The Sable Smoke

By Trep092

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter fewer good people would have died, and the final battle between Harry and Voldemort would have been way more impressive. Sadly I don't so you'll have to live with J. K.'s version of events.

I'd like to thank my beta Erik's Song for her tireless work.

A/N: The title comes from the Lord George Gordon Byron quote, "death, the sable smoke where vanishes the flame".

Also, for those waiting for the next chapter of Moony, I'll have it up in a few days. I'm sorry for the delay, I had technical difficulties.

*** Present ***

When I awoke this morning I didn't think to myself, "today's my last day alive, I should really do something important with my remaining hours." I didn't think this because I had no clue that each minute that passed would bring me closer to this evening… and death.

Of course I knew death was coming eventually. After all, it is the end which we all must meet someday. But with the arrogance of youth I believed it to be far in the future. So far in the future that it was not a concern.

Of course, ever since my name was chosen by the Goblet of Fire to compete in the Triwizard Tournament there was a voice in a distant corner of my mind reminding me of my mortality, but I'd made it to the third task and was sure that I'd make it out alive. So that voice went unheeded.

This morning—God it was only fourteen hours ago—I saw my parents for the last time. At least I did get to see them. It's a luxury very few people who die unexpectedly receive. For that gift I am forever grateful.

*** Flashback (earlier that day) ***

Of course the time with my parents wasn't very pleasant. Lately when my Father's around conversation is very tense.

My Father is a generally good man, though he is obsessed with honour and glory. His entire goal in life it seems is to make a good name for himself and his family. While this isn't necessarily a bad thing, it makes him hard to live with sometimes.

He is always pushing me to do my best, and when my best isn't good enough, he pushes until it is. It seems as though my best often falls short of his expectations.

He's the one that pushed me into doing quidditch, and to apply myself to my studies. He's also the one who pushed me into this tournament. The thing is, I'd be doing these things even if he didn't. It's just his forcing me to do things and to do them to his satisfaction that gets my back up.

I used to just go along with whatever he said—as I said I'd be doing the same things without his pressure—but as I grew up I began to long for the ability to make my own decisions. It was when he determined my career path for me that I began to actively fight back. He wanted me to join the Ministry and carry on his work in the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures Office. I wanted to play quidditch professionally.

It was this rift that made our last time together so awkward. That, and the fact that he had to start harping on Harry for things beyond his control.

Ever since I beat Harry at quidditch, my Father's been insufferable. He will rant on to anybody who will listen about how amazing I am and how Harry is definitely not as great as people make him out to be. On one hand, I am pleased that my Father is actually proud of something I've done, but on the other, it wasn't a fare match and I believe that there should have been a rematch. Of course my father won't hear any of that "nonsense".

What really made him angry was when that Daily Profet reporter made Harry out to be the only Hogwarts champion. I honestly didn't care—I didn't want my face and name in the paper—but he flew off the handle. I tried explaining to him that I wasn't in the Tournament to make myself look superior to anybody, that I was in for the challenge, but that didn't fly. He seemed convinced that Harry was stealing my "glory".

People around Hogwarts seemed to be thinking along the same lines as my Father. They shunned Harry. I admit that at first I was sceptical of Harry's story about not entering the Tournament, but as the tasks went on I realized that Harry was reluctant to be in the tournament and was shying away from the spotlight as much as he could; not the actions of one who had entered for fame and attention.

Then had come the day when he had probably saved my life. He told me what was coming in the first task completely out of his sense of fare play. If he was in the tournament for fame he wouldn't have told me. That's when I truly believed his story and started actively telling people off for believing otherwise.

He is a good kid really. I don't know why someone decided to put his name in the Goblet, but he has hung on in the tournament and shown himself to be brave and resourceful. Heck he was the best at the first task. I should have thought of flying.

A month after the first task I'd figured out the egg's clue with a bit of assistance from Professor Moody. I knew I had to give Harry a hint. My Father would have been furious with me if he knew, but it was something I felt I needed to do.

And then tonight—the third task. Harry and I had entered the maze simultaneously due to our points being tied. We went in separate directions. All I could think about was reaching the centre of the maze. I hadn't entered the tournament to win. Well I of course wanted to win, but I had realistic expectations. But after talking to my Father that last time-when he seemed so pleased at the prospect of me winning—my thoughts changed. If I could only reach that cup first, maybe just maybe my Father would say he's proud of me. He has always pushed me hard and has never said he was proud of me except when I beat Harry at quidditch and when I started taking NEWT level classes in my sixth year. So I pretty much had to do something amazing to get his approval.

With this determination burning in my veins I entered the maze. I made it past many obstacles without any difficulty. I nearly met my match though when one of Hagrid's blast-ended skrewts tried to roast me with its propulsion fire.

Eventually while running down a path clear of obstacles I heard someone behind me. Looking over my shoulder I expected to see Harry—we'd ran into each other a few minutes earlier—but it was Krum.

I'd attempted to get to know Krum over the course of the Tournament. He seemed to be a nice enough guy if a little withdrawn. We'd talked a few times about quidditch and though we weren't friends per say, I thought we were on good enough terms that he wouldn't do what he did next.

Before I could even make a gesture of greeting, Krum raised his wand and screamed "Crucio!"

Oh God the pain was unbearable. I felt as though someone was hacking my individual cells to pieces with a blunt knife... My bones felt as though they had been set aflame...

I wanted to die.

