Categories > Books > Harry Potter > World Tree Book I: Harry Potter and the Past Lives
Author's Note: If you happen to see a number like this(0) then that means there's a footnote for it at the bottom of the page.
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The Great Hall; Hogwarts; North of Hogsmeade, Scotland; Earth 1; September 7, 1995; 9:00 a.m.
Just as the clock struck nine a flurry of owls flew into the Great Hall dropping or delivering letters and packages and occasionally stealing a piece of bacon. Harry wondered, not for the first time in five years why it worked that way. Did the school have some kind of charm to prevent the owls from entering before nine o'clock? Maybe it was to keep the owls from coming and going throught the day and being a constant distraction.
Whatever the reason, the owls came, which meant he got to see Hedwig. The snowy owl usually had nothing to deliver, but she would still nip his ear affectionately and let him stroke her feathers. Today, however, was different.
"Lookout! Hermione ordered a new book!" Seamus Finnagin yelled, pointing at something.
"I did not!" Hermione cried as she turned to look at what Seamus was pointing at. Harry turned too, and, honestly, understood how Seamus could have made the mistake.
Hedwig was carrying what looked to be a large dictionary wrapped in brown paper in her talons. Either someone had put a charm on the parcel to lighten it, or his owl was stronger than he thought.
She brought the book down in front of him. Harry quickly gave her two pieces of bacon, which the owl happily dug into.
The young wizard examined the package in front of him. It definitely felt like a book, and definitely had no charm on it; the thing weighed at least a full seven pounds. He spared a glance at Hedwig, who looked rather smug.
"Why'd you order a book, Harry?" Ron asked, looking mildly nauseous.
"I didn't," Harry answered. He looked at the letter attached to the package. It was in Remus Lupin's handwriting.
/]
[/Dear Harry, it read, Sirius told me to give this to you. He wouldn't say why, except that you'd find it "handy" somehow. It's rightfully yours anyway, so I won't pry. I hope you'll enjoy just as much as we did.
/]
[/Moony
/]
[/P.S.
/]
[/Sirius requested that I mark one chapter in particular where you should start. It's one of the best anyway.
Harry smiled at the letter, not only because of what it said, but because Sirius hadn't broken his promise.
King's Cross; London, England; Earth 1; September 1, 1995; 10:30 a.m.
Shortly before it was time to board, the train, Harry was tugged by his godfather (who was in dog form, of course) into a small sitting area to say a private goodbye. At least, that's what he told everyone was what it was about.
As soon as they were alone, Sirius morphed back into his human form.
Harry took a quick looked around. "Are you sure this is safe Sirius?"
The most wanted man in the United Kingdom smile. "Don't worry, Harry, no one can see me. Listen, you said you wanted to talk to me about something before we left. Well, this is our last chance before Holidays ; so, what's the problem?"
Harry squirmed a little. "Well, Sirius, remember how I had a vision from Voldemort's mind last year?"
Sirius frowned. "It's happening again?"
Harry shook his head. "No, but it feels like that, like I'm looking through someone else's eyes."
"What have these dreams been about?" Sirius asked.
"People and places I've never heard of," Harry answered. "With names like Harren and Hermonia and Stygia and Conan." Sirius drew a sharp breath. "What is it?" Harry asked.
"Conan and Stygia . . ." Sirius looked at Harry peculiarly. "You're certain you've never heard those names before, Harry? Absolutely certain?"
"Yes . . . I'm pretty sure I would remember them if I had heard them before."
Sirius frowned. "No, you couldn't have . . . The Weasley's wouldn't know, I don't think, and Remus still has the book." He seemed to be talking to himself now. "Harry, have you told anyone else about these dreams?"
"Just Hermione," he answered.
Sirius nodded. "That was probably smart, but don't mention them to anyone else, if you can, all right?"
"All right, Sirius," Harry answered.
"Not even Dumbledore," Sirius added sharply.
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Sirius-"
"Just promise me you won't say anything, Harry," Sirius insisted.
". . . All right." Sirius nodded.
"Good. There's a book that might be able to help you. It was your father's, but he gave it to Remus for safe keeping before he and your mother went into hiding."
"What was it?" Harry asked.
"A book of our world's oldest legends," Sirius answered. "At least, we always thought so. Now, I'm not so sure . . ." He was silent for a few moments. "There isn't enough time to explain. Listen, I'll ask Remus to send you the book; it's yours now anyway so he won't think much of it."
Harry looked at Sirius strangely. "You're not telling Professor Lupin?"
Sirius shook his head. "Until we can figure out what this is, I think the fewer who know, the better."
The Present
"It's from Professor Lupin," he said, as he began ripping the paper off. "He says it was my Dad's." The book was old, so old its pages were yellowed and stiff. In faded gold letters, it read, An Account of the Second Age, Known as the Hyborian At the bottom of the cover was the author's name, Robert E. Howard. Unable to stop himself, Harry opened it to the page that had a large bookmark in it. He dropped it on the table.
