revel in this, generally acting like an age he had long since left. A brief smile quirked his lips at the remembrances of past January firsts. Ah, yes, there was that one time Minerva had shown off her skills in a spell for breathing fire...

However, it quickly dropped as he returned to his somber mood. Even if his employees could forget the recent events with drinks and merriment, they weighed heavily upon his mind, a great chain that threatened to snap his spine under its pressure. A distraction was now useless to Albus; there was no rope to climb in order to escape the abyss of his guilt. No line they cast could reach the bottom of this self-dug hole where he lay.

He thought of Tom Riddle, the abused and already lost little boy swimming in the lava of revenge and bitter rage. He thought of how he had let the child slip through his fingers, blinded as he was by memories of another boy, a friend he had lost in the most heartbreaking of ways. The face of his past lover, Gellert – oh, dear, dear Gellert for whom Albus' very soul ached – had superimposed over Riddle's at times, a testament to how similar they were. By the time he had realized his mistake, had shaken off the ghosts of his past, it had been too late. Riddle had already fallen, like sunset turning to the vast black skies of night, and nothing could save him, bring night to sunrise, now. Albus had failed once more and felt it most keenly, the almost physical pain that always brought an ocean of tears.

The murders and messages so starkly reminded the Headmaster of Riddle that, at times, he saw days gone by and not the halls of Hogwarts in the present. His past mistakes haunted him at every turn, making living like a nightmare that had escaped its prison in Morpheus' dream realm. Albus could not outrun it, as there was no room to run to, no safe haven.

One element from the present, however, followed him from nightmare to reality and back: Harry Potter. The boy, the one who was supposed to be a beacon and guiding light in these days covered by the thick fog of chaos rolling in, was not what he had expected, was so, so far from Albus' vision. He was the very fog they sought to push back.

Though the combined masks of Riddle and Gellert placed themselves over Potter, Albus was not blinded again for a third time, actually saw what lay in the boy. And, just like the other two, Potter had slipped from the Headmaster's gentle, caring grasp, as if he were a phantasm, an illusion unable to be touched by anyone, man or Spirit. He had been lost so long before his arrival at Hogwarts, and Albus regretted nothing more than putting Potter on the doorstep of his only living relatives, for he could place the blame only on himself. He had caused these tragedies, had caused history to repeat itself in that horrible fashion humans only realized in hindsight. Albus didn't know if he could take any more, so ready to shatter as he was.

He vowed to himself in the silence that he would fix this, would not condemn the world with his actions once more. He had to do something to prevent the rise of another Lord Voldemort, of another Lord Grindewald, even if his heart hurt in doing so and pleaded with him not to stab it with another poisonous dagger.

It briefly occurred to Albus that he could simply kill Potter, take care of it before the disaster even started. He was perfectly capable of making it look like an accident, after all, and his many connections assured no blame would fall upon him. And yet, despite it being the most reasonable choice, Albus' mind and soul shied away from it, shunning the beginning of what could become a slippery slope to the very principles he detested and fought. Beyond that, it would be like killing Riddle and Gellert, too, and that would destroy him for sure.

Fawkes, the phoenix, friend, and familiar who sat on his perch next to Albus' desk, crooned a slow and bittersweet song laced with a hint of something darker, a symphony of wailing violins and deep, bass-filled instruments. It wasn't his usual, uplifting type of song but fit the mood much more than that. It did not break Albus from his thoughts, rather pulling him into a twilight zone between memory, thought, and the present. Nevertheless, it soothed him when none other could. The tension in his body loosened some, his hunched shoulders lowering with that taste of relaxation.

"Thank you, dear friend," he whispered, voice heavy with exhaustion and also relief. Fawkes gave a little whistle, a high and happy ditty, in response, and Albus couldn't stop the small smile from forming. It was a fond and loving expression. "You always know, don't you?"

Turning back to his wine-divining, Albus felt lighter in spirit and even body, despite returning to his previous thought processes. And so, he planned.

X

January 13, 1353

Clawed fingers, as elegant as they were deadly, reached out to bat away his ice-daggers as if they were nothing but mere annoyances, sparrows to a mighty roc. The fingers became a hand and then an arm, all from Potter's electric chains. It was akin to a monster from another Realm, horrible and its power over the weak knowing no bounds, coming out of a rip in the fabric of reality, slipping past those guarding the natural order of life. It was something that did not belong here, and he could hear the screams of pain, the wails of a Realm wronged, from everywhere and nowhere, a noise that grated on the ears and was felt more so than heard. There was no doubt in his mind that every single living being – from the plants to the animals to the humans – was experiencing the very same thing at this moment.

They only grew louder, tugging on his soul as if to savagely rip it right out, when the arm grew to a distinctly feminine torso and a long, slim neck leading to a beautifully shaped head. And, oh Spirits, that face, a facsimile of human that fooled no one, held no eyes. There were no windows to the soul, as she didn't have one.

Everything has a soul, his mind screamed with the panicked confusion of one shown irrefutable evidence that their every principle was so utterly wrong. How could it not have one?

Over and over and over, every cell in his body repeated a mantra like a prayer for a miracle in the face of Death's visage looming nearer with each second: wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, WRONG!

Ron Weasley knew true fear in those seconds that ticked on like eternity, a terror that no other experience for the rest of his life would be able to replicate.