Once again Harry came to my rescue. I felt the curse lift and lay shaking on the ground. Suddenly a hand was grabbing my arm and Harry was above me asking if I was alright.

He could have left me there. He could have just left Krum and me and ran for the cup—Fleur was out of the running leaving the path to the cup clear. But he didn't.

After reluctantly sending up red sparks to alert the patrollers to come and collect his unconscious body before a skrewt could come and roast him—a fate I believed he deserved—I continued on towards the cup.

After fighting off a few more creatures, I came across a path that led to a bright light. I knew that that light must be the cup. I was metres away from winning and making my Father proud.

As I sprinted out onto the path and saw the cup I heard a shout from behind me. It was Harry once again warning me. But at first I didn't listen. My eyes were locked on the cup and there was nothing and no one that would stop me from reaching it. But the urgency in Harry's tone penetrated my consciousness just in time.

I dived to the side as a huge spider stepped out on to the path. My uncoordinated dive caused my wand to fly out of my grip.

For the second time in five minutes I was in serious danger. And, for the second time that night Harry saved my hide.

He started firing spells at the monster and drew its attention away from me. I had the opportunity right then to scramble to my feet and dash for the cup while Harry was otherwise occupied. That, I'm sure, is what my Father would have done. It's what most people would have expected me to do. But my heart was stronger than my need for approval. I scrambled for my wand and joined the fight against the monstrous spider.

Eventually we felled the beast but in the process Harry was wounded. He told me to take the cup, and in that instant I seriously considered it. I had nothing standing in my way, my only remaining competitor was insisting that I take the cup and win. But it didn't feel right. Harry had done much more in this tournament than I had. He had had the entire school against him, he hadn't wanted to be in the Tournament to begin with, and he had faced off against three students three years older than him. He had faced all of this opposition and yet was still in the running and was damn close to winning. But more importantly, he had saved my life more times than I cared to count. He deserved the cup much more than I did.

Eventually we came to a compromise. We'd both take the cup, making it a joint Hogwarts victory. This was the best idea I'd heard all night. We'd both win, and my Father's and my Heart's conflicting expectations would both be satisfied.

I assisted Harry to the cup and we simultaneously gripped the cold metal handles.

I immediately felt the unmistakeable sensation of being dragged through space by a portkey. No one had mentioned that the cup was a portkey. Wildly I thought perhaps it was transporting us to the edge of the maze. But when my feet slammed into the ground and I opened my eyes, I saw that I was far from right. We had landed in a graveyard.

I had seen the figure walking towards us carrying a bundle. I had lowered my wand slightly, and then felt Harry stiffen beside me. He grabbed his head and collapsed to the ground. I was turning to see if he was all right when I heard the coldest, most cruel voice I'd ever heard order, "kill the spare."

I knew just as the figure raised its wand that I was the afore-mentioned spare, and there was nothing I could do to stop my imminent demise.

"Avada kedavra!"

A rush of green light flew across the intervening space towards me, and suddenly time slowed down. It was so slow that I thought it had stopped altogether. But no that green deadly streak of light was still moving inexorably towards my still beating heart. I could feel it pumping blood through my veins. Idly I wondered how many cycles were left.

I tried to move aside-I didn't want to die-but my legs were frozen to the ground as though they were full of cement. I was stuck here, imprisoned by time and fate, watching my death draw nearer and nearer with each beat of my heart.

I closed my eyes and remembered...

*** Present ***

This is perhaps the most ironic thing of all. I am standing here in a grave yard about to die. Who wants to die in a graveyard? That's a bad question. Who wants to die at all except when under the cruciatus curse? Irony aside, my life is about to end and there is nothing I can do about it.

I've heard that when you are about to die your life flashes before your eyes. Apparently in my case it is just the last day of life that is on constant repeat inside my head.

Perhaps that is for the best. I remember my Father's face as he gloated about my accomplishments in the Tournament, I remember my Mother's hug and her whispered assurances of her love towards me, I remember Cho's face as she wished me good luck, her soft kiss and hug as she left to sit in the stands, I remember the feeling of exuberance in the millisecond after I touched the cup before it whisked me off to this place to die...

Oh God I don't want to leave all that behind. I'm not done living. More importantly I have vital things to tell people that will now forever remain unsaid. I want to tell my Mother and Cho that I love them and will miss them. I want to tell my Father the same, but also that I'm sorry for all the disagreements we've had over the last couple of years. I want to tell them not to grieve, but to go on and live their lives to the fullest.

I close my eyes. I don't want to see that green light drawing ever nearer. I don't want to know how much time I have left.

But then I remember Harry. He'd helped me so much over the last year when he didn't need to. I think we would have become friends. Well as close to being friends as a fourteen year old boy and a seventeen year old adult could be. I hope he survives this and gets to go back to his friends. I wouldn't wish this fate on anyone.

I wish I could save him somehow. I wish I could repay him for all he's done for me this year. But I can't. At least I told him I was grateful when we were in the maze. It is as though I knew today that I'd die. I got to tell the people I love that I love them, and I got to thank those who have done much for me. The reason I want to do those things again is because I want to have the sincerity I feel now in my actions and words. I try to scream these things to the World, but my mouth is as frozen and useless as my legs.

Oh God! I can see the green light through my eyelids. It is so unbearably close.

I breathe my last breath. My heart beats its last beat.

The light touches my chest...

The sable smoke of death rises and blots out the flame of life.

And I cease to exist save for in the memories of those who knew me.