Chapter XXI: Conan, the Conqueror(1)
/]
[/"Know, oh prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities, and the years of the rise of the Sons of Aryas, there was an Age undreamed of, when shining kingdoms lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars – Nemedia, Ophir, Brythunia, Hyperborea, Zamora with its dark-haired women and towers of spider-haunted mystery, Zingara with its chivalry, Koth that bordered on the pastoral lands of Shem, Stygia with its shadow-guarded tombs, Hyrkania whose riders wore steel and silk and gold. But the proudest kingdom of the world was Aquilonia, reigning supreme in the dreaming west. Hither came Conan, the Cimmerian, black-haired, sullen-eyed, sword in hand, a thief, a reaver, a slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth, to tread the jeweled thrones of the Earth under his sandalled feet."
/]
[/– The Nemedian Chronicles.(2)
Harry slammed the book shut. He should have realized, when Sirius mentioned the book that the names would be there, but to actually see them, to know that what he dreamed of was real history, history that stretched beyond his own ideas of history-he knew enough of the legend of Atlantis to know that it supposedly sank in ancient times-that was . . .
"Harry," Hermione asked, "are you all right?"
"Yeah," he said, taking the book off the table. "I just realized now isn't the time to look at it."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Is there ever a good time to look at a book?" Hermione scowled at him and he wisely chose to focus on his meal.
The Potions' Dungeon; Hogwarts; North of Hogsmeade, Scotland; Earth 1; September 9, 1995; 4:35 a.m.
A day that ends with Double Potions is not a pleasant day to begin with. It gets worse when you know you have a detention after dinner. Harry knew he shouldn't have mouthed off in Defense, but Fudge's ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away strategy was going to get people killed. The bowler wearing fool was so obsessed with his position that he . . .
Harry turned his frustration into energy, viciously hacking up his wolfsbane. This, in turn caused drops of its deadly juice to fly across the cutting board.(3)
"Watch it, Potter," his partner said, surprisingly without anger. "We still have plenty of time; there's no need to poison yourself."
Harry blushed, turning to his partner. She was a blond girl with porcelain-like skin, violet eyes, and a delicate nose. One perfectly groomed eyebrow was arched in his direction, and her mouth was smirking slightly.
"Sorry, Daphne," he muttered. "Just got a lot on my mind."
The blonde's smirk widened just a little more, and Harry felt his face get hotter. "That's not a very good practice when handling a knife, especially when you're using it to slice up a deadly herb."
Harry looked down at his hands. She raised a good point; the large, silver knife he used to cut up various potion materials could hack through just about anything by his reckoning, and though he wore protective gloves . . .
"That's . . . good advice," he admitted.
Now both of Daphne's eyebrows went up, and her perfect teeth flashed as she laughed quietly. "Wow, a Gryffindor admitting a Slytherin's right about something, maybe I should call the Prophet!"
Harry frowned, thinking about Fudge's smear campaign against him. "I bet they'd come running."
Daphne's smirk fell a little. "They would. Sorry, Potter."
Harry raised his eyebrows at her, causing the girl to frown a little. "Yes, I know, a Slytherin just apologized to a Gryffindor; that's something to call the Prophet about."
Harry frowned. "Well, it is when a Slytherin apologizes to me."
Daphne frowned, turning her head slightly to scan the room. "Don't spread this around, Potter, but you actually have some fans in Slytheirn."
Harry didn't know what to say; fortunately, he didn't have to say anything.
"Back to work, Potter; you can flirt when your potion is on my desk."
Harry blushed and whipped his head to the far side of the room. Snape wasn't even looking in his direction. Because, he turned his head so fast, however, he never say Daphne lower her head, too. If he had, he would have seen her cheeks turn a faint pink, too.
The Gryffindor Commonroom; Hogwarts; North of Hogsmeade, Scotland; Earth 1; September 9, 1995; 11:20 p.m.
Harry finally stumbled into the Commonroom; after the pink toad's so-called "detention," the walk back seemed twice as long. He was being very careful to hold his right hand straight down and not letting it touch anything.
"Hey, mate," Ron yawned. It looked like he had tried to do his homework. It also looked like he hadn't gotten much done.
"Hey, Ron," Harry answered. "Hey, Hermi-"
"Why are you bleeding, Harry?" the witch in question asked, making him jump, slightly. She had been sitting in a chair by the fire when he had walked in. Damn, He thought, Hermione can move.
"What are you talking about?" Harry asked.
Hermione gently held up his hand. The words there were runes or something were etched into the back. Most were just little pink scrapes, but some of the lines were bleeding now, probably from his shirtsleeve rubbing against his hand.
