00 PyRo 00 
LOVE ME.
Posts: 32
(1/11/03 10:17 pm)
|
Bereft - Chapter One
Therian Falios was an ordinary sixteen-year-old, in most respects. He was tall, with a slight build. A fairly capable student, he was well liked by his peers, but at the same time, a bit of a loner. He lived in a slightly upscale two-story affair just outside of London, surrounded by tall, verdant trees and greenery as far as the eye could see. On favorable days, he would hike out into the countryside equipped with nothing but a good book and a bottle of ice tea and escape into another world.
One could say he was content, but in his mind, there always seemed to be something missing. Something just barely within his grasp, but slipping out like so many handfuls of smoke. It was something, while gazing high into the depths of the ancient pines that became a little closer, a little clearer. At times, his fingers curled to grasp something, but when he looked down, they were firmly clenching empty air. At times, nonsense words sometimes dropped from his mouth, forgetting them as soon as they were said.
Despite all this, Therian managed to lead a normal, ordinary life. Ordinary until one fateful July afternoon, he decided to leave the window open.
And a tawny golden owl flew through it.
“What the-“
The owl landed on his desk, hooting in a dignified sort of way. Therian backed away slowly, his fingers curling around his trusty –
Handful of empty air, he thought ruefully to himself. The owl hopped onto his bed, and stuck out a leg. A large parcel was attached to it, tied with a glowing red ribbon.
“Go. Shoo!” He whispered, waving his hands toward the window. The owl only hooted louder, his calls taking on a more annoyed note.
Obviously, he was supposed to take the parcel, and the owl would leave. Therian reached out cautiously, removing the parcel. He dropped it uncertainly on his bed. Printed on its front in block letter was:
TO THERIAN FALIOS
FROM THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
DELIVERED BY URGENT OWL SERVICES
He hadn’t the faintest idea what that meant, but opened the package anyway. Perhaps he had won the lottery.
As his fingers moved to untie the ribbon, he received a huge jolt. Seemingly of their own accord, his hands moved in a strange pattern, and foreign words came to his mouth.
“Alohomora Hentouche,” he whispered, and the ribbon lost its glow and dropped to the floor.
He stared at his hands, quite confused as to though what they did. He stood like that for a while, then wrote it off to a particularly potent muscle spasm. He eagerly ripped open the package, dumping its contents out onto the bed.
A letter covered with spidery, archaic handwriting was mixed in with a thin, whippy, stick and a platinum armband covered with runes. He went for the stick first, snatching it up and placing it where it belonged. His fingers curled around the well-used wood, settling into grooves seemingly custom made for his hand. A warm feeling welled up in his arm and spread to the rest of his body. He swished it twice, words spilling out of his lips once again.
”Lumos Ambiliance!”
He waited expectantly, but nothing happened. The warm feeling soured, and dissipated, replaced by a distinct buzz, intensely annoying and growing louder and louder.
He dropped the wand back on to the bed, frowning. He picked up the armband, saving the letter for rest. He raised his sleeve, sliding it up until it stuck. Not a thing happened, despite his waving it around wildly and shouting nonsense words at it. Nothing other than it fit his arm perfectly. He shrugged, and picked up the letter.
To Mr. Therian Falios,
Greetings, old friend. My name is Albus Dumbledore. You will not know who I am, so you need not strain yourself to remember. What I am going to tell you, you will not believe now, but later, you will see the truth.
You, Therian Falios, are a wizard. Not just any wizard, however. To be more specific, you are an honorary member of the order of the Phoenix, order of Merlin, first class, and member of many other prestigious orders. You are the wizard who defeated Voldemort years ago, and you are the wizard who was cast out for becoming like him, but far, far more powerful.
Is it coming back to you now? Do you remember?
No, you wouldn’t…that’s too much to expect. Go to platform nine and three quarters at the London train station tomorrow at noon, and I shall tell you more.
I cannot tell you much now. Only this: A threat has arisen. A threat far greater than Voldemort, far greater than anything ever seen before.
The wizarding world needs you, Therian.
Platform nine and 3 quarters tomorrow…remember…
Therian jerked his head up, as if coming out from a deep trance, and looked back at the letter. It was crumbling to dust in his hands.
At first, he was inclined to write it off as a foolish prank, some sort of complicated mail scam. But the proof was right in front of him – why would an owl be delivering letters in broad daylight? How could he have untied the ribbon before if he hadn’t even touched it?
And then there was that strange feeling of unbelonging, a feeling that his place was somewhere else. That something inside of him responded to the letter, telling him it was true, telling him that that was where he belonged.
He flopped onto the bed, unable to think. His searching hands found the worn wood of the stick, curling around it. The warm feeling came back, cradling him in its embrace.
And he knew he would be at the London Train station tomorrow.
* * * * *
...and that's some of what I've been working on lately. Comments, complaints are appreciated. Chapter 2 shold be up shortly, as I'm already done with it.
"Somehow I can't help but feel violated." - Dashie007
Edited by: 00 PyRo 00 at: 1/11/03 10:18:49 pm
|
Email This To a Friend
Topic Commands
Click to receive email notification of replies 
Click to stop receiving email notification of replies