Title: The Dark, Beckoning
Characters/Parings: Salazar, Godric, Albus/Gellert, Riddle, Abraxas, Antonin/Bellatrix, Lucius, Draco, Scorpius/Lysander, Narcissa (cameo), OC
Summary: The dark lures, entices, and some people’s lives are inevitably tied to it or its agents in all sorts of significant and insignificant ways.
Notes: This is a cycle. That is, these are ficlets/drabbles that are unrelated to each other aside from having a common theme, in this case, dark objects (although one is a liquid and another an outright potion). Five of the parts were written as entries for darkarts_ldws with two written afterwards to have the cycle neatly cover all the main timeframes of fandom (Thanks, Kat, for the promps!). This is a cumulative header, each part will be posted with it’s own title, word count, rating and warnings.
Title: Aeternum Vale
Word Count: 652
It is cold and solid in his hands, the coolness of the metal seeping into his hands and penetrating deep into the skin, cooling the blood in his veins. Salazar bites down on his lower lip and chews it thoughtfully. His heart is still racing from the argument he and Godric had just had. It had been a while since they had fought like that. Years perhaps, not since they were boys.
It was different now. Godric was full of himself and ears-deep in the filth he brought into their haven, their school. He could not see reason, see that these children of non-wizarding blood could easily crumble their dream if given half the chance.
He turns the time-turner around and around and around until it is spinning almost uncontrollably, catching light from the window and seeming to almost glow with it. The glow fills his vision, ensnaring the world within it’s odd, dizzying light.
When Salazar can see again, he beholds an expansive field, overgrown with daisies and weeds. The sky is covered with large, grey clouds which lumber on their way, driven by a strong, northern wind. In the distance, two boys in white, linen blouses run through the grass, holding hands. They are about ten, perhaps slightly older. One is blonde and slim, the other red-haired with a firm build and broad shoulders. The clouds devour the sun and the wind begins to gust, carrying the shouts of the two boys with it as they come closer.
Salazar sinks onto his knees in the tall grass, watching. That redhead. How he had loved that companion of his youth. For Merlin’s sake, why did Godric have to change?
“Come on, Salazar, we need to get home before it rains!” the redhead boy shouts, letting go of the blonde’s hand before running ahead several feet, then turning and waving both hands above his head in encouragement.
Salazar watches him, the time-turner cool and thrumming in his hand, whispering possibilities. Certainly he did not come here simply to watch, to drown in nostalgia. He came here to act. It was he who had charmed Helga at the ball and it was Helga who had introduced him to the Lady Rowena. They did not need Godric at all. The time-turner seemed to go almost ice-cold in his fist.
Salazar raised his wand, pointing it at the young Gryffindor who was still jogging backwards. “Avada Kedavra,” he murmured, slashing his wand through the air, sending a deadly, green missive forward. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled.
With a squawk of surprise, Godric fell back, tripping over something in the grass. The child version of himself gave a shout of fright at the flash of green light. Salazar now remembered – he’d thought it was lightening back then. “Let’s go, go!” his child-self shouted in alarm, dragging Godric up by the shoulder. The boys grasped hands once more as they sprinted down the hill and and toward the castle walls.
Salazar dropped his head in both hands and let out a ragged sigh. He remembered now. The sunny day that had suddenly turned grim. The flash of green lightening that seemed to come out of the ground rather than from the sky. The icy rain that had besought them just as they made it through the gates. Himself, bandaging Godric’s bloodied, scraped arm that he had hurt during that fall, as the warmed by the fireplace.
The time-turner was still, its opportunity missed. Salazar let out a ragged breath and opened his clamped fist. The golden trinket twinkled up at him even in the darkening gloom of the storm clouds. He wasn’t a child anymore. There were grey specks in his hair now. It was time he let go of the past, return to the the present, and build the future no matter who got in his way.
It was time he let go of Godric.