A/N: And I present to you, part the second and the end of A Touch of Magick.
Note:
--HP-- (page break with indication of elapse time)
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Disclaimer: Not mine. Characters belong to J. K. Rowling.
--HP--
Ancient scrolls and yellowed texts laid scattered across a large oak desk. Slender ink-stained fingers rubbed at the temples of the young man seated in the straight-backed chair before moving forward to pinch the bridge of his nose. Wild dark hair emphasized the pallor of his pale skin and the dark rings beneath his clenched lids. But, despite his worn appearance, his eyes, jewel-like blazing emerald eyes, glittered fiercely when he opened them with an all-consuming anger and determination.
Come sing with us,
Come dance with us,
Come play!
They danced around him as they had always done, floating this way and that as they tumbled through the air, briefly alighting upon him before setting off again.
He ignored them, as he had done for the last several days—weeks—months.
Come sing with us,
Come dance with us,
Come play!
They laugh and sang and sang and laughed—
His grip on the quill stilled and tightened for a second, then began with renewed vigor.
Come sing with us,
Come dance with us,
Come pl—
"Fuck off!" he exploded, shooting out of his chair. "I don't have time for this," he snarled, hands clutching his messy raven hair as he paced restlessly across the study, muscles twitching with nervous energy.
He couldn't concentrate with their constant twittering and play. Their presence had always invoked a sense of calm and belonging within him, but during the last week, they had only served to irritate his already fraying temper. And thoughts of happiness were not what he needed right now.
He clenched his fists, relishing the pain and the anger that came with it. This pain was only a minuscule fraction of what his friends had suffered through before they were slaughtered like cattle. Red flashed across his vision and his anger soared, searing through his veins and leaving only wrath and a lust for blood and vengeance in its wake.
Yes, he smiled, though there was nothing happy in it. This was what he needed. Anger kept him going and he would have stopped long ago without it.
He carelessly shook the blood off his hands, mindless of the glittering droplets as they soaked into the plush carpet. The faeries were gone, he noted as he stopped his pacing. Pushing back a slight pang of remorse for his explosion, he returned his refocused attention to this study of the dusty old tome before him.
--HP--
Come sing with us,
Come dance with us,
Come play!
The lights continued to swirl and spin to the soft melody that he knew only he could hear and he could feel himself relaxing, the tension slowly releasing from his tired and sore body as they beckoned him with their familiar song.
Come sing with us,
Come dance with us,
Come play!
Their call was as potent as ever, and he took an involuntary step forward.
Come sing with us,
Come dance with us,
Come play!
They repeated as one in thousands of tiny voices. But, this time, another line was added to their song:
Forget.
Forget, he thought. Forget the blood, the tears, the screams. His legs seemed to move of their own accord and took another step forward.
Forget the corpses, the scars, and the brittle, fearful smiles.
He moved, then paused mid-step.
Forget the good memories as well as the bad. A wiry black dog with grey-blue eyes giving him a sloppy kiss. A brown-haired witch scolding him with a smile edging across her lips. A weary man in frayed robes, amber eyes patient as he explained the correct wand-movements for the fifth time. A loud red-head, determination glinting in blue eyes as they soared in red and gold… Wire-rimmed glasses and dark hair pulled back into a bun… Twinkling blue eyes…
…and a long list of others. Faces flashed before his eyes and he tore his gaze away from the dancing lights, a wrenching pain twisting in his wildly beating heart. He backed up blindly and sat heavily onto the leather armchair, elbows propped on his knees, head hanging between gripping hands.
No. He would not forget. He could not forget. For their sake, he would remember and, when the time came, fight to give others what he had lost. What his friends had lost. It was not time, yet, for him to rest.
No matter how much he wished to join those lost and escape into a world without war and pain, he knew he wouldn't accept their offer until the monster who killed his loved ones and destroyed his world was dead.
After a long while, when he finally looked up, having regained his composure, they were gone.
--HP--
The battlefield was torn asunder; wreckage and ruin were scattered as far as the eye could see. The great slabs of stone that had stood for millennia lay broken across the singed grass. The horizon line was unbroken in the distance, the small forest at the edge of the field having been flattened in the course of the grueling duel between Light and Dark.
There had only been two combatants on this field, bound by an ancient magick to fight until one contender breathed his last as the rest of the world trembled at the display of power they felt even as they huddled behind the safety of their wards and homes. Thus, there were, at the moment, no casualties other than a pile of smoldering ash beside a yew wand. And, as a light breeze carrying the scent of the ocean brushed past, even that little evidence disappeared.
Slowly, then with increasing speed, as if heralded by the renewing breeze, bright, colorful lights blinked into existence across the desolate field, small voices beginning a familiar chant. In hoards, they glittered around a bloodied figure on the ground, alighting in his tangled hair and dirtied clothes, giggling as they settled upon his cheeks and long lashes.
"Are you here to take me?" the dark haired young man asked hoarsely. Wonder colored his gasping voice.
A bloody hand reached up to touch one of the multitude of faeries that hovered above his chest, but fell back limply onto the blood-stained ground. He coughed, heaving, hacking coughs that flecked red across his lips and chin, but his eyes and ears remained, unwavering, on the dancing lights and joyous voices.
Come sing with us,
Come dance with us,
Come play!
He smiled at long last.
--
The light tenor of a young child's laughter sounded across the battlefield and, as the dancing lights flickered, then vanished, so, too, did any evidence of the fierce battle that had raged in that sacred field.
And, so, finally, did the Childe of Magick return home.
The End
A/N: Hey all. It was a blast writing this. Hope you enjoyed. (Finished, finally. Woohoo!)