By Your Side
Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.
Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.
Beta read by Arithmancy Master.
Chapter Ten
Skeletons
Dressed in Muggle clothes, as to not attract attention to themselves, the Potters travelled through the Muggle Subway in a tightly knit group. Although, perhaps the "not attract attention" part and the blending in wasn't really working out as planned...
Harry found amusement in what clothing his relatives had deemed Muggle enough: Dorea had dressed herself in an old-fashioned, brown dress that reached just below her knees, where the edge of her regular, deep blue skirts continued down to her feet. And, as if uncomfortable without a travelling cloak over her shoulders, she had pulled on a shorter, frilly skirt over her head, wearing the waistband around her neck so the fabric flowed down her upper body, down to her elbows.
Charlus, on his end, looked utterly ridiculous. He had put on an elegant, black top hat on top of his head and dressed himself in a very wide, dirty green woman's dress with slim sleeves that hugged his arms snugly. He looked like a walking tent with arms, in Harry's opinion. It became even more ridiculous as he hadn't changed out of his robust dragon-hide boots, peeking out from under his skirts as he walked.
Their little son, Daniel, was dressed in a quite neutral, black girl's dress, reaching just above his knees.
Harry and his mother were to only ones who looked even remotely like themselves, wearing their disguises – Nicole was dressed in a simple, long purple dress, and Harry in simple black slacks and a white, button-up shirt.
Walter's peculiar choice, on the other hand, was surely the most entertaining of them all. He had chosen to pull on a flowing, bright pink woman's dress over his usual brown tweed pants and dress-shirt – using it as he would his own robes. On top of it all, he had picked out a bright yellow, wide-rimmed woman's hat, the rim decorated with loads and loads of little Sunflowers.
The lot of them were most likely drawing more attention to themselves now than they would have wearing witch's and wizard's robes. Despite this fact, the others seemed to find Harry the one dressed oddly, as he was having nothing on even resembling a hat or a robe. Nicole even tried to wrap a little, red skirt over his shoulders before they left home, clearly uncomfortable with his state of "undress".
As the Muggles around them on the train looked at the oddly dressed group of disguised sorcerers, they all looked at Harry in an accusing manner, clearly thinking in the lines of him being the reason for the Muggles suspecting them. Harry just smiled and shook his head at them, finding it endearing how hard they tried, and how miserably they all failed.
Close to the very heart of London they got off and climbed the stairs to ground level, looking around them at all the Muggles shuffling about: costume-clad men with briefcases hurrying to their jobs, thin women in knee-length skirts walking around in groups, soldiers in their uniforms, old people with walking-sticks, kids holding onto the hands of their parents. It was a world in peace, a world of relief. They were people with unexplainable feelings of happiness, but at the same time, people with with deep, mental scars that would never fade away completely. War and death had left them all a but cynical and cold-hearted.
Scurrying through the crowded street, the group of sorcerers soon came to stand in front of the "abandoned department store" Purge & Dowse Ltd, where the magical St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was hidden from the Muggle population.
Walking fast, doing their best not to look suspicious, they passed through the store-front of the red-bricked building in quick succession – and soon they were all standing in the extremely crowded hospital lobby. It was filled up with witches and wizards, standing in groups, speaking loudly to one another. In front of the desk was a queue so long Harry couldn't see the end of it, as it continued into one of the adjoining corridors on the ground floor.
There were loads of people with different sorts of maladies crowding the room, who were probably put on hold as many witches and wizards who were injured in the war was taking up all the remaining space in the upper levels of the hospital. Them getting any help at all today was quite unlikely, Harry feared, as he watched a distraught father rock his toddler up and down, soothing it as it wailed in pain with angry, red blisters covering her body from top to toe.
His intentions to become a Healer truly sparkled to life right then, as he was standing in the midst of people desperately seeking the help they needed. There would always be people in need, people for him to help. And that was truly what he intended to do with his life – dedicate it to the purpose of helping others.
Looking at the distraught people around him, Harry's mind settled firmly: he would become the best Healer there ever was.
"Come on, dear," Nicole prompted at his side, grasping his hand in a firm hold, leading him though the sea of people to one of the slim corridors, where wooden staircases lined the walls. "Harold's on the fourth floor, where they handle spell damage," she explained in a shaky voice as the group of people started climbing the stairs in a slow pace. "Ward forty-four, right Walter, dear? What was the name of it?"
"Derwent Shimpling Ward," Walter panted, holding up his pink skirt as not to stumble on it, as he climbed the staircase behind them.
The first floor, and the other ones they passed on their way, was as littered with people as the ground floor had been. Although, here the chaos seemed to be somewhat organized, witches and wizards in lime green robes hurrying from room to room while their patients followed them obediently.
Finally, they were on the second topmost level of the hospital building, walking down the crowded corridor until they reached the door to a room on which the sign said Derwent Shimpling Ward: Serious Organ Damage. His stomach curling together in dread, Harry wondered exactly how serious his brother's injuries in fact were, if he had to be put in a ward such as this one.
Before he could follow his family inside to find out for himself, however, there was a sudden, irritated voice coming from out of his pants' pocket.
"Harry!"
Almost jumping out of his own skin, Harry stuck his hand into the pocket and pulled out a little brass mirror from out of it. Inside the frame a couple of dark green eyes under a dark frown could be seen.
The little two-way mirror hadn't gotten much use during Harry and Tom's last year at school, mainly because they had been too busy trying to avoid each other most of the time. But now that they were out of Hogwarts, and not in immediate reach to one another, they had both agreed to carry around the means of communication, just to simplify things. Waiting for owl post to arrive indeed seemed tedious when one could just pull out a small device out of one's pocket and simply speak.
Gesturing for the others to go on ahead and enter the ward where his brother lay injured, Harry turned on his heel and slowly walked over to the end of the corridor, where he could get at least a little bit of privacy.
"What's the word, Hummingbird?" he questioned playfully and smiled softly as Tom's left eye twitched irritably in response.
"Where are you?" the other asked instead of answering, sweeping his eyes across the glass surface, trying to see beyond Harry's own head.
"St Mungo's," Harry said, having his own look around at the dark wooden walled and sparsely lit corridor end he'd ended up in.