Then, the creature spoke in an incomprehensible, hissing language that brought to mind the onyx scales of chaos and evil sliding over rough stone. There was a certain accent to her words, like the rumbling of thunder from a far distance underneath it. However, the storm was moving quickly and almost upon them with its acidic rain of fire and sun-blocking clouds, dark with the promise of destruction. It was unlike anything Ron had ever heard before, but he immediately could put a name to it – Parseltongue. His parents had once spoke of it when he was a curious six year old, his quest for knowledge unhampered by the rules and expectations of society. They had told him of the language that had spewed from Voldemort's mouth many a time on the battlefield.

Parseltongue is an unmistakable, vile tongue, my son, she said with the look of one lost in nightmarish memories. She shuddered lightly with what he later realized to be fear. It's used to speak to snakes and such creatures, and you know this instinctively upon hearing it.

She looked at him with haunted eyes, weary with the burden of shouldering such heavy memories. Her gaze was weighted, and though it did not affect him at the time, it disturbed Ron these days whenever he dared look back to that moment. It made his skin crawl and his bones chill, not sensations he wished to feel voluntarily. Solemnly and in a way that suggested she knew it was inevitable but desperately wished it were not to be so, she said, Pray you never have to hear it, Ron.

He now knew just how right she had been and adamantly wished that he could burn this from his brain, carve it out until this day forever remained blank. Unfortunately, this did not happen.

Potter responded to the creature, his hissing harsh with a tone of command, and his face twisted for a brief moment into something just as ugly and monstrous as his creation. It was a flash, almost too fast to be seen, and thus few picked up on it. Ron, gaze trained solely on his dueling opponent and unable to break away, looked further on and into the mindset of Potter. It was a world of black sky holding a sanguine moon within its starless arms, a world of endless ocean, calm on the surface but ceaselessly, furiously churning underneath the guise of tranquility. Beneath the lure of falsely undisturbed seas swam a monster as infinite as the ocean, stretching its limbs and influence everywhere it could reach. It had eerie green eyes; it had Potter's eyes.

After the boy's order, the unnatural creature retreated back to whence she came with obvious reluctance. There was then a stretch of stillness, all there frozen in silence in their inability to shake off the lingering feelings and images that, though seemingly impossible, were very real. The Potions professor was the first to act with a command for everyone to get out right that instant. The students (with Lockhart, the coward, in the lead) filed out in a mindless fashion, stumbling into the halls of Hogwarts as their minds attempted to make sense of it all. Ron shuffled out in a similar manner and was the third to last to exit, lost as he was in his thoughts.

He, out of all the students (barring Potter, of course), though, understood the most just what had happened, and unlike them, the Weasley believed in what he had seen. For, the burgeoning darkness within his heart, which had grown from an ember to a roaring flame almost with its own intelligence, had reached to Potter with infant arms, a baby asking for its guardian and the associated safety and belonging. It was as if that inkling of a shadow strained to join the larger mass, become one, perhaps. Ron dared not let it do so, afraid of the consequences, that he would lose his identity, but controlling it was like trying to hold an aleya in hands made prison. It would escape, fight wildly to get out and in the process would lead him on to his death with its enchanting, ghostly light, on to Potter. To resist would only destroy Ron, and yet true to typical human behavior, he tried to keep his self-harmful grasp.

He cursed Potter for what he could not control, for luring in the Weasley with a skull-and-horn lyre and sweet, dangerous notes. The instrument contained nothing, empty and hungering for lifeforce to fill it. And, against his will, Ron's being longed to be the one to give in. He would hold on as long as he could with all his might; it was a terrifyingly short amount of time.

X

January 22, 1353

Ron ached, not in a physical sense but close to it, as the shreds of his bindings upon the growing darkness continued to be tested by the monster's desperate, determined thrashing. As a result, he was constantly on edge, small instances of anger breaking free despite his efforts. It hadn't jeopardized his (admittedly low) ranking in the Slytherin hierarchy, but he had come so close to doing so many, many times. It was a certain sort of torture, to be holding in almost all his comments and retraining his every reaction.

Because of this, he was currently wandering the halls, keeping to the ones he knew people rarely used. It helped that classes were in session right now. Ron was supposed to be in his Wind Arts class, but at the moment, he couldn't stomach anything of the sort. He could not tolerate the forced company of his Slytherin housemates, their subtle sneers and silent jeers.

Though his House had an unspoken policy to stand as a united front in the public's eye (a 'divided we fall' sort of mentality), apparently, Ron's situation had sunk too low to completely ignore this. Their snubbing was not obvious, as some of their self-assigned restrictions remained as to not lose their image, but nevertheless angered Ron. He could read the message clearly, for Ronald Weasley was not an idiot. Nor a fool.

You're not wanted here. Your kind will never have a place with us.

He – and here Ron sneered in disgust; at whom was yet to be seen, though – stayed in his place for now, laying low in the shadows. At least, until he could strike. The Weasley disliked being snubbed so, and revenge, sweet retribution for their prejudiced rejection, would one day be his. However, he didn't quite have enough clout or power to pull it off properly, and Ron wasn't foolish enough to tell himself differently. One day, one day...

The Weasley's darkened eyes, peering from a stormy face, happened upon an unexpected sight after he turned the corner into a hallway not too far from the Fire Arts classroom. It was another corpse crumpled under a three-versed message in blood, eyes missing and their sockets scorched to the bone.

