Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Supernatural or any of the characters
Lady Jade Scribbler: I meant Azaela, although I was thinking of naming her Azalea as well, but I wanted to give her name some kind of meaning that was connected to the story, you'll see later on!
allietheepic7: Who knows? Let's see ;)
Chapter 2 - Endless rain
The endless rain pounded against the window of the small cottage Azaela was staying in, creating a constant background noise that was a mixture of soothing and irritating. She knew that if she were to look up, she would be able to see the monotonous grey sky, the dark clouds hovering threateningly over the small piece of land she owned in the south of Scotland. It had been a little more than a week since she had retreated into the small house that she had inherited upon becoming Lady Potter-Black once she reached the age of 17, her magical maturity.
She had inherited everything from her Godfather, when he had died by Bellatrix Lestrange's hand in the Department of Mysteries. The weather had been similar afterwards back then, an unforgiving and cold rain, as if heaven itself was weeping alongside her.
Fingering her Head of House rings absently, she sighed, sinking further into the dark armchair she was currently occupying. Her time was running out and fast. The growls and howls got louder every day, haunting her dreams and even her thoughts during the day. It had been close to a year after all, and her side of the deal was soon coming to chase her, rip her to pieces and drag her to hell.
She had made a deal with a demon after all.
Azaela was running, screams and the smell of blood and destruction tainting the air all around her. The Battle of Hogwarts, their last stand against Tom Marvalo Riddle, had reached it's climax. She cursed silently when she had to dodge several green streams of light, dancing out of the way elegantly, before she flickered her trusted Holly Wand behind her.
''Diffindio.''
She continued running in the direction she knew Lord Voldemort was at, not even pausing when she heard the pained grunts of the Death eaters she had hit behind her.
''Tom.'' She slowed until she was merely walking calmly towards the smirking Dark Lord, who was seemingly waiting for her.
''Potter, now die!'' He raised his wand, red eyes glittering maliciously. ''Avada Kedavra.'' A green curse was flying towards her, not even pausing she stepped to the side, raising her own wand, ''Sectumsempra.''
The two curses met in the middle, fighting for dominance, and Azaela closed her eyes, knowing what she had to do in order to end this war, to grant her friends a peaceful and long life.
She stopped her magic from flowing to her wand, and closed her eyes. She could feel the impact, sense herself falling towards the ground, downdowndown.
Suddenly she felt a spark of pain in her chest, a moment of seering agony, before it was gone yet again. Azaela ripped her eyes open, feeling the cold ground beneath her, before she threw herself up in one fluid motion.
''Sectumsempra.''
Voldemort screamed, blood flowing down his falling body, eyes wide in horror and disbelief, before he slumped on the ground, motionless and eyes dull in death.
Azaela was panting, tired and exhausted beyond belief as she took in the stunned silence all around her, the battlefield having gone completely still as they looked at the fallen body of the Dark Lord.
The next minutes were a blur of voices and hands, and hugs and colours for Azaela, as she was pushed and prodded and congratulated, and questioned. The only thing that pulled her out of her haze because she had done it, defeated the Dark Lord, done her duty and could live again was the body of her best friend Hermione Granger, being cradled in the arms of her other friend Ron Weasley. She could see the faint up and downs of her chest, but the trained healer in her (she had studied the books of her mother) could see that it was fatal and she probably wouldn't survive the night.
And with that revelation, her world came crashing down.
Azaela could still remember that moment clearly, even a year later, the helplessness, the horror and the grief that ripped her out of the comfortable numbness she had been after she had managed to defeat the Dark Lord. She could still remember the thoughts and the ideas swirling and pounding in her head, and whatshouldIdo?
She had run into Grimauld Place, ignoring the questioning shouts of her friends, and poured over the Black Library like a madwoman, intent on finding anything that could help the one person that had always been beside her since she had boarded the train when she was still eleven years old, small and shy and so painfully insecure.
Hermione had always supported and believed her, not like Ron who while a decent friend could still be a jealous git or the Weasley's who never took the time to actually understand her, Hermione was family in the way not even Sirius was, who had died to early to form such a bond, taunting the cousin that had killed him.
There wasn't anything that she would not do to help her sister in all but blood, so she had searched and searched and finally finally found something that would help.
Azaela grinned humorlessly, all teeth and no joy as she contemplated on what she had done after she had found an old book on demons in the Black Library.
Yet, she didn't regret a single damn thing.
She waved her wand, watching the small hole that formed in the ground of the crossroad she was at. It was only dawn, the sun not having risen yet, and she was wearing a long black coat she had bought together with Hermione in Muggle London.
Not letting her grief show, Azaela carefully lowered the plastic case with her photograph, graveyard dirt, a black cat bone, and yarrow at the center of the crossroad, and with a careless flick of her wrist finished burying the container.
She had been able to do wandless magic since the final battle, and though she would have loved to study that phenomena more, she first had so save her friend.
She tensed almost unnoticeably, when she felt the foul energy flickering into life behind her. Making her expression carefully blank, only a slight and polite smile on her face, she turned around, taking in the man that had soundlessly appeared behind her.
''Morning.'' she greeted the dark-haired male, who was dressed in a fancy black suit, looking more like a businessman than a demon.
She could see him scrutinizing her, his surprise at her polite greeting not hidden quickly enough.
''Indeed good morning, luv. It has been a while since I have seen one of your kind.'' he mused, eyes focused intently on her.
''The knowledge of your kind is rather well-hidden.'' Azaela answered the unspoken question, her magic pulsing inside her in case she had to defend herself.
The demon nodded thoughtfully, walking closer, until there were only a few feet between them.
''Crowley, pleasure to meet you. What can I do for you?''
