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Event Three - The Elder Song by HufflePuff_Blitz
Chapter 1 : The Elder Song
Rating: 12+Chapter Reviews: 18

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 It was ten past eleven in the Forest of Gwyn. The weather was fair, with a gentle wind whistling through the canopy of branches, and the full moon bequeathed its light upon the towering twisted oaks. Nothing stirred but the soft melodic chirping of the crickets.

Nestled in a grove of particular ancient oaks alongside a small lake, was a camp. It was not unlike most camps you would see, for there was a small, single-man tent and a small fire pit. Sitting beside this fire pit, which glowed brightly among the dark copse of trees, was a gentle young man.

With scruffy locks of a dark hued brown, and tender, icy-blue eyes, Rolf Scamander was one accustomed to living close to nature. It was his home, family, and he would even go as far to call it a friend. It has given him shelter on many a cold winters’ day, and the small woodland creatures were a friendly and hearty company. The only time he hasn’t spent most of his time around nature, was his seven years at Hogwarts. Even then, the cozy Hufflepuff Common Room, and the vast grounds where enough to suffice for his affinity for nature.

While he enjoyed the feeling of his campout, he was there for more than just the small woodland creatures. While on a visit to the Great Library of Dysgu, an old Scottish castle located in Rannoch Moor, he came across an entry in an old scroll of a cursed beast presiding in the Forest of Gwyn. Not much was known of the beast, as it was seldom seen, and rumored to be very hostile. What Rolf did discover though, was that the most common sightings of the beast happened to be under the enchantment of the full moon.

Two weeks now, he has been searching the forest. No trace of the beast spoken of has yet to reveal itself. With the full moon in the sky, tonight will be the last night he has before he will have to move on to a new target.

With a sigh he pulls from his bag an old reed pipe. Finely crafted, the smooth surface of the pipe is transcribed with a variant of ancient runes. Rolf searched through the Spellman’s Syllabary countless times before, but the runes barely resemble any of the ones mentioned. It was one of his most prized possessions, a gift from his Grandfather Newt.

Days before Newton Scamander passed, he handed Rolf a carved wooden box containing the pipe. He said to Rolf, “We may wave our wands, and cast fancy spells, but true magic lies in our hearts. Music is powerful magic Rolf. For chords of music can bring a man to tears, and bring happiness to many people. Remember that my boy, with music in your heart, the angels will accept you with arms wide open.”

He thought his grandfather’s words were strange, as he wasn’t a very religious man. But for his grandfather, he practiced playing the melancholy song he heard as a child from that very same pipe. So as he sat by the fire in the Forest of Gwyn, he started to play.

It was a slow song, with drifting chords. Some may call it a lullaby, but it is more than that. While it does make you feel a sense of calmness, something in the melody beckons you to be more alert of things around you. Like the world is awakening from its deep slumber, and calling for your attention.
As he finished the song, he pulled the pipe from his lips and set it across his lap. It had gotten unusually chilly in the forest while he was playing his song. He moved to put his hands closer to the warmth of the fire, when he stopped; the fire was not producing any heat at all.

His senses grew alert, and one of the first things he noticed was the silence. The noise of the crickets, and of the occasional animal sound, had stopped completely. The air of the forest, usually humid, now hummed with electricity. Moments later the electricity moved from the air into the trees, he could feel the power coursing through the trunk of a large oak beside him.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a crystal clear voice said from the other side of the clearing. Rolf turned to see the most astonishing thing he had ever seen. Standing at the edge of the pond was a woman unlike any he had ever seen. She was at least six feet tall, with a strong yet graceful build. Her skin was as pale as the moon, and her hair as white as a unicorn. In her right hand, she held a long wooden staff that hummed the same energy of the forest.

Her eyes were the most intriguing though, as where a person’s pupil and iris should have been, were solid disks of golden color. As she took a step forward, a clawed foot similar to a raven was revealed from under her white traveling cloak.

“You are a magical creature?” he asked.

“Quite.” She smiled. “As are you, it appears.”

“No,” he responded. “I am just a wizard.”

“Yes, but though a wizard you may be. You are still a creature of flesh and blood, and you wield with you the power of spell craft. In most terms, you would be called a creature of magic.”

“I guess that has a sense of truth to it. May I ask if you have a name?” he asked her. While she seemed nice he was dealing with a powerful creature and was unsure if she provided any danger.

“You ask such unclear questions. Do you mean a name I would call myself, as you call yourself Rolf? Or would you ask the name of my people, as you call yourself a human?”

“I never really thought of it that way. While I am interested in learning about your people, I think it would be more polite to ask you of the name you call yourself.”

“You are a kind wizard, Rolf Scamander, just like your grandfather. I am Adarmam, Matriarch of the Ianderyn Pobl-Gwyn.”

“You knew my grandfather?” Rolf asked, curious that his grandfather never mentioned a creature as such.

“Yes I knew him, as it was I that gave him that pipe for which you called me with”

“I called you here?” he asked.

“Of course. Not many have a heart pure enough to call us from our sleep. With each night you have played on that pipe, our consciousness has stirred. For you play the Elders Song, a song of memories, happy and sad.”

“You are connected to this song?”

“Indeed. Many generations of Ianderyn have poured their emotions into the power of that melody,  in return it has become part of our spiritual beings.”

“Spiritual beings?” Rolf asked. 

“Yes. Most of my people need not take a corporal form anymore. Over the centuries some have appeared as I do now, to guide and protect humans from doing harm. But those moments are becoming scarcer as the centuries pass.”

“But that means…You are like angels? That is what my grandfather was talking about?”

She nodded her head yes. “While as a friend to my people, he swore he would not reveal us to the world. You may know of Dementors, creatures so foul that the world around them wilts with despair.”

“I have yes. During my fifth year at school, they were stationed around the grounds to protect us.”

“Then it is a shame that they would try to protect you with darkness such as that. Dementors used to be creatures like us, but they succumbed to a darker path and look at what they have become. I want you to remember, that while you may not see my people we are always there.

“We live off of the hope of the world. Hope, is a force destined to be unseen yet felt. Dementors inspire fear just by the very sight of them, if the world were to see us, would they fear us or would they try to corrupt our power?”

“But not all humans are like that!”

“I know,” she smiled. “There are few who get to see us in our corporal forms, it is in those people that we believe we can trust with the secret of our race. For while we live off of hope; hope cannot survive without trust.”

“That is a lot to ask of someone.”

“As it will always be. But, you as a magical creature are unique in your own ways. When the time is right you will pass on the gift of our trust.”

“Thank you,” He said, holding on tighter to the pipe. With a swish of her cloak, she vanished into thin-air. But he knew she was still there.


Hey you guys hope you enjoyed! Thanks Dee (HeyMrsPotter) for taking a look at it for me :) 

- Kyle 

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