Author's Note: Another one-shot. This one is kind of angsty, but only because I wanted to try something new. I was going to make this multi-chapter, but I decided against it. For now. Oh, I just realized this is my first crossover! So tell me what you think. and just a heads-up, there is no dialogue in here. Also, this takes place in the DH movie.
Disclaimer: Do not own. Never have, never will.
Frozen
Time. An untouchable essence full of contradictions of which no mortal could possibly hope to comprehend. Yet, its contradictions only serve to seduce the human mind into its unparalleled mysteries with the touch of its hand. A whisper from its undying lips. A whisper filled with empty promises of power and strength, overwhelming to any of whom happen to stumble across.
Humans, with their natural selfishness and fear, have always sought this great power as a means to escape, control, and overpower life and death. Such is the way of human nature.
However, not one soul has ever come close to the ethereal being of time- never have they reached its core to have for themselves.
He never understood the lure of controlling time- never saw any reason as to why it was so sought after. He didn't see why one would ever feel the need to try and manipulate something so difficult to understand- so difficult to attain.
That was, until now.
Now, as he kneeled down before her motionless body, shrouded completely in shadows, he wished for nothing else but to have her back. He wished that he could bring her back. That he could maybe go back in time to protect her.
But he couldn't. He knew that.
All witches and wizards should know the rules and consequences when it came with time.
But, the pain he felt shooting through his body as he held back tears, brought irrational and idiotic ideas to his mind that he just couldn't seem to let go.
He lifted a trembling hand to her cold left cheek, caressing the soft skin of it, before slowly closing her wide eyes- eyes once so full of life, bare of any emotions at all. He choked on a sob, accusations swirling in his head. Some of the voices sounded like his own, while most sounded eerily like hers.
You could have saved her. You should have saved her.
Why didn't you? You were right there.
He felt sick. It was his fault, wasn't it? He was right there. He could have saved her. But he didn't. Now all he could feel all the pain she must have went through.
You let them torture me and didn't even try to stop it!
That wasn't true. He had tried, but they were outnumbered. He tried as hard as he could to get them away from her, but there were just too many of them. That wasn't his fault. So then, why did he feel so guilty?
Because you are.
Was he really?
Yes. It is all your fault. You were too weak. And you still are.
As morbid as it might have sounded, he couldn't honestly say he wanted the harsh thoughts to stop attacking him as they did. They just sounded so much like her that he never wanted them to stop.
It was like she was really there in his head. It was like it was really her melodious voice that continued to throw those constant allegations that he wasn't sure were true or not.
Of course it sounds like me. It is me. And they are true. Every. Last. One of them. You know it was your fault. I warned you. I told you it was too dangerous for us now, but you insisted that we would be fine. That we would all come out alive. Now look where we are. Or, where you are, and where I was.
It was supposed to be safe! They should have been strong enough!
You overestimated our abilities.
It wasn't supposed to end like this!
But it did. And it's all your fault…
He let out an agonized scream as he clutched his head tightly, uncontrollable tremors rocking his body as her voice finally faded away. He was barely aware of the people behind him- barely noticed the cries of his friends as they finally caught sight of just who else had died.
But the pain they most definitely felt was nothing compared to his own. He grasped her dead hand, wishing again with all his might that he could perhaps turn back the clock and stop her from dying.
From dying for him. He had already lost so many people, but he had to lose her as well?
They were after him anyway. He knew he shouldn't have let all these people- friends- fight for him like they did. And now, because he did, most of them were dead. Sure, they had won. But for what? Was his life really worth all of the death and chaos it had caused?
Of course it wasn't.
Not if he had to lose her that way. What was life without her anyhow? For him, it was nothing.
He remembered how they had first met.
They- the Golden Trio- had just escaped from the attack on Bill and Fleur's wedding when they stopped in a nearly empty café. They started discussing what they had to do next, when two men came in. A few seconds later, a hooded figure walked in and took a seat closest to the door.
The person- he couldn't tell the gender since the clothing they wore was too loose to tell- looked to be watching the men. Following the figure's gaze (or at least assuming that's where the figure was 'looking') Harry noticed one of the men seemed to be reaching for something at his side.
Like a wizard reaching for his wand.
He remembered briefly wondering how the figure in the back had noticed, before he and his friends took cover.
As the trio shot spell after spell towards the Death Eaters, Harry seemed to have forgotten the mysterious figure that was in the back. That is, until small sparks of pink shot themselves at the Death Eaters, most landing on the area where their Dark Marks should have been.
Upon being hit, both Death Eaters couldn't hold back a cry of pain as the trio was finally able to stun them. Harry turned back to the figure who was walking towards them casually, as if things like that happened to them everyday, barely aware of the waitress who had come back or when Hermione urgently dismissed her.
The figure watched quietly as Hermione took Dolohov's memories, and Harry wondered why they were just letting the figure just stand there.
That was when his friends finally realized that they had an intruder watching from just behind them.
Moody would have been so disappointed.
Hermione had angrily demanded the figure tell them who they were, or she would be forced to remove their memory of what had just happened. Harry almost pointed his wand at the person when they raised their hand, until it appeared that they were only talking off their hood, speaking softly with a slight accent.
Kagome Higurashi was her name. She was a priestess from Japan that had come to London for a break. She told them that she had wanted to get away from all the demons (at the time, he hadn't realized she meant actual demons) she had to face back home. Whenever he had asked why she stayed to help them when she had left Japan to get away from all the fighting, she merely told him that if she wasn't needed, she wouldn't have been there in the first place.
That everything happens for a reason.
Did that mean she died because it was meant to be?
No. He refused to believe that. It was unfathomable that she was meant to leave the world now. To leave so soon. She was about the same age as him, merely sixteen years old.
There couldn't possibly have been a reason for her death.
Crying heartbreaking sobs into her cold shoulder, he griped her right harm as if it were his lifeline. She was so cold. So frozen. He could almost imagine her frozen in time as his friends tried to detach him from her dead body. Eventually, realizing he would not be moving, his friends gave him his privacy. So they left him alone with the dead body of the girl, one he had only known her for a few weeks, that had become as close to him as the Hermione and Ron.
Maybe even closer.
But he'd never get to find out now.
Time. An unexplainable force beyond any amount of words used to describe it. It so much more than a certain period of the day, or a moment where an event has occurred. This force is capable of so much more than people often give it credit for.
People use the word in every day life, not really understanding its true meaning and worth.
But he now knew better. He would now always know.
Another bloodcurdling scream pierced through the air. A scream filled with agony and despair. It took him, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, a second to realize that the scream…
Hadn't belonged to him.
AN: I hope people actually read this. If you did, review to tell me if it was good, or it sucked. I don't really care either way, as long as you would have a reason as to why it sucked and what I can do to improve.