Chapter 10: Telling of Tales of Days of Future Past
By: The Dark Aeon, Chronos the Fallen, Divine Entity of the Dark Pit of ever Despair
Auhtor's note: Few, winter break is almost here, and that means peace and quiet… hopefully. Anyway, I'm working on a few different things, my dnd, my other stories. So I'm sorry this dind't get out as quickly as I wanted. I happen to like the little exchange in this chapter so enjoy it. And again, R&R.
Crimson: Happy now, this is just the beginning.
So many people hate Ron… good, join the dark Side.
Enjoy, my friends.
* * * * * * *
It had been six hours, thirty-seven minutes, and sixteen seconds since the incident, and six hours, twenty-seven minutes, and sixteen seconds since Roland had been through out of the house. Hermione unceremoniously booted him out, leaving him no chance for explanation. With that, it had been six hours, fifteen minutes since he had been trying to get drunk. Clearly, it wasn't working as Roland could still see straight despite the fifth bottle of Fire Whiskey he had just finished.
Now, he was sitting with his half empty crate of liquor on the side walk of the Granger Residence, and looking up at the darkening sky. The sun was sitting behind him, and the street lights were coming on. Staring up at the heavens, a simple thought came to his head. "I wish it would snow," he said out loud without really thinking. As much as he hated the color white, snow and the cold were a wonderful feeling. Roland hated being warm all the time.
"I happen to like the weather here." Roland's face sunk as he knew who it was the moment they had opened the door and walked down the driveway.
"I would have apologized sooner, but Hermione threw me out too quickly," Roland replied. He took another deep swig of the Fire Whiskey, wondering if it was possible to get it colder, maybe Ice Whiskey perhaps. "That wasn't supposed to happen. I should have-"
"You were fine," Harry said, taking a seat next Roland. The man's eyes never moved from the sky. "I just have a lot of problems."
"Problems that go back pretty far, say your childhood?" Roland asked, but he knew the answer. He had helped enough abused kids to know the answer. "Its problems that you need an anchor for and I can't provide that. Hermione…"
"Stop, okay," Harry said. "How do you know so much? I've been here for only a few days, known you for a week or two, and yet you know everything about me. How?" Roland didn't reply. He isn't ready yet. "Roland, you need to tell me these things. You talked of things that no one and I mean no one, not even Hermione, knew about. How did you know?" the man sighed, and lowered his head. Maybe it was time.
"Every time I look up, I wonder whether or not He really exists. Funny, I know the Morning Star exists." Roland touched his chest, and felt his double heart beating beneath his rib cage. It felt weird despite having lived with it for the past five years of his life.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that there is a battle being fought in our very world, under your noses," Roland looked at Harry. "Angels do exist, Harry, as do their counter parts." There was a flash of red lightning in the background, and the light flickered about them. Roland wondered if Harry saw the very quick change to his different form.
* * * * * *
The strangest thing occurred. Red lightning cracked somewhere in the distant, but when the street-light flickered
over them, Harry could have sworn that Roland had ram horns coming out of his forehead. But that was impossible. No one
could have changed that quickly. "Did you just drop or raise an illusion?" Harry asked.
"Didn't think you were ready," Roland replied. "Doesn't worry about it, when the time comes you'll understand." The streetlight flashed on more time, and Roland was back to normal. "There are some things in life that most people aren't ready for." The man shrugged. "As for your question about my abilities, let's just say it's for my job more so than anything else."
Harry wasn't convinced, but held his tongue. Something was differently off with Roland; he just needed to place his finger on it. He defiantly needed to talk to Hermione. "I don't like him." Roland took another drink from the whiskey. It looked he had been drinking for awhile, there were bottles sitting around him.
"Who?" Harry asked.
"Pride runs deep within him," Roland continued. "As if it was him." He chugged the rest of the whiskey.
"who, Roland," Harry asked more forcefully. He didn't like secrets being kept him, especially after what
Dumbledore did. "And don't say it doesn't concern me."
"Ronald Bilius Weasley," Roland replied, "Born to Mr. Arthur Weasley and Mrs. Molly Weasley on April 12th. Youngest male of seven, second youngest in family." Harry stared at Roland, it was impossible that he knew all that. Harry doubted that Roland was in the Order, and even if he was, it was impossible to get that kind of information.
For amount, neither of them spoke. Roland just kept on drinking, intent on finishing his liquor. Harry could have sworn that Roland said something but took it as nothing. Instead, Harry was thinking about the man sitting next to him. Roland was enigma of a new kind, who only spoke with answers to your questions, but that only left more questions. Everything seemed to go towards a plan, but where that plan began or end no one knew. Harry had a hard time talking to him, knowing that it was going to be impossible to get the answers he wanted. But it never hurt to try.
"How do you know that?" Harry asked, but didn't expect a straight answer.
"The same way you do anything else, you watch." Roland just stared forward. "I've met his parents and from the way both of them act toward everything, especially when your name is mentioned, she is an overly loving mother, i.e. many children to give that love to. And only a man that cruel to his girlfriend could be born in April." Harry was still processing the first part when the words cruel and girlfriend hit his eyes.
