I know this took awhile to upload, thanks for being so patient.
-----
Chapter 4 - Truth
A tingling sensation causes Harry to pry his tired eyes open. He rolls from his side to his back, stretching his fingers that tingle from being slept on. Electrifying shocks shoot up his arm, and he stays still until the sensation fades. He stares at the canopy above his bed, letting his eyes adjust to the new daylight that pours into his room from the balcony doors on his right.
He is clear of any thought before his mind reels and images of battle flood his memory. His muscles tense, and his blood pumps faster. He brings his hands up and stares at his palms. Clean. He turns his hands to see his knuckles. Clean. He covers his face with his hands now, closing his eyes as he does so. He sees his hands covered in blood, but when he reopens his eyes, they are still clean.
He pushes the heavy comforter off his body, for his skin begins to sweat. Cool air kisses him as he stands, and he notices that he wears spandex and a light fitting white t-shirt. He walks around his bed to the balcony doors, admiring their beauty. They touch the ceiling, and they are rimmed with gold. He opens the doors with a delicate push, and a rush of warm air greets him. He sighs deeply, letting his head fall back.
"What a glorious morning." He murmers, turning his back on the doors. His eyes roam his large chamber, and he strides toward the cushioned chair in the corner to his left. He sinks deeply into it, spreading his fingers wide on the arms. He eyes his armoir, and momentarily wonders if he should change his clothing. Deciding against it, he looks at the cherrywood cabinet beside his armoir, where his precious items are placed. He rubs his bare feet on the crimson carpet, and his eyes wander around his chamber. Artwork is hung on the beige walls, and a mirror is above the armoir. The room is quite large, though not many pieces of furniture are placed in it.
His mind wanders back to the battle that took place.
"How long have I been out?" He thinks outloud, curiousity and confusion overtaking him. He shrugs, letting the question slide, and his mind returns to the battle scenes that continue to replay themselves repeatedly in his head.
He grips the side of his chair, closing his eyes to relive the moments that made him feel most alive.
I love feeling their blood on my skin. The sensation of hot and cold at the same time does something to me. I massacred them, leaving no survivors at the tip of my sword.
He remembers Ron forcing him out of the battle, and anger floods him. He places his hand on his heart, leaning his head back. He takes deep breathes, remembering the feeling of resentment and power that took over him after Ron took him out of battle. He wanted to cause destruction; he wanted to continue plunging his sword to the enemy's death, and when Ron took that away from him, his mind broke. He couldn't even remember what he said to Ron, and the events that took place afterward.
"What happened to me?" He asks, for he is surprised at his own actions. He knows that he enjoys fighting, but not to the extent where he will hurt the people he loves. His breath is hot on his cracked lips. He groans loudly, trying to recall the events that took place after he screamed at Ron. He vaguely remembers walking down the palace steps, and the feeling of Ron's eyes burning through his armor as he did. He remembers he raised his sword high into the air.
"Ow." A vein in his head throbs, and he brings his hand to cover it, gently massaging it in circles. He grumbles as his eyes close, and he sees from behind his eyelids an image of a fuzzy figure walking towards him, and dead bodies are scattered all around.
A knock at his door causes him to jump and his heart to pound wildly. He regains his composure, and he stands from his chair, rounding his bed to the door.
"What is it?" He yells at the door, not bothering to open it before he knows who stands on the other side. He does not want to discuss matters with the counselors about war. He wants to be alone.
"It's Ron." The familiar voice answers, and Harry immediately places his hand on the doorknob, opening his door. Ron steps into Harry's room, forgetting to ask if he can enter. Harry steps aside, and then shuts the heavy door, turning to face Ron who stands at the foot of his bed.
"I'm departing back to Zarch within the hour." Ron's voice is even, and his gaze is penetrating. He starts to walk towards the door, but Harry is solid, and Ron stops.
"I have a question for you." Harry pauses, searching for the words, "Why are we at war?" Harry feels idiotic after he asks the question, for Ron's face remains unchanged. Harry is nervous, and he clenches his jaw to ease the anxiety building in his abdomen.
"The Juxert were forcing the magic from the earth and using it in their dark arts to cause destruction. James disagreed, and since the Juxert did not sign the treaty or make any connection with James, he had no choice but to go to war to keep the peace." Ron says in the same unwavering voice.
The anxiety still churns deep within his belly becoming more painful. Harry does not remember. Harry doesn't respond right away, and Ron takes a steps forward to move around Harry to reach for the door.
"I must go prepare my men," Ron begins, but Harry steps infront of him again.
