The Story of a Potter

Posted: 28-06-2018

Chapter 18: Peace Before The Storm.

'He must have some kind of personality disorder', Harry reasoned about his roommate. One moment he was as unsociable arse then the next he was, well, he was not exactly an arse anymore but certainly not in the opposite spectrum of 'unsociable arse'.

And Theo, it was still weird calling him that; Theo had told Harry about the financial and sometimes wand point feud his family had against Lord Burke and his associates, about how the shameless thieves had acquired partial publishing rights to his great grandmother's spell books.

'Seems everyone has their own case of woes' he told himself.

It was Halloween and the castle was alive with excited students, teachers and staffs. People ran left and right, decorating or making plans. Even the ghosts looked less dead than usual, and you could hear them re-enacting their deaths or telling any willing students about their glory days.

Harry had just finished breakfast; he'd just exited the great hall when there was a soft. "hel….hello Harry, how have you been?"

It was the Longbottom heir, the guy whose back he was supposed to watch and vice versa. Two months into their school year Neville had been on the receiving end of more prank and taunts than most in their year, did Harry feel sorry for the bloke? Absolutely, but there were times when guy just seemed to ask for it.

For instance, that incident with their first flying lesson, how does someone who grew up in this world not know the first thing about flying on a broom? And also his spell casting, or lack thereof, how in the world was someone who was supposed to be educated on the basics of casting a couple of years prior to Hogwarts not be able to cast at least half the spells they've learned.

It just didn't make sense. Besides, sticking up for someone usually meant getting into fights, which meant standing out from the crop, and that was exactly what he was trying to avoid.

"Neville"

He responded, it must have come out a little too dryly, seeing the poor kid retreating inside of himself.

"How have you been Neville? Everything all right lately?" He forced the kindest smile he could manage on his face. And seeing as Neville began to mirror it, it must be working.

"I guess so. Umm…. It… it's been hard getting a hold of you Harry, you just seem to disappear. Even…even Tonks said she hasn't been able to see you".

'Poor kid' Harry thought, not really paying attention to what the poor kid had just said. His muscles were still aching from all the mithril he'd smashed and grabbed, and right now standing in front of the entrance of the Great Hall on a full stomach making conversation was the last thing he wanted to do.

Firenze had given him a day off as it was Samhain, and Harry had planned to spend the day just reading or exploring. Then an idea struck him, poor Neville looked pretty lonely so why not spend the day with him, it's not like he had anything better to do.

"Sorry 'bout disappearing Nev, I've just had a lot of studying to do. Say what, why don't you and me go visit Hagrid, y'know, our school's ground keeper."

It was hard reading Neville's facial expression. Harry was just about to drop the idea when the kid replied.

"Tha…..That'd be great Harry, I've always wanted to explore the castle grounds"

And judging from the radiant smile on the bloke's face, Harry knew he made the perfect choice. So the two of them made their way towards the giant groundskeeper's hut.

~XXXX~

Albus Dumbledore was tired, his bones felt heavier than usual. Days like these he wished he had a time turner capable of jumping back decades, if not a century at the least, so he could correct the numerous mistakes he had made.

Dark forces were gathering once more, and it was not pride that made him admit that he was one of the few reasons those that live in the shadows haven't shown their faces en masse.

Already his students were targeted, two fifth year Ravenclaws vanished from Hogsmeade , never to be seen again. And then more recently a third year Griffindor, but miraculously this one the aurors managed to rescue along with some muggle children, from a werewolf den in the midlands. The Griffindor had been immediately taken by his parents to America to continue his studies and to heal; apparently they didn't feel safe in Britain anymore.

With a dejected sigh Albus sank deeper into his headmaster's chair, days like these he wished he had a time turner: days like these he wished Fawks wasn't so close to his burning day so he could sing for him.

He was the last pillar of safety for magical Britain, for magical Europe. But he was getting old, he knew it; but more importantly those in the shadows knew it as well. And they were getting bolder and bolder with every passing year, every wrinkle that time added on his self. "Who was going to be the next pillar? Who was going selfless enough, powerful enough to keep the darkness at bay?" These Albus asks himself time after time.

~XXXX~

(The Valley of Seere)

Father and son stood near the edge of a cliff, both in full armour and weapons at easy reach. Below the cliff there was a gorge which was densely forested, and that forest extended upwards on a mountain that dwarfs any near it, the trees growing less and less densely the higher you went up the mountain.

"How is the boy?" Oreius, lord of the Thunderhoof clan; warchief of all centaurs in magical Britain asked his son."He learns father. Slowly but surely he learns" Firenze answered, keeping it short and to the point, just like he knew he father wanted.

"Are you sure he is sending a message? He had been silent for nearly a decade?"

Oreius broke the ensuing silence, keeping his gaze at the mountain in front of him. Whenever the old one at the mountain send word there always trouble, it might not be an immediate one, it might not even be within a decade, but the old one residing on the mountain in front of him was always right.

"Yes father, I am quite sure. He came to me in a dream the night before"

"Lok'ta Khan" cursed Oreius, he hated this, even when he was but a youngling he hated the way his father and his father before him always took the council of the one on the mountain. It was not that he hated the person, rather the fact that when he spoke or sends word it always meant bad tidings for his people. But always, always did time prove the old one wise.

'He certainly earned his title' Oreius though, for the one who resided on the mountain had been old even when the oldest stories, songs his people had were said to be recently composed.

There were stories of his great grandfather's time when the old one used to mingle with the heard, when the centaurs on Seere still knew his face and name.

Their silence was broken by the fluttering of wings, of an ethereal hoot that seems to echo downwards the mountain towards their destination. Sharp keen eyes of both father and son picked up the snowy white owl immediately, even on daytime the messenger seemed to give off a glow.

"Lok'ta Khan" Oreius cursed again.

~Chapter end~