"What are you going on about Her-" Ron asked, then saw Harry's hand. "Bloody-"
"What . . . is . . . this?" Hermione asked. Her eyes were narrowed and dark, and her lips had pulled back on her teeth. That last word had come out more like a hiss. Strangely, even though Harry could see her own become tense with contained energy, she wasn't clenching his captured hand.
Harry frowned, or tried to, it was hard, somehow. "Umbridge's detention," he said. "She had this weird quill; when I wrote with, it carved the words into my hand. I think it used my blood for ink . . . Hermione, are you sick?"
"What?" she asked. "Don't you dare try to change the subject Harry."
"I'm not. It's just . . . your hand feels really warm. Do you have a fever?"
Hermione's cheeks turned red. "No, Harry, I'm not sick . . ."
Ron humph-ed in his chair. "I'm going to bed," he grumbled, then walked off.
Harry watched him go. "What was that about?"
Hermione looked away. "No idea. I'll look up a potion or something to help you with your hand, Harry."
Harry felt a great deal of warmth blossoming in his chest like one of those flowers that closes it petals at night and opens again at dawn. "Thanks, Hermione, you really don't have to."
"Yes, I do," she said. "And I want to, anyway."
Harry felt his own cheeks warm up. Wait, did that mean that, instead of being sick, Hermione was . . .
"So!" he said, maybe a little too loudly. He lowered his voice. "You want to look at the book, now?"
Hermione nodded. "Yeah, let's do that." The pair walked over to the book very quickly.
A quick look through caused Harry to lean back in his chair and groan. "How could a priest be such good mates with a man like him?"
What he had seen so far of the king hadn't exactly been a ringing endorsement. The titles "thief," "reaver," and "slayer" didn't exactly do him justice; Conan, it seemed, had been every kind of criminal or outlaw imaginable: pirate, mercenary, and raider should have been added to the list at the start of the chapter. Heck, he became king of Aquilonia by teaming up with some dissatisfied nobles and then strangled the former king on his own throne.
"Conan was a definite improvement over his predecessor," Hermione said. "Numedides was worst kind of tyrant imaginable."
"How could he be worse than a pirate?" Harry asked, leaning forward a little.
"Well," Hermione looked over the page. "For starters, Numedides had a fondness for kidnapping attractive women—some of them already married even—and using them as concubines."
Harry's face twisted into a scowl. "Didn't their families try to do anything?"
"Some of them did," Hermione said, frowning. "They were tortured."
Harry sat back, unable to speak. Hermione kept going. "Apparently, the same thing happened when fathers tried to stop him from drafting their sons to fight against uprising nobles."
"Bloody . . ."
"Also, he taxed them pretty extremely, probably to pay for crushing the insurgencies."
Harry was silent for a moment, and then, almost desperately, he asked "And Conan was better?"
"A lot better, really," Hermione said, lifting the book closer to her face. "After he became king, most of the nobles fell in line, at least at first. Conan instantly lowered taxes; arguably Aquilionians paid the lowest taxes in the world under his rule. He also returned the girls Numedides abducted."
"But Conan kept concubines, too!" Harry protested. "I heard him mention it while talking with Harren."
"Yes, but they were acquired by various legal means," Hermione responded.
"You mean a slave trade . . ." Harry whispered.
Hermione didn't say anything. "It seems he was never cruel to them, though; in fact, the common people of Aquilionia loved him. As I said, he lowered taxes and never issued a draft, in part because he never sought to expand the nation's borders. Mostly, though, I think it was because he was genuinely kind to them. Harren mentioned the 'followers of Asura' in your dream, right?"
Harry nodded.
"they were a less popular religion in Aquilonia who were persecuted as cannibals and witches. Conan ended the persecution. Actually," she said flipping through a couple of pages, "he seemed to end persecution wherever he found it. As an outlaw, he was noted as having a certain level of honor and decency—well, near decency. After he became king, however, he assumed all responsibilities of the office. 'It was said that no noble dared oppress the meekest citizen of Aquilonia, lest Conan's wrath come down on him like fury of an avenging god.'" She pointed out the quote to Harry in the book.
"Wow," Harry muttered. Then, he frowned. "You said the common people loved him. What about the nobles?"
"They were more of a mixed bag," Hermione responded. "Some loved him, too, Trocero, count of Poitain, for example. Others, however, particularly those who were blood-related to Numedides and should have inherited the crown under the normal way of things, weren't fond of him at all. Actually, a running theme in his rule is that various nobles or rebels were frequently trying to replace him with themselves or their allies."(4)
"How does Harren fit into all this?" Harry asked. Hermione turned over a page. Her eyebrows shot up for a moment, but she didn't say a word. Harry was about to ask her what she saw, when she began speaking again.