Really – they really could do with a couple of windows in here, he thought. Perhaps the place wouldn't seem so stuffy, were that the case. But on the other hand, the darkness of it was a welcome contrast to the Muggle hospitals he'd been to – especially that certain Muggle asylum he'd been locked into once – that were always in a pearly white colour scheme, as if the colour alone could make the place seem clean and harmless to a sick person. Harry just found it sterile and constricting.
"Harold has had an accident, apparently. Was just about to see him when you called. Was it something that you wanted, 'cause I really need to go..."
"Yes, I do need a bit of your time," Tom declared in a pompous tone, looking away from the mirror and at something in front of him, dismissing Harry's questioning gaze entirely. "We need to step up our game and rid ourselves of your little guest once and for all, don't you agree? I'm currently in Knockturn Alley, on a shopping spree if you will, and I need your... assistance."
"I can't leave here now, Tom," Harry stated tiredly, letting out a little sigh when the other simply rose one of his perfectly arched eyebrows. "Look, it's about time I see my family for once, I've missed them and besides, they need me. So, I can't right now. I'll come by your place tomorrow, and we can go shopping then-"
"No, that will not do," Tom drawled in a bored tone, stepping into one of the dingy shops of Knockturn, making a small bell over the door tinkle. "I'm here now, I'm not going back tomorrow. You can get your own books, if you need them."
"Yeah fine," Harry muttered, trying in vain to push away the aching in his chest at the cold and indifferent tone Tom used with him nowadays. After all, it was his fault his best friend behaved that way, he didn't have the right to pity himself. "I'll come by tomorrow then."
Without a word, the mirror in his hand went blank and all he could see was his own face. Tom had closed off the connection.
Grinding his teeth together at the stiffness of their current relationship, feeling the demonic monster stir under his skin at the slight twinge of anger, Harry put the mirror back into his pocket and walked through the dim corridor on his way into the Derwent Shimpling Ward.
All of the Potters turned to look at him once he entered the wide room, Harold's face lighting up in happiness, a wide grin stretching from ear to ear. "Hey, little brother!" he called out, throwing out an arm to beckon Harry closer to his bed.
The wide room was filled up with uncomfortable looking, wooden beds with thin mattresses and dust grey sheets. All of them were occupied by witches and wizards of varying ages, the vast majority no doubt war victims suffering from damage handed out on the battlefield.
In the bed to the right of Harold's lay an unconscious, greying witch with a circular opening through the skin of her chest, her heart lying beside her on the bedside table, beating weakly where it swam around in some sort of murky green potion inside of a small glass tank.
On the other side of Harold's bed sat a middle-aged wizard, lazily reading a heavy book with his mouth wide open, revealing his little pink tongue that was ever so slowly knitting itself back together.
As Harry approached his family, Harold eyed him with great amusement, chuckling lightly with twinkling dark blue eyes. "Why on earth are you walking around like that, in just your undergarments?" he questioned with a quirk to his lips.
"I'll have you know this is a far better disguise than whatever they are wearing," Harry defended himself in mock indignation, twitching his head towards his father and cousin in a meaning gesture. "Although, I do confess I could have benefited from wearing a hat, most Muggles do, at least when outside..."
"Well, you could at least have worn some sort of robe, Harry dear," Nicole fussed, swatting away invisible dust from of his shoulder. "It may be summer, but it's still quite bitter outside, don't need you too getting sick, now."
Harry locked gazes with his brother and they both rolled their eyes at their mother's antics, although Harry would confess in the privacy of his mind how nice it was having someone pamper him then and again.
The lot of them stayed with Harold for quite a while, talking lightly about little things, doing their best to stay clear of all subjects concerning the war. Harry was dead set on extracting some sort of explanation as to why his brother was hospitalized, but whenever he tried to breach the topic, either his father or his mother would interrupt him, as if the subject was too sensitive to bring up for some reason.
It made Harry very frustrated after it had happened a couple of times, and he was just about to demand an explanation when Charlus caught his eye and demanded he'd follow him to the Visitors' Tearoom, since he had to be famished after the long train ride.
Convinced Charlus was more likely to tell him what was going on if left alone in his company, Harry sullenly agreed and walked out the room at the heels of his cousin. At once when outside, Harry rounded on the other with wrinkled eyebrows, walking shoulder to shoulder with him up the robust staircase to the fifth floor.
"What actually happened to him? No one's telling me a bloody thing about it. It can't be that bad, can it?"
"It's a bit sensitive, at the moment. Hopefully, it will calm down in a couple of days," Charlus disclosed, looking quite grim, the expression clashing horribly with his ridiculous clothing choice. "I'd be careful mentioning anything about it around Dorea, in fact, if I were you. She's still blaming herself enough to make an awful racket about it, mind you, you don't want to see her angry."
"What, why?" Harry asked, irritated at the lack of information. "Why would she find it sensitive, of all people, when it's Harold who's injured?"
"Because he got injured throwing himself in front of a curse heading in her direction," Charlus explained in a tired voice, leading Harry into a big, but still darkly lit, room where a long queue lined one of the walls, leading to a pay desk where a bored looking teen stood taking orders from the guests. The rest of the room was filled up with little black tables with chairs, most of them occupied by the many visitors littering the place.
Harry contemplated Charlus' answer while the both of them took place at the tail end of the queue, finding it extremely frightening how the war had affected them all to this point. The wolf part of his family had been out fighting in these deadly combats, being thrown into lethal situation after lethal situation, while he had been perfectly safe at Hogwarts battling his own problems which seemed oh so pathetic in comparison.
It was understandable Dorea wouldn't want to talk about what had transpired, especially if she had been rescued by her husband's cousin in such a fashion, her being a very prideful Pure-blood witch. She must be feeling so much guilt, Harry imagined. Hell, he knew he would have if one of his close ones had done thus for him.
And it must be horrible for Charlus too, having his close cousin sacrifice himself in order to save his beloved wife. Harold could have died, he'd been extremely lucky. He would certainly hear it from Harry at the next opportune moment, but it would have to wait until they were out of earshot from the others.
Sensing Charlus' discomfort, Harry decided to kindly change the subject, asking his cousin how things had been at home on his end.
