He’s
running... they’re chasing. He doesn’t know who, yet. But it’s easy to guess
why. He has to keep running, he’s almost there. He sidesteps around a large
tree, hoping that it will hide him from their view for a few moments. It
doesn’t. One jumps out from the side, and slashes at him with a long, sharp
blade. It gets him, ripping a deep gash in his left shoulder. He looks up at
the thing... it looks almost like a human, except hidden in a cloak and hood,
as black as the depths of space... with bright red eyes glowing from its
shadowed face.
It goes
to attack again, but luckily, he is not without means to defend himself. In his
right hand, he holds a long, thin, curved sword. He sweeps out with it, and
catches the creature across the face. A sick, piercing scream echoes from
somewhere under the hood, but he doesn’t wait around to finish the thing off.
He has to get there, he must...
But the
blood loss from the gaping hole on his shoulder is taking its toll on him. His
vision is blurry, and he’s having trouble keeping his eyes open at all. In the
back of his mind, he knows that all he wants to do is lie down, and have a
nice, long, nap... but he can’t... not yet.
Ahead
of him, a group of his pursuers appear from behind some of the larger trees in
the forest. He’s close now, near to his goal... and he can’t let these...
things... get in his way. He reaches out his injured hand, painfully, towards
the group.
“THUNDERA!”
His
voice echoes loudly off the forest around him, and one of the trees near the
creatures explodes from the force of a lightning bolt from his fingertips. The
force of the explosion knocks the creatures down, and he runs, full tilt,
through the small opening, jumping the, now smouldering, ashen remains of a tree
stump. In the distance, he sees a thin ray of flickering light shine through
the dense brush of the forest. His heart skips a beat... he’s almost there.
And
then, pain. Unimaginable, excruciating pain. One of the creatures had been
waiting for him... and now, he looks down at his stomach, and sees a long,
blood stained, metallic blade poking its tip through his skin. He swings behind
him with his sword, feeling it cut through a mess of flesh and bone... and when
another sick scream comes from behind, he knows that he hurt it.
He runs
forward, the blade still sticking through him, and he breaks out of the dense
trees, into a vast open field. He can barely think... the two open wounds on
his body are draining him of all his energy. He rushes forward... and finds
himself in front of a small wooden cabin. With pools of blood forming at his
feet, he limps towards the door. Leaning on his sword, he raises his hand, and
bangs loudly against the splintering wood.
* * * * * *
“What a
night, eh Fang?”
It’s a
night like any other for Hagrid. He’s alone in his cabin, save of course for
Fang. He’s been spending the last few days of summer break to get his lessons
ready for the upcoming school year. He’s been getting some surprises ready for
his sixth years. They’re almost ready to start with some bigger animals soon.
He sits
down at his small table, pouring himself a cup of tea, when Fang lets out a
small, muffled bark.
“What’s
wrong with ya, boy?”
Hearing
nothing, he shrugs his shoulders, and takes a sip of tea. He’s just about to
take a bite of a rock cake, when...
BANG
BANG BANG
“Someone’s
at the door? At this hour?”
He
stands, and heads toward the door. Just to be safe, he grabs his crossbow from
its hanging place beside the entrance. He opens the door.
He sees
a young, pale man, leaning on a curved sword. He sees the pointed tip of a
metal blade sticking through the man’s stomach, and a large, deep gash along
his shoulder. He reaches out to steady the man as he nearly falls over.
“Are ya
alright?”
“Dumbledore...
need... Dumbledore.”
“What’d
ya want with Dumbledore? What happened to ya?”
But,
before he could get the answers, he sees a group of black-cloaked creatures
emerge from the depths of the dark forest, each one holding a long blade.
Without thinking, Hagrid picks the young man up, and sets him on his shoulder.
“Come,
Fang!”
Crossbow
in hand, and Fang at his heels, Hagrid runs as quickly as he can towards the
castle. Behind him, he hears the sound of heavy footfalls as the creatures give
chase. He turns, aims his weapon, and fires, catching the closest one in the
leg. It stumbles, and falls, causing its comrades behind it to trip.
