Title: yn anfarwol
Chapter: Prologue
Rating: R
Summary: Harry Potter's race against time to become immortal before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named does.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The UnSeelie High Queen's name is a vague references from a character in the Merry Gentry series.
(A/N) This story came to me in the dead of night and I've been working on it for a while now. I am already up to the sixth chapter and am definitely planning to stick with this one. All other writing projects are on hold. I now have a beta, and she's doing a wonderful job squashing my dreams that I'm a brilliant writer ;) Actually, she's great and helps catch out the mistakes I miss when I go over my story two dozen times. My thanks to her.
Only the floor still looked like something pulled out of a manor, or from a palace. Made of polished black marble, it glistened in the torchlight and threw back the eerie glow from the tips of the wands that were gripped in pale hands. The state of the floor was ironic, the gleam a contrast with the decaying state of the walls, ceiling, and the souls of the men and women who passed over it.
One cloak slid over it like a sheet of dark water, flowing about the legs of its owner with a sinister life of its own. As it moved across the plane, other cloaks stepped away from it, some from respect born of battle camaraderie, most from the fear associated with the owner's delight in torture and pain. Bellatrix Lestrange's reputation was well-known among her fellow Death Eaters, and she preferred it that way; extracting information more fluidly was her idea of an easy night. And this night's work brought something even better, so much so that her steps seems to bounce as she made her way up the short flight of stairs to the central room.
The doors opened of their own accord, pulling back into the darkness that lay beyond. She stepped in, her heels echoing over the bare walls. She didn't understand the Lord's need for such solitude but knew not to question it. Questions could get one killed. The doors closed behind her with a groan and shut her alone in the room.
As alone as one can be with the Dark Lord, that is. He loomed up in front of her, his scarlet eyes a hellish beacon in the inky abyss. He made no sound, gave no inkling that she was there. She would make the first move; it was the rule.
"I got it, my Lord," she began, her voice full with pride for her skills. "The Longbottom boy. Seems that little Potter told him the prophecy out of pity. Out of a supposed noble wish for him to know."
The expression on Lord Voldemort's face shifted a fraction but remained unreadable. The information wasn't enough to warrant a response yet. Lestrange held back a disappointed sigh and continued on, this time without the flair.
"Remember what we had, well there's more. Here." She reached into her robes and pulled out a slip of parchment, stained with tiny drops of blood as if the writer had been bleeding when it was written.
An alabaster hand slipped from the darkness and seized the paper, lifting it to be read. Lord Voldemort's expression morphed to a dark look of anger, then to one of speculation, and finally to a look filled with such ferocity it made Lestrange take a step back involuntarily. Her eyes widened and her lips parted but she regained control quickly.
"M-my Lord?" She asked, half-dreading the answer.
Lord Voldemort set his gaze past her towards the closed doors, and his lips curled into a horrible mockery of a smile. "I want everyone back here. Immediately. I do not care what they're doing at the time. " As he spoke a slender finger traced over the Dark Mark tattooed into his own forearm; with it was a mental summons. Lestrange felt the fire flare in her left arm and she bit down hard on her tongue to confront the pain. Blood welled into her mouth as the Lord stepped to one side and around her, walking towards the doors.
She followed. She stepped out into the torchlight feeling as if she was still left in the dark.
The circular table was not a symbol of equality in the chambers of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Rather, it underlined the mistrust they held each other. No one was hidden from another's sight. One could glance at his fellows and never let it be seen. They were united by only one thing: their loyalty towards the Dark Lord who ruled over them. That was the connection; everything else revolved around politics to clamber to the top, to be the one not blamed for the latest mistake. Lord Voldemort knew this and exploited it. The Death Eaters knew that he knew and tried harder to achieve their goals.
It wasn't the healthiest of environments, but how could one step out?
The meeting started with whispers and side-glances as one by one the Death Eaters filled their assigned seats. This was also a ploy to keep them on their toes. If they sat in the same place at a round table then who knew exactly where they stood?
Lord Voldemort stood and his gaze fell onto each of them before he spoke. "I have now the full prophecy as was spoken by the Seer to Dumbledore so long ago."
Silence met this. No one dared to speak; no one dared to steal what Lord Voldemort thought was his moment.
"Thus I have decided that if I am to emerge victorious, there is only one way: I must become all-powerful. I must become immortal." He stopped and then looked around again. Blank stares met his, and then suddenly it was like a match was lit.
"But my Lord---" started Crabbe.
"My Lord—" Lucius Malfoy made to stand, but a wave of the Lord's hand made him sit.
"No, there is no other alterative. The Philosopher's Stone is out of my reach. There are other ways."
