I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters
There's no harm in something different... well.. once in a while.
So here it is:
In Faith Of Tomorrow
(This is going to be SO uncompliant its stupid)
The raven-haired man sat crouched over the hearth fire, listening to the gentle crackle of burning logs, watching as the flames grew and flickered around the wood, turning the brown bark black, crumbling into dust at the floor of the grate. His brown eyes glinted in the fiery light, watering as the heat dried his eyes, tear ducts working overly to compensate it. He felt nothing. No heat scalded his skin, and no pain touched his eyes. The real pain lay in his heart, covered by layer upon layer of finest silken cloaks. Red fabric, trimmed with gold, cloaked his body, the rich colours taunting him, laughing at his misfortune. As he crouched, his red heart ached, pounding out a furious rhythm, of anger, of vengeance, of heartbreak. The sound of students, his pupils, his charges, laughing on the floor above him, in the room which he had chosen for its view of the grounds. Eagle-eye, he had once called it, overlooking every corner of the grounds, each student a guardian of their fellows. And then too, the bravery of each of his charges to look down on such a vastly distant ground. How many were scared of heights? None that he had picked. No student in the house of Gryffindor would ever be afraid of the height of their home. Bravery of the lion, and loyalty of the eagle. He prided his students on those qualities and yet... he was lacking in both, as of the last moon. What good was a host of bright, intelligent, brave students, willing to do his bidding, to learn from his example, when there was nobody to help him teach them? His fellow founders had left him, either out of disloyalty or through death itself, and he was the only one left.
Loyalty? How could he remain loyal to his students, teach them all that they needed to know, and remain loyal to their needs as their teacher, when loyalty was such a lacking quality even amongst the closest of friends?
Bravery? How brave would he have to be to embrace the loss of three friends within the space of ten years, all so young, all so talented, and then teach others what they had longed to teach themselves?
Where, in his Gryffindor heart, would he rediscover the love and devotion that he had held for his students and friends, less than thirty sundowns past?
Salazars loss had scarred him - the abandonment of such a close friend wrought pain and discord amongst the remaining three founders, and Helga and Rowena had seemed to move further from his as the days passed. Yet still they remained, teaching their students, as he had. Niether ones commitment ever faltered, and both birthed children to their husbands, whilst still teaching. He had never married, nor sired any young, and had in fact spent most of his time when he was not teaching, brooding in his own quarters, attempting fruitlessly to forget his former best friend. He had thought, for a time, that he had succeeded. Indeed, he had gone several weeks without once considering Salazar's whereabouts, yet then, both Rowena and Helga had fallen ill, and within a week, Helga had passed away, Rowena was rapidly deteriorating, and Godric Gryffindor found himself searching the castle in vain for the Chamber that had been rumoured to be Salazar's. He had never found it, yet he remained certain of its existence, positive that there was no way he could have left the castle undetected. He had searched hopelessly, yet after two weeks, when Rowena too passed away, he was forced to accept his friends betrayal, truly, for the first time. It was that morning, as his final friend had died, that he had felt the utter, burning hatred towards Salazar, a hatred he had never before given way to, overcome him. He had spent the afternoon throwing violent bellows at anyone who approached him, feeling the hopeless loss that came with the death of a friend. And now... now as he sat in his quarters, gazing into the dying flames of the fire, feeling its warmth ebb away, as though its life were being stolen from it, he felt the cold, clammy hand of death beckoning him, calling to him. He had attempted several times to ignore it already, yet the need for quiet, for the calm, serenity of silent death, was overwhelming. Gathering his silken cloak around him, he reached for his wand, placing it in his pocket, and leaving the room, just as the last flames flickered and died.
The top of Gryffindor tower was flat, a circle of brick surrounded by a two-foot high wall. Nobody but he himself had ever ventured up here. It was his own, private reflection spot, his happy-place, as his friends had so teasingly called it. The students were forbidden it, and his friends did not feel the necessity - indeed, Salazar had refused to come, the only time that Godric had ever offered anyone but he to come. Looking back, vicious thoughts of how Salazar had always wanted to be close to the ground, like the writhing serpent he really was, overcame him, and Godric had to blink several times to dispell them.
There was nothing on this tower beside a small plant pot, filled with the flower that all four founders had named the school after. The Hogwarts lily. How simple it was. Oh yes, they were showy, large flowers, yet something about the simplistic petals had always helped to erase his troubles. Something in its scent had always calmed him, resting his fury or his anger, returning him to his peaceful state of mind. Now, he did not lift the plant to his nose, or even caress the petals as once he would have done. Instead, he plucked a single flower from the pot, holding it in his left hand, and drawing his wand with his right, before stepping onto the wall that surrounded him. His legs shook, and his knees went weak as his eyes focused dimly on the dark mass of forest that he could just make out.
Ironic, he mused, that he should choose this tower for the bravery of his students, and yet be scared of the height himself. It was not the death that scared him. It was the welfare or otherwise of his students. There was certain to be a leader amongst them, willing to see them home. He trusted in that. The night wind brushed in his face and for a brief moment, he closed his eyes to the comfort of its cold caress. As he stepped forward, anger still surging in his chest, his only regret was that he could never look into Salazars eyes and tell him he had lost.
Darkness enveloped him, all sense of feeling abandoned his body, and there was nothing.
Oh I know, Gryffindors suicide. OOC? How'd you know?
So... short intro.
Can you imagine how out of place he's going to look in those silks:P
Let me know what you think.
Mage of the Heart