He vaguely recognized the boy as a sixth year Slytherin, one off the less known (and even less popular) ones that blended into the background and was oft forgotten. Even if he had been mostly ignored, the sixth year had a reputation of cruelty, the sort that came from a mind deranged from birth. The violence and sadism rooted in human nature had been greatly enhanced in him, making the boy someone to avoid if one valued their own health. Unfortunately, the boy's temper had a short fuse and left many victims broken in its awakening. In something just short of a miracle, Ron had not once interacted with his housemate and was grateful for it. If they had met alone in an abandoned hall or classroom, undoubtedly, one of them would surely be tortured, maimed, or even killed. And it wouldn't be the sixth year.

Now, however, in death, the boy looked terrified, as if his worst nightmare had reached long limbs into the material world to wrap tightly around him. It was an unfitting view but left Ron darkly amused. A malicious little grin curled his lips, and his eyes, shadowed almost to blackness, became hooded, the whole effect one of danger. He walked over to the body, his gait the fluid movements of a predator confident with the assurance of its natural territory. Standing in front of him and looking down with a condescending gaze, Ron said with relish, "I'd say this is a pity, Adrian Vesper."

He spit on the corpse, and it landed accurately on the black bone just over the right eye socket. With a kick to the dead Slytherin's hip that knocked him to lie limply on his side, Ron continued, "But, it obviously isn't."

He gave the other boy another hard kick for good measure and turned to walk away. It would not do to be caught as the first on the scene; he had learned from George. However, the Weasley had only taken four steps before a figure emerged slightly from the shadows of an alcove to Ron's right. The short body was obscured by the dark still, only the outline really visible – that and those eerie green eyes glowing brightly through, eyes that could only belong to Potter.

Ron tensed in wariness and caution with a hint of nervousness running through him like veins of precious metal through rock. His eyes narrowed and focused solely on Potter, as the mind behind them calculated his escape. Though logically he knew the boy was unlikely to report this back to anyone, the Weasley remained defensive, almost to the point of paranoia.

Also, the darkness struggled even harder to break free now that the bigger whole was oh so near, all the more reason to just go. However much his mind screamed run in defiance of his instincts, though, he was rooted to the stone floor, unable to move his body even a centimeter. Somehow, he managed to get out, "What might you be doing here, Potter?"

The boy in question stepped forward, enough that the flash of sharp, yellowing teeth showed when most of rest did not. He asked in return, voice a purr like a velvet-covered sword, "I could ask the same of you, now couldn't I?"

Potter fully detached from the shadows, and Ron could swear he saw their black arms clinging to the boy, like a lover reluctant to lose their beloved. He stalked to the still frozen Weasley and started to walk in a lazy circle around the other male, not so much a shark but instead a hyena. A shark, Ron knew, circled a bleeding meal impatiently and quickly, lunging with rows of deadly teeth on display without waiting long. No, Potter was indeed a hyena. He circled the lioness with a hard-won kill, laughing all the while and ready at any time to make a move in challenge. Ever mocking, Potter was a patient hunter; he would wait if necessary to steal what he needed. No amount of time was too long if the prize was worth it.

Indeed, Ron felt like the lioness, helpless to watch as the predator trapping him waited patiently for his surrender of something hard-earned. His soul was the kill, and the Weasley was desperate to keep it. As Potter tightened his hold, though, this task became nigh impossible.

The boy finally stopped, ending at Ron's back. He could not see the hyena of a boy, but the breath hot on the nape of his neck, smelling faintly of rotting meat, gave it away easily.

"Give in," he whispered against the other male's neck, the two words seductively crooned. And, oh, how tempting it was; so tempting the notion was. The darkness churned violently in Ron like wild rapids, screaming out for just that. The feeling of being right next to what it craved sent arousal coursing like lava through him. A small moan, hot and breathy, easily escaped the Weasley, loud and obscene in the otherwise silent surroundings. Potter whispered those two words again, even more seductively now, if that were at all possible. Ron's moan was louder this time as the arousal only heightened further, and from behind the thick haze around his mind, he could tell he was hard between trembling legs. Potter said them a third time, more of a command in the words now. It only served to undo Ron that much more. The boy bit the base of his neck, not a nip but a harsh clamping of sharp fangs on flesh that drew the tiniest amount of blood. That proved to knock down the Weasley's last wall.

"Yes!" he cried out with unrestrained need. And, finally, Ron Weasley gave into the darkness' demands. It was glorious.

X

August 1, 1353

Ron was sitting on his ratty, old bed, staring at the bare, wooden wall opposite him with a stony expression that disguised the deep, confused sorrow. He was completely silent and still as a statue, but he was probably the only one to do so in the Burrow, household of the Weasleys. From downstairs came loud, heartbroken wails, long expressions of fresh grief between the sounds of uncontrollable sobbing. He had woken up to these, and that had been hours ago. He, shortly after finding out the exact cause, had retreated here, not moving once in that time span. His thoughts surrounded him from all sides, exerting their gravity in a way that left Ron feeling compressed, something trapped in a box that was vastly dwarfed in comparison to the dimensions that actually fit.

His breathing was short and quick, driving him to the edge of hyperventilation but not quite over that cliff. Black intruded upon his vision from the edges, warning of what could come of this, but the boy paid little attention to this. Instead, he focused on the dreadful phantasm haunting him, the one that was always in view no matter where he went. Whether it was in the corner of his eye or blatantly in front of him, Ron could not escape the familiar – and yet so different – figure and could not escape the thin mouth framed by weary lines that taunted him so.