Azaela concentrated on what her magic was telling her, one pulse, it was alright to continue then. She had always relied on her magic, since she was small and only knew it as a strange kind of warmth inside her that would comfort her, warn her, and teach her. She had always known when someone was trying to hurt her, or lied. It was why she had survived so long after all.
''I want you to heal someone from the brink of death. Do we have a deal, Crowley?'' she asked.
The demon stared at her for a moment, before he smirked amusedly. ''You are certainly an interesting one, so full of light, so bright and pure, and yet not even a single ounce of hesitation to sell your soul, and descend to hell. Who should I heal, who is this person to you, darling?''
Azaela regarded him carefully, one pulse. ''My sister in all but blood. For all she has unknowingly given me, I can give her that in return.''
Crowley snorted. ''How noble, I accept. You'll get one year, and then your soul belongs to me.''
''Aren't ten years the customary period of time one has after making a deal with a demon?'' Azaela raised her eyebrow, stepping a little closer to the middle-aged demon with the Scottish accent.
''Sorry, luv. You only get one.''
Azaela nodded, not hesitating in the slightest, she had not come here for herself, but for her sister who was always talking about what she wanted to do in her life, who now lay motionless in the hospital, skin pale with the force of death.
''Doesn't matter.'' Azaela replied firmly, and she could have sworn there was even a hint of respect in the demon's eyes.
Crowley stepped forward, the gravel cracking beneath his feet noisily. ''We have to kiss, then the terms of the deal will be fulfilled. Your friend will wake up fully healed and in a year I'll collect your soul.''
Azaela nodded, and leaned forward until their lips met.
Another hell-hound growled near her cottage, and Azaela stroked the back of one of her books deep in thought. She remembered how her friends had questioned her, firm in their belief that she must have done something. But Azaela never answered, content to enjoy the time she had left. She had put all of her affairs in order, apologizing to the Goblins who were surprisingly forgiving once she had explained her reasoning, even thanking her for ridding their bank of such filth. They truly seemed to abhor Voldemort and what he had done.
Azaela had also written her will, leaving everything to her Godson Teddy with a separate vault for Hermione, who would no doubt spend all that money on books. She was content, having lived the last year to the fullest, happy to witness the marriage of Ron and Hermione, and their apparent happiness.
A week ago, she had told them that she would travel for a while, visiting magical communities all around the world, and had smiled at Hermione when she had given Azaela a trunk-necklace with supplies only hours later. How she loved Hermione and her mother-hen tendencies. Since she didn't know anything about Hell, she had added some other things to her trunk, having a feeling that it might be useful later on.
Brushing over the tattoo of the Deathly Hallows that had formed over her heart a year ago, she walked into the kitchen, setting up a pot of tea with a small smile on her face. She grabbed her tea-cup, only to pause when the white and black design caused a memory to spring to the forefront of her mind.
''What are you doing her so late, little one?'' A white shirt, black pants, and kind brown eyes, looking right through her, to her very soul... ''Especially you.''
A tingling feeling of power and how had he known her name? ''Would you, child, choose a content life, riddled with burdens but never too much, or would you choose a life that would include pain and darkness, but would eventually after many years result in happiness?''
An ageless whisper... ''Not an easy path...''
The cup shattered on the ground, as Azaela continued to stare blankly at her hand where only a moment before the tea-cup had been. Why would she remember that man now? Was it because his certainty had shaped her into what she was today? Was it because her magic had instantly trusted him, was happy to be close to him? Was it because he was the first adult to have been truly kind to her? Or was it because his words and the figure of Jesus hanging on that cross reminded her so much of her current situation?
She shook her head, clearing those thoughts out of her head. She wouldn't brood on that topic now, not when she had no time left to waste. No matter what she did, she still couldn't get those kindkindunderstanding eyes out of her mind. She slumped back on the armchair, thinking back towards that day, getting lost in memories and sensations long past and gone.
It had been dark, a dreary day and she had fled to the church, had prayed to God and met that strange man who had known her name, had felt unbelievably safe and warm. It was because of that meeting that she believed in God, that he still cared. She had known love, received and gave it in perhaps not an equal measure but enough to let her smile genuinely and brightly for the first time in her life.
She wondered, even as she watched the relentless rain, if God would condemn her actions, or if he would maybe secretly smile at the oddity and strangeness that was the human will.
Azaela watched the lake in the light of the rising sun, white puffs forming in front of her mouth, as she shivered in the cold.
It was time.
She could hear the hell-hounds close to her, growling and howling in triumph. It was time.
She smiled a small and secret smile, enjoying the way the blue lake glittered in the sunlight, rubbing her cold hands together, as the growling finally stopped. There was a foreboding silence. It was time.
She turned around, watching the hell-hounds advance on her slowly, like predators watching their prey, before she closed her eyes.
Azaela Potter's body would be found two days later by a muggle hiker who was on vacation, the authorities would never manage to confirm her identity, so she was buried in a small nameless grave, an unfortunate wildlife attack in the forest. People in the small village would wonder and shake their heads at such youthful naivety and soon forget about the incident.
In a place filled with endless tortured screams, hanging on a rack with hooks through her shoulders, among the unending darkness, emerald eyes opened, and took in the world around her.
''Welcome to hell.''
A/N Wow! Not quiet 3000~, but 2500~, so hope you like it! I wanted to get the whole pre-story over and done with quickly. So there's been a few changes in the HP storyline, but nothing major... fem! Harry (Azaela) is of course a little different than cannon Harry, but otherwise there are no great changes.
I was really surprised with the reception I got for the first chapter! Favs:65 Follows:114, for a first chapter that's pretty awesome ;) so I wanted to spoil you guys with another chapter. I'll try to get another chapter done this weekend, so look forward to it!
Next chapter: Green eyes in hell
C'ya soon
AriesOrion