"A bit rough," he confessed with a small smile, lightening his rugged appearance a bit, although he still looked to be all too thin and very tired. "But it's not like I can complain. I've been looking after little Daniel, of course, taught him how to walk... well, nearly, he's almost got it now. We've spend most of our time at gran's, looking after her too. She's not all too well right now, Dad... his death came as quite the chock to her. Well, I guess you already knew that."
"Yeah," Harry said quietly, swallowing against the uncomfortable knot in his throat. "When's the funeral?" he asked in even quieter a voice and Charlus simply stared at him in incomprehension for a couple of seconds.
"Oh," he breathed out, snapping out of his stupor. "In a few days, er... on the 20th it is. In three days. We were aiming for a date when Harold is released as well, so he can... Er, he should be quite soon, perhaps tomorrow already, they say. Well, the healers."
"Alright," Harry murmured, straining to find something else to talk about to cheer his worn out cousin up a bit. Before he got a chance to step his foot in it and make matters worse with some sort of half-hearted small talk, Charlus turned sharply to look at him, as if he'd just remembered something.
"I just remembered – Leda says he wants you to come over. Just whenever you feel like it, he says... He's been wound up lately, and he seems a bit... well, off his rocker, really. But, he keeps bothering me to get you to come visit him as soon as you can."
"Oh," Harry said in surprised wonder. He hadn't met Castor Ledford, commonly known as Leda, since his second year at Hogwarts, well, his first year in this time, that was. "How is he?"
"He's, well," Charlus began, momentarily distracted as a bowl of steaming hot soup soared over his head on its way over to a chubby little wizard in the far corner of the room. "He's Leda, alright, you know, pretty much his usual self. Only a bit more... well, more I guess. He got thrown out of the British Army almost as soon as he stepped foot in his squadron. So he's been at home as well, painting like crazy – earned himself a hefty sum for it. He's gotten himself this crazy house. But, he's been over at my place quite often, think he's been very lonely..."
"Wait, wait," Harry interrupted, holding his hands up in a halting gesture, "why wasn't he in the war? Did something happen?"
"Oh, yeah, I suppose," said Charlus slowly, scowling darkly. "He's bloody difficult to get answers out of, though, I must have asked him about it a hundred times... or, at least 99 times... He keeps giving some bullshit it was already decided to be so, or something of the sort. Seriously! One day, I swear, that swelling head of his will explode into a million tiny bits. I won't be surprised. I've never met someone with an ego of the like."
Sniggering lightly at the other's exasperation Harry was glad at least Leda had been around for his cousin to liven things up a bit. "So, you don't know, then?"
"Well, I can only assume it's something silly... Like for instance, one of the generals might have pronounced his full name, or something of the sort."
"What's the deal with that, anyway?" Harry asked in wonder, having heard many fearful whispers about how it was forbidden to address Leda by his given name, but no one had ever explained to him why that was.
"To be quite honest, I don't really know either," Charlus said with a light sigh, shaking his head slowly, mindful of the heavy hat resting atop of it.
"As you know, he was in Slytherin while I was in Gryffindor at our time at Hogwarts. The rumours were there was an incident the first lesson he attended, which was a Transfiguration class for his House only. Since I wasn't there, I can't know, but after that lesson word got around that speaking his name was prohibited. A few people tried, as I recall, but they were all frightened so badly they never tried it again and strongly advised people against it. All I know is that he soon acquired the nickname the Pink Dragon, so I can only assume it has something to do with his Shape Shifting abilities."
"You think his Metamorphmagi is the reason behind it?" Harry asked in surprise, not really knowing much about the ability, having only met one Metamorphmagus in his life. Was it possible the Shape Shifting could backfire, becoming dangerous? Or had Leda been manipulating the people around him simply because he didn't like his own name? It seemed ridiculous, but then again, Leda had never been known for being sane...
"Who knows," Charlus said dismissively with a shrug, effectively breaking Harry's line of thought, as he stepped up to the counter to place his order as the line of people that had finally come to an end.
They were all moving towards the door of the ward, ready to leave Harold behind so that he could rest. Visiting hours were coming to an end. But Harry didn't feel quite ready to leave – there was still so much to talk to Harold about, questions poking at his busy mind.
"You go ahead," he therefore said to the rest of the Potters, who turned to look at him in question. "I'll come after, there's just a few things I want to clear up with my dear brother first."
"But, Harry dear, can't it wait?" Nicole asked worriedly, rocking a whining Daniel up and down in her short-armed, soft embrace. "It's getting late, and I don't want you riding the Muggle trains on your own."
"It's fine, Mum," Harry reassured her, "I've used them loads of times back where I came from."
Well, technically, that wasn't exactly true. He had done it a few times, the one time accompanied with the huge form of Hagrid coming to mind, but loads of times were clearly an overstatement.
"And besides," he continued when she looked less than convinced, "when it's just me, it's easier to get away undetected by the Muggles. We might be in the middle of London, but there's a park close by, and there shouldn't be too many people around at this hour. I could just disapparate..."
"You will do no such thing," Nicole exclaimed in a shrill tone, trying her best to keep it down not to disturb the ward's patents.
"Oh, let him do as he please," came the sudden, gruff voice of Walter from behind his steaming wife. "I'm certain he can handle a simple apparition. He's an adult now, you keep forgetting Nicole. He's not a little boy any more."
"Yeah Mum, stop coddling him," Harold piped up from under his duvet, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he snatched Harry's wrist and pulled him closer. "Although he'll always be little baby Harry to me, he's practically a real wizard now. Oh!" Harold mock gasped, poking a long finger on the side of his brother's chin. "Is that a hair I see? Better be careful, Harry, or you might turn hairy before you know it."
"Funny," Harry said, twisting out of the other's grip, "coming from someone with the word old in his name."
"What was that, did you hear?" Harold piped up to the others, his face shining with brilliance competing with that of the sun. "I think he's learned a new word. Oh, Harry, I'm so proud!"
Their mother soon gave in, although reluctantly, and the two Potter brothers were left alone from prying eyes. Harry pulled his chair closer to the bed, so that they could have a quiet conversation without being overheard by the other patients in the room, and levelled a piercing gaze at his now serious brother.
