Prologue
He couldn't quite believe this was happening. Of all the ways he had imagined his life ending, he had never thought it would happen like this.
"Hurry!" she urged, pulling on his hand in an attempt to make him move faster. He couldn't imagine how they could possibly run any faster than they already were. His legs were screaming in protest, begging for him to stop. His lungs were burning with each ragged breath that he took. They had already run for what seemed like hours. He wasn't sure how much longer they could go on like this.
"Through here." she said, pulling him down a long corridor. They ran into a room on the left, and then quickly slammed the door closed. He leaned against the wall, panting heavily while he watched her throw up locking and silencing charms at the door. He vaguely wondered where she had gotten a wand, but was too out of breath to ask. He watched in quiet fascination as she yanked hard on her hair, pulled out a few strands, and then began to grind them between her palms. She opened her hands and blew the ground hair particles toward the door. The door glowed briefly then settled back to normal. She fell to the floor, panting harshly.
"We have…maybe…fifteen minutes."
He closed his eyes as his breathing began to slow down. Only fifteen minutes left to live. So many thoughts ran through his head; all of the things he'd never done but always wanted to do. He had never traveled; he'd always wanted to visit Rome. He'd never ridden on a muggle airplane. He'd never driven a car before; even Ron had gotten to do that. He sighed softly. He would never marry or have children. Heck, he'd never even had sex before. He couldn't believe he was going to die a virgin.
He looked over to his companion, his last living friend. He didn't know how she had survived as long as she had. He had only been held prisoner for a few weeks and he knew looked the worst for wear, (those death eaters had so enjoyed his company) but she…she had been missing for months. He had thought her dead a long time ago. He could hardly believe his eyes when he first saw her. She looked…well horrible was too generous a word. She was like the walking dead. She was almost emaciated and he'd had trouble distinguishing her from the other corpses that lay in her cell. (Voldemort had been kind enough to place him in the cell across from hers "so he wouldn't be lonely".) If it weren't for her hair, he never would have recognized her at all.
He had often wondered what Voldemort wanted with her. He knew it had to be something big. Even after the subsequent capture, torture and murder of his other friends and allies, Voldemort seemed determined to keep her around.
"He's trying to figure out what I am," she had whispered to him once. He still didn't understand what that statement meant.
"We need to hurry," she said standing and looking around the room. She immediately began banishing the old furnishings of what, he supposed, was a storage room.
"What do you have planned? How do we get out?" he asked, moving behind her. He still felt weak from the running they had done. The fact that he was half starved to death and barely recovering from numerous rounds of torture also added to the problem. For a moment he was confused about where he was, then shook his head and tried to focus on what was being said. They had fought hard to make it this far; it would not do to pass out now.
"We can't get out, the wards are too strong. And neither of us are strong enough to perform the Fidelas charm, so we can't stay here either," she replied as she spelled the floor clean.
"So what are we doing?" he asked, glancing nervously at the door.
"I'm saving you," she said simply. "I'm saving us all."
"What do you mean?" he asked. She just shook her head and handed him the wand.
"There's not enough time to explain. Keep cleaning. I'll get everything ready," she replied. He made a frustrated sound but did as she asked. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her hands fiddle with her necklace. She had always worn it, at least all of the years he had known her. He'd always meant to ask her about it, but he never had. Now, as he watched her break apart a charm and remove a pair of small scissors, he wished he had.
""What is that?" he asked, unable to contain his curiosity.
"Scissors, made from compressed seas shells and wood of an elder tree." She answered as she placed the scissors on the floor, scooted back and broke open another charm. Dust fell to the floor, just behind the scissor, and glowed briefly.
"How do you still have that scissor? I would have thought they would have taken it from you by now?" he asked, watching as she broke charm after charm on her necklace and sprinkle the dust onto the floor.
"They can only take it with my permission," she explained as she moved around the room, making a circle. She suddenly grinned at him. He tried hard not to flinch in revulsion. He hoped he didn't look that bad. "And I didn't give them permission."
He blinked, not understanding what that response meant. She seemed to be waiting for some sort of acknowledgement so he grinned back. The way she hastily adverted her eyes told him he looked as bad as she did.
"What's that dust?" he asked instead.
"The hairs of every victim of Voldemort that died in my cell," she replied flatly. "And my mother's hair as well."
"Why?" he asked, confused. What had possessed her to take hair from a corpse, he wondered.
"It will help fuel the plea. It will make the magic stronger," she answered.
"No, why did you take their hair in the first place?" he specified.
"Because I knew we would need it."
He opened his mouth to ask another question when they heard spells hitting the door. He threw up more locking and silencing charms as she made dust from her hair and blew it at the door. She stumbled back to the almost completed circle.
"We must hurry. My time is coming," she said as she struggled to maintain her balance. She quickly completed the circle.
"Take off your clothes and step inside the circle," she said as she threw off her filthy rags.
"What?" he asked. He glanced at his friend then quickly looked away. He couldn't help but think she looked worst naked.
"Hurry," she urged. He quickly complied. They both stepped into the circle at the same time and he watched as the dust glowed brightly around them. She bent down to pick up the scissors, and then straightened up to look him in the eye.
"You're going to cut my hair and then I'm going to cut your wrists," she told him.
"I don't …" he began.
"We must hurry," she interrupted. He nodded, took the scissors and, after she turned her back to him, began to cut her hair at the nape of her neck. He was surprised by how soft and healthy her hair was, especially with the way she currently looked. The scissor glided through her hair easily and he was left with the heavy weight in his hand. She turned back to him, panting slightly. She seemed to weaken before his very eyes.
"Now crush the hair, as much as you can, between your hands and then throw it into the air," she explained. He handed her back the scissor, then proceeded to crush the hair. He was surprised by how easy it was. With the length and thickness of the hair in his hands, he figured it would take a long time. He threw the ground hair particles into the air and watched as they began to slowly drift down, the circle glowing even brighter.
He looked down quickly as he felt the scissor cut across his wrists. He stared at his friend in horror. There was so much blood. She had cut too deep.
He slowly sank to his knees as he felt his strength leaving him. He vaguely noticed her kneeling with him or that the glow was rising upward as his blood ran into the dust.
"Oh Goddess, hear the pleas of your children…" she began.
He slumped onto his side, barely registering the sound of spells hitting the door or the dust settling on his skin.
He didn't hear his companion continue her prayer or feel when she cut his hair and added it to the circle.
"Avenge your fallen, Isis, we cry out to you…"
His eyes moved listlessly in his head. He started to feel cold; his body began to tremble.
"Resurrect your chosen…"
He watched her lean over him. He struggled to concentrate on her eyes. She'd always had amazing eyes.
"I sacrifice myself to you…"
He watched numbly as she plunged the scissor into her chest. With a silent cry, she slumped over onto him. Green eyes met gray.
"Be my friend again, Harry," she whispered.
"Luna," he whispered back with the last of his strength. As his eyes fell shut, he never saw the dust glow brightly one last time before blowing away on a nonexistent wind. He never heard the door burst open or saw the curses that were thrown at them. He never witnessed Voldemort laugh manically in triumph that his nemesis was finally gone.
Harry Potter's soul had already departed. And the world as he knew it would disappear with it.