Why didn't you do anything, you failure? it spat, the words venomous and like a dagger through his heart. It snickered, an echoing and hideous sound with the hoarseness of one that had not spoken in some time.

Admit it, it cooed, somehow managing to remain hoarse and yet gaining a smoothness that spoke of sin, you never wanted to do anything. I mean nothing to you.

Dead eyes glazed with white pierced him, abnormally huge and fish-like in a way that made them alien to him. They didn't hold accusations, only a disturbing blankness, as if there were no brain behind them. Ron would have preferred the accusations to this foreign entity with the voice of his mother.

The voice turned harsh and deep, booming and rasping, and this suited the vision better. It asked with sadistic amusement in its tone, eyes and face not changing even once, You never belonged here, did you?

"No," Ron spoke, his own voice low and quiet. He could only vaguely be surprised at his easy acceptance of this fact, as he would not deny that he was no more a Weasley than Lucius Malfoy was.

The vision of Molly Weasley grinned widely, lips curling up in an almost-snarl to show off needle-like teeth. It was an impossibly large expression, the mouth stretching way past human limits, that took up the whole of its lower face. From between those deadly needles, it got out, I'm so glad you realize this. Good boy.

The noose tied around her skinny, bent neck turned to a single length of rope after that famous knot, and it winded upward to end two meters above her head in frayed strands. It twitched and swayed in the air like a cat's tail, slow and methodical. It strayed from this pattern now, whipping back and forth in an agitated way. Though, Ron supposed, it more likely to be in satisfaction.

The boy, at long last, got up with stiff, protesting muscles and made his way to the small window next to his bed. Its glass was extremely dirty, the kind that made it seem as if a gray fog had rolled in to block the view of the outside world. It would take a strong bit of magic to remedy this, indeed.

There was one spot, however, that remained reluctantly clear, revealing the outside because Ron had swiped his hand across it so many times in determination to look at freedom from behind his cage's bars. The hard work had, after a year or so, paid off, and it was well worth the trouble. He wiped off the latest dirt once more in a short but deeply important ritual. He got closer yet to it and rested his nose on the window while his eyes glued themselves to the scenery. He took it all in, but the view lacked the joy it normally held. Ron breathed in deeply, and though he smelled nothing but dust and a house ready to fall apart, in his imagination, all the scents of nature – the perfume of flowers, the freshly wet grass, the river babbling over mud and rocks, everything – came to him. It was usually relaxing but only dissatisfied him more now. It reminded him of what could be but was destined not to, of the freedom he had lost long ago.

Disgusted with the situation and with himself, Ron violently pushed away from the window with a growl. He stomped the short distance back to his bed and threw himself unto it heavily. He could feel his phantom's gaze following him but ignored it the best he could. The boy, in his frustration at life, slammed a fist into the bed but gained nothing from it. There was the slight sound of paper ripping, and this drew Ron's attention to the issue of the Daily Prophet from yesterday lying not too far away. He had read it countless times but nevertheless felt compelled to do so once more. He picked it up and, with a gentleness contradicting his current demeanor, smoothed out the wrinkles and carefully brought it to rest in front of his face. He read again.

Verdict Made for Hogwarts Killer!

George Weasley to Receive Sentence Tomorrow

VERONICA BLOOM – Today, after several weeks of deliberation by the Wizarding Court, the infamous Hogwarts Killer, otherwise named as George Weasley, has reached the end of his trial. Weasley was arrested in May, convicted for the murders of eight students at the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry (see pg. 4 for more details on these tragic deaths). Another students, Ginny Weasley, his sister, was later reported to be missing, now presumed dead, and there is still some debate as to whether the Hogwarts Killer was involved in this.

Since then, the Court has been examining this case critically and debating on Weasley's level of involvement. Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts and the man to report these murders, was the wizard who told the Court of his suspicions. However, the exact evidence for this has not been made public at this time. When asked for a statement, Dumbledore declined from commenting.

The Court, however, has issued the following statement: "We, as the justice system of wizarding Britain, always strive to uphold the law. It is our duty to bring the perpetrators of crimes to justice and punish them to the full extent of the law. After examining the evidence, we have found George Weasley to be guilty of all accused crimes and shall thus maintain our policy."

The Court had announced that Weasley will receive the Dementor's Kiss tomorrow at...

At that point, as he always did, Ron stopped reading, the storm of a confusing multitude of emotions reaching a peak. He closed his eyes in an attempt to block it all out, this horror of a day that surely was a figment of his imagination. But, even as his vision turned black and he sought to muffle the constant sobbing, Ron could not deny that this was reality. In the face of what this fact meant, he supposed tears should be flowing heavily down his cheeks, but such would not come. Sekhmet had breathed unto his face long ago, drying up the waters of sorrow in a place where he knew nothing but.

In the background, his specter cackled, as cold and harsh as the truth.

X

January 21, 1348

There was an old, old tale – a tale of the Spirits Before Spirits, of their creations, of their ruin. It was whispered of in ancient tomes, pages lost long ago to the ravages of time mostly. It had been whispered, also, among men, but their kind had long since forgotten this tale. Still, it lived on, though it was weak and fragile, for only one man knew it in its entirety. He had written parts of it, told each new generation, and yet, few believed him, most thinking it to be the nonsense of a ruined mind. Of those few, however, none heeded this tale's warning nor did they spread it themselves. It was sad and disheartening, but the man persevered on, telling the tale again and again in the hopes of someone seeing the truth one day.

