Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/429956.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      Sirius/OMC/OFC, Sirius_Black/Remus_Lupin, Blaise_Zabini/Harry_Potter,
      Severus_Snape/Remus_Lupin, others
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Sirius_Black, Remus_Lupin, OMC, OFC, Blaise_Zabini, Draco
      Malfoy, Lucius_Malfoy, Severus_Snape, Albus_Dumbledore, Tom_Riddle
  Additional Tags:
      Slash, Crazy_stuff
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-06-10 Chapters: 1/? Words: 556
****** D'Ihtiiar - The Chosen One ******
by Dark_K
Summary
     The decision not to go after Peter Pettigrew was made like so many
     other decisions of Sirius Black were made: just because, in that
     exact moment, he did not feel it was time to go. SLASH. HET.
     THREESOME. Blaise.Harry - Sirius.OCs - Many more.
Notes
     Nothing you recognize belongs to me. Please, memorize this notice.
     Thank you.
     SLASH.
     THREESOME.
     Heed the warnings, and if this is not your cup of tea, close your
     window.
     D'Ihtiiar means, as far as online translators and dictionaries could
     help me, The Chosen One.
     Also, the names of the chapters are, actually, the numbers in Arabic.
     The decision to use Arabic is something to do with the plot of the
     story, and not just some random choice.
     Things star a bit slow in this story, but will move a lot faster
     after the third chapter, so, as always, patience, little grasshopers.
     I hope you enjoy this.
See the end of the work for more notes
D'Ihtiiar
The Chosen One
Waahid
If you know how to listen, you can hear the wind sing.
If you know how to look, you can see the change dancing on the leaves carried
by the song the wind itself sings.
If you know how to feel, you can touch the nuances of the change that dance on
the leaves carried by the song the wind sings when it touches your skin, and
then sweeps the world, taking with it a piece of you, leaving behind a piece of
itself.
The Wind, that night, was blowing freezing with the cold of the autumn
preannouncing an early winter. That night, the song of the wind was deaf, it
was pain, and it was death.
There was no dance in the song. There was, maybe, a funeral march in the air of
tired steps reaching the gates of the destroyed house, the sound of a
motorcycle, the despair which could make a heart speed, freeze, stop.
The dance was made only by the tears, in a continuous ballet, almost morbid to
look at. Pale and colorless dancers falling one after the other with no grace,
touching the ground and staining the ashes that were carried by the wind,
becoming a part of the song heard all over the night which would haunt and at
the same time bring smiles to a whole world.
A world that called itself magical, but had forgotten the song of the Wind, and
the lullaby of the Earth a long time ago. A world which did not care to listen
to the sound of the birds, which did not understand the cries of the Air. A
magical world with no magic, just as grey the ground over which fell the tears
that came from eyes just as grey as the ground they fell over.
From ashes to ashes, in the rhythm of the mute song that cpuld be heard amidst
the sounds of death and destruction.
And from the sounds came the cry – a pure, simple and clean cry of a child
marked by evil a child who could still hear the pain of the Air, and feel the
rhythm of the dance around him. A child who could feel with every fiber of his
powerful soul, contained in a yet so small body, the evil which run away and
spread around them. The child was crying simply because it could feel it was
the time to cry.
And from the cries of despair and pain, of fear, of abandonment and loneliness
was born the doubt. The tears in grey had to stop to comfort the ones in green.
And just like every single decision that change so many lives, this decision
was made by the one who could not hear the Earth, but could hear the Child. It
was made without thought, without rationalizing, without any deep consideration
about how that would affect everyone's future.
The decision not to go after Peter Pettigrew was made like so many other
decisions of Sirius Black were made: just because, in that exact moment, he did
not feel it was time to go.
In the depth of his soul consumed by the easy magic of that world so grey,
Sirius Black could still hear, even if only a little, the song of the Wind that
night.
End Notes
     Yeah, this one is COMPLETELY insane. Its plot is very different, and
     Harry will be COMPLETELY different, and Sirius will be… well,
     punished. I might say there'll be a bit of Dumbledore bashing, but
     not in the usual way, and things will be, well, different.
     At least I hope so.
     I have four chapters for this story ready, I just have to translate
     them into English, and then continue it from there.
     Let me know what you think.
     REVIEW!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!