Curiosity killed the cat.
~present~
Kent Hardington was a bright and skilled archaeology-student, who dreamt of one day finding the architectural finding of the decade. And it was thisdream and his eagerness that brought him to Nottingham Castle, famous from the Robin Hood legends. Forget it, his professor's said, there's nothing more to be found in that old castle that haven't been discovered years ago! But Kent didn't nudge. He wanted to search through the castle by himself, examine every millimeter and every dust-bunny to be sure he didn't miss one thing.
He was a thorough young man, and he went through every room, searched every single crack in stone or wood working his way slowly upwards towards the towers. After six weeks he hadn't found a single thing, and despair slowly started to creep its way inside his brain. He had finished most of the floors now, from the dungeons and up the halls and the many rooms, and therewere only one room and four towers left. He went ahead with the work on the small room, half expecting nothing would turn up here either. There was afireplace placed in the far corner of the room, which by the way, had no windows what so ever. This struck Kent as weird, given the fact that the left stonewall should be facing the Sherwood Forrest. A spark of excitement lit his mind and he started to examine the fireplace with renewed energy. He searched every crack, looking for a secret entrance or something showing there was a hidden room behind the fireplace. Suddenly he stopped for a moment, as his heartbeat increased and his hands started sweating. Beneath his fingers he could clearly feel an outline and curve that parted from the rest of the stone. If he wasn't very much mistaking he'd just found signs of a sealed room!!
Hardington got so excited he had trouble thinking straight. Finally all his hard work would pay off, finally he'd found what he'd been looking for! After scurrying around the room for a couple of minutes, gathering his wits and fantasizing wildly about the headlines in the newspapers he would make- he got his sledgehammer. Sure.. Sledgehammers are seldom used in the art of archaeology, but Kent had no time for a toothbrush to do the same job. With one harsh blow to stonewalls the sledgehammer made way into an agent room, sealed for reasons unknown. As soon as the dust settled, Kent climbed through the big hole his vandalism just had been responsible for. Pulse thundering in his ears, excitement beyond anyone's imagination, he could see a room no one had seen for over eight hundred years. It was small and square and to Kent's disappointment seemed to contain only one object, a familyportrait. But this was a big discovery as well, and he curiously approached the painting with goosebumps creeping up his neck as his excitement grew once more.
Time, dust and cobwebs had worn on the painting through time, but Kent had no problem getting a glimpse of the people portrayed with his flashlight. There was a man sitting on a chair, the center of attention, a noble most definitely. He had dark hair and beard, dark eyes and dark,middle-aged-fashioned clothes. His face showed signs of pride, power and the spoiled look some children have. On his right side an old woman stood, probably his mother. She had a foul expression on her face, with what looked like an evil twitch in her eyes and a wart on her left cheek. On the man's left a fair woman stood, with what once had been long, reddish hair and bright green eyes. There was the typical smile of a woman who'd just fallen madly in love on her face. But the most odd detail with the painting was something the man was holding in his arms. It looked like a baby's body, probably the man's and the young woman's son or daughter, but the baby's face was missing. It was like it had been scraped off, or weirder- never been painted on..
"Fascinating!" Kent mumbled as he went from studying the painting and over to the frame withholding it. It struck him that the frame seemed somehow misplaced, like it didn't fit the painting it was surrounding. It was a wooden frame, painted black, worn down by the tooth of time, but there was no mistake, he could clearly see the outline of inscribed letters, once decorated with gold. Kent frowned as he tried to make out the letters.
"It seems to be some sort of Latin.." he muttered to him self as he carefully brushed the dust away with a small brush he kept in his vest pocket. He had skipped a lot of Latin-lessons in his days, and he regretted every single one of them now. But slowly he worked his way through the text, mumbling his narration as he went along: "A beast kept prisoned between these four walls, your doom you're uttering with saying these very words. I'm afraid to tell, my unlucky soul, you're heart will beat no more." A whoosh went through the stone-room as the last word escaped his mouth.
