Bereft

Therian Falios was an ordinary sixteen-year-old, in most respects. He was tall, with a slight build. A fairly capable student, he was well liked by his peers, but at the same time, a bit of a loner. He lived in a slightly upscale two-story affair just outside of London, surrounded by tall, verdant trees and greenery as far as the eye could see. On favorable days, he would hike out into the countryside equipped with nothing but a good book and a bottle of ice tea and escape into another world.

One could say he was content, but in his mind, there always seemed to be something missing. Something just barely within his grasp, but slipping out like so many handfuls of smoke. It was something, while gazing high into the depths of the ancient pines that became a little closer, a little clearer. At times, his fingers curled to grasp something, but when he looked down, they were firmly clenching empty air. At times, nonsense words sometimes dropped from his mouth, forgetting them as soon as they were said.

Despite all this, Therian managed to lead a normal, ordinary life. Ordinary until one fateful July afternoon, he decided to leave the window open.

And a tawny golden owl flew through it.

"What the-"

The owl landed on his desk, hooting in a dignified sort of way. Therian backed away slowly, his fingers curling around his trusty -

Handful of empty air, he thought ruefully to himself. The owl hopped onto his bed, and stuck out a leg. A large parcel was attached to it, tied with a glowing red ribbon.

"Go. Shoo!" He whispered, waving his hands toward the window. The owl only hooted louder, his calls taking on a more annoyed note.

Obviously, he was supposed to take the parcel, and the owl would leave. Therian reached out cautiously, removing the parcel. He dropped it uncertainly on his bed. Printed on its front in block letter was:

TO THERIAN FALIOS

FROM THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

DELIVERED BY URGENT OWL SERVICES

He hadn't the faintest idea what that meant, but opened the package anyway. Perhaps he had won the lottery.

As his fingers moved to untie the ribbon, he received a huge jolt. Seemingly of their own accord, his hands moved in a strange pattern, and foreign words came to his mouth.

"Alohomora Hentouche," he whispered, and the ribbon lost its glow and dropped to the floor.

He stared at his hands, quite confused as to though what they did. He stood like that for a while, then wrote it off to a particularly potent muscle spasm. He eagerly ripped open the package, dumping its contents out onto the bed.

A letter covered with spidery, archaic handwriting was mixed in with a thin, whippy, stick and a platinum armband covered with runes. He went for the stick first, snatching it up and placing it where it belonged. His fingers curled around the well-used wood, settling into grooves seemingly custom made for his hand. A warm feeling welled up in his arm and spread to the rest of his body. He swished it twice, words spilling out of his lips once again.

"Lumos Ambiliance!"

He waited expectantly, but nothing happened. The warm feeling soured, and dissipated, replaced by a distinct buzz, intensely annoying and growing louder and louder.

He dropped the wand back on to the bed, frowning. He picked up the armband, saving the letter for rest. He raised his sleeve, sliding it up until it stuck. Not a thing happened, despite his waving it around wildly and shouting nonsense words at it. Nothing other than it fit his arm perfectly. He shrugged, and picked up the letter.

To Mr. Therian Falios,

Greetings, old friend. My name is Albus Dumbledore. You will not know who I am, so you need not strain yourself to remember. What I am going to tell you, you will not believe now, but later, you will see the truth.

You, Therian Falios, are a wizard. Not just any wizard, however. To be more specific, you are an honorary member of the order of the Phoenix, order of Merlin, first class, and member of many other prestigious orders. You are the wizard who defeated Voldemort years ago, and you are the wizard who was cast out for becoming like him, but far, far more powerful.

Is it coming back to you now? Do you remember?

No, you wouldn't...that's too much to expect. Go to platform nine and three quarters at the London train station tomorrow at noon, and I shall tell you more.

I cannot tell you much now. Only this: A threat has arisen. A threat far greater than Voldemort, far greater than anything ever seen before.

The wizarding world needs you, Therian.

Platform nine and 3 quarters tomorrow...remember...

Therian jerked his head up, as if coming out from a deep trance, and looked back at the letter. It was crumbling to dust in his hands.

At first, he was inclined to write it off as a foolish prank, some sort of complicated mail scam. But the proof was right in front of him - why would an owl be delivering letters in broad daylight? How could he have untied the ribbon before if he hadn't even touched it?

