Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize from the Harry Potter books and no profit is being made from this piece. I do own all original prose and interpretations, so no stealing.
Summary: No matter how much time has passed, human nature will not change. Although there are quite a few similarities between the first war and this one, Albus hopes that it has a happier ending. Canon pairings.
Human Nature
"Human nature will not change. In any future great national trial, compared with the men of this, we shall have as weak and as strong, as silly and as wise, as bad and as good. Throughout time, human nature will not change." –Abraham Lincoln
Human nature will not change…
Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, stood up and motioned for quiet in the Great Hall of his beloved school. Immediately, silence fell and everyone's attention fell on him. It should have taken a few moments for the murmurings to die down, possibly with help of some sparks from his wand, and even then there would be children paying more attention to the ceiling or the mashed potatoes they'd fashioned to look like Severus than whatever he was droning on about. He had their full and immediate attention.
They were growing up too quickly and they weren't the first. This generation had been born of war; they would now have to finish what their fathers and grandfathers had begun.
"Today it has begun…" he said solemnly.
…in any future great national trial, compared with the men of this….
"As I have told you before, Lord Voldemort has returned." There was a collective shudder at the name aside from a select few at each table. "Most of you do not remember his first rising, but all of you have felt its effects. We must once again join together to overcome him. We can and must defeat him. He is not invincible; he is merely a mortal man and he will be conquered."
His eyes skimmed over the students and he came to the reluctant realization that this war, like the one before, would be fought by those who should be too young to see the things one must when fighting in a war. He just hoped that it would not hold too many parallels to the previous one.
Unfortunately, Albus Dumbledore was wrong.
We shall have as weak…
A short, plump man in simple black robes knelt, exposing his left forearm.
"Peter Pettigrew, are you ready to serve your Lord with your entire mind, body and soul?" a man asked, voice emotionless aside from the slightest undercurrent of pleasure. He was tall in more elaborate black robes, but his managed to swirl around his feet from a wind no one could feel.
"I am, Master," the first man replied. His voice was unusually steady, but his arm was shaking and there was fear in his watery, blue eyes.
"Are you able to sacrifice everything for your Lord? If necessary, will you forfeit your family, friends and life?" This time the voice was even colder, and it held a hiss that hadn't been there before. This time it was not a short, plump man who answered, but a tall, lean one.
"I am, my Lord."
A dark green light momentarily colored his fair hair a sickly green. The man's—boy, really— voice shook when he spoke, but the pale arm he stretched in front of him was steady. In another life, in another time, he could've been a friend to the right side, but now he was a scared little boy doing the only thing he knew he could to save his family.
"Rise, Draco Malfoy, and join my Circle."
...and as strong…
"Narnia." The man was exhausted and weak, but his voice held a note of determination which said more than words ever could that he would never be broken. The other man, Rosier, paused, giving him a confused look.
"Narnia?" he said slowly. "Where is this 'Narnia'?"
"You can find it at the back of the wardrobe. There's this talking lion, so we thought it was a good place for Gryff—" His head snapped back as his torturer fired yet another Crucio at him. Once the curse was lifted, the man's head lolled forward, breath coming in harsh, shallow bursts.
"We will break you, Black," Rosier whispered with barely hidden fury to his restrained victim as he trailed his wand down Sirius's bloodied face. "It might take days or weeks or even years, but you will fall or you will die."
He slowly raised his head, his red hair falling into sharp blue eyes. The look currently burning in those eyes would have frightened anyone, let alone a minor lackey. They reflected the same resolve that resonated in his voice, but as they memorized the other man's face, they also promised justice after he escaped. And there would be no mistake, he would escape. He was a Gryffindor, after all.
The sun rose as Ron crept out of the tent. He stumbled on a rock just outside the flap, but kept going, ignoring the blood running down his face and coating his hands. He quickly found the edge of the wards and Apparated away to find his best friends.
…as silly…
Two boys, both sporting black hair and Auror's robes, meticulously set up their traps and wards in Hogwarts' familiar halls. This single prank had taken at least three weeks to plan and they weren't about to mess it all up just because they'd gotten lazy at the last moment.
They'd already managed to run into Filch, the caretaker's infuriating cat, their old Head of House and the Headmaster (and they were pretty sure that the last one had only been because of the Headmaster's good, even if slightly strange sense of humor). But, they still weren't safe just ye—
"Ahem."
Simultaneously, the boys gulped. It may not have been the voice of a teacher or another authority figure, but their best friend doubtlessly disapproved of their current venture.
"What exactly are you doing?" she asked dryly.
"Nothing, Hermione," Fred replied with an easy grin.
"Nothing at all," George continued. "Don't you have papers to correct, dreams to crush?"