"What the..." Kent started, but he never finished. A cold chill went down his spine, as every part of flesh was devoured from his body in an instant. Kent made the newspapers, although not in the way he had intended...
*-*
Black night, dangerously dark. The perfect hiding place for evil on the run. Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwart's school of wizardry awoke with a start. He felt a shift, a great trembling through the earth- something evil had escaped, something foul and terrible with a burning hate. He didn't know this evilness, but he recognized its stench. A dark demon that had been locked away for centuries- and that for a good reason. Albus had a bad feeling about this, he definitely had.
*-*
The muggle newspapers were running over with the story about the secret room found in Nottingham Castle. A corpse, or more precisely the skeleton of a reckless archaeology-student who'd been a bit to eager with his sledge had been found in front of an old family portrait, never seen before. The find amazed archaeology's all over the world, as this was the first preserved and only family portrait found of the people once living in this old castle. Maybe the legend of Robin Hood finally would be explained one way or another, once and for all. Some of the papers flooded over with the rumors about there being something evil kept hidden inside that room. The very same night the young man died a most mysterious death, apparently self- combusting like a torch, a terrible storm raged through the countryside, leaving many broken homes, and the Loxley mausoleum, vandalized beyond recognition.People in the village where whispering about an old evil escaping, something that had been trapped for centuries.
No reasonable archaeologist with a minimum of brain function would of course believe such nonsense. A simple case of many incidents, a lightning striking the young lad maybe, and some punks fazed out on some drug vandalizing the mausoleum. The storm was just a fact of weather. No one stopped to bother about Kent Hardington being struck down by lighting in a room without entrances besides a hole in the wall...
A group of experts were chosen, solely to investigate further the old Nottingham castle. Maybe there were other treasures hidden within these Stonewalls. And once again the castle was searched, from dungeon to rooftop, leaving nothing behind unsorted. Five weeks with thorough investigation took place, nothing was found. But then, on the first day of the sixth week- another archaeologist found signs of a sealed room. The group was ecstatic. Who knew what was hiding behind these walls. The villagers were afraid. There probably was more evil waiting to escape its stone prison. Many fled their ruined homes to be sure they wouldn't be haunted once more. Unspeakable things where happening in the Sherwood Forrest, and no good could come of luring more of this evilness into the daylight.
*-*
Even the replacements of the young unfortunate Mr. Hardington felt the urge to break through the wall to get to the secret treasures as fast as possible. But many years in the trade had taught them patience, and they bid their time carefully so they wouldn't disturb or destroy anything but cobwebs. Archaeology is a delicate art and these men knew that, by breaking through with force they could end up destroying the very thing they were looking for.
Finally, two weeks later the first glimpse of the second secret room was reviled. They succeeded in removing one of the many stones gluing the many castle walls together and now they with some difficulty could look into a room no one had seen for over eight hundred years. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to claim that these grown men were just as euphoric as the young Mr. Hardington had been when he got his first glimpse of the hidden room he found. The temptation to break through the walls and give a big gaze about everything that was called etiquette and moral codes of archaeology made every single one of the ten expert members of the specially elected team sweat on their palms in mere impatience. Still, they managed to keep their patience..
*-*
Far away in the precise time the archaeology's got their first glimpse of the hidden room an old wizard having an after dinner nap suddenly drifted into a dream. In a heartbeat he stood besides the sweating men who were peeping through the tiny crack in the wall. Albus watched them with great curiosity. Muggles were a fascinating kind of folk and he never got tired of looking on their many weird habits. But something called him on, something through this very hole these men were trying hard to look through. Albus, knowing this was a dream went straight through the wall. It was a room covered in dust and untold secrets. The old man looked around noting a bed, a desk, cupboards and in a corner by a fireplace- a crib. Could this be the living-quarters of a nanny? No. Why would anyone try to hide a nanny's room for all eternity? He went closer, surprised to find chemicals... and even Astronomy equipment. This were things that didn't belong here, not to the decade this was supposed to be from.