And then there was that strange feeling of unbelonging, a feeling that his place was somewhere else. That something inside of him responded to the letter, telling him it was true, telling him that that was where he belonged.

He flopped onto the bed, unable to think. His searching hands found the worn wood of the stick, curling around it. The warm feeling came back, cradling him in its embrace.

And he knew he would be at the London Train station tomorrow.

* * * * * *

Chapter 2

Noon...London central station...

His parents didn't care - much. They were used to his strange turns and quirks by now, and treated them with as much significance as they would a sudden change in the weather. It was better that way - he didn't think he'd be catching the six-o-clock bus as his father had stressed, not if the letter was genuine.

And it was, he could feel it so resoundingly in his mind. It had to be.

Or at least, he had thought so. That was before he noticed that there was no platform nine-and-three-quarters.

He stood smack dab between plat form nine and ten, disappointment slowly gathering in his chest. He squinted fiercely at the space, thinking he had accidentally missed it in his haste. To his vast surprise, something actually happened. The brick section between the two platforms grew progressively translucent, and a vague outline of a man with a pointy head gesturing at him could be seen. The outline sharpened, and the brick wall completely disappeared. A tall, kindly old man stood beckoning to him, his night blue robes swishing. What he had thought was an abnormally pointy-head was now a ragged wizard's hat, crooked at the point. A voice whispered sibilantly in his mind

Come, Therian. We have no time to go through with this foolish ritual. Step through the brick wall and get on the train. Cabin 5, berth 9...I'll be waiting.

He blinked rapidly a few times, then shouldered his bulging satchel and plunged through the barrier between the platforms.

A bright red train pulled into the station right before his eyes, and a mass of roiling, jabbering wizards swarmed around it. A trio of jabbering teenage girls brushed past him. He caught a bit of their conversation.

"Harry Potter - captured by the enemy!"

"What is the ministry magic going to - "
"completely incompetent, those - "

He turned, the name somewhat familiar to him. A smiling dark-haired man floated uncertainly in the stream of his consciousness. He frowned. They had been friends, long ago - he couldn't remember clearly.

A deafeningly loud train whistle blasted very close to his head, jarring him out of his reverie. The train was about to leave, smoke billowing in vast clouds overhead. He hurried onto the train. He had never ridden a train before, and had no idea how to get around. He wandered aimlessly narrow, rattling hallways, turning at the sound of -

-Over here-

He whirled, in the direction of the voice. A grinning old wizard was seated in a small berth behind and to the left of him.

"Not magic, Therian," He chuckled, reading Therian's mind. "Just a muggle trick I learned a while ago. Telepathy, I think it's called. It's quite useful when you're low on magic."

Therian turned and walked slowly to the berth. A sense of familiarity, and patient, centuries-old power emanated from the man

"'Low on magic'?"

The old man signed, and rearranged his wizened limbs. A tone of bitter self-mockery crept into his voice. "Ah...yes. Even the great Albus Dumbledore himself, is low on magic, as is most of the wizarding world."

Seeing the blank look on Therian's face, he quickly smiled reassuringly.

"Come, sit. I will tell you more about that, but later. We have far more urgent matters to attend to. "

Therian sat uncertainly across from Dumbledore, who was fiddling with his hat.

"Therian," he said suddenly, looking up. "Do you know what a shakkan is?"

"A shakkan is usually a small, centuries-old tree that draws power from it's environment, and gradually stores it in every particle of its being."

Therian nodded. He had no idea what was going on, of course.

"What you may not know it that our world has a shakkan, also. Not a tree, but an object located deep within the core of the earth. It has been there since the dawn of time, gathering power and storing it in immense proportions. Occasionally, it sheds power as regular trees do leaves, and that is how some humans came to be infused with magic."

"Imagine if someone could tap into and release this object's power into their own being. Imagine the effect it would have on its bearer. It would pervert the bearer's body and mind into a twisted, inhumane object. Imagine the effect it would have on the entire wizarding world. Each wizard's power, no matter how great, would begin to fade away, drained by the loss of the shakkan's power. Imagine a sterile, non magic world, Therian, but with one immensely powerful and insane wizard at its head."

"Now imagine that all of this is true, and that the being that stole the shakkan's power is after the only person left that has the potential to stop him. "

Therian started in his seat, his eyes widening.

"Now you want me to imagine that that person is me, right?" Therian asked weakly.

