Authors: Hex and Sivy
Rating: PG-13 (Subject to change)
Disclaimer: We own neither Gundam Wing nor Harry Potter. We do however, own this story so keep your mitts off!
Note: Hiyas! Hex here! This is a collaborative piece of fiction between myself and Sivy and the two of us will alternate chapters between us. This first chapter is - quite obviously - mine. We hope you enjoy our fic!
Important Note: I have taken a few liberties with the pilots ages. They are supposed to be 16 at the end of Endless Waltz but I have made them 15 for the sake of continuity. Apologies in advance!
Pairings: 1x2 3x4x5 (?) RxH DxG (?)
Summary: All his life Duo Maxwell has been plagued by dreams of a life he never lived. That is until a chance encounter with a stranger sparks off memories of the life of a woman who died fifteen years ago. What does this woman have to do with Duo and who are these strangers calling themselves the Order of the Phoenix?
Memories of a Road less Travelled
Chapter One: The Dreams
For as long as he could remember Duo Maxwell had been plagued by nightmares. They would come at least once a month and would always grow more violent and more frequent around October time. The dream was always the same.
There was a room, painted a rich baby blue and a mobile of tiny moving figures on miniature brooms. In his arms was a baby, blinking sleepily up at him while a soft feminine voice so very different from his own sung the child to sleep. Warm hands would rest on his shoulders and he would turn to see deep hazelnut eyes behind thick glasses, sparkling at him with a never-ending warmth.
A sound below them would make the stranger turn and leave, moving as though through thick fog as his image faded in and out of focus. His attention would return to the child once again until the yelling began.
The words were a mystery, an incomprehensible jumble but the tone was urgent, terrified. A voice screaming at him to flee.
Then silence. For so long there was silence before the footsteps came, deep booming footfalls which shook the earth beneath his feet.
And then the eyes, glowing red and menacing from the depths of a black void which filled the doorway. The opening of a mouth and the flicker of a forked tongue.
Green light. A flood of green light engulfing him, feeling like ice and fire was streaking across his skin. Life was being torn from his body and he was falling…
It was then that he would always wake to stare in silence at the ceiling or sky above him, lost in thought until dawn came.
When the war had been raging around him the nightmares had been an odd source of comfort. Even if everything fell apart and they lost their fight the dream would still be there, waiting behind closed eyes. After the final battle of the Eve Wars, when Duo had gone with Wufei and the others into the Preventers, the dreams had stayed with him.
Now Duo Maxwell's life was…monotonous. He got up every morning in the same bed and went to work in the same car by the same road. He sat in the same chair, ate lunch in the same place and went home again. Life was safer now than it had ever been.
Best of all was his personal life. He had friends, people he could trust and rely upon. He had a lover whom he adored and who adored him in return. Life was everything Duo had ever hoped it would be.
But it was always there, that nagging thought in the back of his mind like he had forgotten to do something. Like there was some major part of his life he had forgotten to live. Most of the time he was able to ignore it but sometimes, like after the dreams had come, it was far to strong. It was like an itch on the inside of his skull, driving him slowly insane.
He dare not tell Heero or the others, they already thought he was unstable enough as it was. However it was always lurking there, on the tip of his tongue. The darkest confession and the one secret he could never share, gradually eating away at him. What did it mean?
What was he supposed to do now?
*****
He stood alone in the darkness, watching the stars above him as wind rippled gently through his hair. His simple black suit clung to his form, pressed closer to him by the wind. His hands, jammed deeply into his pockets, curled and uncurled as too many emotions fought for dominance. Eyes, bright with tears blinked at the moon which shone like a spot light down upon him.
He was alone, abandoned by all those he knew and loved to his grief. Isolated in pain. Trapped in loss.
He felt there should have been rain. Rain to wash the blood from his hands. The heavens shedding his tears for him, masking his hurt. But there was nothing, no clouds to shield him from the harsh moonlight or the probing gaze of the stars.
There was nothing but the wind.
He turned from the sky to the stone monument before him. There, etched upon the weather beaten surface were the names of those he had long since buried. He knelt on the summer baked earth and pulled a knife from his jacket. With great care he bent forward and began to carve another name onto the stone, his tears falling freely now.
Another year passed. Another friend gone.
He knelt there for hours, diligently maintaining his ritual.
As the sun rose above the horizon he carved the final letter, brushing away the stone chippings and dust with bruised and shaking fingers. He sat back on his heels and read the names, one by one.
His Friends. His Parents. His Comrades-in-Arms.
All of them gone forever. Each one immortalised in memory.
For twenty six years he had done this, maintained this painful tradition. For twenty six years he had carved name after name in the rock, shedding blood and tears for their sake. For twenty six years he had hidden his pain and his longing, living alone in the past. For twenty six years he had fought to stay alive, wishing to join them but needing to live. For twenty six years they had lived through him. Inside of him.
How much longer could he continue on in this way? Living a shadow of the life he had once been promised? How much more time would he see tick past through a haze?
There were no answers to be found here, in this hand made resting place.
He stood and turned to leave, to re-enter the shadows. But then he saw him, the figure approaching him from the distance. It walked slowly, the embodiment of his own pain.
The son. The saviour. The reason for their deaths. All he had left.
He had to live on, he knew, to protect this boy. He had to live on to make their sacrifice worth all it had cost. For this boys life he would live on. To keep this boy's name from the stone he would live on, in his shadowed life.
He would live on.
They would live on.
In me.
*****
It had been two and a half months since he had set foot inside the Ministry building. Two and a half months since he had seen life swept out from the body of the man he dared think of as 'father'. Two and a half months since another connection to the life he would never know had been severed.
Harry Potter was a boy like no other. Harry Potter had seen and done things no other boy had. Harry Potter had felt pain and loss like no boy should.
He had come here, to Sirius' grave with the last remaining close connection to his parents, Remus Lupin. When his former teacher had disappeared from their lodgings in the middle of the night Harry had slipped out to follow him. At first he had check Sirius' grave but there was nothing there but a simple slab of marble.
It had taken him hours of wondering though the graveyard before he finally spotted the hunched figure of a broken man, kneeling on the ground and crying. He had stood there, in silence, until Lupin had looked up and seen him and then he had left the man to his privet grief.
There had been hell to pay when he had returned to the small house they had rented for the summer in Godric's Hollow, with Mrs Weasley bustling around and telling him how dangerous it was for him to go out alone. Hermione had given him a similar lecture after breakfast but he had tuned both of them out.
The summer was rolling lazily along and all there was to do was find some way to amuse themselves. So Hermione and Harry had contrived to take Ron into the local town to show him what a real Muggle shopping centre was like.
What could possibly go wrong with that?
*****
R&R greatly appreciated! The next part will be written by Sivy so I can take a break. Woo!
Laters
Hex