"Now, will you tell me what happened for you to be hospitalized?"
Harold's mouth twitched in slight humour at that. "Bothers you no one's telling, doesn't it?" Then, he sobered up and let out a deep sigh. "I did something heroic, which I'm not so sure I'd do again if given the chance to be quite honest. Everyone's pretty pissed with me now..."
"Well, from what I hear, it wasn't as heroic as it was reckless. Dorea is quite the capable witch after all, I think you hurt her pride to be honest."
"Yeah, I know," Harold agreed, fiddling with the hem of his sheets. "I didn't mean it like that, though... It was just in the heat of the moment, you know? I saw that curse coming at her, and she had her back turned, and I couldn't just stand and watch... Not again... And then, all my organs started collapsing, and she took me here at once. The last thing I saw before blacking out was her furious face. Man, was she angry..."
Not again, echoed in Harry's head for a couple of seconds before he slowly connected the dots. When he did, he leaned forwards and grasped his brother's bigger hands in his. "I heard what happened with Rodolphus Lestrange..."
Harold paled dramatically, some shine leaving his eyes, before he lowered his eyes onto their joined hands. "Oh," he breathed out, chewing slowly on his bottom lip. "No one was supposed to know about that... Well, Dorea knows of course, she was there after all... But, how do you...?"
"Er, Romulus, his brother... he told me," Harry explained and Harold simply nodded dully in response, still evading his eyes. "It's not your fault, what happened. You know that, right?"
His brother let out a humourless laughter, shaking his head back and forth. "Of course it's my fault, you moron. If I hadn't-"
"No!" Harry interrupted, squeezing the other's hands painfully hard, making him finally look up at him. "No 'what ifs'! The only thing you did was being at the wrong place at the wrong time. And, it was reckless of you, I agree. But it still wasn't your fault what happened. You did nothing, you didn't aim and throw that spell. Don't blame yourself."
"Says he who couldn't stop blaming himself after what happened to Lora..." Harold said dryly, the atmosphere around them turning stiff as they had taken a step onto forbidden ground. The subject of Lora's unfortunate and early death was still a sore subject for both of them. For the entire family, in fact.
"Sorry," Harold muttered when he caught up on the blunder he'd made.
"No, it's alright," Harry said with a defeated sigh. "You're right, I'm not exactly the role model for 'not blaming myself'... But, I've come to realize that I was out of my depth. It took a while to accept it, but there was nothing I could have done.
"And the same goes for you," Harry said with more vigour. "It just happened, alright, it was out of your hands."
"Well, however that might be true or not," Harold said, evading his eyes again, "I couldn't stop thinking about it after it happened. I was just so... angry with myself, not just for that, but because of how I'd treated him all my life."
"I heard he gave as good as he got," Harry stated coldly, raising his eyebrows challengingly.
"Yeah, sure," the other confessed, scratching the side of his head slowly. "But I didn't need to blow up at him like I did, could have given it more of an effort to at least tolerate him enough, right? It all just clouded up my mind, a quite dangerous mindset to have in war... And when I saw that spell coming at Dorea, and I knew that that could be it. It could be the curse that killed her. That took her away from Charlus, who had already lost both his sister and father to the war... I just couldn't stand aside and let it happen."
"And you didn't think it would have hurt Charlus just as much to lose you?" Harry questioned in a dangerous tone, making Harold look at him questionably.
"Well, I'm not married to him, am I?"
He actually had the nerve to grin merrily when Harry swatted him painfully over the head. "You right out saphead," he hissed angrily. "Pull this kind of stunt again, and I'll kill you myself!"
"Yeah," Harold said, breathlessly sniggering. "I get that a lot..."
The front door of Riddle Manor slammed shut behind him as he stormed away from the building and as far away as humanly possible from the incredulously nasty git residing inside of it. His crimson summer travelling cloak flapped behind him like a flag as he hurried along the gravel path down to the main road, throwing nasty glares at the brilliant scenery around him, with the well trimmed lawns, the well groomed horses and the dark green forest framing it all.
He hurried along the road, in the opposite direction of the inviting little village in the far distance below the hill, going instead towards the deeper woods where he would be able to disapparate in peace.
He was so frustrated with himself for getting this riled up, just because Tom continued to give him the cold shoulder. Because he refused to work together, insisting on them working on two separate solutions to their problem.
Harry couldn't help but judge himself, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Tom had every right to treat him this way. So why must it hurt so much? Why must it scar his aching heart to this extent? Hadn't he already made his choice and formed his life the way he wanted it? Wasn't he supposed to be content with keeping Tom as his best friend, his closest associate, while he had other attachments and a wife at the side? Why couldn't that be enough?
But it hadn't been his plan that Tom would suddenly reciprocate his feelings. It hadn't been his plan that he would have to reject the other and suddenly turn their relationship sour.
And it made him so angry – the way it all had slipped out of his hands so quickly. The way he didn't know what he should do, the way Tom made him feel he was the most horrible bastard in all the universe. The way Tom had shied away from him.
It was as if Tom knew his behaviour would infuse him with intense guilt. It was as if it was done on purpose as some sort of revenge. Harry knew it was unlikely, that the other probably was simply shielding himself from getting his feathers ruffled even more, but it still made him uncontrollably infuriated.
Once reaching the glen where he usually found solitude enough to travel without attracting attention, he let out a feral scream and punched his fist deep into an oaken tree trunk, barely feeling any pain at all to compete with the one slamming both his chest and head open.
As if summoned by the feelings of anguish and desperation, Voldemort stirred awake and started clawing for dominance inside of Harry's abused head. It was very curious how the bastard always seemed to know when it would hurt the most, as if he sat waiting for Harry to get so consumed in emotion he lost the grip on his own mind.
Why not, came a sudden thought. What is saying that is not what is happening?
Could that be the answer, Harry wondered, biting his lip bloody as Voldemort's piece of soul crawled across his mind like a vicious snake, wrapping its coils around him tightly, squeezing painfully. Was that what gave him the power to torture his host so?
Harry thought back to the point in time when his sickness had begun. It had started as a prickle in his scar every now and then. Then, the mood swings had begun, and he had started to get angry at every other little thing. Then came the headaches and the losses of control. Then with the faintings and finally, just recently, those moments when Harry had been so out of his mind angry and in pain that Voldemort had gained full control of their shared body.
