Fortune Favours the Brave
Title: Fortune Favours the Brave
Rating: PG
Length: One-Shot
Pairings: Implied J/L
Era: Multiple Eras
Summary: There are only a few people capable of telling centuries worth of historical knowledge. Fortune is one of them. Since the dawn of time, she has watched people make decisions regarding destinies and fate, and in all of her watching, Fortune has chosen her favourites. They are different, yet at the same time alike, and only one word can describe them all -- They are all brave.
Awards: First Place in "Gryffindor's In-House Banner Challenge" on MNFF.
~*~
A bright orange sun had begun its descent below the mountainous setting, its thick rays of light reflecting off of the pure white snow that capped the many peaks of rock. The sky, alight with the orb’s colours, looked like a great fire had erupted, turning the previously light blue atmosphere into a realm of red, orange, and gold.
But the sky’s appearance did not matter much to the frail, elder figure sitting in her home. This figure, whose face was the colour of chocolate and held wrinkles far be telling her ancient age, sat in a simple wooden rocking chair, a chair that creaked with every movement. Dressed in an odd assortment of multi-coloured garments, the figure rocked back and forth in the chair, eyes held shut and breathing calmly. Long, white hair hung loosely around the figure’s face, trailing all the way to her knees. One would have thought, at first glance, that the figure was asleep.
Sleeping, however, was not even close to what she was actually doing. The old woman, known only as Fortune or Wisdom to the surrounding peoples, never slept; at least, she did not sleep in the same way that mere mortals slept.
For millennia, Fortune had watched history play out before her eyes. She had seen things ranging from mundane to world-changing events. She had witnessed people make choices --- some positive and some negative --- and had seen people change --- whether in a good way or a bad way.
There was even one time that people thought her a goddess, someone worthy of their worship. The idea was understandable, for Fortune resembled a god in that she had always existed and always will exist. But differences did exist between Fortune and a god. A god could have infinite control over everything, whereas Fortune’s control and influence was limited.
Fortune had her favourites in those whom she watched. Every time someone was born, Fortune saw the path that they were destined to take laid out before them. She would watch as many followed that path, whether knowledgeably or not, and she would watch as those select few made choices that led them off of their destined path; she would watch as they made their own destinies through the darkness of the unknown.
Those were some of Fortune’s favourites: the ones who fought against destiny and willingly went into the unknown. They never knew where they were going; all they knew was that they were seeking the right thing, in their views at least.
She had sought for years to think up the perfect word to describe her favourites. Many would have recommended things like good and right and strong, but none of those words really worked in Fortune’s mind. Not every single person on her favourites list could be classified as good or right by everyone. Some would be considered downright evil, as a matter of fact. But still, these people remained as some of Fortune’s favourites.
For centuries, Fortune had watched history unfold in her mind’s eye. She had watched strictly as a spectator, never interfering, even though there were times when she had wished she would have.
----
The midday sun hung suspended in the autumn sky, shining its rays upon the green grass fields and multi-coloured leaves. Its light shone on the stone walls of the massive castle and through its many tall, glass windows, lighting up the large rooms beyond.
But not every room had its shadows pierced by the sun’s warm light. In a few, select places, the cold darkness was allowed to reign, and only be broken by the tiny, flickering flames of a couple of candles.
A tall, dark-haired man stood deep within his underground chamber, his dark eyes glued on the creature before him. The creature wrapped its small body around the man’s wrist, continuing up his arm. Its eyes, however, were kept tightly shut.
“You are very beautiful,” the man whispered, though it was not in English that he spoke. Instead, hissing noises issued forth from his mouth, making him sound more like the creature which was slithering up his arm than a human. “A powerful serpent, you will grow to become.”
The snake understood the man perfectly, as she replied. “Why must my eyes remain closed?” She wound her way further up the man’s arm, her tongue flickering out to touch her master.
“Because your eyes are your most powerful feature,” the man answered, stroking the scaled and reptilian head of his pet almost lovingly. “They have the ability to kill with a single glance,” he said, “and I do not wish for you, my pet, to accidentally direct them to me.”
“I would never wish to harm you,” the serpent hissed, her voice soft in her master’s ear. “I only want to help you against those who are enemies,” she said, “those who do not understand or belong with us.”
The tall man smiled at his serpent’s words. Yes, he thought. She would do just that in the end. “You will, my pet,” he said, placing the serpent on the stone floor at his feet. “I promise that you will have that chance.”
And with that, Salazar Slytherin left his serpent, his chamber, and his school.
----
Rain fell tumultuously from the dark, cloud-laden sky onto the grounds below, soaking the figures as they walked. There were two figures that stood out among many, though. They were the same, yet different; equal, yet opposite. Friends, they had been in the past, but now, one could only describe the two men as bitter enemies.
The two men, once as close as brothers, fought each other viciously in the rain, their own blood joining the water that fell from the sky.
