The End of the Beginning
Be silent.
Be still.
Be seen.”
Hans Kaiser fell to knees, one hand to the ground as he panted heavily. His wand slipped between his fingers as he fumbled his grip. Ranrok, in his mighty dragon form, turned to Hans, deep red sparks emulating from his jaw as he attempted one last attack against Hans, but it was no more use.
The dragon was shrinking, sparks and small explosions buffering it side to side, before for one last time, it reared back, its neck extending to the high stoke ceiling. The roar it made was unheard, masked by the explosion that blasted from its chest, throwing out black and red particulates in every direction.
The swirls of black and red energy zipped about Hans as he pulled himself to his feet, he knew the dragon was gone, but on the ground he could only see so much. Before Hans now was the dead goblin, rolled onto its face several meters away from Hans. Only, though, just before Hans feet was a wand.
Miriam’s wand.
Hans stooped down and picked it up, turning it over in his gloves fingers, marveling at how the small piece of wood was still intact. He had little time to consider this, for now the swirling masses of out of control magic were expanding farther and farther away from Hans and the dead goblin. The red and black magic bashed into the rocky face all about him. The walls, the ceiling, the- dear god, the castle, he was beneath the castle!
With terror, Hans watched as the furious magic ripped great craters in the walls of the cavern, causing deep cavities to form in the walls and ceiling. The cavities were expanding, cracking the rock open like eggshells, the rock that served as the foundation for the castle.
There was little Hans could do, but he had to try, trying had taken him so far. After a few moments of hesitation, Hans raised his holly wood wand, mustering the greatest strength he could from both himself and the dragon core wand. A beam of purple energy blasted toward a falling piece of rock that seemed to be the keystone holding up most of the rocky chamber that extended far above him, mostly to the very castle he was trying to protect.
Despite Hans effort, his cries of pain, and the magical strength within him, he was no match. The keystone continued to fall, albeit slowly, sending rubble down below it as it tumbled. Hans was not expecting it, but then another beam shot up at the stone from behind him. This one was darker, stronger, and far more beautiful. The moment the second beam struck the keystone it began to rise, moving up and settling back to the place it rested before.
As the magic continued to rage about him, Hans whipped around to see who had cast it.
Professor Fig. He was alive. He had not fallen to his apparent death as Hans had seen, and now was comforted by Fig’s presence. If there was one thing, Hans was glad he did not lose the professor. And that, of all things, steeled him.
Hans was just a kid, and here was the true man of the story.
“Professor!” Hans called, as he watched Fig clutch his side in some sort of agony.
The professor raised his hand, but did not speak, turning his eyes at the chaos above them in the chamber. Hans took to follow, watching as Professor Fig cast another one of his deep purple beams of magic, trying again at a different place to strengthen the stone.
“You need to contain it!” Professor Fig yelled through pained grunts of failing strength as he fought handily to keep the chamber from collapsing on itself.
Hans at first did not know what the professor meant. Contain it? Hans barely understood this magic, let alone contain such an excess amount of it. But that, though Hans did not recognize it, was what made him different. He wouldn’t try.
He would die trying.
Hans raised his wand one last time, sending a blue jet of pure magical energy into the center of the room, where it stopped short only so far above with red and black magical energy bubbling at its tip. The energy was soon then encompassed in a blue magical sphere that began to grow, swirls of both blue and red ancient magic moving around it.
The sphere grew, but not quick enough as Hans struggled to keep his wand up. The ancient magic was fighting back, with a furious mind of its own. Hans’s red beam of magic was now turned red, slowly snaking its way back to him as he fought hard to turn it away. The red and black swirling tendrils of magic were right at his hand, moving around him in an angry fashion, a pattern that reminded him most regretfully of snakes.
The boy looked away from the fight of magical wills produced at his wand tip—partially out of fear, partially out of weakness. A voice spoke from behind him, speaking to him calmly and softly, but cutting into his mind as clearly as the first time he saw Poppy smile at him.
“You are stronger than you know.”
Hans turned his head, looking back at Professor Fig, who looked Hans direction just briefly, before turning his head back to the walls of the chamber. Hans now watched as Fig raised his wand one last time, blasting a short beam of purple energy at a wall.
It happened all in slow motion. Fig threw pulled his arm, looking for another spot to seal in the walls of the great chamber.
Hans watched, with wide, terrified eyes as a streak of black and red moved toward Professor Fig, speeding directly toward him. With an eerie screech of a sound, the magic sliced through Fig. Hans first thought was that it went around Fig, but then Fig stumbled and fell, and Hans could look no longer.
With a mighty yell, Hans turned to face the storm of magic above him. Every part of his soul, his heart, and his mind was poured into one final effort. All of the strength, the courage, the knowledge, and the fear, everything that made Hans whole mustered together at once, forcing a surge of magic through him.
The beam of energy that blasted from his wand surged once more, the beam straightening at the tip and blasting forward with a powerful shockwave, turned the red blue. A second sphere of magic encompassed the first, and all that was red, all that was black, became shades of blue and white, a brightening effect that flashed the entire room.
Hans could not see and nor could he think. The boy stumbled to the ground, his hands and knees feeling hard ground. At first he considered if he was dead, but as color returned to his vision, he realized he was in the same place.
All was still.
All was silent.