"Well, apparently he was much younger than Conan, he only reached the position of priest when Conan was well into his rule. It seems they struck up a friendship somehow; the book isn't very clear. What is clear is that he became Conan's trusted advisor and confidant."
Harry thought back to the two men in the first dream, sitting and talking so casually, exchanging jokes and drinks, and nodded.
Hermione began to chew her lip as she read. "Well, this is interesting."
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"Essentially, Harren was the Merlin of his day; he was said to be the most powerful wizard in the entire world. He was so powerful he was called the Dragon, a title that hadn't been used since the Thurian Age."(5)
"The what?"
"I believe it's the "First Age," if this book is about the so-called "Second Age." Hermione read a little more, then started blushing. "Oh . . . Harry?" she said looking up, frowning a little.
Harry swallowed, suddenly wishing he were somewhere else right now. "Yes, Hermione?"
"You really have never read this book before in your life?"
"Yeah," he answered. "You know that, Hermione."
"All these dreams, you really had them, with no knowledge of who was in them or anything?"
"Hermione!"
"Answer me, Harry . . . please."
"Hermione . . . I'd never lie to you about something like this." What "this" was was still up for debate, but that didn't matter at the moment. "You'd see through me anyway—not that that's the only reason I wouldn't lie to you! Whenever I lie to you, or even keep a secret, it hurts. I feel like there's . . . a fish inside me, a fish that's been pulled out of the water and thrown on the land, flopping about and drowning in air. Maybe that's a little gross, but that's how I feel, 'Mione."
He blushed a little at the end, calling her a name he had only ever called her in his mind before.
Instead of being mad, however, Hermione dropped the book on the floor; Harry was dimly aware that it made a loud thud! when it fell. Dimly, because before it the ground, Hermione had encircled her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder. She began to weep softly.
"'Mione," he whispered, gently bringing his arms around her.
"Harry . . . that was the sweetest, the most beautiful thing anyone's ever said to me."
Harry tightened his arms around her a little more, "It's true, 'Mione, every line of it. I promise."
They held each other for a moment. Then, Hermione let go of him, and wiped away her tears. Harry's arms stayed at her sides, gently holding her.
Hermione took a deep breath. She didn't look like she was about to cry again; but there was a look on her face that Harry didn't like.
"What is it, Hermione?"
"Harry," she said, "I'm scared."
She picked the book up and lay it in front of him, then opened it to a page with an illustration. It was a portrait of Harren Pottris, looking exactly as Harry had dreamed of him, looking exactly like Harry.
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Author's Notes: Ahh, the plot thickens. That last bit was probably a bit confusing, so I'll commit a cardinal sin among authors and explain it. Hermione found something embarrasing in the book which caused her to question Harry. After thew episoded (in whcih I'm sure many of you were shouting "Get a room!") Hermione was forced to deal with the fact that Harry was having some sort of psychic episode, which distracted her from what she had read and honestly scared the heck out of her.
Okay, I can't promise the next chapter will come anytime soon, but I'll promise to try. Now that we've confirmed that Harry's visions are more than just an overactive teenage imagination, what will happen next?
FOOTNOTES:
(0) This is an example of footnote.
(1) Robert E. Howard wrote twenty-one stories of Conan, along with a poem about Conan's homeland, Cimmeria and the Hyborian age itself. Since then, other writers have added stuff, but only 21 are Howard's original stories of the barbarian.
(2) This is a direct quotation from the opening of The Phoenix on the Sword, the first story of Conan that Howard ever wrote, even though it comes late in the barbarian's own chronology.
(3) Wolfsbane is in fact deadly poison, just touching the stuff is unhealthy for you.
(4) Pretty much everything I've written here actually comes from the Conan mythos. Conan was a world-famous outlaw and mercenary, even in distant countries. Yet, even then, he had a certain digree of honor (at one point a woman tells him that her father sold her into slavery for not marrying his choice of husband, and Conan is disgusted) Irionically, after stealing the throne of Aquilonia, he was a model king, far more likeable than many of the characters of noble blood. "Thus subtly does the instinct of sovereign responsibility enter even a red-handed plunderer sometimes"-The Scarlet Citadel.
And yes, the last three stories, which all deal with Conan's kingship, all include a conspiracy to asassinate him and replace him with someone related to Numedides.
(5) The Thurian Age was about 1000,000 years ago, as opposed to the Hyborian which is supposedly a "mere" 10,000 years ago. It was so far back in the past that the advanced kingdom of Atlantis was just an island home to barbarians. One such barbarian was Kull who was a proto-Conan figure. In fact, The Pheonix on the Sword began life as a rejected Kull story that Howard reworked to have more action and supernatural and less philosophy. Kull the king's stories had plenty of magic but were usually burdened with what seems like excessive musings on society and the universe. Also, Kull's stories had no romantic elements, which probably hurt him when compared to Conan's unrepentant womanizing.