Nicholas Flamel was a famed alchemist and the creator of the Philosopher's Stone. He was ancient behind his youthful face, having lived more than a thousand years (far more than he told the public), and was, as far as he knew, immortal. (He was of a cautious sort and was thus unwilling to bet his life on this. He was curious, yes, but he wouldn't go that far.) He had discovered many new techniques, had invented things supposedly far ahead of the times, and had made a significant impact in advancing cultures. Yet, Nicholas did not consider any one of these his greatest achievement. No, that title belonged to his knowledge, and of all that he knew, the alchemist thought the tale to be his greatest treasure.

Sitting alone in his study (one of many in the enormous castle he inhabited), he basked in the warmth emanating from the roaring fire to his left. Settling into his comfy, well-used chair, he gently opened the thin, brittle-paged book to the first, handwritten page. He had read it many, many times before, but it was worth the repetition. He read the first line and was enchanted all over again with the tale held within.

Before the beginning, there was nothing. No life existed; no elements existed; nothing existed.

Existence began with the emergence of seven beings. They were not of physical form and only existed in the same manner as Time. They simply were. With Them came the spawning of Time but not the start of it, for Time has no definitive beginning nor any definitive end. Also, there came the Realms. The Realms were Them, just as They were the Realms. There was one Realm for each of Them, but the Realms were formless and void.

As Time passed, the beings became more aware. Their knowledge was vast, as They knew everything of Their own Realm. They too knew of the other six Realms, but this knowledge was less, for there was a gap between each Realm. These gaps had been made when They, and thusly the Realms, came into existence because the beings were separate from the Others. The nothing before the beginning had not ceased; the nothing could not be erased nor replaced. The nothing was in the places between each Realm, dividing and defining Them. The beings, even in all Their might, had little domain in this emptiness, called the Void, for They existed while the Void did not.

As They became more aware, the Realms, being the same as Them, began to exist in a physical sense. The elements came into being with these physical parts of Them. There were only six elements, however: Fire, Earth, Water, Wind, Light, and Dark. They could not have all six of the elements in each of Their Realms, as three of the elements opposed the other three. Fire opposed Water; Earth opposed Wind; Dark opposed Light. The existence of two opposing elements in one Realm would turn that Realm back to nothingness. Thus, six of the beings took one element each.

With the choosing of one element, the Realms continued to form but in different ways. The separation between the Realms' existence gave each of Them a personality different from the other six. So, They identified Themselves with a name for Their Realm.

The Inferno Realm was home to the Fire element. It was filled with volcanoes from which flowed the lava that made up the surface. The air above the lava was hot from the warmth the surface below gave to it. The skies there were always red and held many suns, so that the light from them never set. There was less room in the Inferno Realm than the other Realms, for much of it was molten rock.

The Death Realm was home to the Earth element. It was a light-less place, for there were no skies and thus no sun to shine upon that Realm. The whole of it was dirt and rock and gem with tunnels as the only means of travel. The Death Realm did not shift and only stayed as still as the unmoving earth.

The Depth Realm was home to the Water element. There was only water in this Realm with no bottom nor top to it. There were no skies to cast light, so all of the water was as black as night. The whole of this Realm was still, for there was nothing to move the vast waters. It, of all, was the largest of the Realms, for no part was uninhabitable.

The Tempest Realm was home to the Wind element. It was a chaotic place where there was only sky that forever twisted and churned. All of it was stormy, and there existed only gray clouds full of rain and lightning. There was much light in the Tempest Realm, but it did not compare to the Inferno Realm, as only one sun shone its rays there. This Realm moved the most of all and never stopped in this.

The Shining Realm was home to the Light element. It was a simple Realm and without many physical traits. There were no skies, earth, nor waters. There was only a white expanse that seemed without border, though borders did exist.

The Abyss Realm was home to the Dark element. It was too a simple place, where only black existed as the opposite of the Shining Realm. In there, no skies, earth, nor waters existed either. Every place in this Realm seemed to have its own borders, ones that felt like trappings but were not.

The last and seventh Realm was absent of any element and was thus a neutral place with no special features. Instead, It combined all of the other Realms' attributes. It was called the Earthly Realm.

The Realms stopped forming when Their borders were completely filled, but this did not stop the growth of Them. Though the Realms were now complete, They were still empty, for no life existed in Them. So, the beings began to create creatures of Their own. The beings with an element made many, many different kinds of creatures, though each with certain similar characteristics that defined them as one of their own Realm. The Earthly being made only a few kinds of simple creatures, but each of the kinds was very much separate from its brother.

The creatures were all made with their own wills and minds, as they could not fully exist as part of Them. The ones in the elemental Realms cooperated with each other but only when necessary. Those creatures formed groups that coexisted in different places and ways. The Earthly creatures, however, did something else. Those ones coexisted in harmony, and all the kinds interacted with the others like the twining threads of a tapestry. They did so because they were simpler and not as varied as the other six Realms'.

Time passed in the unique manner that it possesses, and the creatures slowly began to change into other, different creatures. Those in the six elemental Realms maintained the same level of complexity and did not change much at all. However, those in the Earthly Realm became more complex, and more types of creatures developed from the preexisting ones, each less simple than the last.