Some artifacts, parchments and clothes lay scattered around the floor like someone had been plummeting through the room in a rage. Albus picked up the remains of a black cloak. A tingling sensation of recognition whispered somewhere in the back of his head as he lay it carefully back down again. He wandered over to the crib. It looked untouched, like it had never been used, but was just about to when faith had decided different and left it unused for all the future. A strange sensation dragged him towards the desk again and he found himself pulling out one of the desk drawers. There, practically unsoiled by time a small charcoal portrait caught his attention. No... it couldn't be! The face, so familiar! Together with the cloak, the chemicals, the Astronomy equipment.. and not to mention the crib! Albus Dumbledore stood aghast, not believing his very eyes. For once he prayed his sight had betrayed him, but he looked at the drawing once more, knowing he would have to change a man's life forever.
*-*
A sensation! The archaeologist's had no words to describe the findings they had done. The room and its contents were practically unharmed, and what secrets it contained! They were over themselves with praise over what they believed had to be the finding of the decade! They had found objects that wasn't even supposed to be there, star-maps that shouldn't have been drawn before tree hundred years later, chemistry equipment and chemicals that was invented many years later and even Astronomy- equipment no one could explain how got there. But a carbon testing showed that everything the room contained was over eight hundred years old, that this was an authentic find which no one had been trampling with. And in the desk drawer a charcoal portrait of an unknown but striking Saxon, caught everyone's attention. He had a very distinct being shining through even this old paper. The drawing was drawn in the same style as a certain famous portrait, of the Mona Lisa.This man also had that posture. His eyes seemed distant, maybe it was hundreds of years old chalk that did it, but the most striking detail with this picture was not the man's face.. but his stomach. The easiest way to describe it would be to resemble it with a woman's stomach, heavy with child. And the way the man had his arm wrapped around his belly, as if he was protecting it from something made all archaeologists think of their wives when they were pregnant. This was what they looked like. Many questions arose around this man. Who was the secret guest, how come he Was in position of objects not even invented in the time he would have lived in, why was his room to be sealed up for all eternity? And what about the old legends of Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham? Was there more to them than just a story?
Especially one of the ensemble of great brains and dust busters, a Mr. Norman Wellington, got especially fascinated by the possible connection between the findings and the legend. Could it possibly be the Sheriff of Nottingham portrayed on the family portrait, and the fair maiden- could that be Maid Marion? But that didn't make sense with the legend- Marion wed Robin of Loxley, not the Sheriff, or at least according to the stories. Could it be possible Robin never got to break off the wedding and the Sheriff actually got to wed Marion? The baby on the painting would therefore be the so desperately needed child the Sheriff wanted, so he could claim the throne. Maybe a soft heart many centuries ago decided this end of the saga was too sad an ending and changed it? And where did the mystery guest fit in the picture? It was easy to see that the man had a striking resemblance with the man on the portrait, but this man had no beard and his hair was shorter and arranged differently. And his expression didn't look close to the nobleman's. The aura of power and childish spoil had no traces in this man's face. This man had a look of no fear on his face, a chillingly cold appearance looking like it was pasted on to hide different feelings. And his eyes... somehow Norman Wellington got sad just looking at them. Somehow the charcoal drawing seemed to have captured an enormous loneliness.
Sure anybody could point out the obvious similarities between the two and claim they were the one and same person, but Norman didn't think so. It was two different persons captured in time by one or two skilled artists. Maybe the stranger was the noble man's brother, but Norman doubted it. The noble man had clothes typical for a wealthy man in the Middle-aged, while the other of what Norman could make out of it, had clothes that didn't fit in that time-period at all. Just like the clothes they had found in the secret chamber. It was like.. this man had dropped in on a visit...from the future..
*-*
Albus Dumbledore was in a grave mood. He'd just heard the reports from the Sherwood Forrest and they were not good. Indeed there was a Demon Mage on the loose, and that wasn't even the worst of it. For this demon had a name. A foul, death-bringing name that had been whispered on the lips of terrified mortals some eight-nine hundred years ago. Voltimore. The essence of pure evil, the demon form of a wizard that terrorized the world in the beginning of time, Voldemort's forefather. Albus slammed a stunned hand down into his work desk, too grieved by this news to think of any more constructive manner to react. He remembered his dream a couple of days ago only too well. He had hoped for the longest that he wouldn't have to do what he'd guessed back then, but now it seemed damn well impossible. He would have to send an unknowing man back in time to do his bidding..