"Not really," she said, arching an eyebrow and crossing her arms over her chest. "I finished my work during my free period this morning, dream crushing and all."
"The work of a teacher is never done, Professor Granger."
"You're right. Why don't you tell me what you're up to, boys?"
"Absolutely nothing," they said in unison. They grinned at her, positive that they were about to be hauled up in front of their mother or McGonagall even if they were grown men.
"I don't believe you," she said, "but I think I'll pretend that I do. Please try not to get caught."
Hermione turned and walked away. The boys' mouths dropped open and they gaped after her retreating form. It didn't take very long for them to get over their shock; they had work to do.
…and as wise…
"I'm afraid that you will have to go into hiding," Albus said to the children seated in front of him. He knew that they was going to be a fight ahead of him—no one could tell Gryffindors that they must hide without meeting some sort of resistance—but he still had to try. He needed to protect their future.
"Professor, we are not cowards," one of them, James, replied. "I refuse to just sit around doing nothing while Vol—"
"For Harry's sake, James," Dumbledore interrupted gently. "The intelligence we have is specific; your son is a target. I suggest that you use the Fidelus Charm to protect yourselves. I also suggest that you use myself as your Secret Keeper."
"No," James said, still fuming. "Sirius will do it for us."
For a moment, Dumbledore almost said something else, but he just sighed. "As you wish, James. You and Lily have done enough for us, now we must do something for you."
There was a loud bang as Dumbledore's door flew open and Severus Snape stumbled into the room. He would have fallen over if Frank Longbottom hadn't caught him just as his legs gave out beneath him.
"It's time." Draco said bluntly. "I've been summoned and he expects information."
For a moment, they all just stared at him. McGonagall waved a hand. "Mr. Longbottom, kindly escort Mr. Malfoy to Hogsmeade, then join us in the Great Hall. Draco, you have done well."
The door shut quietly behind the two boys and McGonagall turned back to the room's other occupants: the famous trio and the girl who'd made her way into their hero's heart.
"The end has come," he said to them. "We must ready ourselves for the final battle. Our fate rests in your hands."
…as bad…
"I understand that you have some information for me, Pettigrew," Voldemort said, blandly regarding the small man trembling in front of him.
"Y—yes, Master. The Po—po—potters have made me their S—secret Keeper," Pettigrew stuttered in response.
Voldmort's eyes gleamed a strange red and he leaned forward, much more interested. "Continue," he hissed.
"James, Lily and Harry Potter reside at Godric's Hollow."
Voldemort reached out with his magic at the Potters and he could feel the wards part for him, reluctant as it may be. He nodded.
"You have done well, Draco," Voldmort said with a slow smile. Draco nodded. Potter'd been right; Voldemort was overconfident. "You may have redeemed your family name at last, young Malfoy. Leave us."
"Yes, milord. Thank you, milord." Draco bowed, unable to stop a smirk from forming on his thin lips and a sharp, pleased glint from entering his eyes. It was almost over.
…and as good….
"Avada Kedavra!" A green light shot out of his wand and hit a wall, dissipating silently. "Come along, Potter. You know you won't survive this. It will be easier if you surrender now."
"No." There was an odd undercurrent to his voice, the obvious fury powered by something that sparked like electricity.
Voldemort sighed, as a father would when bargaining with a stubborn toddler, but before he could speak there was a sudden crash from the upper rooms. James cursed loudly; Lily's Apparition had backfired. Voldemort looked at him, lipless mouth curling into a cruel smile.
"Did you really think you could beat me?" he asked, amused.
"I've done it before. Stupefy!"
James Potter was standing now, no longer hiding behind random pieces of Muggle furniture in the destroyed room. He knew that he had been defeated and that he'd done everything he could to save his family, but he still remained defiant and he always would be.
Voldemort took extra pleasure in killing him. "Avada Kedavra."
Harry lowered his wand and stared at the body lying in front of him. Voldemort looked less lethal when he was dead himself, like a poisonous snake hexed unconscious. This man—he really was nothing more than a man—had defined his life since before he'd even been born, and now Harry didn't know what to do.
A small hand clasped his, strong, thin fingers lacing through his much rougher, longer ones, and a soft, warm body pressed against his side. On his right, a bushy head rested on his shoulder, her arm wrapping around his waist, and his best friend stood close enough behind Harry that he could feel the warmth of his body.
It was over, and now he finally just live.
Throughout time, human nature will not change.
Author's Notes: There we go. I edited it a bit, hopefully making it a little more canon-plausible (Draco's involvement is AU after the sixth book). It's still not much like my normal style, but I like it quite a bit more than I did before. Thank you to everyone who read it the first time; please review if you read it this time.