As they grew less simple, the Earthly being began to understand emotion just as Its creations did, so when the Earthly being saw that Its Realm was surpassing the other Realms, It was pleased. The other beings also began to understand emotion but did so a great amount of Time later. When They had full knowledge of emotion, They understood what the Earthly being felt. They looked upon Their Realms and grew envious of the last Realm, for It had done something Theirs had not. They did nothing about it, though, because it was not a problem and because They were assured that Their Realms would too become less simple.

The six elemental Realms progressed slowly and were still behind the Earthly when a another new creature developed in the Earthly Realm. These creatures did not start as anything unusual, but soon, they became quite unlike the rest of the Earthly creatures, surpassing even all of the other six Realms' creatures. They came to be known as humans.

The humans were more intelligent and resourceful than the other Earthly ones and so came to rule over all the other creatures there. When the humans were spread across all the surfaces of the Earthly Realm, they were forced to compete for what was required for survival, for the humans were creatures that desired to gain as much as they could. Because of this, new emotions developed in the humans and in the Earthly being.

All these new emotions were less simple than those that had first appeared, but these came with consequences. The new ones were shadows to the first emotions, for they built upon the first and then twisted the emotions into something darker. There were now greed, superiority, and many other emotions like these. The most different and black of these was one called hatred. Because the humans felt hatred, suffering and conflict came to exist.

There were no such things in the six elemental Realms, and so the other beings grew worried. They feared such would come to pass in Their Realms but could not take action to prevent this, for They could not interfere. After Time again passed, Their fears became truths, as creatures very similar to the humans also developed in the other six Realms.

For the first time since the beings came into existence, the six elemental Realms communicated through the Void to the five Others. They were concerned with the new human-like creatures in Their Realms, as Their knowledge was vast. They knew that these creatures would harm Them, for They could feel the pain of the destroyed parts of Their own Realms. The six beings knew that They could not interfere with Their creations' descendents, but the creatures needed to be stopped. They pondered for many days and nights upon this problem.

However, the six beings were interrupted from Their pondering when They felt a disturbance in the Earthly Realm. As They could not look into the last Realm without much difficulty, the six elemental beings sent one each a single creature to the Earthly place. They could not interfere and so could only use their mighty powers to guide Their representatives. The Inferno, Deathly, Depth, and Tempest beings were able to get Their own creatures across the Void, but the Shining and Abyss Realms were unable to do so because Their chosen beings had greater willpower than the other four. Those two creatures had been chosen specifically for this quality, so that the humans of the Earthly Realm could not control them, but the Abyss and Shining beings underestimated the amount of willpower each of Theirs had.

It was very, very difficult for the creatures to cross the Void and still live, so the four Realms had to use a vast amount of Their energy to do so. Afterward, They were tired and weak, for Their energies were finite, even if They held much of it.

The four representing creatures made it to the Earthly place in safety and immediately began to search for the disturbance their Realms had felt. After several days and nights, they found the disturbance and were repulsed at what the Earthly being had done. It had broken the rule of not interfering, for the Earthly one had again created another new creature. It had made one that was almost exactly like the humans, but these creatures were even more complex. They were called magicals.

The Earthly one had long been jealous of the elemental Realms, and a resulting hatred had grown in It. So, It had given the magicals special capabilities, taken from the Earthly being's own powers. These special powers allowed the magicals to manipulate the Realm around them as if they too were from one of the elemental Realms. This went against the natural order of all the Realms, for the Earthly being had not been granted any element at the beginning.

Though their powers were still weak, the magicals were able to overcome the representing creatures. The magicals were greedy and thus used all their combined might to take away the elemental powers of the four foreign creatures. This made the magicals stronger because they could now claim for themselves one element each, and they could now manipulate more than they ever could have before. However, when the magicals took on an elemental affinity, they found that they could not manipulate the element opposite of their chosen one. Because of this, they tried to find a way to closely mimic what the opposite one could do but only found ways to create new types of power. They used these new types by combining two of the three elements available to them.

Soon, though, the magicals grew bored of only manipulating their own Realm. Thus, they sought to reach through the Void to control the creatures of the other six Realms. At first, they could not do so, but then the Earthly being lent more of Its energies to Its favorite creatures, giving the magicals the strength to pull powers from the four Realms through the Void and into themselves. The magicals could not contain all the power they pulled into themselves and so used it to do feats no other Earthly creature could do.

They grew more greedy still and longed to control the creatures of the Abyss and Shining Realms. With more energy from the Earthly one, they succeeded, but the magicals could only manipulate the Dark and Light, as well as combinations with the other four elements. They could not take on either of these two as an affinity.

Time passed differently for the Realms, as They were infinite in Time and thus Time had little meaning to Them. So, it was a long while before the six Realms realized that the four creatures They had sent had not returned. The six elemental beings were worried, for something must have gone wrong. The representatives had been loyal to their own Realm and none other and so their desertion was not a possibility.

They discussed amongst Themselves how to proceed and came to the decision that it was necessary for another creature to be sent. The disturbance in the Earthly Realm would not go unchecked. They decided this time to send only the representative of one Realm because They were weak and tired, and only with the combined power of all six could They send another representative. Their combined powers would indeed be mighty and could have sent more than one creature, however if They only sent one, then the Realms would have a small amount of power left. They were cautious and knew that They could not become even more weak and tired, as there could be a later use for it.