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The Great Hall; Hogwarts; North of Hogsmeade, Scotland; Earth 1; September 7, 1995; 9:00 a.m.
Just as the clock struck nine a flurry of owls flew into the Great Hall dropping or delivering letters and packages and occasionally stealing a piece of bacon. Harry wondered, not for the first time in five years why it worked that way. Did the school have some kind of charm to prevent the owls from entering before nine o'clock? Maybe it was to keep the owls from coming and going throught the day and being a constant distraction.
Whatever the reason, the owls came, which meant he got to see Hedwig. The snowy owl usually had nothing to deliver, but she would still nip his ear affectionately and let him stroke her feathers. Today, however, was different.
"Lookout! Hermione ordered a new book!" Seamus Finnagin yelled, pointing at something.
"I did not!" Hermione cried as she turned to look at what Seamus was pointing at. Harry turned too, and, honestly, understood how Seamus could have made the mistake.
Hedwig was carrying what looked to be a large dictionary wrapped in brown paper in her talons. Either someone had put a charm on the parcel to lighten it, or his owl was stronger than he thought.
She brought the book down in front of him. Harry quickly gave her two pieces of bacon, which the owl happily dug into.
The young wizard examined the package in front of him. It definitely felt like a book, and definitely had no charm on it; the thing weighed at least a full seven pounds. He spared a glance at Hedwig, who looked rather smug.
"Why'd you order a book, Harry?" Ron asked, looking mildly nauseous.
"I didn't," Harry answered. He looked at the letter attached to the package. It was in Remus Lupin's handwriting.
/]
[/Dear Harry, it read, Sirius told me to give this to you. He wouldn't say why, except that you'd find it "handy" somehow. It's rightfully yours anyway, so I won't pry. I hope you'll enjoy just as much as we did.
/]
[/Moony
/]
[/P.S.
/]
[/Sirius requested that I mark one chapter in particular where you should start. It's one of the best anyway.
Harry smiled at the letter, not only because of what it said, but because Sirius hadn't broken his promise.
King's Cross; London, England; Earth 1; September 1, 1995; 10:30 a.m.
Shortly before it was time to board, the train, Harry was tugged by his godfather (who was in dog form, of course) into a small sitting area to say a private goodbye. At least, that's what he told everyone was what it was about.
As soon as they were alone, Sirius morphed back into his human form.
Harry took a quick looked around. "Are you sure this is safe Sirius?"
The most wanted man in the United Kingdom smile. "Don't worry, Harry, no one can see me. Listen, you said you wanted to talk to me about something before we left. Well, this is our last chance before Holidays ; so, what's the problem?"
Harry squirmed a little. "Well, Sirius, remember how I had a vision from Voldemort's mind last year?"
Sirius frowned. "It's happening again?"
Harry shook his head. "No, but it feels like that, like I'm looking through someone else's eyes."
"What have these dreams been about?" Sirius asked.
"People and places I've never heard of," Harry answered. "With names like Harren and Hermonia and Stygia and Conan." Sirius drew a sharp breath. "What is it?" Harry asked.
"Conan and Stygia . . ." Sirius looked at Harry peculiarly. "You're certain you've never heard those names before, Harry? Absolutely certain?"
"Yes . . . I'm pretty sure I would remember them if I had heard them before."
Sirius frowned. "No, you couldn't have . . . The Weasley's wouldn't know, I don't think, and Remus still has the book." He seemed to be talking to himself now. "Harry, have you told anyone else about these dreams?"
"Just Hermione," he answered.
Sirius nodded. "That was probably smart, but don't mention them to anyone else, if you can, all right?"
"All right, Sirius," Harry answered.
"Not even Dumbledore," Sirius added sharply.
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Sirius-"
"Just promise me you won't say anything, Harry," Sirius insisted.
". . . All right." Sirius nodded.
"Good. There's a book that might be able to help you. It was your father's, but he gave it to Remus for safe keeping before he and your mother went into hiding."
"What was it?" Harry asked.
"A book of our world's oldest legends," Sirius answered. "At least, we always thought so. Now, I'm not so sure . . ." He was silent for a few moments. "There isn't enough time to explain. Listen, I'll ask Remus to send you the book; it's yours now anyway so he won't think much of it."
Harry looked at Sirius strangely. "You're not telling Professor Lupin?"
Sirius shook his head. "Until we can figure out what this is, I think the fewer who know, the better."
The Present
"It's from Professor Lupin," he said, as he began ripping the paper off. "He says it was my Dad's." The book was old, so old its pages were yellowed and stiff. In faded gold letters, it read, An Account of the Second Age, Known as the Hyborian At the bottom of the cover was the author's name, Robert E. Howard. Unable to stop himself, Harry opened it to the page that had a large bookmark in it. He dropped it on the table.
