Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, entites of folklore or the majority of the quotes.
They knew he didn't want to go back there. They knew why.
-They knew, knew, KNEW, my Dove!-
Damaged as she was, he knew Aunt Petunia tried to help him as much as she could, what little she could.
-Poor and crushed, oh tragic Flower-
He wasn't even thirteen yet, but he'd made plans. Made a Will. The Goblins knew what to do.
-Where there's a Will, there's a contester to said Will.-
The Goblins had tried to help him as much as they could, even with both their hands and feet tied. The only thing dearer to them than gold was a child.
-These children are my very own to hold; who are more valuable then any gold.-
Once, when Vernon was away on a business trip and Dudley was having a sleepover at Piers', Aunt Petunia had closed the blinds and cleared the lounge room so she could teach him to dance ballet. It was the kindest thing she ever did, but such times only came about once every month or so.
-On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; /No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet/ To chase the glowing hours with flying feet!-
The Goblins sent him a tube of old fraying parchment in dead of night the night before he was to return to the Dursleys. It detailed a ritual involving an old, forgotten Dance. It didn't say what would happen exactly, but that once the ritual started, the one who started Dancing would know the steps, and if they could complete the Dance, they would be reborn. If they could not finish the Dance, they would merely die.
-There are so many little dyings that it doesn't matter which of them is death.-
He sent a note of Goodbye to Aunt Petunia and did not board the train, choosing to find a glade in the Forbidden Forest instead. He set up the circle and waited for moonrise.
-Here's a lullaby to close your eyes (Goodbye)/ It was always you that I despised/I don't feel enough for you to cry (Oh Well) /Here's a lullaby to close your eyes (Goodbye)...-
The oddly blue light of the moon rose over the tree-tops, bathing the glade in shades of grey and midnight blue, the stars gleaming like a river in the clear sky, as Harry carved the elegant Runes into his skin with the Ritual Quill, stopping the flow of blood until the ritual demanded it. Then he moved to the centre of the glade and spoke the words.
-In a dancer, there is a reverence for such forgotten things as the miracle of the small beautiful bones and their delicate strength.-
He wasn't really aware of the blood that flowed down his spindly, knobby limbs, already decorated with scars, nor of the Hogwarts Professors that were suddenly banging on the shimmering, whirling blue shield that was linked between the trees. There was only the lightness, the happiness, the unthinking freedom of movement that came with dancing and flying.
-Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order.-
There was a soft murmuring under the slow, ponderous, melancholy music that was so unbearably beautiful, the world spiralling around as he danced through a field of stars.
-Dance is the hidden language of the soul.-
The centaurs and unicorns watched from the shadows of the forest as the human mages tried to break the circle called up by the Old Aos Sí Magiks embedded in the land herself, heads tilted as they listened to the melancholy Song of Harry Potter, some weeping and the rest sombre.
-To dance is to be out of yourself. Larger, more beautiful, more powerful.-
The Music reached its end when the moon reached its peak, Harry having not lived long enough for his Music to have reached the heights and lengths of the adults who would usually have shown their Dance to the Good Neighbours in hope of gaining favour, but it was longer than most his age, having seen and felt much in his short life. He stood and swayed, half aware of the murmuring quieting down while the yelling and commanding outside the circle suddenly peaked. A figure approached from the shadows of a tree.
-I knew a man who once said, "death smiles at us all; all a man can do is smile back."-
Even in the darkness of night, the moon and stars provided enough light for Harry to see the man. He was of slightly under average height and with a slender build; black tribal tattoos on the dark, rich blue of his bare torso and long inky hair tumbling in loose waves around him to the backs of his leather-clad knees. The sharp-faced man, the Aos Sí, held out a dark hand, dark eyes and lips smiling. Harry smiled and reached back.
-Come away, O human child!/ To the waters and the wild/ With a faery hand in hand,/ For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.-
On another plane, the witches and wizards screamed and wailed as the body of the boy toppled over dead, a smile still on his lips.
-Suicide is man's way of telling God, "You can't fire me - I quit."-
The funeral was overdone and much lied about. Dumbledore told the world that Harry Potter was murdered by Death Eaters, not willing to admit that the child he rested his hopes on had broken and killed himself before being of proper use. Only an odd little Second Year, daisies in her hair and a four-leaf clover behind her ear, saw the two people at the edge of the crowd disappear into the shadows, skin like sapphires, and smiled. She skipped back to her father, singing under her breath;
"Angels, pixies, faerie dust/ Treading love and living lust."
I was listening to Room of Angels from Silent Hill 4 while writing this. Most of the quotes can be found at The Quote Garden.
I was listening to Room of Angels from Silent Hill 4 while writing this.
Most of the quotes can be found at The Quote Garden.