//------------------------------// // Chapter 1: A Chaotic Start // Story: A Trip to Remember // by Allegrano_Melody //------------------------------// There was a hole in reality. In truth, it was more of a state of mind than a location. Within, the only rule was that there were no rules, and the monster who maintained this realm was an avatar of that concept. With mismatched limbs, the beast reached into nothingness and withdrew a book that looked older than time. As he opened it, he gave a nostalgic smile before the corners of his mouth drooped and a single tear of regret fell and sizzled into nothingness. He closed the book and place it into a refrigerator that spontaneously appeared. For a moment, he reflected upon the words within the tome, prophecies untold. There would be chaos. There would be a reckoning. All the alternatives were worse, unless . . . With a snap of talons, the book appeared, along with a phoenix feather quill and an ink pot. He let his imagination run free, and the quill followed along on the pages. With another snap, the tome was sealed. He gave a snort and headed for the realm of limbo. There was work to be done. Prologue The end was near. It had taken over 3000 desperate days. It had taken over 3000 blood-soaked nights. The unenlightened would have called it a war. Witches and wizards had fought and died trying to serve his ends or trying to thwart them. In truth, it had been a massacre. Muggles and squibs had been powerless against the onslaught; some had been targets; some had been obstacles; some had been collateral damage. He hadn't bothered keeping count of the bodies; it didn't matter; they didn't matter. He was now on the cusp of attaining ultimate power and on the verge of immortality. He now knew how to find the key to the last piece needed for his Horcrux. Voldemort needed the founders' relics. Early on, he had collected Helga Hufflepuff's cup, Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem, and Salazar Slytherin's locket. All that was left was Godric Gryffindor's sword. Unlike the other items, the sword did not usually exist in the physical plane. The way to summon it was simple. It only required that a Gryffindor exhibit the defining traits of the house during a time of great need. "Simple", unfortunately, was not the same as "easy." The forces of light had long ago deduced his plan, and the Gryffindors had gone to ground in a move worthy of Salazar Slytherin himself. After months of fruitless searching, the Dark Lord decided that it would be more efficient to flush the candidates from hiding. Who cared about mass murder with the goal almost at hand? It wasn’t truly mindless. Aside from the entertainment value, it drew Gryffindors determined to protect the innocent. They came under the aegis of the Order of the Phoenix, fanatically fighting to the death, denying Voldemort his prize. Where warriors had failed, bone pickers had taken over. For years, Death Eaters had scoured the records in the Ministry of Magic to trace every last twig of Godric Gryffindor's family tree. While it had contained a comprehensive history of the magical side of his family, neither muggles nor squibs had been recorded there—the last descendant of that ilk was recorded in the 18th century. While the thousands of deaths that had ensued from that discovery had been more than mildly amusing, they had hardly been constructive. Voldemort had dispatched Death Eaters to scour the General Register Office in London. It had taken three years of research, 500,000 pounds sterling in bribes, and a bottle of liquor that Voldemort had sworn he would never let out of sight, but the Dark Lord now hands on the answer he had sought. [London: T – 10 Hours] Everyone in the neighborhood knew of the haunted flat in the house at the corner of Pardoner and Weston. The sketchiness of the area amplified the eeriness of the bestial growls that came with unerring regularity during the day. The wails and moans that could be heard after dark were worse. It was clear that something occupied the place; whether is was living or otherwise was a matter for debate. No one had ever been seen entering or leaving, but at times, the most enticing aromas could be found in its hallway. The popular theory was that the occupant was a ghoul trying to lure Hansel’s and Gretel’s modern counterparts. The flat’s occupant, however, had no idea how such ridiculous rumors could be spawned. As far as he could tell, it was the same ordinary apartment it had been since he took over the lease almost fifteen years ago. When he had announced that he’d landed a job as a chef in an upscale nightclub, his childhood friends Angel and Solomon had taken it upon themselves to find a place within walking distance. Granted, it wasn’t in the nicest of neighborhoods by any stretch of the imagination, but the price was right, and he’d done a favor for the previous leasee. For most of the country, it was tea time. For Aetherdal, it was time to get up and get ready for work. Reluctantly, he rolled out of bed and stretched. Groggily, he straightened the frame with the certificate that declared he was a three-star chef. It was too early for this sort of nonsense. Shave, shower, and coffee were the top priorities. Only then would he be truly ready. He had scarcely finished pouring himself a cup of coffee when a pounding at his door jolted him out of his reverie. He withdrew a Centennial Airweight from the holster at the small of his back. Flipping the cylinder open, he confirmed that all five chambers were loaded. Snapping the cylinder back in place, he quietly stepped toward the door, ready for the worst. A shrill voice came from the doorway. “Dammit, Aetherdal! Open up! It’s me and Solomon.” Aetherdal breathed a sigh of relief and holstered his weapon. Once he opened the door, Angel and Solomon burst in. Aetherdal did a double-take. “Are you guys going to a wedding or something? That’s way too fancy for a dump like this.” Solomon replied, “Who are you to talk? I mean, who wears chartreuse with anything?” “What are you talking about? I’m drinking coffee.” “I meant the color,” said Solomon. Shrugging, Aetherdal replied, “They’re all shades of gray to me.” Angel snapped, “Would you two cut it out! It’s past four, and we’re late enough as is!” Glaring at Aetherdal, she said, “You were supposed to meet us at the bookstore an hour ago.” “Since when?” asked Aetherdal. “Since when?” screamed Angel. “Pansy! Get your arse over here! You had one job, one!” Aetherdal gasped when a small, shabby figure with long, pointed ears walked into view. He exclaimed, “What the hell is that?” “What have you done?” gasped Solomon. “Don’t you care about the Statute?” “Not now!” said Angel. Aetherdal groaned as his friends continued bickering while the small creature wilted under Angel’s criticism. After a moment, he put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. He pulled himself up to his full two meter height, towering over Angel. “Explain. Now.” The woman shrank back. “We’re late. Let’s go to the bookstore first.” “Not until you explain. I know normal.” Pointing at Pansy, Aetherdal continued. “Whatever that is isn’t normal.” Solomon sighed. “Aetherdal, you need to come with us before it’s too late.” “Too late? You think you know someone and then they pull something like this?” Angel said, “Look, do you know how everyone says your place is haunted?” Aetherdal nodded. “The things that go bump in the night have found you. We have to get you out of here before . . .” The building quivered for a moment. The room exploded in a flash of orange and green.