|Shadows of Memories 1: Return of the Dark Lord
Author: The Patriotic Writer PM
Albus Severus Potter is ready for his first year at Hogworts, both nervous and excited about the Sorting and making new friends. But when mysterious things begins to happen at Hogwarts, Albus and his new friends must dive into the magic of the Ancients.Rated: Fiction T - English - Adventure/Mystery - Albus S. P. & OC - Chapters: 4 - Words: 8,076 - Reviews: 15 - Favs: 3 - Follows: 4 - Updated: 08-28-10 - Published: 06-25-10 - id: 6083686
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter Characters.
A deep fog like steam covered the platform 9 ¾ as families of wizardry emerged from the barriers, separating them from the muggle world. There was a whistle from the Hogwarts express, but many paid no mind to it. Half-bloods, pure-bloods, and muggle born children alike looked around in wonder. Many of the eleven year old children had never seen the platform, and excitement were coursing through there veins as dreams of finally heading to Hogwarts were being realized. Older students had similar excitement to return to the school, and continue there education and mainly hang with their friends. And for some, undoubtly to cause mischief.
Families were hunched together, mothers giving children teary goodbyes, younger siblings trying to convince there parents to let them go, and the students struggling with bags. In the steam covered platform, only one was standing by themselves. The man was leaning against a wall, arms crossed, lips curving in a small frown as he watched the wizards and witches. The man had straggly black hair that draped down his shoulders, and brushed his shoulder blades. He was a tall, muscled figure, though at first glance he seemed to be long and straggly. Just as his hair.
His eyes were charcoal black and narrowed ever so slightly. He was wearing cloths that just qualified over rags. A white, dirty shirt was tied diagonally from his chest, and he wore jeans that were ripped in several places and looked like it needed a wash. The parts of his exposed chest were burned and scarred, almost in the shape of runes. No one seemed to notice the strange man, or the fact that he just spat on the ground.
He gave a growl, as he watched the children get on to the train, and the parents waving farewell or shedding tears. It was all pathetic really. These kids were off to learn inferior magic, and the parents were acting like they had cross the threshold of child to adult. Back in his time, this would be laughed upon, and the parents would be shedding tears of disappointment and shame. Not of joy. The man spat on the ground again.
How he hated this infernal world. How long he had been stuck in it. To do nothing but watch, and to keep the old magic alive. What good was keeping it alive if he was forbidden to teach it? This world can learn so much if they had the power of the Ancients that he carried. No longer would the muggles live in ignorance, no longer would the magical world be a thing of Myth. They would be able to take back what was there's!
Thoughts and dreams of this flooded the mans mind, and he cursed the council who placed him in the center of this hellish curse. "May thy descendants burn in hell Arthur…" the man whispered in a dark, gruff voice that carried a heavy accent of unknown origins. "May thy family line die out… And thy legacy forgotten…"
The man continued his cursing and mutterings of the one named 'Arthur', and his dark eyes roamed the platform once more. He spotted a family that he knew all to well. He cast aside his hatred for the giver of his curse, and his eyes narrowed at the family in the steam. He saw one of the elder of the children run off, and another family he had watch approach. The man watched as the Man who Survived talked to his best friend, and brother in law. He watched the two family talk and laugh, and the eyes narrowed in interest as the Man who Lived kneeled down to talk with his youngest of son's.
The man muttered a word of ancient magic, and he could hear every word that was said. "…Named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew." The Man who Survived was saying. The boy spoke up, ""But just say—"
"—then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student, won't it? It doesn't matter to us, Al. But if it matters to you, you'll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account."
"It did for me," Said the Man who Survived, and the Man of Ancients bite back a hurtful laugh when he saw the amazement on the boys face. The Man of Ancients cut the spell, and watched as the boy ran to get on the train, and stayed to watch its departure. As the train vanished from sight, the Man looked at the Man who Survived, and saw his spouse muttering something to him. A hand lifted to the lightning bolt scar on the forehead, and the Man who Survived muttered something, but the Man of Ancients didn't need a spell to know what they were talking and thinking about.
And it made the man smirk. The Man turned swiftly on his heel, and muttered more words of ancient magic, and a dark void opened up to him, and he cast one last look over his shoulder to the Man who Survived and his spouse, as they began there journey back to the muggle world.
"Enjoy thy peace, Harry James Potter" The gruff accented voice said, spitting the name out as if it were acid. "For thy day's of peace, are coming to thy end." With that he walked towards the void, and vanished within. Leaving the Steam filled platform.