“Clumsy
oafs.”
He
reaches the entrance of the castle, pulls the doors open, and runs into the
Entrance Hall. He lays the man on the floor, and turns to shut and lock the
doors.
“HELP!
SOMEONE GET DOWN ‘ER!”
He
shouts at the top of his lungs, which is actually loud enough to make some of
the people in the paintings around the Hall cover their ears. After a few
minutes, footsteps from the dungeon tell him that his voice was heard. Filch,
Hogwarts’ caretaker, comes from around a corner, wearing a long night robe.
“Hagrid!?
What the blazes are you doing here at this time of night? ... Oh, my God!”
Filch
looks at the pool of blood on the floor, and then to the young man lying in the
middle of it.
“Filch,
go and get Dumbledore, and send Mrs. Norris to get Madam Pomfrey, will ya?”
“Yes,
at once.”
Hagrid
turns back to the door, as Filch runs off. He opens the door, ever so slightly,
to see if the creatures were still out there. He could see only darkness, but
loaded his crossbow again, just to be sure.
A few
minutes later, Dumbledore and Filch rush into the Hall, closely followed by
Madam Pomfrey, and Flich’s cat, Mrs. Norris.
“Poppy,
please see to the lad.”
Dumbledore
crosses the room, and places his hand on Hagrid’s arm. The half-giant closes
the door and turns to face the Headmaster.
“Hagrid,
what happened here tonight?”
“Don’
know, Sir. He just showed up at my door, bein’ chased by weird lookin’ things
in black robes. He had that blade through ‘is stomach, an’ a nasty gash on ‘is
shoulder... so I brought ‘em up ter the castle.”
“Black
robes? Hagrid, would you please find any teachers who are in the school, and
tell them to come here, at once?”
“Right
away.”
As
Hagrid runs off, Dumbledore crouches beside Madam Pomfrey to look at the
injured man.
* * * * * *
The
night had come very quickly for Professor Trelawney. She tried to go to sleep a
few hours ago, but woke up with an irresistible urge to gaze into the crystal
ball, and for some reason, she felt a great deal of apprehension to do so. Now,
she sits at a table in her classroom, with the crystal ball in front of her.
The fire, which usually fills the room with a strong perfume, is out, allowing
her total concentration.
She
looks deep into the foggy interior of the ball, and slowly, surely, the shapes
form a picture... a story contained in the transparent orb. She sees a
figure... a shaded face with flowing yellow and orange robes. She looks
deeply... and lets the power of the orb take her. As she had three years ago,
she feels herself go into a trance, only this time... she hears her own voice,
spoken loudly and clearly.
“The Dark Lord has been gaining strength, and
with the gathering of the sacred statues he will bring forth the ancient evil,
sealed since the beginning of magic. The power of the Espers will fight him,
and that power will be protected. He comes forth soon... the Clown of the
Devil... the one whom the Dark Lords of past and present praise as Master...
the Fallen Angel...”
She
snaps out of her trance, covers her eyes with her hands, and breaks down
crying. She reaches out, takes the orb in her hand, and throws it against the
wall... causing it to shatter, and tiny shards of crystal to rain down upon the
floor. A muffled tapping on the trapdoor entrance to the room makes her wipe
her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Yes?”
The
trapdoor swings open, and the shaggy head of Hagrid pops up from the floor.
“Professor,
are yeh alright?”
“Yes...
yes, I’m fine, Hagrid. Did you need something?”
“Dumbledore
be wanting all the teachers ter meet in the Entrance Hall. Sometin’ weird goin’
on tonight.”
She
pulls a cloak over her nightrobe and follows him back down, through the
trapdoor, and past the many paintings on the seven floors down. As they descend
the marble staircase, Professor Trelawney gazes upon the young man, lying in a
pool of thick red blood. She sees Headmaster Dumbledore standing next to Madam
Pomfrey, and around them, Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout, all dresses
in their nightrobes, stand, waiting impatiently, to hear from the Headmaster.