Chapter XXI: Conan, the Conqueror(1)
/]
[/"Know, oh prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities, and the years of the rise of the Sons of Aryas, there was an Age undreamed of, when shining kingdoms lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars – Nemedia, Ophir, Brythunia, Hyperborea, Zamora with its dark-haired women and towers of spider-haunted mystery, Zingara with its chivalry, Koth that bordered on the pastoral lands of Shem, Stygia with its shadow-guarded tombs, Hyrkania whose riders wore steel and silk and gold. But the proudest kingdom of the world was Aquilonia, reigning supreme in the dreaming west. Hither came Conan, the Cimmerian, black-haired, sullen-eyed, sword in hand, a thief, a reaver, a slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth, to tread the jeweled thrones of the Earth under his sandalled feet."
/]
[/– The Nemedian Chronicles.(2)
Harry slammed the book shut. He should have realized, when Sirius mentioned the book that the names would be there, but to actually see them, to know that what he dreamed of was real history, history that stretched beyond his own ideas of history-he knew enough of the legend of Atlantis to know that it supposedly sank in ancient times-that was . . .
"Harry," Hermione asked, "are you all right?"
"Yeah," he said, taking the book off the table. "I just realized now isn't the time to look at it."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Is there ever a good time to look at a book?" Hermione scowled at him and he wisely chose to focus on his meal.
The Potions' Dungeon; Hogwarts; North of Hogsmeade, Scotland; Earth 1; September 9, 1995; 4:35 a.m.
A day that ends with Double Potions is not a pleasant day to begin with. It gets worse when you know you have a detention after dinner. Harry knew he shouldn't have mouthed off in Defense, but Fudge's ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away strategy was going to get people killed. The bowler wearing fool was so obsessed with his position that he . . .
Harry turned his frustration into energy, viciously hacking up his wolfsbane. This, in turn caused drops of its deadly juice to fly across the cutting board.(3)
"Watch it, Potter," his partner said, surprisingly without anger. "We still have plenty of time; there's no need to poison yourself."
Harry blushed, turning to his partner. She was a blond girl with porcelain-like skin, violet eyes, and a delicate nose. One perfectly groomed eyebrow was arched in his direction, and her mouth was smirking slightly.
"Sorry, Daphne," he muttered. "Just got a lot on my mind."
The blonde's smirk widened just a little more, and Harry felt his face get hotter. "That's not a very good practice when handling a knife, especially when you're using it to slice up a deadly herb."
Harry looked down at his hands. She raised a good point; the large, silver knife he used to cut up various potion materials could hack through just about anything by his reckoning, and though he wore protective gloves . . .
"That's . . . good advice," he admitted.
Now both of Daphne's eyebrows went up, and her perfect teeth flashed as she laughed quietly. "Wow, a Gryffindor admitting a Slytherin's right about something, maybe I should call the Prophet!"
Harry frowned, thinking about Fudge's smear campaign against him. "I bet they'd come running."
Daphne's smirk fell a little. "They would. Sorry, Potter."
Harry raised his eyebrows at her, causing the girl to frown a little. "Yes, I know, a Slytherin just apologized to a Gryffindor; that's something to call the Prophet about."
Harry frowned. "Well, it is when a Slytherin apologizes to me."
Daphne frowned, turning her head slightly to scan the room. "Don't spread this around, Potter, but you actually have some fans in Slytheirn."
Harry didn't know what to say; fortunately, he didn't have to say anything.
"Back to work, Potter; you can flirt when your potion is on my desk."
Harry blushed and whipped his head to the far side of the room. Snape wasn't even looking in his direction. Because, he turned his head so fast, however, he never say Daphne lower her head, too. If he had, he would have seen her cheeks turn a faint pink, too.
The Gryffindor Commonroom; Hogwarts; North of Hogsmeade, Scotland; Earth 1; September 9, 1995; 11:20 p.m.
Harry finally stumbled into the Commonroom; after the pink toad's so-called "detention," the walk back seemed twice as long. He was being very careful to hold his right hand straight down and not letting it touch anything.
"Hey, mate," Ron yawned. It looked like he had tried to do his homework. It also looked like he hadn't gotten much done.
"Hey, Ron," Harry answered. "Hey, Hermi-"
"Why are you bleeding, Harry?" the witch in question asked, making him jump, slightly. She had been sitting in a chair by the fire when he had walked in. Damn, He thought, Hermione can move.
"What are you talking about?" Harry asked.
Hermione gently held up his hand. The words there were runes or something were etched into the back. Most were just little pink scrapes, but some of the lines were bleeding now, probably from his shirtsleeve rubbing against his hand.
