Escape

Chapter 3: Truth Hurts

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"We are, however, only a few missing heartbeats away from being divorced from humanity for ever."

(The Ringmaster's Daughter, Jostein Gaarder)

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Ron opened the book in his hands.

"Little Ronald Weasley took his very first breath of fresh air on 21^st June in the fires of Mount Olympus, on the Summer Solstice of 1982. His time of birth was precisely on the moment at which daylight became darkness. It would be proper to say that his skin felt the change of gentle evening warmth to the cool of the night. His physical characteristics, blue eyes and fiery red hair, were respectively the colors of the sky before the sunset and during it."

Ron looked up at Aberforth. "Sir, I think that there's a mistake with this book. I wasn't born on 21^st June."

"Volumes in this library never lie," Aberforth said with a slight frown on his face. "They don't make mistakes either. If it's different from what you know, it is for sure that you're wrong and not the book."

"Do you mean that I've been lied to about my birthday all my life? But why?"

"It's not time for me to tell yet. You know, I was placed as Keeper because I am illiterate. It's a precaution against any possibility of my interfering with any life that I could learn about. I am the librarian and a messenger, and someone is to have the knowledge before you. Now, why don't you excuse me for a moment. I'll have to go and greet the other two new visitors. You could read some more about yourself."

"You mean Harry and -"

Before Ron could finish what he was saying, Aberforth Dumbledore Disapparated with a soft 'pop'.

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Caught up in his confusion of thinking that the spell did not work, Draco wandered up to on of the shelves. Hang on a moment, these books look different. The books in front of him looked as though they had never been read before, unlike the well-thumbed volumes at Hogwarts and the Malfoy Mansion. Further more, in this particular library, the shelf was simply a very, very long one that seemed to go on for a long way. There has to be an end to the shelf, Draco thought to himself. He followed the shelf for nearly a hundred feet or so, and there he found a bookstand, similar to a music stand used for holding scores for musicians.

On the stand was a book, similar to the many volumes on the shelves, with black leather binding and a silver serpent etched on the cover. The only difference was that this book was still being written, if one could put it that way. The book was opened, with a quill scribbling furiously across it. Draco looked at the current page, and what he read startled him.

"In his life's library, Draco walks up to the bookstand, and watches the All-Knowing Quill trace out his actions and moves. He is frightened."

Draco leapt back in shock. Where am I? Where has the bloody book brought me to? He sank into the plush chair near the bookstand, closed his eyes and raised his hands to his temples. Escapism must have been some sort of portal to this strange library, but why would anyone want create a library of this sort, consisting his life story. It was as if he was being stalked constantly and someone was watching and noting down his every move. Oh well, perhaps it's just part of the price to pay for being sexy and good looking. Draco sniggered softly. Then he shook himself mentally. He was one hell of a fix, stuck in a foreign place and all he could think of was crackpot thoughts of his looks. Then, suddenly, a thought struck. Draco had never celebrated a birthday before. His parents had refused to tell him anything of his birth. In fact, when he was younger, they told him that he was adopted and they knew nothing of his birth. It was only later when he started school and found a Family Tree Tracing spell that he learnt that he was the child of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Draco had then owled his mother to ask about his birth, only to receive a Howler that yelled his ears off about him not having to know anything on it. And now, since there was someone tracing his every move and emotion, perhaps the first volume might give him a detailed idea of where and when he was born.

Draco's eyes flew open in anticipation of what he might learn about himself. He raced back to the start of the shelf and reached for the first book on the shelf and quickly skimmed through the opening paragraph.

"Draco Lucius Malyfoy took his middle name from his tyrannical father and his hair color from the snow on the window sill of Malfoy Chateau that was tinted with the pale gold of the last rays of sun on the 21^st of December, 1982 in the first moments of darkness. His eyes took on the stormy grey of the night after night fell."

Grey eyes looked up from the book. Malfoy Chateau? Draco had never heard of such a property in his family fortune. Another family secret kept from me, just like the details of my birth, he thought unhappily to himself.

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Harry sat himself on the floor glumly. He was still in the library after all, and all he had to wait for now was Madame Pince to come huffing up and put him in detention for the rest of his life if he was lucky. Expulsion would be even more probable, but I'm hoping I'm having as much luck today as I did facing old Voldie. Wallowing in his self-imposed gloom, Harry did not even notice the figure coming up to him until its feet were, literally, under his nose.

Black leather shoes, black robes, thought Harry as his gaze slowly shifted up the figure in front of him slowly. Who do I know wears all black? As his gaze reached the sallow skinned on the neck of the figure, which was followed soon after by a highly displeased face topped off by a head of greasy black hair, Harry knew that he would have been better off if he had died being mutilated by a chimera. Snape! Harry groaned inwardly. Of all the teachers who could have turned up, it just had to be SNAPE. Then, the most frightening thing that Harry ever witnessed occurred.

Professor Severus Snape smiled.

Not one of his usual evil, malicious smiles, but a sincere one with seemingly absolutely no ill intentions behind it. As a matter of fact, it even seemed vaguely mischievous. Harry freaked and scrambled quickly backwards, speechless. Then, almost instantly, the figure of Snape filled up with color. It was like watching a black and white muggle photograph being super-imposed with color. Snape's hair lost its greasiness and became a slivery white, while his black clothes became the dark blue of a night sky with sprinkles of stars on it, while his black leather shoes became pale blue with pointed tips. Most importantly, the displeasured face became one with twinkling eyes and the down turned lips started to chuckle merrily.

"Hello Harry Potter. I've heard of your love for Sevvy old boy from Albus, so I thought it'll be a welcoming sight for you to see someone familiar. Seems not," Aberforth chortled again.

Harry stared up at the wizard in front of him in shock. The man was so much like Albus Dumbledore, but he knew that it wasn't. Professor Dumbledore wouldn't play such a prank on him, even though he did not disapprove of them, simply out of his respect and trust in Snape. He stood up slowly, as he recalled something that the professor had told him before.

"You're Aberforth Dumbledore aren't you?" then, without waiting for an answer, Harry spoke again. "Where am I and what am I here for?"

"Yes I am, and I have to say that that's an interesting question, asking what you are here for. Wouldn't you simply think that you're here to escape from punishment courtesy of young Mister Malfoy?"

"That was the initial reason, but I've learnt that everything happens for a reason, for better or for worse. Do tell me sir."

Aberforth's smiling face turned grim. It was as though he was being forced to say something that he didn't want to.

"Very well Harry, if you want to know, I'll tell you," Aberforth said sadly.

"You've been called to fulfill a prophecy."