The common factor – anger. Strong feelings. Negative, destructive feelings.
The only time when Voldemort had successfully been banished out of Harry's head, without the result of him fainting, was that one time when Tom had suddenly enclosed him in a warm embrace. Harry thought back to that moment, to figure out what had made the difference in that instance. Tom had claimed it was the disgust of human intimacy that had made Voldemort reel back, but Harry was starting to doubt that was true.
Thinking hard on exactly what had transpired, he was suddenly engulfed by strong feelings of love, of affection and longing. The thought of resting comfortably in Tom's arms felt like such a foreign thing, it being so long ago that last happened, that he almost broke down in tears from the loss of it.
Then, he let out a long, shaky breath and fell to his knees as the pain suddenly stopped, Voldemort completely pushed back by the warm feelings of something that man would never be able to comprehend.
The soft grass ran through his fingers, the birds twittered merrily, as he tilted his head back and laughed and laughed. He felt free! Free of the binds in which he'd been tangled for so long. Finally, he held the upper hand. It was so simple – the one thing that would hold Voldemort back.
Love.
He got back to his feet, grinning wildly in triumph, feeling like he would be able to take on the entire world. He didn't think he'd ever felt this powerful before. It was intoxicating.
"Looks like the winds are turning, Voldemort," he gasped out, laughing viciously once again by the soaring feelings inside his chest. He felt like he was going to burst like a bubble. "Soon, you'll be nothing but a distant memory. I'll expel you from my mind, and there will be nothing you can do about it."
With regained wits, Harry considered going back to the manor to continue his research and scheming, but decided against it. Perhaps, if Tom and he were apart long enough for the other to miss him, things would change between them? It was a wild optimistic guess, but he just didn't have the energy to stay for another four hours of silent reading while getting dirty looks thrown at him.
So, he dug his hand into one of his pants pockets and picked out the little magical photograph Charlus had given to him the day before; the scenery of a sparkling ocean and a translucent house on the edge of a cliff resting inside of it. Concentrating carefully on the picture, seeing it clearly in his mind, although he'd never been at the place before, he let all other matters go and spun into disapparition.
He appeared with a crack in the middle of a grassy field, the green wisps reaching up to his hips, swaying softly in the light ocean breeze. He slowly trekked up the hill, the ground turning barren and rocky as he came further and further up. Finally, he stood at the top in front of the strangest looking house he had ever laid eyes on.
It was simple cubes made entirely out of translucent glass, stapled onto and next to each other, looking like a bunch of ice cubes organized into a neat looking mess. There was no door, no windows, no roof, no chimney – just glass. And from what Harry could see, there were nothing inside of the glass cubes. They were entirely see-though.
He hesitantly stepped closer, wondering whether he should try his luck knocking on one of the walls or if he'd somehow miscalculated his apparition. But then again, the picture portrayed this very house, now that he stood close to it and understood that it was actually supposed to be translucent.
Before he could make up his mind in what to do, however, a tall, skinny man suddenly stepped right out of one of the cubes, walking closer to him with long, elegant strides. Harry instantly recognized the man as Leda – however, there was something off with his appearance. He looked very... well, common. Not extravagant and dramatic at all.
The man had the same tall and thin body as the man he was looking for, the exact same face, the exact same distant expression. But his hair only reached his shoulders, and it was ink black – not pink or turquoise like Harry was used to. And his eyes were not ocean blue either, but dark brown, almost dull looking. There just wasn't that same eternal feel about him Harry got from being around Leda. Something was off.
"Right on time, Mr Potter," the man said in a voice that sounded exactly like the one Harry had been expecting, but still a bit too down to earth. It didn't hold that dreamy quality he was used to.
"I just decided to come here, on a whim, actually," Harry said, eyeing the other carefully as his thin lips twisted into a soft, knowing smile.
"You are expected," the man only said before stretching out his bony hand in a greeting gesture. The man's smile widened as Harry slowly took it and shook it briefly. "I am Pollux Ledford, Leda's brother," the man explained, and grinned wolfishly at the stunned expression Harry no doubt was showing at the news. He hadn't known Leda had a brother...
"Please, come in," Pollux offered, sweeping his long arm towards the glass wall he had come out of, clearly expecting Harry to simply walk though it. Reminding himself the entrance most likely worked similarly to the path to Platform 9 ¾ as well as the mirror passage between rooms in the Slytherpuff room at Hogwarts, Harry plastered an indifferent expression onto his face and stepped through the cold surface.
The inside of the glass cube was a spectacular mixture between what it had looked like from outside and a regular home with normal interior. Through the walls of the square room, that resembled a smallish hallway with a brass coat hanger in the corner and not much else, one could see there were more rooms, although what was inside them was impossible to make out.
Following Pollux, Harry was led through the wall to the right, entering a sort of sitting room. It was located in one corner of the house, which made two of the walls entirely see-though to the beautiful landscape outside. Through the other two walls adjoined rooms could be seen, making the surface of the glass come out as thicker and less transparent.
The sitting room was very sparsely furnished, only a stiff grey sofa group in the middle with a fluffy white rug framing it, a small table in light wood in the middle. The only thing of strong colour Harry could see was the person standing in front of one of the transparent walls, looking out at the billowing meadow outside with his slim back turned to his guest and brother.
Long, straight hair flowed down freely to the small of his back, and it was in a light shade of summer green today, looking almost yellow as the light of the afternoon sun fell onto it.
"Leda," Pollux called out in a soft voice, guiding Harry towards the sofa group with a light push on his left shoulder blade, "he has arrived."
"Yes, thank you, Pollux," Leda said in his quiet, dreamy voice, his back still turned.
Shrugging off his awkward feelings of discomfort, Harry slowly crossed the room and sat down in one of the long sofas, forcing his body into a comfortable position as he kept his eyes on the man in front of him.
"A cup of tea, Harry? May I call you Harry?" Pollux asked, and Harry nodded simply to him.
"Yes, please, I'd like that."
The rustling of his robes betrayed his departure, and as soon as he was out of the room, Leda finally turned around with a soft smile on his face.