"What are you going on about Her-" Ron asked, then saw Harry's hand. "Bloody-"
"What . . . is . . . this?" Hermione asked. Her eyes were narrowed and dark, and her lips had pulled back on her teeth. That last word had come out more like a hiss. Strangely, even though Harry could see her own become tense with contained energy, she wasn't clenching his captured hand.
Harry frowned, or tried to, it was hard, somehow. "Umbridge's detention," he said. "She had this weird quill; when I wrote with, it carved the words into my hand. I think it used my blood for ink . . . Hermione, are you sick?"
"What?" she asked. "Don't you dare try to change the subject Harry."
"I'm not. It's just . . . your hand feels really warm. Do you have a fever?"
Hermione's cheeks turned red. "No, Harry, I'm not sick . . ."
Ron humph-ed in his chair. "I'm going to bed," he grumbled, then walked off.
Harry watched him go. "What was that about?"
Hermione looked away. "No idea. I'll look up a potion or something to help you with your hand, Harry."
Harry felt a great deal of warmth blossoming in his chest like one of those flowers that closes it petals at night and opens again at dawn. "Thanks, Hermione, you really don't have to."
"Yes, I do," she said. "And I want to, anyway."
Harry felt his own cheeks warm up. Wait, did that mean that, instead of being sick, Hermione was . . .
"So!" he said, maybe a little too loudly. He lowered his voice. "You want to look at the book, now?"
Hermione nodded. "Yeah, let's do that." The pair walked over to the book very quickly.
A quick look through caused Harry to lean back in his chair and groan. "How could a priest be such good mates with a man like him?"
What he had seen so far of the king hadn't exactly been a ringing endorsement. The titles "thief," "reaver," and "slayer" didn't exactly do him justice; Conan, it seemed, had been every kind of criminal or outlaw imaginable: pirate, mercenary, and raider should have been added to the list at the start of the chapter. Heck, he became king of Aquilonia by teaming up with some dissatisfied nobles and then strangled the former king on his own throne.
"Conan was a definite improvement over his predecessor," Hermione said. "Numedides was worst kind of tyrant imaginable."
"How could he be worse than a pirate?" Harry asked, leaning forward a little.
"Well," Hermione looked over the page. "For starters, Numedides had a fondness for kidnapping attractive women—some of them already married even—and using them as concubines."
Harry's face twisted into a scowl. "Didn't their families try to do anything?"
"Some of them did," Hermione said, frowning. "They were tortured."
Harry sat back, unable to speak. Hermione kept going. "Apparently, the same thing happened when fathers tried to stop him from drafting their sons to fight against uprising nobles."
"Bloody . . ."
"Also, he taxed them pretty extremely, probably to pay for crushing the insurgencies."
Harry was silent for a moment, and then, almost desperately, he asked "And Conan was better?"
"A lot better, really," Hermione said, lifting the book closer to her face. "After he became king, most of the nobles fell in line, at least at first. Conan instantly lowered taxes; arguably Aquilionians paid the lowest taxes in the world under his rule. He also returned the girls Numedides abducted."
"But Conan kept concubines, too!" Harry protested. "I heard him mention it while talking with Harren."
"Yes, but they were acquired by various legal means," Hermione responded.
"You mean a slave trade . . ." Harry whispered.
Hermione didn't say anything. "It seems he was never cruel to them, though; in fact, the common people of Aquilionia loved him. As I said, he lowered taxes and never issued a draft, in part because he never sought to expand the nation's borders. Mostly, though, I think it was because he was genuinely kind to them. Harren mentioned the 'followers of Asura' in your dream, right?"
Harry nodded.
"they were a less popular religion in Aquilonia who were persecuted as cannibals and witches. Conan ended the persecution. Actually," she said flipping through a couple of pages, "he seemed to end persecution wherever he found it. As an outlaw, he was noted as having a certain level of honor and decency—well, near decency. After he became king, however, he assumed all responsibilities of the office. 'It was said that no noble dared oppress the meekest citizen of Aquilonia, lest Conan's wrath come down on him like fury of an avenging god.'" She pointed out the quote to Harry in the book.
"Wow," Harry muttered. Then, he frowned. "You said the common people loved him. What about the nobles?"
"They were more of a mixed bag," Hermione responded. "Some loved him, too, Trocero, count of Poitain, for example. Others, however, particularly those who were blood-related to Numedides and should have inherited the crown under the normal way of things, weren't fond of him at all. Actually, a running theme in his rule is that various nobles or rebels were frequently trying to replace him with themselves or their allies."(4)
"How does Harren fit into all this?" Harry asked. Hermione turned over a page. Her eyebrows shot up for a moment, but she didn't say a word. Harry was about to ask her what she saw, when she began speaking again.