*-*
~past~
Muggle history and romantic legends are all founded on some truths...no matter how hidden that truth may be. And everyone knew the legend of The Robin of The Hood. The fight between good and bad, how light and justice prevailed. But the real stories' are never that simple. Things get forgotten through history, details that don't fit in or don't seem suitable to tell small children, or grown ups as well, is left out. The legend ends but a shadow of the true story, and that is in many cases just as well. For the truth can be scaring and not to say the least, sad...
Up in the tower of a castle beside the Sherwood Forrest centuries ago a dark, an ageing witch was visited by a dark guest. This witch was the Sheriff's mother. She'd been scrying for months, trying to find out various paths for her son to gain the crown. Having already bewitched a noble lord, married him and produced an heir some 35 years earlier. Oh, she was proud of her son! Tall, dark and cultured to a great extent he was, sane he wasn't. The blood of the witch was cursed and like all her family he inherited a dual personality, childlike arrogant spoilt and violent even for a feudal lord. The flip-side, a dutiful son of an aged and often infirm mother, he was the last of an old and noble bloodline, a learned man of books and arcane law, trusted servant of the crown. She would do anything to secure her son's future, anything.
The easiest way to secure his path to the throne was for him to marry someone with royal blood and produce an heir. Here the old witch had picked the perfect specimen years ago, namely the sweet maiden Marion. But there was one problem. Since her son was kicked in a strategic place in his youth he could no longer produce any offspring. And sadly he needed to be the father of a child with royal blood to claim the throne. Sure he could marry her, but there was a law specifying that an heir would have to be produced the first two years of their marriage, this to secure the line of Kings. And with no more action in some of his lower regions he would have a serious problem when the two years had passed.
*-*
At this late night there was something out on the search. It had a name feared by mortals and it left only destruction in its path. It had a great desire and a great need. It wanted to take human form again. To do this it needed an agent artifact, which had been passed from generation to the next for centuries. The only problem was that one couldn't TAKE this artifact from whom which it belonged, it had to be given to you. But as he arrived his destination place Voltimore couldn't believe his luck. He felt the need and greed the old witch harvested and knew it would be the easiest thing in the world to have her giving the artifact to him. It amused him she wasn't scared as he entered her chamber. She looked like she was disturbed in an important task and wanted to throw the dark shadow out the room.
"What do you want!" there was no trace of fear on her face, and the Demon started to feel a bit agitated. She could at least show him some respect, the old hack!
"Show me the respect I deserve and demand, and I may provide you with the offer of your lifetime!" he roared and made all the objects in the room, including the old witch fly scrambling into the wall. Yes, there was the right look! If the Demon could have smiled he would. Instead he settled for a subtle neigh. "I think I've got your attention, good! Now I can offer my services to you, in exchange of the proper payment of course.."
"And what services is it that you may offer, my Dark Lord?" The old woman made some sort of bow and approached him cautiously.
"I can help you provide the heir that will secure your son's right place as king." The expression on the witch' face went from fright to pure joy:
"My Lord, are you telling the truth? If you can grant this old dying witch her last wish I would give you anything in return!"
"Oh, the price is but mere pocket-change, my fair Lady!" the dark shadow exclaimed while he sniggered silently: "All I want in exchange is a small worthless stone inherited down generations of your family. The old witch' hand absentmindedly rested on her chest where she carried an ornament she'd inherited from her mother. It was a cherished belonging to her as this was the only thing her mother left her before being burnt on the stake for witchcraft. It was a simple silver chain with some sort of rock attached to it, not pretty in any terms of beauty, but dear just the same. But this would secure her dear son the future she wished for with all her heart.