"I can't remember anything about the beginning of the war. All I remember is wanting to fight for my father, to do something, anything to help him." Harry's eyes are shining, "I'm so confused." The vein throbbing in his head hurts worse now, and he covers his temples with his hands, compressing his skull.
The feeling subsides after a few seconds. The only sound that reaches Harry's ears are his heart beating steadily, and Ron's harsh breathing. Harry searches for the words inside of him to explain what he's feeling to his friend, wanting him to understand and help him, just like he always had in the past.
"When we fought at the gate it felt so good to swing my sword, and feel my muscles working. I haven't fought in so long, not since before James died." Harry looks at Ron who stands infront of him, "When you took me out of the battle," Harry swallows hard to avoid feeling anger for Ron, "I don't know why I got so upset. It was as if some force came over me, or something inside me broke, and I lost all reasonable thought. I can't even remember anything afterward." Harry's voice falls to a whisper, "I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to feel your pain, and all those others."
Harry keeps his eyes trained on the floor, feeling too ashamed to meet Ron's teal orbs. He hears Ron's sigh, and the shuffling of his boots fills the room. Harry glances through his thick, dark bangs to see Ron's back. Ron turns around, and Harry cannot read him. The anxiety in his belly is burning, and he feels an incredible urge to vomit. Harry breathes deeply, wanting the feeling to stop, but he gets lightheaded in the process.
Ron's lips move, and Harry watches them closely, listening to the words coming from them intently.
"You need to learn how to control your obsession, Harry. Don't let it take over you."
"Why can't I remember?" Harry asks, knowing that Ron could not possibly answer such a question. He will probably think him a fool, someone with poor memory. Harry sighs, and opens his mouth to say something else, but Ron answers.
"Your father knew a great deal of magic, though he only dipped into the dark arts if he had to, which was very rare. Your father told the faeries that he wanted you protected, and the only way they could help would be to bind your mind, and to lock your memories." Ron takes a deep breath before continueing, "James agreed to this. He did not want you turning to destruction to win this war, and all knowledge of the war and magic was lost from your thoughts."
"When did my father allow this?" Harry asks after Ron's lips stop moving. Harry is confused and astonished, his green orbs wide.
"It is a gradual spell, which still is in the process today. It happened about four years ago, soon after you first started fighting. Your father was very overprotective, you remember." Ron says, and Harry nods.
"Yes, he was." Harry squeezes his eyes shut, digging deeply into his mind, but he still remembers nothing.
"When were you planning on telling me this?" Harry asks finally. His cheeks are flushed, and his mind is spinning. He walks towards the open balcony doors, staring out of them at the clear sky.
"I just told you, didn't I?" Sarcasm fills Ron's voice, and Harry rolls his eyes.
"You know what I mean."
"James was going to have your mind returned to you after the war. That's when you would have been told." Ron murmers. Harry's mind wanders as he watches the trees ruffle in the wind.
"He didn't die because of a disease, did he?" Harry's voice is quiet, just above a whisper. He half heartedly wishes that Ron did not hear his question, but Ron comes up beside him.
"No. He died because a dark spell was cast upon him, that even the faeries could not remove." Ron is still beside him, and Harry turns his head away from Ron, pressing his cheek into his shoulder.
"I want my memory back. I don't even remember my father's death anymore." Harry tells Ron, "What do I have to do? I can't force them back. I can't break through the lock. How do I get my memories to return?" Harry turns to Ron now, his voice pleading. Ron stares into his eyes, and Harry can almost see the gears turning within his friend's mind.
"The faeries will not remove the spell until the war is over. They made promise to James, and faeries never go back on their promises. Unicorns,"
Harry's face falls, and Ron chuckles, "Unicorns," he continues, "are not as powerful as faeries, they could not remove the spell."
Harry's heart sinks, and he leans back against the balcony door frame, letting his head fall to his chest. They stand in silence, and Harry almost believes that Ron will leave, but Ron continues to stand beside him, staring out the balcony doors.
"You're the closest brother I've ever had." Ron doesn't turn to look at Harry as he says this, "Brothers don't let brothers down. I won't let you down." Ron continues to stare out the doors.
"I became king at a young age, Harry. It was right before the war started that my father passed away, leaving my brothers the title of King, all of which refused. I, the youngest, felt the responsibilty was bestowed on me, because if I refused the crown, then Zarch would have no king. My brothers did not want to fulfill their duties as princes, they wanted to do what their heart pleased. We have no laws that the heir must take the crown, so it was easy for them to refuse it." Ron pauses, bringing his right hand to his gaze to stare at a gaudy ring on his middle finger. It has a large, turquoise opal that easily catches the light and reflects it beautifully. He fingers it for a moment before continuing.