"Well, apparently he was much younger than Conan, he only reached the position of priest when Conan was well into his rule. It seems they struck up a friendship somehow; the book isn't very clear. What is clear is that he became Conan's trusted advisor and confidant."
Harry thought back to the two men in the first dream, sitting and talking so casually, exchanging jokes and drinks, and nodded.
Hermione began to chew her lip as she read. "Well, this is interesting."
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"Essentially, Harren was the Merlin of his day; he was said to be the most powerful wizard in the entire world. He was so powerful he was called the Dragon, a title that hadn't been used since the Thurian Age."(5)
"The what?"
"I believe it's the "First Age," if this book is about the so-called "Second Age." Hermione read a little more, then started blushing. "Oh . . . Harry?" she said looking up, frowning a little.
Harry swallowed, suddenly wishing he were somewhere else right now. "Yes, Hermione?"
"You really have never read this book before in your life?"
"Yeah," he answered. "You know that, Hermione."
"All these dreams, you really had them, with no knowledge of who was in them or anything?"
"Hermione!"
"Answer me, Harry . . . please."
"Hermione . . . I'd never lie to you about something like this." What "this" was was still up for debate, but that didn't matter at the moment. "You'd see through me anyway—not that that's the only reason I wouldn't lie to you! Whenever I lie to you, or even keep a secret, it hurts. I feel like there's . . . a fish inside me, a fish that's been pulled out of the water and thrown on the land, flopping about and drowning in air. Maybe that's a little gross, but that's how I feel, 'Mione."
He blushed a little at the end, calling her a name he had only ever called her in his mind before.
Instead of being mad, however, Hermione dropped the book on the floor; Harry was dimly aware that it made a loud thud! when it fell. Dimly, because before it the ground, Hermione had encircled her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder. She began to weep softly.
"'Mione," he whispered, gently bringing his arms around her.
"Harry . . . that was the sweetest, the most beautiful thing anyone's ever said to me."
Harry tightened his arms around her a little more, "It's true, 'Mione, every line of it. I promise."
They held each other for a moment. Then, Hermione let go of him, and wiped away her tears. Harry's arms stayed at her sides, gently holding her.
Hermione took a deep breath. She didn't look like she was about to cry again; but there was a look on her face that Harry didn't like.
"What is it, Hermione?"
"Harry," she said, "I'm scared."
She picked the book up and lay it in front of him, then opened it to a page with an illustration. It was a portrait of Harren Pottris, looking exactly as Harry had dreamed of him, looking exactly like Harry.
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Author's Notes: Ahh, the plot thickens. That last bit was probably a bit confusing, so I'll commit a cardinal sin among authors and explain it. Hermione found something embarrasing in the book which caused her to question Harry. After thew episoded (in whcih I'm sure many of you were shouting "Get a room!") Hermione was forced to deal with the fact that Harry was having some sort of psychic episode, which distracted her from what she had read and honestly scared the heck out of her.
Okay, I can't promise the next chapter will come anytime soon, but I'll promise to try. Now that we've confirmed that Harry's visions are more than just an overactive teenage imagination, what will happen next?
FOOTNOTES:
(0) This is an example of footnote.
(1) Robert E. Howard wrote twenty-one stories of Conan, along with a poem about Conan's homeland, Cimmeria and the Hyborian age itself. Since then, other writers have added stuff, but only 21 are Howard's original stories of the barbarian.
(2) This is a direct quotation from the opening of The Phoenix on the Sword, the first story of Conan that Howard ever wrote, even though it comes late in the barbarian's own chronology.
(3) Wolfsbane is in fact deadly poison, just touching the stuff is unhealthy for you.
(4) Pretty much everything I've written here actually comes from the Conan mythos. Conan was a world-famous outlaw and mercenary, even in distant countries. Yet, even then, he had a certain digree of honor (at one point a woman tells him that her father sold her into slavery for not marrying his choice of husband, and Conan is disgusted) Irionically, after stealing the throne of Aquilonia, he was a model king, far more likeable than many of the characters of noble blood. "Thus subtly does the instinct of sovereign responsibility enter even a red-handed plunderer sometimes"-The Scarlet Citadel.
And yes, the last three stories, which all deal with Conan's kingship, all include a conspiracy to asassinate him and replace him with someone related to Numedides.
(5) The Thurian Age was about 1000,000 years ago, as opposed to the Hyborian which is supposedly a "mere" 10,000 years ago. It was so far back in the past that the advanced kingdom of Atlantis was just an island home to barbarians. One such barbarian was Kull who was a proto-Conan figure. In fact, The Pheonix on the Sword began life as a rejected Kull story that Howard reworked to have more action and supernatural and less philosophy. Kull the king's stories had plenty of magic but were usually burdened with what seems like excessive musings on society and the universe. Also, Kull's stories had no romantic elements, which probably hurt him when compared to Conan's unrepentant womanizing.
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