And the last of his patience.
The Man of ancients walked the deserted streets of Midnight, the twelfth real of Chaos. He paid no mind to the empty Darkness beyond his path of Destruction. His obsidian eyes found there way to the Eternal Moon, hanging in the Sky, though it cast only light onto his path. Fearing the consequence of penetrating the empty Darkness of Midnight. The man gaze fell back to the path ahead of him, and the dark silhouette of a mansion became visible.
The Man entered the dark mansion, and quickly walked down to the furnished cellar. He walked up to a raven podium were a black Leather book laid, golden strips of leather formed a Dragons eye on the cover. The man opened the sinister look book, and flipped a couple of pages. He stopped at a page titled in bold, sinister letters;
"'Because the memory stores information about everything the host collects,'" the man read aloud, his dirty finger following the words. "'It is possible to make a duplicate, or a replica, of an object. The Host must have full information on the entire object in order for it to become, a Perfect Duplicate, and able to carry on the goals and strife of the original. It is advise using for humans, unless you know the subject completely-'" The man cut off, and smirked widely. He walked away from the book and towards a black cabinet.
He opened it up, and in it were bottles of a clearish blue liquid. The Man, with a upward movement of his hand, levitated the mass of bottles, and placed them in front of the podium a couple of feet. Finally he had all that he needed to complete the spell. He collected everything about the man he needed to help him restore the Magical world. He had examined him since he was born. The Man of Ancients new that the baby would help him in his goal, and watched it's progress.
He had even helped a bit, entering the boys mind when he was at the school, helping him realize his destiny. The Man was responsible for the change in name, and with that, he triggered a change of power. Convinced that he did all he needed, the Man left to find recruits for his disciple, but away, his chosen one fell. The Man of ancients had cursed himself, but years later, the return of his disciple did not surprise him at all. He knew that his chosen one would return to him.
But he didn't leave his disciples' side after that, and even assisted now and then. And when they were so close to his goal, he made another error and let his disciple take full control. And the chosen one perished because of it.
But The Man of ancients was ready to right this. No more hiding in the shadows. No more dwelling on memories. Tonight, the man of Ancients shall Create a Memory!
He approached the book once more, and scanned the page, grinning as he found the incantation he needed. "Lickstre… kloovel… Clava… Memories of the darkened one..." Wind started to blow in the room, throwing open cupboards and other things, as a crimson circle started to form around the bottles. "Jecbe... hagdss… levar… Collected and stowed to preserve his might…" The bottles started to shake as the crimson, blood-like stain drew itself inside the completed circle, creating strange patterns.
"I call upon your powers… to bring his memory back to LIFE!" the Man shouted the last word, winds picking up to hurricane speeds, the room destroyed and the entire realm shaking. The Man was staring at the bottles as they shattered and the blue flowed into the red lines. His wild eyes dancing with delight, and hair flying about, he threw his hands to complete the spell.
"RISE TOM RIDDLE! RISE THE DARK LORD VOLDEMORT! RISE FORM THE SHADOWS OF MEMORIES! RISE TO LET YOUR LEGACY CONTINUE! SHADAS! LUCKAS! RARA!"
The Crimson/blue lines glowed brightly, and shadows flooded into the circle, and began to form and take shape. The Winds picked up and the shacking hardened and the man was thrown to his knees, though laughing manically. The Shadows continued to form a humanoid shape, which was tall and skinny. It was in a dark robe, and the hood formed, over the creatures face. Soon, the winds and the shacking stopped, and so did the crazed laughter of the man, who was on one knee, head bowed to the creature.
It was deathly quit in Midnight, and seemed like several years had passed before crimson slits appeared in the shadows of the robes. Pale white, snake like hands were lifted to the shadows the hood created, and the slits narrowed on them. The cloak the creature was wearing turned into a mist of shadows as it hit the ground, and the creature continued to stare at it's hands.
"I'm Back…" A snake like hiss sounded from the depths of the shadows, and then grew powerful as it repeated. "I AM BACK!"
The whole foundation shook at the power of the voice, and the man, still on his knee and bowing, smirked. "You…" The Snake voice said, the crimson slits now focused on the man. "I demand your name." A chuckle sounded from the man as he kept his head down. "Very well my lord. My name is Lucksess…" The Man of Ancients looked up, and his black eyes met crimson slits.
"And I am at your service, Dark Lord Voldemort."