You remember the day you met Magic. He was powerful, terrifying, and beautiful. He was everything wizards and witches aspired to be and more. He was the reason for the tension and the culture of your people. He was the reason many people lived and the reason many didn't. You kneeled in front of Him but He demanded that you rise. And then He told you of His mistakes.
He told you of four friends and His desire to tear them apart for no human reason. He told you how He encouraged the founding of Hogwarts and then coveted its ultimate destruction. He told you a tale of honor and greed and how man's virtues and vices had affected the beings of another realm. He told you how the situation had spun out of control and that in the end the world-your world-was destroyed.
He spoke of trying to fix His mistake but that even He cannot affect the free will of men. The damage was done and He had no one to blame but Himself. But He felt no remorse for His actions, for remorse was a human emotion. He was not now- nor had He ever been- human. His only interest was keeping Himself alive and that was not possible with the worlds dead.
And so He pulled you from the spirit world and told you His tale. He spoke of how you would be the last one of your kind. He told you that it was you who had to ensure His survival in these other worlds. Worlds that were so different from your own but still on the very same path of destruction. He branded your very soul and sent you spinning through the veil.
When you woke up you had another scar and another headache. People were running about, trying desperately to escape the wild magic that had preceded you. You could see them running in terror and you could hear their screams and their curses. You pull back hard on the magic trying to buck free of your body and shove it into the small space in your soul that looks very much like a cupboard. A cupboard under the stairs.
They freeze as they feel the atmosphere change and suddenly all eyes are on you as you stand on the dais. The very one that caused you so much pain not three years ago. They are staring at you but no words can escape their mouths. They have no words for you, for you have rocked the very foundation of everything they knew and felt. You walk out of the room and soon out of the building. All they do is watch you go.
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They search for you much later. When the shock has worn off and the fear settles in, but you are long gone. You cannot be found by their mortal tools and spells. You exist on a different plane than them now. However, you find a certain pull to what you are familiar with. The places and people you once loved call to you and you answer, trusting your instincts and yielding to your heart.
And you find yourself walking towards the white bearded, blue eyed man at the teacher's table. You walk past the staring students, children who have never known something as powerful as you. You ignore those children you are most familiar with, ones you loved and hated. You keep your emerald eyes on his and he knows. He knows who you are and what you mean but he feels no joy or relief at your arrival in his world. You are dangerous; you are wild; you are Magic.
And that is what they call you: Magic. Your old name means nothing to them and even in your hardened mind and uncaring soul, you do not have the heart to tell the dark haired man and the red haired woman who you really are. For you are not their child; their child is a Gryffindor, unmarked and loved. He grew up with a family and a home to call his own.
But you, you are nothing but the lone survivor of a dead existence. They will never know your people, your friends, and the mismatched family you loved so dearly. They will never remember fighting for your life and soul or struggling to end a conflict you had no control over. They will never understand the deep sadness you feel in your heart. For while they bear the faces and names of the people you knew they also bear a different soul. And that makes all the difference.
They are not yours and you are not theirs. And so you allow your name to disappear and you allow them to call you Magic. For even though you are not Him they will never know the difference.
"Why are you here?" The question is shouted at you by a frustrated Order member. You do not remember his name but you sit calmly as he rants and raves at you. His colleagues allow him to, wanting to gauge you and get the answer to a question they have all longed to shout at you.
You do not answer him. All you do is stand and leave. And in moments they feel the walls shake and the dishes rattle on the table. They flee as the shaking gets worse and in less than a minute the building is destroyed. A mere pile of rubble. They find you standing in the street.
"Do not question me," you warn them as you allow Him to take control of your body and voice. They feel the shift inside of you and there is a pull at the cores of their Magic. "Or I will pull the Magic from your bodies."
They shake and tremble at the threat you pose. They can feel the truth behind it and while you feel sad and guilty over the games you must play and the threats you must give, He does not. For those are human emotions and He is not human.
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You allow the Death Eaters to take you. They came to Hogsmeade to draw you out with bloody force. He tries to stop you as you are technically human and vulnerable. You push through His control and demand use of your free will. He can no longer stop you and you unleash your power upon them. You kill no one. And when you collapse in the snow you allow them to take you.
You allow them to force you to kneel in front of their Master. You feel His ire at you kneeling before this man. For He considers him weak and unworthy. Just like the rest of humanity, yourself included.
But when the red eyed man dares to call you a fool you allow your anger to sweep through you, just like you have many times before. You pull back from the front of your consciousness and watch as Magic itself tears through his stronghold. He destroys everything in His path and in the end the man that dared to insult you, the man that dared to insult Magic-even if unknowingly-is destroyed.
The child that he marked feels the connection break through his scar. He screams out in pain and his classmates watch as he collapses. His professor screams for a medic and he slips into unconsciousness.
Hours later you suddenly appear in the Great hall as if you have been there all along. You make no sound; there is no light; just a quiet appearing. At first no one notices but then a child screams out and you are once again the center of attention.
They take in your blood soaked clothes and the hair that you slicked back using the blood of the red eyed man. The headmaster stands, his eyes betraying his shock and for the first time in your life you see him truly beyond words. And that was when you hear a soft whisper in the back of your soul.
"Well done, child," He says. "I will see you soon."
You feel him pull back from your soul completely and your eyes roll up into the back of your head. You start to fall but as your body hits the floor it turns to ash. That ash sweeps over the floor of this school you used to call home. You hear a bushy haired girl ordering the younger students to shut their eyes. They do not need to see this.
A gust of wind blows through the open doors and lifts your ashes to the sky.
That is the last they see of you. By the time they realize what has happened you are standing in front of Him, in his realm.
"Their world is safe," he says. "But you are far from done."
And you are released into another world, another existence. And the games start again.
You sweep through every realm, correcting His mistakes and leaving behind wounds and terror. Sometimes you destroy entire countries, other times you kill no one. It no longer matters whether one person dies, or many, as long as the world itself survives His mistakes. As long as there is something for Him to use in His desperate clinging to life.
You do His bidding. You learn to push past such emotions as guilt, dread, disgust. You do what He tells you. Because wounds heal, life continues on, and worlds limp into the future. But no matter what their damage is, yours is infinitely worse. For you are the last survivor of a dead world.
You are the only one to remember their faces, their voices. Only you remember what they were and the adventures you had. Only you can remember the smell of her hair and feel of her Magic. Only you can remember a life that was once worth living. A life that was destroyed by His games, by His inhumanness.
And you would not wish the fate of your world on anyone. Because to know that you are the only being in existence to remember an entire reality, is terrible. No one remembers them and it as if their lives, their souls, truly didn't matter.
And that is why you are willing to give your service and you destroy, kill, maim, wound. You are a soldier now, a soldier of Magic. And He tells you not to worry for you will see them soon. But you do not believe him, for a reunion would be merciful to your aching heart. And mercy is human.