"What?" he replied. His friend wasn't cruel to his best friend; that was unfeasible.
"Pride is something Ronald lacks, so he gets it from control, which is control over his girlfriend." Roland looked at Harry and obviously saw the confusion in him. "Just watch them, really watch them and you'll see." Roland stood up. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. Read the books that I gave Hermione to get information on your element, Earth by the way. Ron's is fire is he asks, which I doubt. Just be ready for a work out. I'm not going to ask anymore questions about your past, unless they are becoming a problem with your fighting." Holding his hand up, all the empty bottles flew into the crate which was on the other side of Harry. Another quick motion and the crate was in Roland's hand. "Hermione's probably worried about you. Go inside and talk with her. It's what she really wants from you."
The street light flickered above them before going out entirely. The light from the house showed that Roland was still there, but as he walked away, he literally disappeared into the darkness. Harry stared at where he could have sworn Roland just was. A crow cawed somewhere, and flew past Harry, and in the same direction as Roland. He just stared forward, wondering what Roland meant when he said just talk to her, and the remark about pride. There were just more questions to be asked, especially, what was an element.
For a while, he sat out there, thinking about what the conversation he had just had. The silence of the night was finally broken by a hand on his shoulder. "Harry?" the soft sweet, innocent voice was one he would recognize even if he was deaf. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," Harry replied. It was a lie, as everything wasn't okay, but she didn't need to know that.
"You know you can talk to me," she asked, and a smile came on his face. He nodded, but didn't look back at her. "Okay, so if you ever and I mean ever-"
"Thanks, Hermione," Harry smiled and finally looked back at her. She seemed lost and alone, standing out in the silhouette of the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. The way she swayed and moved with the wind held his childish quality, but only when they are scared or alone. Harry patted the curb next to him. "I'll take you up on that offer." It had taken a lot of courage to say that, but Harry needed to do it.
"I'm sorry about the way he acted toward you today." Hermione had yet to say her cousin's name since the incident, still mad at him. "He had no right-"
"He was trying to help Hermione," Harry interrupted. It was now or never.
"I knew they were bad to you, but-"
"My first real memory of my childhood was when I was seven and out playing in the park. I was playing in the sand, by myself. This wasn't something new as the Dursleys liked to keep me away from other children. I rarely got outside at all; in fact I think that was the first time saw a tree." Hermione gasped, her hands going to her mouth. Harry looked at her and saw that she wanted to say something, but was grateful that she didn't. It was hard enough talking about his past, without the sympathy and pity. "Anyways, the Dursleys were out on a trip. I forget what it was for, probably for Dudders or something, but it doesn't matter. Mrs. Figg was babysitting me at the time, and decided that she wanted to take me on an outing. The cloths I wore were still too big, but neither of us seemed to care.
"We went to a park near by: she sat on a bench and read a book, while I played in the sand. I had never seen it before, and Mrs. Figg had to explain what it was to me before. But once I found out what it was, I just had to play in it. She said, `you can build your own worlds and take yourself away from this one.' I took that to heart, for even then, I knew that I hated the Dursleys. So I was playing in the sand, creating a world where I was taken away from the evil place I lived." Harry wished he could stop as he felt tears forming at his eyes. But he couldn't, he had to finish his story. Hermione had to know.
"I was there for a while, but when I looked up I noticed that Mrs. Figg was talking to Uncle Vernon. He was pretty upset, yelling about how she dare take me outside. Then this fat shadow appeared behind me. I knew who it was without looking. It was Dudley. Before I knew it, my sand-world was destroyed by his large feet. When I got home…" Harry choked in a sob, holding back his tears. He quickly wiped them away before continuing. "When I got home, I got the worst beating of my life. I never knew why, but…" Harry couldn't continue. He didn't want to think about it any more.
Hermione quickly hugged him, knowing how much pain he was it. She held him tight, trying to hold back her own tears, but wasn't successfully. Harry didn't wrap his arms around, she noticed. In fact he wasn't making a sound. Hermione pulled away slightly, and looked at her broken friend. His face was contorted and closed, his eyes squeezed shut. His mouth was frowning and barely open, taking shallow breath. Every once in a while, he sniffed, trying to hold back his tears.
Dear god, echoed through her mind. Fate had to be so cruel, even keeping a child from crying when it hurts the most. She pulled him back into the hug, holding him even tighter. The motherly side of Hermione took over as she tried to sooth the lost little boy. No one, not even Ron, knew of this side. Hermione had her fears that this had happened to him, after seeing Harry even skinnier one year when he came back to Hogwarts, but didn't think it was this bad. Hermione rubbed his back softly, moving in circling motion with her hands. She cared for him so much and it hurt her to hear about it, but knew that it hurt Harry more to live it.