The beings debated which of Them was to have Their creature sent. Each had a single valid reason why Theirs should be chosen, and so there was a stalemate for many days and nights. While the Shining, Abyss, Tempest, Depth, and Deathly Realms were arguing, the Inferno being stayed silent. It sought to find another reason for Its creature to be sent and thought about this, unlike the Others.

Finally, the Inferno being ended the argument when It presented another reason to the other five elemental Realms. They agreed with the Inferno Realm after hearing this, for none other of Them could come up with another reason. Finally, the Inferno being picked a creature from the many in Its hold and the six elemental Realms used Their combined powers to send this creature.

When the creature arrived in the Earthly place, that Realm immediately was aware of this intrusion. It had been unaware of the four creatures sent previously, as this happening was unexpected and the Earthly being had not experienced such a thing at the time. However, It had learned from these mistakes and could recognize the presence of the Inferno Realm's creature.

The Earthly Realm was angry at this and wanted for this intruding creature to be destroyed. It did not send any of Its own, though, for this foreign creature was stronger than those that had been sent before. It decided to instead fix this problem by Its own might. So, the Earthly one began to drain the Inferno being's creature of its lifeforce. The creature struggled and fought this mightily but was of little match to a Realm. In an instant, the representative was dead, its power added to the Earthly being's own.

What the Earthly one was unaware of was that the creature's connection to its Realm had been severed. With the breaking of this link, the Inferno being became aware of Its creature's death. It too became angry and called to the other five elemental Realms to inform Them of this. After They were told, the Realms also grew angry, but They also became suspicious. They did not know why the Earthly being would do this but understood that nothing good could come of it.

While They discussed this issue, the remaining Realm finally decided on what to do with the Inferno being's power It had gained. It would create a few new creatures, ones more powerful than even the magicals. These creatures' designs would be grand and filled with all the Earthly being's ideals. The creatures would also be more loyal to It, never once straying as most of Its other creatures had done. And so, the Earthly one began to create.

As the Earthly Realm created more creatures, the other six Realms felt a disturbance there for the second time. These six beings immediately felt that something not allowable had happened. They quickly came to a single decision: the Earthly being had to be stopped. However, the only way They knew how to do this was to seal the Earthly being and partially separate It from Its physical parts. To do this, they would need to use every bit remaining of Their power, as the Earthly one was a Realm and a Realm's power was only rivaled by another Realm. Also, the Earthly Realm was stronger because the six elemental Realms had used almost all Their power to send the Inferno Realm's creature while the Earthly one had expended little power of Its own.

The first disturbance had been a brief sensation, but as the Realms discussed Their future actions, They could still feel the second disturbance's presence. This proved to hurry the six elemental Realms, as They could tell the situation was becoming dire.

Through the Void, the six elemental Realms strained to reach the Others and just barely managed to do so. Their powers all twined together into one mass, not any one element but instead a greater energy without affinity. In this new power's neutrality, it was stronger than a single element and could do any purpose laid upon it. Using all the power within Them, They made as much of this neutral energy as They were able to without destroying Themselves.

It took all of Their willpower to send the energy to the Earthly Realm and to give it its purpose: to bind the Earthly one in a place separate from Its physical Self. The energy went across the Void and into the Earthly place to surround all of that Realm. It then bore down upon the being and forcefully dragged It from Its physical Self, making two where there had once been one. The Earthly one was caught unawares, as It was still carefully creating the last of Its new creatures. The Realm was subdued by the sent energy after a great struggle. The Earthly one was bound to a special pocket of existence the energy created that lay between Its physical Self and the Void.

The energy used all of its might in this task and thus could not prevent it when the Earthly one took with It the last creation It had made. The creature was also bound to this new place but only loosely, for the energy's purpose had not included this in its task. So, the creature existed there but also half-existed in its Realm of creation's physical Self.

After doing these things, the energy disappeared, ceasing to exist in any sense. Because it had not returned to the six elemental Realms, They were without this power, and that caused great consequences. The six elemental beings were forced to go into an eternal slumber. This slumber hardly affected Their Realms' physical Selves, but They could not do anything there for the rest of Time, and so Their physical Selves did not advance, merely staying stagnant. No new creatures developed, and the ones already existing did not change through the generations. Because They slept voluntarily, there existed no way in which to wake them.

However, such was not the case with the Earthly one. As It did not slumber of Its own will, the Earthly being was not truly sleeping. There was a possibility that It would awaken yet a very small one. But, it was certain the last Realm would one day come back to Its physical Self.

Nicholas abruptly glanced up from his reading material, a faintly startled expression gracing his face. His whole body was frozen while his thoughts raced about wildly. He had felt a strange sensation, an extremely brief one but something he automatically recognized. He hadn't felt this in a very long time but could remember it as if it were a memory of the day before. It was a shift in the very flow of magic, a change in placement that could still no doubt be felt across all seven Realms. The great tapestry of the Fates had been altered.

X

END of Fragments of Yesterday II

NOTES:

"...like the Morning Star, trapped in darkness and ever-awaiting the chance to break loose, to rain down fire across the lands. This entity was an evil that could not be given any other title.": This is a reference to Judaic/Christian mythology. Everyone probably knows about Lucifer (or, to many, just Satan), but just in case you didn't know about this, he was also called the "Morning Star" (either that or Lucifer means Morning Star... whatever). Or at least, when he was still on the right side of the fence (and not dwelling in eternal fire underground). The "Revelation" section of the Christian handbook clearly states that Satan will be back (Terminator style!) one of these days. And apparently, his way of saying hello is destruction.

