Fanfiction: Window To The Soul
The soul gaze was an ability Ebenezar had never been completely comfortable. He suspected that it was like that for every wizard. Even using his Sight was an act that he only undertook in the most desperate circumstances. He was a private man and respected the privacy of others because of that. Yet, he was a wizard and he had been born with the ability to look into a person's soul if he wanted. He rarely did. The experience not only opened the other person up, but also opened himself up. He didn't like that because he knew what lurked there.
He had no delusions about himself. He had done terrible things, killed a lot of people and his soul had been touched by dark magic. He was not the pure paragon of magic Hoss had held him up to be. That was evident in the fact that he had kept his title from the boy. Harry had only seen him as a perpetually grumpy but deeply wise tutor. Until he had revealed just what Blackstaff McCoy meant. Ebenezar was as terrible as the monster he hunted down. That he was backed by the Council and that supposedly made everything all right did not make the old man rest easier. His soul was dark.
Each wizard saw souls in their own unique way. Hoss had told him that he saw souls in metaphors. Ebenezar thought that was possibly the best way to see a soul. It would almost be like looking at a person through Sight. Ebenezar saw souls as landscapes. One could argue it was another type of metaphor. He was never much of a philosopher though. When he looked into a person, their soul was laid out before him as some sort of terrain. The dark wizards he'd looked into had all shared similar souls, dead places with no vegetation, no life. They were barren empty places, with nothing in them worth saving. But then, he'd seen plenty of souls worth saving.
The first that came to mind was Hoss'. In teaching the boy, Ebenezar had no choice but to look into his soul. He remembered his initial surprise that the boy's soul was Chicago. Old Chicago, from the twenties, struggling with crime and corruption but trying to rise above. The boy had always been fighting the dark influence Du Mourne had tried to work on him. Something in the boy was untouchably good, even corrupted as he was. Like himself, Ebenezar had no illusions about Harry. He could fall to black magic fairly easily and would spend the rest of his life struggling. He'd seen it happen to Margaret.
Like always, thinking about Margaret brought a deep sense of failure. He remembered her soul when he'd first looked into it. There had been so much life, so much power in such a young girl. Too much power and his fear of it had led him to handle her wrong. He'd choked the life out of her, out of it, trying to control her. He was in part responsible for her fall from grace. He wasn't sure what he'd find now if he looked. He didn't want to look, frankly he was scared of what he might see. He was scared what she might see in him now. Since her death, well, he'd done more terrible things.
Ebenezar wanted his soul kept to himself, just like his farm. He didn't need people poking around and seeing too much. He just preferred it that way. He was set in his ways, like a forest. No, he couldn't see into his own soul, but he could guess. He would guess that he was a forest, deeply rooted and yet constantly growing. There would be plenty of shadows for the darker parts of his soul, but he'd always be straining for the light, the sun and that perfect white magic. His reverence for magic came from that, that personal quest for more light to grow his soul. And even with his soul gaze, he was working to hide it.
He had no delusions about himself. He had done terrible things, killed a lot of people and his soul had been touched by dark magic. He was not the pure paragon of magic Hoss had held him up to be. That was evident in the fact that he had kept his title from the boy. Harry had only seen him as a perpetually grumpy but deeply wise tutor. Until he had revealed just what Blackstaff McCoy meant. Ebenezar was as terrible as the monster he hunted down. That he was backed by the Council and that supposedly made everything all right did not make the old man rest easier. His soul was dark.
Each wizard saw souls in their own unique way. Hoss had told him that he saw souls in metaphors. Ebenezar thought that was possibly the best way to see a soul. It would almost be like looking at a person through Sight. Ebenezar saw souls as landscapes. One could argue it was another type of metaphor. He was never much of a philosopher though. When he looked into a person, their soul was laid out before him as some sort of terrain. The dark wizards he'd looked into had all shared similar souls, dead places with no vegetation, no life. They were barren empty places, with nothing in them worth saving. But then, he'd seen plenty of souls worth saving.
The first that came to mind was Hoss'. In teaching the boy, Ebenezar had no choice but to look into his soul. He remembered his initial surprise that the boy's soul was Chicago. Old Chicago, from the twenties, struggling with crime and corruption but trying to rise above. The boy had always been fighting the dark influence Du Mourne had tried to work on him. Something in the boy was untouchably good, even corrupted as he was. Like himself, Ebenezar had no illusions about Harry. He could fall to black magic fairly easily and would spend the rest of his life struggling. He'd seen it happen to Margaret.
Like always, thinking about Margaret brought a deep sense of failure. He remembered her soul when he'd first looked into it. There had been so much life, so much power in such a young girl. Too much power and his fear of it had led him to handle her wrong. He'd choked the life out of her, out of it, trying to control her. He was in part responsible for her fall from grace. He wasn't sure what he'd find now if he looked. He didn't want to look, frankly he was scared of what he might see. He was scared what she might see in him now. Since her death, well, he'd done more terrible things.
Ebenezar wanted his soul kept to himself, just like his farm. He didn't need people poking around and seeing too much. He just preferred it that way. He was set in his ways, like a forest. No, he couldn't see into his own soul, but he could guess. He would guess that he was a forest, deeply rooted and yet constantly growing. There would be plenty of shadows for the darker parts of his soul, but he'd always be straining for the light, the sun and that perfect white magic. His reverence for magic came from that, that personal quest for more light to grow his soul. And even with his soul gaze, he was working to hide it.