“Has it finally and truly come to this, Salazar?” the blond-haired man asked, a sword and wand pointed at his friend.
Salazar glared back at the wizard in front of him. For a brief moment, the friendship he had felt towards the man rose up, struggling once more to stay his anger. But it did not succeed. Salazar suppressed the feeling once again as he replied. “You know it must, Godric,” he said, a sword and wand of his own pointed at his former friend. “Our differences are just too many to be reconciled.”
And the two wizards --- men who had been friends --- fought as enemies.
----
Snow fell bitterly outside and the cold, winter wind blew fiercely against the buildings of London. And as the cold night wore on, new life arrived, and with it, death.
A young woman lay in a simple bed, her pale face sweaty regardless of the below-freezing temperatures outside. Her health was failing, but a baby’s cries seemed to give her enough strength to speak to the woman sitting next to her.
“He needs to be named Tom,” she whispered. “It’s his father’s name.” The young woman’s voice was becoming frailer, but she did not stop. “My father’s name, Marvolo, is the baby’s middle name, and Riddle is his last.” The effort involved in speaking seemed to drain the young woman of her strength and she drifted off to sleep.
Her newborn son, Tom Marvolo Riddle, gave a quick cry in the distance before suddenly becoming quiet.
----
All was silent as the dark figure approached the house in Godric’s Hollow. Death hung in the air like a waiting and oppressive presence.
The silence was soon broken by screams, footsteps, and sounds of chaotic fighting. Night’s darkness became pierced with green light as death stopped waiting and took its first victim. The second would not be long in coming.
“Stand aside,” said Voldemort, his voice cold as he stared at the witch before him. She did not move, though.
“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!” cried Lily, the tears streaming down her face.
“Stand aside, now . . .”
“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead ---” Lily’s pleas were interrupted by Voldemort’s voice as he said the spell that would give death its other victim.
And bravery fell with Lily Potter.
----
For centuries, Fortune had watched things happen. She had favourites --- the ones that showed courage, the ones who stood out. She had seen many people whom she considered to be her favourites. There had been men and women, mortal and magical, good and evil.
But there existed something different about her latest and most recent favourite. Something about the young man with the lightning-shaped scar struck Fortune like none of her other favourites had ever managed to achieve.
And as Fortune watched the young man battle through obstacle after trying obstacle, watched as he fought along the path fate had dealt to him, watched his friends stand strong with him through everything, she realised the perfect word to describe her favourites.
They were not always good. They were not always right. They were not always strong.
But they were always brave.
~*~
And that's all, folks!
~Megan
Rating: PG
Length: One-Shot
Pairings: Implied J/L
Era: Multiple Eras
Summary: There are only a few people capable of telling centuries worth of historical knowledge. Fortune is one of them. Since the dawn of time, she has watched people make decisions regarding destinies and fate, and in all of her watching, Fortune has chosen her favourites. They are different, yet at the same time alike, and only one word can describe them all -- They are all brave.
Awards: First Place in "Gryffindor's In-House Banner Challenge" on MNFF.
~*~
A bright orange sun had begun its descent below the mountainous setting, its thick rays of light reflecting off of the pure white snow that capped the many peaks of rock. The sky, alight with the orb’s colours, looked like a great fire had erupted, turning the previously light blue atmosphere into a realm of red, orange, and gold.
But the sky’s appearance did not matter much to the frail, elder figure sitting in her home. This figure, whose face was the colour of chocolate and held wrinkles far be telling her ancient age, sat in a simple wooden rocking chair, a chair that creaked with every movement. Dressed in an odd assortment of multi-coloured garments, the figure rocked back and forth in the chair, eyes held shut and breathing calmly. Long, white hair hung loosely around the figure’s face, trailing all the way to her knees. One would have thought, at first glance, that the figure was asleep.
Sleeping, however, was not even close to what she was actually doing. The old woman, known only as Fortune or Wisdom to the surrounding peoples, never slept; at least, she did not sleep in the same way that mere mortals slept.
For millennia, Fortune had watched history play out before her eyes. She had seen things ranging from mundane to world-changing events. She had witnessed people make choices --- some positive and some negative --- and had seen people change --- whether in a good way or a bad way.
There was even one time that people thought her a goddess, someone worthy of their worship. The idea was understandable, for Fortune resembled a god in that she had always existed and always will exist. But differences did exist between Fortune and a god. A god could have infinite control over everything, whereas Fortune’s control and influence was limited.
Fortune had her favourites in those whom she watched. Every time someone was born, Fortune saw the path that they were destined to take laid out before them. She would watch as many followed that path, whether knowledgeably or not, and she would watch as those select few made choices that led them off of their destined path; she would watch as they made their own destinies through the darkness of the unknown.
Those were some of Fortune’s favourites: the ones who fought against destiny and willingly went into the unknown. They never knew where they were going; all they knew was that they were seeking the right thing, in their views at least.