"...with the voice of a kelpie, calling sweetly from deep, black waters of death to ensnare all those listening in his net.": The kelpie is a creature from Celtic mythology. It's a horse that lives in the water and lures people in with its voice. Then it drags them into its lake or pond or whatever body of water to drown them. Children taste especially yummy. (I'm sure I've already covered this in a previous chapter, but I figured the refresher would be nice.)

The bloody love note from Riddle in Minerva's flashback: Okay, this admittedly went on longer than I wanted it to, spanning three verses. Ugh. So, the first verse: The first two lines are a taunting question. The next four describe the basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets coming to kill people ("ferry to carry the lifeless") with a hint about its golden eyes that do the killing ("gold not of metal collects"). Second verse: The lynx thing is a nod to the victim's Gryffindor House membership... in a vague sort of way. Since the lynx can symbolize divination, it fits the best. The part with "jackal-headed Seth" is about the Egyptian god of the dead. The fourth line, on the outside, details that the victim's death was inevitable but, on a deeper level, references Riddle's preferred name ("vol de mort" is "flight from death" in French). The last two lines are a warning to those that speak out against his killings ("speak of hope's light") and how if they do, they'll be swimming with the fishes. Shut up or die, basically. Third verse: It's a fairly obvious meaning here: the next victim is number six and no one but the killer knows who it's going to be.

"...seeing the soul and future just as a real lynx did.": I looked up what various animals symbolized on the internet and found the meaning of the lynx somewhere. I don't really know if any of this is true, but the site said that lynxes symbolize "Keenness of Sight, Divination, Developing Psychic Senses, Keeper of all Secrets and Mysteries, Movement Through Time and Space, Secrets and Vision of the Hidden and Unseen." I thought it fit rather well.

"The masses parted silently around him as he walked to the focal point of their attention, like earth and sky parting before their creator. He seemed to grow taller, in spirit and in the students' perceptions, as they did so... She wondered if Albus' remaining self, the shell of a man disguising itself as strong, would diffuse into the school and its occupants, further shaping his beloved land.": In Chinese mythology, there is the story of Pan Gu, the guy who created the world. In this, the world started out as a "big black egg," according to the site I found, then the sky and earth were created with Pan Gu in the middle. He grew taller and taller as the two began to separate further and stayed between them so that they wouldn't touch. Eventually, he died and all the parts of his body became different parts of the world (one eye became the sun, the other the moon; his blood became the waters; etc.).

"...like a nightmare that had escaped its prison in Morpheus' dream realm.": Morpheus is a figure from Greek mythology. He reigns over dreams (obviously, considering he is the god of dreams). This reference is pretty much a "no duh thing."

"...mere annoyances, sparrows to a mighty roc.": A roc is a creature from Middle Eastern mythology (the wiki wasn't really all that specific). It's a giant (and I mean really huge) bird of prey. Marco Polo (the dude, not the game) was responsible for popularizing it in the West. Sparrows, for those of you without them nearby (lucky you), are tiny birds that actually exist in the real world.

"Everything had a soul, his mind screamed...": This isn't a reference to any mythology but rather the fic itself. In Scourge, wizards and witches are taught that everything has a soul, no matter the Realm.

"...the onyx scales of chaos and evil...": This is a reference to the evil god Apep from Egyptian mythology. He was quite an evil guy – or rather, snake. He was the embodiment of chaos and evil and did generally evil stuff. Yeah, he's evil.

"...like trying to hold an aleya in hands made prison.": An aleya is something the Bengali people call strange happenin's in the marshes. It's also called a "marsh ghost-light" and generally scares the shit out of people. Apparently, it's thought to be a strange sort of gas or the spirits of dead fishermen. Either way, it'd be a pretty hard thing to hold onto.

"...luring in the Weasley with a skull-and-horn lyre and sweet, dangerous notes.": This is a reference to the kissar. I was looking up harp references in various mythologies and found this. The kissar is a lyre made out of human skulls and gazelle horns and originates in central Africa. Some tribes believed it held a soul inside.

" Sekhmet had breathed unto his face long ago, drying up the waters of sorrow...": Sekhmet is a goddess from Egyptian mythology. Her breath supposedly created the desert, and deserts have a distinct lack of water. Also, she's based off of a lioness, which is admittedly fitting for this chapter.

The Spirits Before Spirits: I forgot to mention this in my writing but that whole scene was about the Old Ones (something mentioned last chapter). I didn't specifically name them as such, but it's nevertheless true.

"The great tapestry of the Fates...": Most, if not all, mythologies have somebody that dictates fate or destiny or whatever they call it these days. There's the Moirai of Greek mythology, the Parcae of Roman mythology, the Norns of Norse mythology, and others I'm not going to mention. This reference could realistically fit any of these and so I shall leave it to the reader's interpretation.

TBL: Hope it lives up to your standards, people. I was going to write most of this differently, as per the original outline made, but then decided to change a lot of things. You should be glad. XD Looking back, I can see it was horrible before. Anyways, you should pay attention to this chapter and remember it well because it foreshadows many, many things yet to come and also sets up for further plot elements.

I kept forgetting this but now I remembered, so to all those wonderful people who reviewed (happy or not): thank you very much! I'm sorry if I didn't reply to each and every one of you but know that all of you are appreciated.

The few. The proud. The strong. The reviewers. Be a reviewer today. Help your writer.

7/11/2012