O N E
Through Time
I can honestly say that French people from the sixteen-hundreds are some of the most outrageous unreasonable people out there. Turning my head, I could clearly see the French mob of peasants gaining on me.
My feet burned from the ugly heels, and the long dress I wore slowed me down immensely. The intricate bun my hair was once decorated in had long since fallen back to the familiar mass of huge messy curls.
My eyes were narrowed down to slits as I could hear the people's footfalls getting closer to me by the second. Without a thought, my hands went behind me—the middle finger being stuck out. Obviously, no one would understand the offensive gesture, but it still made me feel good inside.
I growled, quickly bundling the top of the sixteen-hundreds dress—allowing for myself to move better. God, did I hate medieval times. I really needed to stop visiting here.
From behind came the French voices of the peasant's talking among each other, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out they were cursing me.
"What the fuck, man!" I yelled as a halberd went flying over my head embedding itself into a nearby tree.
The only reply I got was the sound of cheers, causing me to groan in distaste. These people sucked, all I wanted was a piece of bread—but no, I can't have any bread. Of course, as soon as you tell me 'no', it makes me want it more. Long story short, I ate the bread anyway, and apparently, the punishment for that is death.
Death. Seriously? A bit extreme, don't you think.
Arrows began whizzing past me, and just for the fun of it, I started screaming like some lunatic. I made it a point to let go of my dress and bring my arms above my head waving them about as I ran.
Unfortunately, because of my ridiculousness; an arrow had managed to stick itself right in the center of my thigh. Immediately my screaming ceased, a huff of frustration taking its place. Not to say I didn't feel the pain—because I did. I mean it's a frigging arrow in my thigh. Who wouldn't feel that? Actually, don't answer that question.
Back to the point, the pain I felt was different than what the average person would feel. It was a bearable pinch versus the blinding pain most people say they feel. To be fair, if an angel was stuck with an arrow they wouldn't feel it at all—so I guess the pain I felt was a perfect mix of the two.
Being completely done with this situation, I let out a breath of focus. In a mere blink of an eye, my entire form disappeared. Now, here's the issue with just jumping through time the way I just did; with no focus and in a hurry. I was easily able to make a mistake in where I landed, which much to my horror I just did.
"Ow," I said lamely, from where I lay on the dirt ground.
With a small huff, my body teleported from its place on the ground into a standing position. Glaring at the arrow stuck in my bleeding thigh, I wasted no hesitation in ripping it out.
"OW!" I said louder, with much more force—even though it didn't hurt that much.
As soon as the arrow was out, the wound began closing up any pain going away. I threw the arrow far away cursing it as it soared. Once the wound was completely healed, my head turned around taking a look at where I had ended up. It still didn't cease to amaze me, that even if I had been time traveling for four years—I still was very capable of making mistakes as to where exactly I landed.
Take now, for example, my intentions were to land in the loft of the upper-class Manhattan apartment Balthazar and I shared. After my dad was killed, Balthazar had decided to move in with me considering he was the only other person at the time to know I even existed.
I wouldn't go as far as to call him responsible; Hell, I wouldn't even call him good. Just because he was an angel didn't mean he was some Holy Saint sworn to protect human life. Half the time he was drunk and out at some type of bar or club. When he wasn't there, he was probably screwing some woman. Don't get me wrong Balthazar stilled loved me like his own and would protect me with his life, he just wasn't the most responsible in certain situations.
Looking around I was surrounded by nothing but a large thicket of forest, the only light coming from what appeared to be a cabin pub nearby.
What in the world? Why in the Hell was there a pub in the middle of nowhere?
Literally in the middle of nowhere, like how were people even suppose to get to and from this place? There were no roads to drive on, it looked like the nearest road was miles away.
Eventually, curiosity got the better of me, and before I knew it I had gathered up the top of my dress walking to the entrance of the pub.
What year was I in?
The uncomfortable shoes squeezed my feet in a cramped fashion, and sweat from running trickled down my back making the dress stick to my form. My hair was no doubt a tangled a mess, I cringed thinking of how odd I must look. Especially if I happened to land in a time within the past hundred years to the current present; 2015.
I couldn't dwell on these thoughts anymore, as before I knew it I was pushing open the door to the pub. Once I opened the door, I didn't hesitate in walking into the warmth of the pub—closing the door behind me.
Around me was an anomaly of a sight. In one corner of the small pub was a series of instruments playing smooth Jazz. The odd thing about this was the instruments were floating and playing themselves, not a single person close enough to actually be playing them.
"Okay." I slowly said, looking away from the instruments.
Scattered about it were multiple tables, and at the end was a small bar. The pub was not busy by any means—the only people in sight being a man sitting at one of the tables, another man who looked to be in his sixties sitting at the bar, and finally the bartender who was reading a newspaper.
Each of these men was wearing peculiar clothing, and that was saying something considering it was me. The Nephilim saying this. The only instance that I had ever encountered anyone, in any time wearing clothing this was in the wizarding world.
"Shit." I silently cursed, realizing I had landed somewhere in the Wizarding world.
No wonder this pub was in the middle of nowhere, all wizard's had to do was apparate to get here. I stood near the door for a second more taking in the scene before me. The man sitting at the table was reading some book, with a cup of coffee sat before him—the spoon in it twirling itself.
Looking at the bartender it was clear as day that the pictures on the newspaper the bartender was reading, were moving on their own accord. Zooming in on the heading to the paper, I could just make out the title.
'Grindelwald strikes again, is this the end of the World?'