"Antevorta, it has been too long. It is good to see you again. You look far more collected and poised then I would have expected. An intriguing turn-out. But then again, confidence suits you well."
"It is good to see you too, Leda," Harry answered, not knowing what to make of the flattery and instead simply decided to ignore it. "How are you? Charlus seems a bit worried about you."
"Does he?" Leda asked with an amused smile, slowly walking closer and elegantly sitting down in the sofa opposite to Harry, taking care to hold up the skirts of his kimono styled, white silk robes as he did so. "Well, he's always had a flair for acting the hero and being protective of those around him. It is a sweet and endearing quality, but alas, it has its tendencies to create misplaced worry, such is the case this time. But enough about Athena – while he is a fascinating human being, that is not why you are here."
"Why am I here, exactly?" Harry asked slowly, struggling to keep from fidgeting with the hem of his crimson cloak. The whole situation seemed staged, somehow, as if Leda and his brother had it all carefully planned out, following a schedule Harry hadn't had a look at. It all made him feel a little skittish. "It's not that I'm not glad you wanted to invite me here, it was a happy surprise. But, as I understand it, there was something you wanted to talk to me about."
Before Leda could answer his question, Pollux re-entered the room, a silver tray with tree glass cups of steaming hot tea balancing on it. Paying closer attention to the man, Harry realized he did indeed do it all by hand, as he came forwards and placed the cups one by one onto the low coffee table. Most wizards Harry knew would make the tea with a few simple waves of their wands, making the gadgets create it for them, before they simply summoned it to where they were seated.
As Pollux sat down next to Harry on the sofa, he caught the other's curious glance and smirked crookedly. "Squib," he explained shortly before taking a slow sip out of his tea cup, and Harry instantly felt ashamed for his obvious confusion. It felt impolite, somehow.
"You are here, for it was decided," Leda said cryptically and Harry felt his forehead wrinkle with his frustrated confusion.
"Decided? Sure, you asked for me to come, but I didn't even know myself I was going to even an hour ago. I'd say it was pure chance..."
"Indeed," Leda said, smiling lazily with a dreamy expression in his ocean blue eyes, his hair slowly darkening to a night sky blue.
"But," Harry continued, licking his dry lips, "if it was chance, it couldn't have been decided, it was on a whim."
"It wasn't," Leda contradicted, making Pollux chuckle quietly from behind his cup, "it was pre-decided, by chance, as you said."
"By chance?" The other two shared amused glances with each other, as if they were in on some inside joke Harry didn't know of. "But, chance is just... well, random, isn't it?"
"It isn't," Leda said and took a long sip out of his own tea cup. Harry's still sat untouched on the table. "It is dynamic, in constant change, but it is not completely unhinged. If so where, it would be non-existent. What need would there be of chance if it did not have a function?"
"But, you're talking about fate now, aren't you?" Harry asked and felt his frown deepen as the brothers actually laughed quietly behind their cups at him.
"Are you of the belief fate and chance are opposite forces working against each other, Antevorta?"
"Well, yes, that's what I've heard." Harry really couldn't figure out where this was going, and it made him feel very uncomfortable. He'd have to agree with Charlus. From what he'd seen so far, at least, Leda seemed far more out of his mind then he had used to as a Hogwarts student.
"You seem to have spent far too much time with Prometeus," Leda said with a smirk. "Can't be healthy."
Racking his brain for the people he knew Leda's nicknames for, Harry soon remembered who the man had used to refer to as such during their weekly Art lessons at Hogwarts.
"What has Serena got to do with all this?"
"What a peculiar life you must lead, being completely oblivious to the arts of Divination. I couldn't imagine..." Leda whispered to himself, piercing Harry with intense eyes that were shifting colour every so often, swirling back and forwards between pink, yellow and green.
"There are two factions of Divination Theory, Harry," Pollux said helpfully, finally taking enough pity on him to explain what the both of them were on about. "First, there are those who believe in an almighty Goddess of Fate. They believe, quite religiously, that there is a more or less static truth that their divinity has preordained. Your friend, Miss Melpomene, is of that belief. Sorcerers like her have a tendency to celebrate Prophets and Seers, why, I believe her grandmother was a Seer?"
"Yes, I think so," Harry confirmed in a hesitant voice, watching the other carefully.
"They think of fate as a conscious being, of sorts, that pulls the strings. Chance for them is, like you previously suggested, something completely random and therefore uninteresting. The opposite of fate, and therefore weak, imprecise and simple.
"But then, there are others who do not believe fate and chance are two opposing forces, but two sides of an unit. Fate is completely static while chance is a dynamic force. All that fate deals with is birth and death. When you are born, when you give life and when you die are the only things in the world that is completely set in stone. Everything else, every little detail and occurrence leading you on your path towards your fate, is decided by chance. It is a decided path that is possible to read with the help of Divination techniques, but while it is possible to read, it is still dynamic. Which means it is in constant change.
"Therefore, Diviners like Leda and myself, although I'm not technically capable of being a real one, do not worship Prophets and Seers to the same extent as others might do. For the simple reason that what they tell you today might not be accurate come tomorrow. And, as Leda previously hinted at, fate and chance are not opposites, but companions of equal forcethat complement each other."
This was all news to Harry. Although he did understand the reasoning, it was a lot to take in, and he still felt very confused as to how this was all relevant for him.
They all sat in silence for a few tense moments before Pollux arose and excused himself, leaving Harry alone with his peculiar brother, whose eyes had now settled back at their usual blue colour as the man had calmed down.
"Why am I here?" Harry asked quietly, wondering what the point of all this was. It truly felt like much ado about nothing.
"I am a Master in the art of Astrology," Leda stated, slowly tracing the rim of his cup with a long index finger. "I could see you coming. You need my guidance."
"Why?" Harry asked, still very confused.
"I do not know," Leda dead-panned unexpectedly, making Harry let out a startled laugh, finding the entire situation ironically comical.
"Brilliant," he said, shaking his head slowly, feeling quite stupid. "Just brilliant."
"I find it strange," Leda continued, ignoring Harry's outburst. "I have never fallen victim to such a riddle before. It has all been very clear to me, what the night sky was telling me, ever since I was a child. But from the moment I first met you and your counterpart... My readings started coming out tainted.