No one wanted to argue that, yet none of them had an agreement to voice.
"There may be a way, my Lord, without the Stone," came the soft voice from the opposite end of the table, directly across from Lord Voldemort. "A ritual, from the ancient texts of my people."
Lord Voldemort gestured for him to continue.
"It's a rare scroll, and I haven't come across it for many years, but it is there and it is real."
"What will it do?"
"Make you likened to a God." The voice promised, the mask a stark blot of emotionless white. "No longer the Dark Lord but our Dark God, our Master."
Lord Voldemort's eyes slid to Lestrange, a question in them. Should they run with this? She jerked her chin a fraction in the affirmative gesture and he turned back to the Death Eater with the voice of silk.
"Very well. If this scroll exists, and the power promised is true, then all of our efforts must be used. Find it, and you will be rewarded handsomely." His eyes narrowed, and his lips pulled into a cruel grin. "Attempt to betray me in any way, or use the magic contained for yourself, and I'll have you given to Bella at her mercy."
The silence was thick at that. To be at Lestrange's mercy was to be condemned to a fate worse then death. At least with death the pain stopped. The Death Eaters nodded one by one, and then one stood. Lucius Malfoy.
Lord Voldemort watched him. Always at the meetings Malfoy would be the devil's advocate, the one walking in the other direction. "Malfoy?"
"My Lord, what if this is merely a gimmick from a spy?" Malfoy asked. Before he could be cut off he pushed on. "What if our enemies catch wind that we're with no guard, what if they choose to attack?"
"Then a time limit. Would that suit you, Lucius?"
Malfoy waited a beat without answering and then gave a twist of the head that could be a nod. "We would still—"
"As much as you love to play at worrying, enough with the overly dramatic. Even if this was a perfect time for Dumbledore to pull an amazing attack, how would he even know to find us? And, if there is a spy in our midst, no matter, for you will all be leaving. Directly after this meeting is ended."
A burst of protest rose and died quickly at the glare Lord Voldemort sent.
"You will be sorted into groups of three, never to leave the others' sights."
Lestrange quirked an eyebrow and Malfoy scowled. As they were the only two without their masks, they were the only reactions he could make out. No matter. His word was law and if one thought otherwise, Lestrange was looking for her next victim.
"The time limit is by the full moon. A fortnight from now." He looked to the Death Eater across from him. "Is that enough time to find this scroll?"
The Death Eater nodded. "Plenty. You will be re-birthed by the new moon."
This pleased Lord Voldemort. "Excellent. You are all dismissed. Stand up and group into threes." The Death Eaters did, although not without grumbles muttered under breaths. Soon they were grouped off. "Go, and return here by the full moon, or I shall make you return."
The warning was very real. With it ringing in their ears, they all left.
Lord Voldemort stood at the circular table, the torches spilling light the color of old blood on him, and he laughed.
Number four, Privet Drive.
He told himself it was only a pit stop. A pause in the road. He didn't want to admit that it was a closure for him. The end of a chapter in his life. His eyes roamed the empty walls of the small room and then dropped to the weathered floorboard under which he had kept his school-books.
Aunt Petunia had allowed him this much, to be able to collect what little he had left here. She could hardly meet his gaze when he stepped inside, and Dudley 's mumble about a special on the television didn't help matters much.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the heralded savior of the wizarding world, simply shrugged and trudged up the stairs to his old bedroom. The graduation ceremony had kept him for a day longer at Hogwarts, and his stuff was still packed in the back of the car he and Ron borrowed just for this. All that was left was...nothing.
Harry turned to leave but a flutter in the corner of his perception stopped him, turned him to find an unassuming letter on his bed. Tilting his head to the side in curiosity, he picked it up and opened it, his eyes going over the tiny scrawled message.
Boy,
He Who Must Not Be Named has found a way to turn the tides for the forces of darkness. By the Full Moon he will be on his way to obtaining a power that will surmount the prophecy you and he are under. Do not underestimate the drive he has to rid his 'new world' of you. He will stop at nothing. Do not try to attack; it will only stall what is to come.
I leave you with this question: How can one overcome their destiny if it is to die by another's hand? Know this, I am not a friend, nor am I an enemy. I only wish to see the outcome. Never try to contact or find me.
D. E.
Harry's eyes went over it again, and again. Was it a hoax? If so it was a poor one. But if it wasn't, then what would the sender be going on about?
"Either I kill him or he kills me," Harry sighed. "There is no other outcome." He tucked the letter into his pocket and gathered his things. They were due at the Order Headquarters by evening and if anything else, he could have Hermione try her hand at it.