Grindelwald? Okay, if he was big when I had to be somewhere between the times of 1920 and 1945. Subconsciously, my eyes began drifting to the man sat at the bar. He was wearing a pair of spunky looking blue robes and had tired expression adorned on his friendly features.
With a shrug, I hobbled my way over to the bar ready to take the seat next to the spunky man.
As I passed by the man sitting at the table, his eyes went to me widening at my appearance. I felt my cheeks become inflamed as his mouth dropped open. His head followed my form as I walked, eying over the large sixteen-hundreds dress.
As much as I felt obligated to change my clothing, I knew that even the most powerful wizards wouldn't be able to just 'poof' on an entirely different outfit, all the while fixing up their hair. How would it look if I; a fifteen-year-old girl was just able to do that? Pretty suspicious, I'll tell you that much.
Ignoring the man's penetrating gaze, I slid into the bar stool—my dress ruffling as I did so. Both the spunky man and the bartender turned to look at me. The bartender choked on air, as he gazed at me. Out of the corner of my eye, all I could see was simple curiosity clouding the other man's gaze making me feel a bit better.
"Excuse me," I awkwardly coughed. "Do you happen to know what year it is?" I mentally slapped myself at that question. Of course, he knew what year it was!
"January the ninth, nineteen forty-three." A very obvious British accent coated over the bartender's words, his tone one of pure astonishment.
"Oh," I scratched the back of my head. "Um... not to sound too weird, but where exactly am I?"
The bartender didn't reply obviously too shocked, while the man beside me decided on answering for him.
"London, England." The man beside me answered with a small smile.
Turning to face him fully, I gave him a bright smile. "Rhiannon Lightly." I introduced myself using a fake name, my American accent sticking out like a sore thumb.
As soon as the word Rhiannon flew out of my mouth, I couldn't help but think of the band Fleetwood Mac. Stevie Nicks has to be one of my favorite artists, her time of fame would've been somewhere in the 1970s; considering she is a '70s singer. Rhiannon was a phenomenal song by Fleetwood Mac.
The man's blue eyes twinkled as he chuckled. "Hello, I am Albus Dumbledore." He stuck out his hand shaking mine. "Haffland, get this young woman a Butterbeer, please. This American looks absolutely parched." Albus turned to the bartender a gleam in his eyes.
This man was pure. Albus Dumbledore was good, his soul was a blinding white. I could physically see it glowing through the crevices of his skin, I could sense the undiluted pulsing of it. The only times I was physically able to see a person's soul like this, was when they were so good that their deeds had rubbed off on their very soul. This was the case for Albus Dumbledore.
It took everything in me to not dig through his mind, and look into every little detail of his life. Albus was a man of good—he was to be respected for that. Albus Dumbledore was a man who I could trust wholeheartedly, I could physically sense it.
The bartender nodded slowly walking off. Once he was out of sight, Albus turned to me with a knowing smile.
"May I ask why it is that such a young girl is sitting in a pub, wearing clothes from that of the sixteen-hundreds?" Albus questioned, tilting his head.
Finally, his name sent bells in my head. This was the Albus Dumbledore. The Albus Dumbledore who defeats Grindelwald, the one who creates the order of the Phoenix, the one who died trying to stop the evil that came in the form of Voldemort.
"Would you believe me if I were to tell you that I was a time traveler?" I rose a brow at him, a playful smile on my lips.
"Quite the interesting story; miss Lightly, is it?" He asked, with a knowing look in his eye.
"No, unfortunately, Rhiannon Lightly is not my real name." I dramatically sighed, nodding thanks to the bartender who gave me a large glass of what almost looked like cream soda. "However, if I were to tell you my real name then it wouldn't be a secret would it?" I questioned studying the foreign drink intensely before taking a hesitant sip of it.
The drink stroked my taste buds, causing a hum of delight to fall from me. Quickly, I was downing the large drink not realizing just how thirsty I was. Albus chuckled, watching me drink with raised brows.
"I suppose not, but could you at least inform just how it is you got here?"
"Well," I paused wiping my mouth. "I was being chased through Paris sometime in the sixteen hundreds for stealing bread, then I launched myself through time attempting to get home, but it seems I wasn't focused enough and ended up here, seventy-three years and a continent away from where I was aiming." My nails tapped the glass thoughtfully.
Albus looked at me in mild surprise. "Miss Lightly, how is it that a young witch alike to yourself is able to just casually stroll through time?" He leaned in speaking softly.
I looked at him amused at his assumption. "Probably because I am not a witch." I shrugged, a small smile playing on my lips.
Albus looked extremely intrigued at this point, stroking his beard carefully. "Is it possible that you may tell me exactly what creature you are, if not for a witch?" He asked, his eyes twinkling.
"Ever heard of a Nephilim?" I casually questioned taking a sip of my drink.
Albus spluttered, his eyes going wide. "What?" He barely managed to get out. "That's not possible-" He was cut off by me.
"Can you keep a secret?" I smiled at him, decided that for just one time I would be so reckless as to share the very thing that could potentially get me killed.
Albus nodded, looking at me in a new light.
"Great, because I am about to tell you the very long dramatic story of my life. And then," I added enthusiastically. "I'll tell you about the somewhat distant future of the wizarding world!"
Well, I was officially screwing myself here. I knew it wasn't smart, but for the first time, I couldn't bring myself to care. I almost felt like this was right as if by doing this I was being led to the right direction. Let's hope that I was right, and this didn't end up badly. Okay, let's face it this was probably going to end up bad.
"It all started with an archangel named Gabriel roaming about a nightclub in Queens, then catching the eye of a fetching young woman who went by the name Danielle Claire." I began, decided that I really was going to give my entire life story and many secrets away to this trustworthy stranger.