Dumbledore smiled wanly. "Yes."

"but - I can't do magic - at least, I don't know how to."

"What about when you opened the parcel?"

"That was an accid - the ribbon dropped off by itself."

"No, Therian. You magicked it off by yourself. You can 'do' magic, Therian, and much more."

"Then why did my second spell fizz out?"

"Merely a Confundus Charm, powerful enough so that you wouldn't remember anything of the wizarding world. A simple realization of your powers will nullify this spell."

At this point, the train began to grind to a gradual halt. Drowsy robed figures began to gather up their luggage, blinking and yawning. Dumbledore glanced out the window, his features furrowing into a frown of confusion.

"This isn't Hogwarts...where are we? Why did we stop?"

A strong rumble coursed along the length of the train, and Dumbledore leapt to his feet. A searching expression was in his eyes, his half moon spectacles glinting strangely. The warm yellow light in the train suddenly twisted, and became an unhealthy greenish color.

Dumbledore's eyes flashed with confusion, understanding, and finally, resignation.

"Therian?"

"Yes?"

"I must go. And so must you. It is not safe here. When you hear another explosion, get off the train. Hogwarts is but a mile from here. I will be waiting there for you."

"But what about -"

"No, Therian. You must leave. There is more than your own life at stake here, but the lives of all wizarding peoples of the world. You cannot let such a minor thing as fear affect you right now. You have to be strong, Therian."

Another explosion rocked the train, and Dumbledore's expression darkened.

"Goodbye, Therian. And good luck."

With that, Dumbledore was gone.

Therian stared wildly after him for a moment, then snapped into action. He threw his trunk at the window, and dove out after it. The wild grass cushioned his fall, his wand already clenched in his fist. He glanced back, and the train ignited into a column of green flames. Strange creatures scrambled over the train, and something unspeakably large and terrible loomed in the distance. Horrified, Therian forced himself to look away, and scrambled into the underbrush.

After making little headway against the stubborn shrubs and bushes, he let his trunk drop to the ground in disgust, and collapsed, panting against it. A thorn dug into his side, and he leapt to his feet, yelling in pain. Rubbing his side reproachfully, he kicked the bush violently, and glared at the castle. It seemed just as far away as it had appeared an hour ago.

He climbed up a nearby tree to get a bearing on his surroundings. An optimistic site greeted his eyes. Hogwarts' myriad of glittering lights twinkled from only half a mile away. The sick, acidic fear that had been gathering in his stomach dissipated, and he scrambled down the tree and began on his way once again.

* * * * * *

Dumbledore slid around a corner and forced himself not to look back. He had sensed the immense, latent power shifting in the child as the train traversed deeper in to the magical region near Hogwarts. Therian would be fine.

He had other things to worry about.

The being outside roared deafeningly, rattling the windowpanes of the train with the sheer volume of the sound.

Dumbledore barely lifted his bowed head. All that he knew was the extreme fatigue tingeing his actions, making the mere action of walking to seem like slogging through a deep bog. The feeling was familiar to him, an old, ever present friend who would not leave. Without his magic to bolster his health, the headmaster of Hogwarts was slowly beginning to feel the weight of countless years of immortal life.

The creature outside screamed once again. Dumbledore ignored it. His rheumy eyes closed.

So...tired...

The strength seemed to be ebbing from his bones. His breath slowed...

But then, a familiar young man's face popped into his mind, a strange scar glinting on his forehead above two bespectacled green eyes. They seemed to be urging him on, pouring strength into his veins and burning the fatigue from his eyes.

Albus Dumbledore sighed deeply, and burst out the door to meet the foe.

* * * * * * *

Therian Falios stumbled up the remaining steps, his breath coming harshly when it did. His trunk lay, battered and smudged at the foot of the stairs. Blood rushed to his head. Collapsing in the entrance archway to the great hall, he saw no more.

"Lumos"

Dimly, Therian perceived a steady, glowing light.

"My good god...it's Therian Falios!"

"But where's Dumbledore?"

Strong hands gripped his arms and pulled him to his feet. A wand swished near his ear, and a deep, vibrant voice muttered a spell.

"Enervate"

Energy spread through his limbs, and he opened his eyes. A concerned freckled face hovered in his vision. Upon seeing Therian awake, the man grinned.

"Hullo. I'm Fred Weasley."