"And how is it precisely you're going to produce this heir?" she asked suspiciously. "My son don't have the ability to produce any offspring by him self."
"You're right," the shifting shadow answered: "and that's why I've found you a direct descendant matching your son's flesh almost to the full." The witch thought about this for a minute.
"But that still don't help with the Maiden Marion and my son wedding her," she argued.
"Well, that's the genius of this plan! You see, I can make sure your offspring is born, and that the fair Marion is the mother without even having her touching the man fathering your son's heir. Sure it's a bit intricate, but I assure you it will work!"
"And how are you supposed to put this man's semen into her womb?" the witch continued.
"Who said anything about impregnating HER?!" the demon answered curtly. The old witch looked like a question mark.
"I said I would provide a man who is a direct descendant of your bloodline, didn't I? And this man will also carry forth the very offspring that your son is in need of. When the child is born a simple blood scan will assure Marion is the mother, and she will have no choice but to marry your son even spite the fact that she has not carried this child to term. The facts don't lie and even when she denies all knowledge of this child she will have to obey the laws stating she will have to marry the father unless she wants the child, and her self most importantly, to become outcasts. The child's father in this matter will be the stranger. But he will be such a close match to your son a blood scan will state him to be the father." Tears actually appeared in the old witch' eyes. Finally the solution she'd been waiting for, offered to her by this... dark demon in exchange for a simple stone. There were only two more questions to be answered before she gave her answer:
"Who is this man, and how are you to get him here, through time?"
"The time travel will be simple," the demon answered: "And his name is.. Severus Snape."
*-*
The Demon Mage instructed the old witch of what she would do. Voltimore knew that this Snape was a powerful wizard and alchemist in the future and that he would be more than happy to get his hands on the artifact that could threaten the course of the world if Voltimore got his hands on it first. It was a pleasant thing, being able to look into the future, but the skill was cursed with the fact that he could not determine his own future or faith. Therefore Voltimore had no idea that some eight hundred years later he would escape prisonment, and that the wizard society would search for the very stone he was so much in need of. The other curse that cramped his style was the fact that he wasn't capable of time travels himself. Therefore he had to use this old woman's lust for her son achieving the throne to secure the stone he so desperately needed. She had to contact the wizard through a dream, offering him the artifact in exchange for knowledge of the Dark Arts of Magic. If he did her bidding for one month, teaching her potions and curses, to show her the future and train her son in the arts of statesmanship restraint and deception, the artifact the demon desired would be given to him and him alone. Or at least, that was what he would think..
From the moment the man stepped through the time-barrier he would be cursed with Voltimore's curse that would leave him weakened and ...pregnant with the unknowing Marion's child. By the time he realized he had been lured into a trap it would be too late. Now the witch was old, but she was not stupid. When she accepted this deal she also made it perfectly clear that she would not give the artifact away before the child, a boy, was born and her son's future was ensured. Voltimore accepted the terms, after all he had learned the skill of patience the last hundred years and so he would go into hiding again after he'd marked the unfortunate man with the curse. This was a skilled man in the Dark Arts and Voltimore knew he had to make some adjustments to him as he passed the time portal. He didn't want any slip-ups this time!
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Story Notes:
FANDOM: Harry Potter/Robin Hood
NOTES: Dear Azrael: Thank you SO much for letting me have a go at your fabolous idea! :) Without you this story would never have been written, and withouth your help and support I would have given up long ago. I only hope the story ends up half as good as your original idea, and that you feel I have managed to write some of what you foresaw when you came up with it! I thank you yet again on bended knee for helping me keep my sanity! :)
Dear Keely Kylan: Thank you for also being a tremendous support during the writing of this story (which I never seem to finish, the thing has a life of its own), your neverending positive feedback leaves a spoilt but happy Restina, giggling madly as she sits down and continues writing. And I can't wait for your scanner to start working again so that I can have a look at the Sheriff you're drawing for me! :)
Dear Chienne: Thank you so much for actually voulentering to going through my grammar and spelling. I know tweeking my preeschool English isn't a job for the faint hearted! ;)