She had sought for years to think up the perfect word to describe her favourites. Many would have recommended things like good and right and strong, but none of those words really worked in Fortune’s mind. Not every single person on her favourites list could be classified as good or right by everyone. Some would be considered downright evil, as a matter of fact. But still, these people remained as some of Fortune’s favourites.
For centuries, Fortune had watched history unfold in her mind’s eye. She had watched strictly as a spectator, never interfering, even though there were times when she had wished she would have.
----
The midday sun hung suspended in the autumn sky, shining its rays upon the green grass fields and multi-coloured leaves. Its light shone on the stone walls of the massive castle and through its many tall, glass windows, lighting up the large rooms beyond.
But not every room had its shadows pierced by the sun’s warm light. In a few, select places, the cold darkness was allowed to reign, and only be broken by the tiny, flickering flames of a couple of candles.
A tall, dark-haired man stood deep within his underground chamber, his dark eyes glued on the creature before him. The creature wrapped its small body around the man’s wrist, continuing up his arm. Its eyes, however, were kept tightly shut.
“You are very beautiful,” the man whispered, though it was not in English that he spoke. Instead, hissing noises issued forth from his mouth, making him sound more like the creature which was slithering up his arm than a human. “A powerful serpent, you will grow to become.”
The snake understood the man perfectly, as she replied. “Why must my eyes remain closed?” She wound her way further up the man’s arm, her tongue flickering out to touch her master.
“Because your eyes are your most powerful feature,” the man answered, stroking the scaled and reptilian head of his pet almost lovingly. “They have the ability to kill with a single glance,” he said, “and I do not wish for you, my pet, to accidentally direct them to me.”
“I would never wish to harm you,” the serpent hissed, her voice soft in her master’s ear. “I only want to help you against those who are enemies,” she said, “those who do not understand or belong with us.”
The tall man smiled at his serpent’s words. Yes, he thought. She would do just that in the end. “You will, my pet,” he said, placing the serpent on the stone floor at his feet. “I promise that you will have that chance.”
And with that, Salazar Slytherin left his serpent, his chamber, and his school.
----
Rain fell tumultuously from the dark, cloud-laden sky onto the grounds below, soaking the figures as they walked. There were two figures that stood out among many, though. They were the same, yet different; equal, yet opposite. Friends, they had been in the past, but now, one could only describe the two men as bitter enemies.
The two men, once as close as brothers, fought each other viciously in the rain, their own blood joining the water that fell from the sky.
“Has it finally and truly come to this, Salazar?” the blond-haired man asked, a sword and wand pointed at his friend.
Salazar glared back at the wizard in front of him. For a brief moment, the friendship he had felt towards the man rose up, struggling once more to stay his anger. But it did not succeed. Salazar suppressed the feeling once again as he replied. “You know it must, Godric,” he said, a sword and wand of his own pointed at his former friend. “Our differences are just too many to be reconciled.”
And the two wizards --- men who had been friends --- fought as enemies.
----
Snow fell bitterly outside and the cold, winter wind blew fiercely against the buildings of London. And as the cold night wore on, new life arrived, and with it, death.
A young woman lay in a simple bed, her pale face sweaty regardless of the below-freezing temperatures outside. Her health was failing, but a baby’s cries seemed to give her enough strength to speak to the woman sitting next to her.
“He needs to be named Tom,” she whispered. “It’s his father’s name.” The young woman’s voice was becoming frailer, but she did not stop. “My father’s name, Marvolo, is the baby’s middle name, and Riddle is his last.” The effort involved in speaking seemed to drain the young woman of her strength and she drifted off to sleep.
Her newborn son, Tom Marvolo Riddle, gave a quick cry in the distance before suddenly becoming quiet.
----
All was silent as the dark figure approached the house in Godric’s Hollow. Death hung in the air like a waiting and oppressive presence.
The silence was soon broken by screams, footsteps, and sounds of chaotic fighting. Night’s darkness became pierced with green light as death stopped waiting and took its first victim. The second would not be long in coming.
“Stand aside,” said Voldemort, his voice cold as he stared at the witch before him. She did not move, though.
“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!” cried Lily, the tears streaming down her face.
“Stand aside, now . . .”
“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead ---” Lily’s pleas were interrupted by Voldemort’s voice as he said the spell that would give death its other victim.
And bravery fell with Lily Potter.
----
For centuries, Fortune had watched things happen. She had favourites --- the ones that showed courage, the ones who stood out. She had seen many people whom she considered to be her favourites. There had been men and women, mortal and magical, good and evil.
But there existed something different about her latest and most recent favourite. Something about the young man with the lightning-shaped scar struck Fortune like none of her other favourites had ever managed to achieve.
And as Fortune watched the young man battle through obstacle after trying obstacle, watched as he fought along the path fate had dealt to him, watched his friends stand strong with him through everything, she realised the perfect word to describe her favourites.
They were not always good. They were not always right. They were not always strong.
But they were always brave.
~*~
And that's all, folks!
~Megan