After a while, Harry stopped crying, but he didn't stop telling his story. Hermione didn't let go either; in fact, she was practically in his lap without knowing. There were times when she broke into tears, time for Harry that was horrible and cruel beyond a doubt. The past of her best friend broke her heart with every word he said. And as hard as she tried, she couldn't hold back the tears. Harry finished his story and they sat there under the street lamp. His past hurt her too, knowing how kind and sweet Harry was. The tears fell harder than they have before, and it was his turn to comfort her. Finally he said, "You wondered why I broke down to day, there it is."
"Someone who cares as much as you do should never have to go through something that like that," Hermione replied. Harry shrugged, wishing he knew what to say. He remained silent as Hermione held him tighter.
She buried her head on Harry's shoulder. He did his best to sooth her feelings, but they were too strong. "Hey," Harry finally pulled away. "Tears should never run do such a beautiful face. Never." In this single moment, he had forgotten about the prophecy. Hermione was all that mattered; nothing else broke through into their world and disturbed them. It was only tow children, comforting each other on the loss of one. For one's pain was the other's, and one's sorrow was felt by the second too. Had Roland been around, he would have seen a faint white glow around them, growing with each passing moment.
It was then that Harry realized what mattered the most to him; his best friend, Hermione. He could have never shared this with Ron, but here he was with Hermione (in his lap), talking about the pain he had go through in his childhood. She was his rock, anchoring him from the battering winds of life and sheltering him from the cruelness. And it was her who his love was for.
* * * * * *
Somewhere in England, where the school was built on the blood of angels, two old men stood around a orb watching the exchange to the children. The room was lit softly by candle light and a dying fire. Books were spread out from hours of research, and two cold plates sat on the desk of the headmaster. A perch was empty as the bird who resided there had gone off hunter. A crow flew through an open window just to land on the perch. Neither men noticed, but did as a voice spoke. "My equal wouldn't like it if he found out you were spying on them."
Neither men jumped, but the older one did look up. "I believe the term he would use is `perverts'."
"Relax Dumbledore," the other man said, still watching the orb.
"A friend of Roland's I presume, Steven." The blue in Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he watched the crow get comfortable upon the perch. He walked over and stroked the bird, but frowned as it moved away from his hand.
"Guide, actually," Steven replied. "Roland's totem spirit. Amazing amount of magic went into the creation of it, and I've yet to learn the secret."
"I'll have you know that I've been around since the beginning of my people." The crow flew over to the orb, landing on it. "And I believe I said stop it." It tapped it talon against the orb and the picture faded from within. "They have their right to privacy."
Dumbledore smiled at the totem. Though its beak didn't move, it still spoke with elegance and honor. The voice echoed through the small room. He could have sworn a flute was playing as the bird spoke. "You of all people should know Roland's belief on privacy. After all, he's punished you a few times for spying on him." Steven turned red, and if the bird could, Dumbledore would have sworn that it was smiling.
It flew over and landed on the headmaster's shoulder. "You I wouldn't expect it from."
"I was looking on for them," Dumbledore replied, without an ounce of guilt in him. "I see Harry-"
"As a grandchild," the crow said, "and right now, he sees you as the snoopy old grandfather who won't leave him alone. Every bird must be let out of the nest sometime. And every warrior must be trusted with the ways of the forest."
"A wise old bird," Steven added, "isn't he?"
Dumbledore looked at the bird for a moment. The crow had this ancient aura that spoke thousand of years to the old man. There was something about it that calmed everything down. "Have you ever heard of the Order of the Phoenix?"
"I have a friend whom once took the form of a phoenix as a guardian, but that is the closest to the phoenica that I have gotten to."
"I can't believe your serious, Albus," Steven replied. "You're asking a bird to join."
"He would be of use to us." The bird shook his head; already understand what was happening around
him.
"Alas, I'm already over burden of equal, who's requested that I find the totems of the Chosen. Which brings to me the reason I am here."
"Which is." It was obvious that Steven was disturbed by the bird's presence. While he believed in magic, he believed in more a scientific way then a spiritual look such as Roland. The crow ignored the man.
"There is turmoil within the Ethereal Plane, and many of us totems are getting to get worried. Something is going to happen that is going to disrupt the existence of the world."
"Do you have any idea?" Dumbledore asked. The Ethereal Plane had been acting up according to some of the ghosts within the castle, but none really knew what was happening.
"Sadly, no," the totem replied. "But it will be big." The crow stretched its wings before taking to the air. "Take care, my friends, and I bid you good luck, I must continue my geas."
Dumbledore watched as the crow flew back out of the window, disappearing into the moonlit night. "Amazing," he said, to see such magic in a perfect form, even he was impressed.
"It's a simple trick," Steven said, going back to the orb. "Damn bird, he shorted out my Eye of Seeing."
"Probably for the better," Dumbledore looked back out the window, "It is their life after all." He was finally beginning to see that he couldn't force Harry to live a life that he wanted to. HIS dearest sympathy went out the boy, after all they heard everything. and although Steven didn't shed a tear, Dumbledore was threaten to. His guilt of keeping Harry there for over sixteen years hurt him and would never go away. But sometimes, it was better to work towards the future then remember the past.
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