“Headmaster...
what happened here?” Her voice is wavering with an unexplained fear. Dumbledore
simply shakes his head, and motions to the teachers to gather around him.
“This
boy was attacked somewhere in the forest... but we cannot be sure of whom his
attackers are. We do have,” He holds up a long, curved sword, covered in think
blood, “this. He managed to hurt one of the beings.” Dumbledore takes a white
handkerchief from his robe pocket, and wipes the blood from the sword, staining
the small piece of fabric. “There should be enough blood here to form a
protection barrier around the school grounds. I want each of you,” he indicates
to the teachers, “to take a section of the grounds, and protect it.”
Almost
in unison, the teachers say “Yes, Headmaster,” take the handkerchief, and are
off, out the door to the grounds. Dumbledore turns to Madam Pomfrey.
“Poppy,
we need to get the lad to the hospital wing right away.”
Together,
they conjure a stretcher for the young man, and take him off, slowly up the
great marble staircase, to the hospital wing.
* * * * * *
“Ugh...
where... where am I?” His voice is harsh and forced. He tries to open his eyes,
but can’t seem to muster the strength. He hears a voice, far off, ringing
through his ears.
“Headmaster,
he’s awake!”
He
tries to sit up, but feels a hand on his shoulder, holding him to the bed. With
a great amount of effort, he opens his eyes. The light floods his senses, but
after a few minutes, he sees a shape take form in front of him. A man, with
long silver hair and beard is standing, looking down over him. He knows this
man... he needed to see this man! He sits bolt upright, reaches out, and grasps
the old wizard by both shoulders.
“DUMBLEDORE!”
he shouts, “did I make it? Am I at the school?” Dumbledore nods, and pushes,
with more strength than it seems he should have, the young man back down onto
the bed.
“Yes,
my dear man, you are at Hogwarts. Are you feeling alright?” There is a niceness
in the old man’s voice, which makes the boy calm down.
“Yes...
I feel okay. Why?”
“Because,
my young friend, when we found you, this was sticking through your stomach.”
Dumbledore places, on the bedside table, a hand. The skin was pale white, and
it had been severed from whatever once owned it. On the end, pointing out and
shimmering in the torchlight, is a long metal claw where the ring finger should
be, covered with blood and bits of flesh. The man looks at the claw, and then
down to his own stomach... at the, now scarred hole, where this weapon had been
pulled from.
“Guess
I got him good then, eh?” He sounds almost impressed with himself, rather than
worried about his injury. Dumbledore nods, and smiles to the boy.
“Yes,
there was even enough blood to perform a barrier charm around the school
grounds. You did well. I don’t suppose you know what they were, do you?” The
boy shakes his head, and Dumbledore sighs. “Too bad. We could’ve reported the
attack to the ministry. Now then... is there anything you want to tell me?”
“I
don’t think so, Sir.”
Dumbledore
looks sternly at the young man, and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a
small vile full of a silvery, reflective liquid much like fluid glass.
“This,”
he places the vile on the table, beside the hand, “was found in one of your
pockets.” Looking back at the boy, he
sees a look of near fear at the sight of the vile. The boy looks up at
Dumbledore...
“So...
you know what I am, then?”
Dumbledore
nods, and lifts another object to the table... a long, curved sword, covered
with blood.
“Yes,
my boy... I know what you are. Now, I must ask you who you are here for?”
“I
don’t know who, yet, Sir.”
“A
student?”
“I
believe so.”
Dumbledore
breathes in heavily, and sits down on the edge of the boy’s bed. He thinks for
a moment, and then nods his head.
“Yes,
then. We will be sure to give you all the help we can. I’ll figure something
out for you. Until then, rest... and heal.”
“Thank
you, Sir.”
He
reaches up, and shakes the old wizard’s hand. He watches as Dumbledore leaves
the hospital wing, and sits silently as Madam Pomfrey sprays a magical healing
solution on his scarred stomach. When she is done, she leaves, and he drifts to
sleep.