Floating above him was a ball of strange design, a metallic sphere shining with a blue and white hue. The magic. All of it. It was contained.
Hans thought at first to be relieved, to collapse; it was done. But then he remembered the professor, and it all came crashing back to him. The same boyish fear panged through his heart, and the boy turned on his heel to find Professor Fig lying only so far away.
The boy ran up to the professor, watching as the elderly man gasped in pain. Hans crouched down beside the professor, not knowing what to do. “Professor!”
Hans’s hand hovered over Professor Fig as he watched and waited, listening for trying words to tumble out of the old man’s mouth, “Miriam-“
Hans had the sudden idea to show the dying man Miriam’s wand, his cherished wife’s wand. The boy turned back, handing the lightly colored wand to the old man in some attempt at comfort. The boy, the terrified and sad boy watched with so many emotions as Fig gasped in surprise at the wand, trying hard to smile as he took it into his hands.
The professor took some more effort, but finished his sentence as he surveyed the boy with proud and loving eyes, “Miriam would have loved you, my young friend.”
Hans had nothing to say to that, he could only watch, silent tears rolling down his cheeks as his mentor struggled, and there was nothing he could do.
“The wizarding world could not be in more capable hands,” the dying professor gasped, trying his hardest to fight, trying his hardest to stay, but there was nothing he could do. His hands, his body, and his face relaxed, as right there and then, he died before the boy.
Hans’s hands remained where they were, hovering in the same place as the professor’s eyes closed and the wand slipped from his grasp. Still with no words, Hans only remained there, his hand curling into tightly balled fists as he silently cried.
Hans didn’t know when, but in time others were around him. He didn’t know who, but he knew they were there. The sphere still casted the same shine on the chamber as it did before, and their shadows surrounded him.
He heard voices, but they were quiet, hushed. Perhaps it was his pain, perhaps it was his silence, burying all his senses away as he mourned.
Hans struggled to process the moments after the fight. He did not know how long he was there, nor did he remember exactly when he was being steered away from Fig’s body. The boy thought he expressed desire to stay with Fig, but maybe they didn’t hear him. He didn’t hear himself.
He had little fight left in him, Ranrok and the ancient magic took a toll on his body, his mind, and his soul. Eventually his quiet thoughts and words, the small part of him wanting to stay with Fig forever, to die with Fig, had given way to exhaustion and physical pain.
In what seemed to be the blink of an eye, the boy was in the hospital wing, and things were coming back to him. He vaguely remembered coming up from the Map Chamber and into the castle, through the corridors and up more stairs. Steered by some stern hands and voice, he was directed up toward the infirmary.
Faces. He remembered faces. Students were scared. Students were curious. Students tried to talk to whoever was behind him, but they were shooed away.
In the hospital wing, Hans began to think a bit more clearly. Regret, pain, and guilt were now poring in. These feelings all tried shoving their way into his soul, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to sleep; he wanted to sleep and never wake up.
Hans was sitting on the edge of one of the hospital beds. The school nurse, Nurse Blainey, was stopped in front of him, moving her wand back and forth in front of him. She had cast lumos, and was staring into his eyes as the light shined on them.
As per normal human condition, Hans’s pupils constricted in reaction to the light, and Nurse Blainey sighed. Mostly in relief, seeing that in some way this boy was responsive.
“Will the boy be okay?” A hushed voice asked.
“I think so. A lot of bruises and scratches, but nothing I can’t fix. Professor Weasley, what happened to him?” Hans heard Nurse Blainey answer.
“I can’t tell you, not right now, we’ll talk later. Can you keep him here, in the hospital wing for the night? I have students I need to take care of,” the other voice, Professor Weasley, inquired.
“Yes, of course, Professor Weasley.”
“Good, and thank you, Noreen,” Professor Weasley said. Professor Weasley, who was out of Hans’s view, evidently began walking away as he heard the clicking of boots on the ground, but then the footsteps stopped. “Oh, and Noreen?”
“Yes, Professor Weasley?”
“Please, make sure he gets some good sleep,” the professor said with emphasis on the word good.
“Of course, Professor Weasley,” Nurse Blainey answered, her shadow nodding in the corner of Hans’s eye.
Professor Weasley left the room, and the nurse wandered around the room, whilst Hans simply sat there. Hans was not watching the nurse, but only staring straight ahead, stuck in his own head and replaying what happened deep below the castle. His fault. His stupid fault.
Nurse Blainey was back, here to help Hans get ready for bed. It was a blur, and soon Hans was settled in bed. The nurse left, but returned swiftly once more, holding a vial of some purple potion. “Drink this,” she handed him the vial, looking expectingly in his eyes.
Hans looked down at the vial, too tired and emotionally drained to question it. The boy raised the vial and poured it down his throats. Little more passed through his head, and as just as he handed the vial back to the nurse, his arm fell limp and his head drooped. His sleep was silent, inside and out. No dreams, and nor whimpers, simple silence.
What more could he ask for?
The last thoughts that fell into his mind were the words his mother told him when he was in her arms as a child. Whether if he was scared or sick, for him, it was something that felt soothing. He never understood the words when he was a child, and sometimes even when he was older. Be it as it was, those words were the only thing he had that reminded him so well of home.
“Do not be afraid.
Be silent.
Be still.
Be seen.”