Fate

Cold day.

    A young man strolled listlessly down the street in Averney, England, turning his head now and then to observe the houses on the road. His shiny boots paced over the cobblestone path, his mind wandering to the night before.

    He met his other friend in an old pub frequented by many strange visitors...goblins made their bets there, and wealthy wizards made underhanded deals. It seemed an odd place to the man he was meeting, but the host, per se, was far from normal.

    In a small room, blocked from the bar area, the two friends sat at a small table, one with a firewhisky in front of him, the other a large tankard of ale. Greetings and formalities had been exchanged when they met at the door, and they dared not speak as they entered the bar for fear of who or what lurked nearby, listening to conversations.

    The invited man learned much that night, much that he had hoped to hear for a long time. Though he had known the host for years, the invited man was not the same person that he was thought to be. The years had changed him, hardened him, and made him question what he believed. The host was ignorant of all these aspects.

    The host was frightened. Inside of him, a gnawing fear was building. He didn't have enough willpower to keep what he knew to himself. What he wished to say was locked away in the very blood that was now coursing though his veins. He could only hope that what he was going to do would be the right thing. His friend was too weak to do anything about it even if he told him...he would be harmless. Perfectly harmless, he had never a mind nor the actions to do anything severe as it was, and telling him would make no one the wiser.

It didn't occur to him that his friend's absence was not to take a break from his daunting job to visit his mother...it was to visit someone else.     

    The friend looked up at his host with deep blue eyes. He willed his host to tell him what he had came to hear. He had waited for so long to hear the words that he was certain were about to be spoken. He had braved many punishments, but he knew that at this very moment, he was less than a unicorn's tail away from what he wanted to hear. He knew his host wasn't strong enough, that he doubted himself. The host needed not doubt himself, thought the friend...the host was smarter than he knew.

    For a fleeting moment, the invited man's memory flipped back to his school days. Although he had been good friends with the host, he felt a bitter anger, an anger that threatened to be shown on many occasions. He burned with jealousy at his other friends, and his memory seemed to shut out all the positive aspects of his relationships. He quickly focused on the present, every atom in him willing his host to tell him what he wanted to hear.    

    The host opened his mouth and a whisper escaped it. The invited man could barely hear it, but he did. He heard it. He heard it and smiled. He knew his host couldn't keep it for long, that he did not have the potency to hold back on what he was hiding.

    The young man paced the cobblestones. It was dark outside, nearly midnight, when he realized that he had walked much too far from his own home. He glanced at the road sign briefly, smiled to himself, and kept walking. He had left his motorbike up the way, in a small alley which he reached quite quickly. The motorbike roared as he started it, and he felt a power inside of him, an energy that he could only get from his beloved motorbike. The roar of the motorbike, however, did not block out the angry shaking of the earth that he felt at the moment. The man on the motorbike felt his heart plunge into the pit of his stomach. The motorbike flew into the air and back towards the street he had just passed minutes earlier with a large smile on his face. Godric's Hollow.