A strange boy is found unconscious on Hogwarts grounds and taken into the school. Having no memory, he is enrolled by the headmaster, begins first year classes and befriends a young Tom Riddle. Cro...
Weight, the gentle pressure of his body against a soft surface was the first sensation he'd consciously felt. Though it was a good feeling, it felt oddly foreign; it was as if it was something he hadn't experienced in a very long time. Even the feeling of crisp sheets against his skin felt wrong, but he couldn't explain how. The next thing he noticed was the voices.
There were two people in the room with him, wherever he was. They were talking in low voices, but from what he could hear, they were speaking in some language he'd never heard before. One voice he recognised as from a human male of advanced age, the other a young woman. He lay quietly, listening for some clue as to where he was. He half expected to hear a deep but almost inaudible thrum that he felt had been a constant companion to him for years, or strange sounds that he couldn't identify. Instead, the room was filled with a silence that almost seemed unnatural.
As he listened, he tried to glean anything from their tone that might tell him something. They seemed agitated, concerned about something, possibly him. After all, if they were strangers to him, then it was likely he was a stranger to them as well. Abruptly, the two voices halted their conversation and he could almost feel their eyes on him. Moments later near silent footsteps approached his bed and stopped on either side of him.
Opening his eyes, he found two robed figures standing over him. The female, a plain, matronly woman in white, had both an expression and attitude that screamed 'healer', while the male, a balding old man with an air of authority, was obviously her superior. With a kindly expression, the man placed a hand on one of his own and spoke again in the alien tongue.
He stared stupidly at the old man, seemingly because he didn't understand him (which he didn't). It was more than that, however. He'd actually felt the man's hand on his. That hadn't happened in... The shock of it had him looking down at his own hands, small pale things, that of a child of no more than eleven or twelve. They were completely free of blemish or scarring, only having callouses to show he was no stranger to manual labour.
He was so absorbed in the study of hands that he couldn't identify as his own, that he entirely missed the old man pulling out a small wooden stick. He only looked up as the man flourished it and loudly pronounced, "Reddo Lingua."
The boy felt something shift in the old man's presence and channel through the stick to him. He felt it change something else inside him and he felt light headed for a moment.
"Can you understand me now, my boy?" asked the old man.
At first the boy didn't answer, not because he didn't understand, but because while the old man was still speaking in the strange alien language, the meaning was still perfectly clear to him. Noticing the slight frown of impatience on the old man's face, the boy quickly gave a slight nod.
"Wonderful," exclaimed the old man. "First, let me introduce myself. I am Professor Dippet, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Motioning to the woman at his side, Dippet continued, "This young lass is Madame Hardy, our resident healer. You are currently in our hospital wing, as you were found unconscious by one of the professors at the edge of the lake."
Taking a seat at the bedside, the headmaster glanced over his half-moon glances at his guest. "The question still remains, however, as to your identity and the means by which you find yourself on school grounds."
"I - " the boy began in a voice that wasn't his own, or at least hadn't been for a very long time. "I don't know," he answered quietly. "I can't remember."
A pensive look crossed the headmasters face as he regarded the boy, but an amused grin replaced it as he proclaimed, "It's not unheard of for someone to lose their memory from time to time, luckily we have madame Hardy here to help us find it."
Standing, Professor Dippet continued, "Until such a time as you remember yourself, we need something to call you - Andrew perhaps."
Rolling the suggested name around in his mind, the boy thought that while it wasn't truly his name, it would do for now. Nodding his assent to the headmaster, Andrew answered, "Thank you sir."
A twinkle came to the old man's eyes at the boy's response, "It's settled then; while you're recovering your memory we'll have you sorted and started in first year classes the moment that Laurel gives you a pass to leave the hospital wing."
"Classes?" Andrew asked in confusion.
"Why of course," Professor Dippet affirmed. "The mere fact that you found yourself on school grounds attests to your having magical talent. As you are obviously a minor, and know nothing of our world, it falls to us to educate you in our ways and to harness your magic."
"Magic," Andrew muttered. "I'm sorry, I don't know what that is exactly."
Sighing, and giving the young boy an understanding look, Professor Dippet answered, "I see a short explanation is in order. Magic is a part of the world around us, it resides in all things. It is the binding force of our very existence, and properly harnessed, it can do almost anything. Of human kind there are two sets of people: Wizards, who are able to tap into and manipulate magic, and Muggles, people who cannot. Hogwarts is a school created over a thousand years ago to teach wizards to use their ability."
"It flows through us," Andrew whispered to himself, feeling some vague recognition of the concept as the headmaster went on. "Its energy surrounds us and binds us." He knew this, or something like it, but not by that name. The professor went on a bit more about the nature of magic until he was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn from Andrew.
"I see that you're still recovering from your arrival," the headmaster commented merrily. "Either that, or I'm not the engaging teacher I once was. I'll be back in the morning, we have some texts and other materials that we'll gather for you to use, you'll still need robes and a wand I think."
"Thank you," Andrew muttered sleepily. "I don't have any money though."
"Don't worry," Professor Dippet answered, "We have a fund for needy students that will cover the costs. Now get some sleep, we have a big day tomorrow getting you settled in."
Andrew lay back and relaxed against the pillow. This place seemed odd and confusing, but comfortable in a way. The headmaster's talk of magic intrigued him, it was familiar somehow and he wanted to hear more about it. With all these things running about his head, the boy lay back and forced himself to fall asleep.
Slumber came easily enough, but with it came dreams, odd, somewhat frightening dreams full of murky figures and distant screams. Out of the mist, he heard a voice, older, but one he identified as his own. "I will be the greatest of them all!" that voice faded then returned with a note of desperation in it. "I'll do anything to save her!" Andrew floated for an undetermined time before he heard an older voice, one full of compassion and love say, "I've got to save you!" to be answered by a broken and scratchy one, again that he recognised somehow as his own. "You already have - my son."
Again, Andrew found himself floating freely in the mist, though after a time it began to become stiflingly hot, turning into a vision of hell. He felt for the briefest moment, the feeling of flying before the memory of a horrible pain had him crashing to earth. Through the haze he could hear the voice of his mentor, his brother as it broke with the sound of one betrayed. "You were the chosen one, you were supposed to bring balance!"
With a gasp, the boy jerked upright in bed, soaked in sweat. Madame Hardy, who'd heard the boy thrashing about in the depths of a nightmare had come to his bedside and gently touched his shoulder.
"Andrew," she soothed. "It was only a nightmare, you're alright."
"No," he answered, his voice still unsteady with unspent emotion, "not Andrew, my name is Anakin."
Alright, before anybody worries, I'm not abandoning Blind Faith, this is just a plot bunny i had to exorcise to get back to my story. I'll add to this intermittently when I feel like I'm hitting a wall with my other writing, but it's not my first concern. It has made me want to issue a challenge to any good writers, I'll call it the Finding Balance challenge
The rules are,
1.Anakin Skywalker finds himself at some point in the HP time line with a goal, to prevent or stop another dark lord from taking power. This is something he feels he needs to do before he can become one with the force after his death.
2.this is not a Darth Vader fic, use of the force, while usable by him, isn't what makes him special here. He recognises the path that will lead to Voldemort's descent into madness and must do what it takes to try and prevent it.
3.No future technology (no light saber). Jedi had to use regular swords at some point, I'm sure, and perhaps channelling the force through it would give it some extra ability.
That's really it, I want to keep it simple. Let me know what you think of my little plot bunny and whether I should continue with it, or do a 'Fatal Attraction' to it.