"I was crowned king, and my brothers were gone. I knew next to nothing about ruling a country, my father never thought of teaching me. The counselors and leaders of the military tried their best to guide me in whatever direction they thought was right, but in the end I was confused and leading my people nowhere. That's when your father came to my kingdom. You and I both know that he was good friends with my father, or else you and I would not be friends, but your father came and helped me. His advice is still with me today.
"He told me to rule greatly by using my heart and mind together. He said kings may live above all the rest, but they are no better than their own people. The evil creatures of the world,"
"What are the evil creatures of the world?" Harry breaks into Ron's speech. Ron gives him a half smile
"Dragons. They are the evilest creatures, though they are one of the rarest to find. Your father searched for dragons his entire life, but never found them. They are invisible to the human eye, so it was quite difficult for him."
"Why did he want to find the dragons?" Harry tilts his head to the side, pushing his back off of the balcony doorframe. He steps outside onto the large balcony, walking to the railing, and Ron follows. He glances down at the open grassy field beneath him. A forest is further away, about half a mile, and a small mountain peeks from behind the line of trees.
"James was fascinated with the dragons. They are the oldest and most intelligent creatures in the world. He studied them constantly, don't you remember?" Ron asks, and Harry partly shrugs his shoulders.
"I know there are books on dragons in the library, but James rarely spoke to me about dragons. I remember him reading, a lot, but I never bothered to ask him what it was he read." A sad feeling washes over Harry. He silently wishes he could have asked his father more questions, instead of just wanting to fight.
"That's okay." Ron says reassuringly, "I almost thought that the faeries locked those memories too. I'm not sure exactly everything you remember."
Ron smiles at him, then turns and walks back into Harry's chambers.
"I must return to Zarch and inform Frock about the battle." Ron says, and Harry gives him a strange look.
"Why did you tell the paladin's not to send message to Frock?"
Ron shrugs, "It would have wasted time. Frock is a good hundred miles from here, and to ride on horseback for that distance would have taken too much time and could have been dangerous, especially if it were only one or two men delivering the message."
Harry nods, and Ron places his hand on the doorknob.
"Have you ever heard of an enchantress?" Ron's voice comes to him, his head turning slightly to look over his shoulder at Harry. Harry nods his head.
"Yes, but I do not know a great deal about them."
"An enchantress is the only magical creature that is more powerful than a faerie, unicorn, or dragon." Ron's eyes light up, "She could break the spell."
"The thing is," The light in Ron's eyes fade, "enchantresses haven't been around for ages. They are the most beautiful creatures in the entire world, and if they do live among us, they change their features so that no one will suspect them. They keep the world in balance, and they refuse to make friends with humans or any creature in contact with humans."
Harry's smile is wiped from his face, and he hunches his back in defeat. He thinks for a moment, then asks Ron, "How can we find one?"
"I don't know yet." Ron turns the knob on his door, and pushes it open, leaving the room. Harry stands alone, and he glances in the mirror above the armoir. He stands infront of it, looking at his features. He is frightened at first, but then he calms as his eyes roam his face. A deep, ugly cut trails from his chin and along his right jaw, stopping just before his ear. He presses the pads of his fingers against the purple and blue flesh beneath the angry cut, and he winces.
Small cuts are on his left cheek, but there is no other horrible marks. He looks into his green orbs, and he eyes his thick messy hair, which comes down to his ears. His skin is rough and tanned, and his lips are painfully chapped. He keeps himself from rolling his tongue over his lips in an attempt to moisten them, and he turns his gaze to the dresser, opening the drawers to take out fresh clothing.
He notices another wound on his left arm, but this one is bandaged. He wonders why he did not notice it before. He runs his fingers over the pure white bandage, sighing softly as he does.
He dresses quickly in light pants and a shirt beneath his red robes. He walks to the baloncy doors, and begins to close them.
"I will be a murderer no longer." He whispers. His words float on the air and dissolve, but they remain engraved in his heart.
He leaves his chambers to his study, preparing himself for an onslaught of new letters and announcements.
-----------
Author's Note:
This was a very tough chapter to write. I know there is still no Hermione, but she will be making her appearance very soon, within the next couple chapters. Also, I know there is a lot of information here, all thrown at you at once, so bear with me. I love all the reviews I get, but I have one request: If you're going to flame me, please just not review at all. I'm looking for constructive criticism. Thanks.