"The first time I met you, when you came to me that day in the Art Club room, I had already seen you coming. The constellation Gemini had been particularly consistent in my readings, which usually means the happenings of chance involves my brother and I somehow... But when I caught sight of the two of you standing in front of me there was no doubt I had miscalculated – something that had never happened to me before. But then, it all seemed to fall into place; you are of the future, he of the past – you are both the double-headed Janus, because of some kind of magical bond, you are not separate but joined.
"A fascinating mystery... Another riddle revolving around the two of you is the ever changing identity of your counterpart. It is impossible to label him, for one moment he is Apate, the other Postvorta, and strangely enough, the third he is..."
"He is what?" Harry asked, when the other didn't continue, simply staring ahead of him, looking insecure for the first time in his life, Harry would wager.
"Hades," Leda said, his eyes almost glazed over as if he wasn't really quite in the present. "Sometimes, he comes out Hades... The god of death... I have never seen the like before, chance just don't deal with death. It is just pretentious Seers and Prophets who claim they know when death is near. It's almost as if the two of you do not have decided deaths. As if it is entirely up to chance. As if fate does not have any power at all over the two of you. Perhaps, as a Time Traveller, you have pulled free of the fate first given to you. But why the same would apply to him, it is peculiar..."
Harry just knew this had to do with Voldemort somehow. After all, there were two of Tom in this reality, two souls exactly the same. It had to have made some sort of change happen. But what Leda was trying to suggest was sounding a bit too strange to Harry's ears. He'd never heard anything of the like before this point. He'd never found interest in Divination, nor had Tom, for it all had seemed a bit too much like balderdash for their liking.
"And my readings revolving you has been highly grim for the past months," Leda continued with a solemn expression, suddenly looking sharp and attentive again, "always telling me Hades is coming for you, that death is near, that the Grim is walking at your heels. And for some reason, your identity has started to entwine with the one of your counterpart... Antevorta and Postvorta is slipping together, and you are slowly turning into Janus, the double-headed man of the past and the future... It is all quite the riddle to me."
"Not to me. I know what it means. Or, at least I can guess," Harry said shortly, entirely certain Hades was referring to Voldemort, not Tom in this instance, and that his slipping identity was due to his little guest growing stronger and gaining control of his mind and body every so often.
Leda just hummed thoughtfully, making a deep feeling of irritation stir dangerously in the depths of Harry's stomach. It felt like his presence here was entirely pointless, like he was wasting precious time he instead could use for completing his theories on how to banish his sickness once and for all.
"Dinner is served," came a quiet voice from behind him, and Harry spun around in his seat, noticing Leda's brother had soundlessly rejoined them.
Still very uncomfortable and confused, Harry tried to politely refuse the offer, but the others just smiled amusedly at him, claiming he shouldn't be silly. Miffed, Harry tried to quench his feelings of restlessness and followed the two men through their glass house into an airy, almost exclusively white, kitchen. All the plates, glasses, forks, knives, pots, serving dishes and the like were all made out of transparent glass. But the table, the chairs and the counters were in a sleek white material. The only thing sticking out in the room was the heavy iron stove in a dark black colour.
They ate slowly, Pollux making polite conversation with Harry while Leda seemed... bored, Harry judged. As if nothing about their current situation interested him in the least. As the minutes ticked by, and Pollux kept stalling him, Harry finally stressed himself to the point where he couldn't take it any more.
"If you don't have anything of import to say to me, then I see no point in this continued farce, Leda, but will take my leave. Pollux, it was very nice to meet you, thank you so much for the delicious dinner."
As soon as he was on his feet, so was Leda, standing in front of him, blocking his way with a sinister expression on his face. "Calm yourself, Antevorta, there is still much you need to learn."
"Look, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, or what you want from me. But I don't have time nor patience for this," Harry snapped, trying to step around the other. "Get out of my way."
"Get out of my way," he repeated furiously when the other didn't react.
"Patience, Antevorta," Leda said in a quiet voice, still blocking his path with an infuriating smile on his lips. Harry saw red. His mind slowly merged with Voldemort and a sadistic gleam shone through his now blood red eyes.
"I've had enough of you and your silly nicknames, Castor Ledford," he said in a quiet, hissing voice, not quite Parseltongue, but having the same quality.
The change in the man in front of him was instant; his eyes, hair and skin turned bright pink, as if someone had poured paint over his head. His mouth twisted into a feral sneer, showing off teeth growing sharp and long. On his long-fingered hands, his fingernails grew in length and thickness into black claws. Finally, his long whip of hair became aflame, and his entire back and head was covered in hot, pink fire.
Harry raised his wand in the last second, throwing a protective shield of magic in front of him just as the crazed Metamorphmagus lunged at him. Clawing. Biting. His eyes shining with murderous intent.
Harry was fighting a losing battle of wills inside his head, as he did his best to think happy thoughts, feeling feelings of love to keep Voldemort from throwing Avada Kedavra at the man attacking them. But it was challenging, too challenging! He was losing.
Just as the shield protecting him started to shiver and started to come apart, Pollux came rushing back into the room with a golden instrument in his hands. Harry vaguely recognized it as a harp.
The man started playing, speaking soothing words in his velvety soft voice, and Leda finally seemed to slip back into reality. The moment awareness returned to his bright pink eyes, he instantly turned on his heel, bolting from the room in a swirl of flames.
Before losing control completely, Harry turned around, facing the glass wall showing an awe-inspiring view of the setting sun spreading its copper rays over the shifting ocean.
He dragged in a deep breath through his nose, basked in the soft sunlight and imagined it was not Pollux but Tom standing behind him, hovering worriedly. He would come up close, keep his distance at first, judging the situation. Then, he would stand so close the hairs on the top of Harry's head would stir with his breaths of air. Slowly, his arms would snake over Harry's chest from behind, hugging him in a loose, possessive hold. It would feel so good, like all that mattered in just that moment. The scent of the man he loved would fill his senses, going straight for his heart, that would beat in a rapid pace.
Harry let out another deep breath though his nose as Voldemort shied away completely with a vicious hiss of contempt.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Harry said, turning back around to face the hovering, pale man on the other side of the room. "What about him? Where did he go?"
"No, don't worry," Pollux said with a small, yet still worried, smile, gesturing for Harry to retake his seat at the table. "He just needs to calm down," he continued when they were both seated again.
"I'm sorry," Harry said, meeting the other's dark eyes confidently. "I crossed the line, and I didn't mean to... I guess I was just a little curious, it's childish really, but I still shouldn't have done it."
"Believe me when I say you're not the first one to lose your temper with him," Pollux reassured him with a wide grin of pearly white teeth. "I'm actually impressed you lasted this long. Most don't. The only other person who has ever lasted in his company without difficulty for a longer amount of time is in fact your cousin. I can't even say I have been that patent with him most times, at least not growing up. We had some really memorable spats, I have to confess."
Harry found himself surprised. "Really? But you seem so well synchronized with one another. Almost as if you're following some sort of plan you've made up. I suspect you of trying your best to make a fool out of me."
Pollux laughed merrily at that, making light of the situation, and Harry finally felt he could relax a little bit. With his outburst of anger, his strong feelings of love for Tom and now of amusement made his previous discomfort and worry seem very trivial and childish.
"I really should go apologize," he said, feeling quite guilty for riling the other up.
"I'd advise you to hold on for a bit, at least until you'd be out of danger from burning yourself on his fiery hair," Pollux said in a voice tainted with amusement. "I could tell you stories, so many stories. Once, our father tried patting his back when he was like that, that stupid sod – well, you can imagine what happened. He was hopping around the house like a maniac, finally throwing himself under the shower spray fully clothed – I thought I'd never stop laughing... But then again, he's so easily triggered, it's utterly ridiculous in my opinion, how he's never getting over it."
"I just don't get it... Why does he turn like that, just because of a name?" Harry wondered in a quiet voice, hoping he wasn't stepping over the line again. But he was just so curious, ever the obsessive mystery solver.
"Oh, I guess you wouldn't know, would you," Pollux said, shaking his head slowly. "You'd never get an answer out of him..."
He sighed and leaned back against the back rest of his white chair, knitting his fingers together in front of him on the table. "No, it's all because of one woman it all started – our mother. See, we didn't grow up with out biological parents, Leda and I, but we were adopted when we were very young. I was five, I believe, which would make Leda three...
"Our mother was a strictly Pure witch with strong ideals and high expectations on both herself and her surroundings. She was a great mum, she really was, until out father died... She was pregnant with Leda when that happened, and the loss of her husband turned her a bit twisted. Vicious, I'd say.
"And then, she gave birth and to her great horror the baby was not pure. A freak of nature with unnatural colours, was what she thought of him. She hated him ever since she put eyes on him. All she said to the nurses who had delivered him when they tried to make her hold him was: make scarce that horrid cast off.
"The cast off... That became his name ever since that day – well, not officially. But whenever she referred to him behind closed doors, that was the case. That horrible nickname became the inspiration for her final naming of him. And it would never mean anything else to any of us, lest of all to him. Whenever he hear someone refer to him as Castor, all he can think of is her and her hatred.
"She really hated him, and if she'd ever have learned I would not acquire any magic in the future..."
Pollux sat silent for a couple of tense seconds, a silence that spoke more than any words ever could have, and Harry felt his heart quench in sympathy.
"Her abuse escalated," the other continued in a tense voice. "He was bruised black and blue, constantly. And then, one day, she crossed some sort of mental line and went completely berserk. Almost had him killed... The Ministry arrived, thank the chances for that, and we were eventually put into Foster Care, she into Azkaban, where she didn't last for long...
"We lived with our Foster Father until almost three years ago, now. He was far older than he looked and acted. A strange old codger whose mother had been a centaur. An uncommon combination, but he turned out all human, to his looks at least. He taught us all he knew in the line of Astrology."
"He sounds like a great man," Harry said, and instantly got a wide smile from the other.
"He really was," Pollux confirmed. "As soon as Leda learned more of the myths and the stars, he became completely obsessed. It didn't take long before he'd found a new name for himself. It's a bit ironic, really, that he choose Leda of all things – mother to the brothers Castor and Pollux... It was a clear statement: he figured he didn't need a mother, but would be one for himself. He'd completely washed himself clean of our mother's tainted touch."
"Was that the point when he started giving other people nicknames as well?" Harry mused aloud, and the other smiled softly as if reminded of a pleasant memory.
"Yes... But he never did find one for me... I've always ever been just Pollux to him."
The early summer sun had finally setted under the horizon, and a sparkling sky of bright white stars had taken its place. The depths of the universe shone thought the walls all around them, making it feel to Harry as if he was in space. Finally, he understood the charm to this kind of house to the two Ledford brothers. Astrology wasn't a part of their lives, it was their lives. They lived and breathed it. It was as natural to them as eating or sleeping.
It must be a difficult life for Pollux, Harry thought sadly, being stuck in a magicless body with a brother excelling in the art of Divination, having all the magic in the world at his disposal.
"I believe it's safe to seek him out now," the other cut though his thought process suddenly. "Go back to the hall, then through the wall opposite the way out. Don't panic, just keep walking. Then, he's through the wall straight ahead."
Harry would have asked the other how he knew where his brother was, but Pollux was already on his feet, and quickly disappeared through one of the walls, walking to Merlin knows what part of the house, leaving his very sombre guest behind to follow instructions.
Harry slowly made his way out into the hallway, standing indecisive for a moment, figuring he could simply leave now – there was no one there to stop him from departing. But he felt the need to clear things up with Leda first, so he turned his back on the way out and headed down the slim corridor towards the opposite wall.
The slim room he landed in had nothing in it but a very steep platform of glass, going straight upwards to some sort of second landing. It wasn't a staircase, because it had no steps, it was just a flat, steep surface. Harry hesitantly put one of his feet on it, and immediately, the world lurched, turning on edge, and he was standing on the now flat platform, looking ahead at the second landing that was now a sloping space a few paces ahead. Behind him, the previous floor he'd been standing on, was standing up in a vertical angle.
Remembering Pollux's words – don't panic, just keep walking – Harry hurriedly made his way through the room and barely reacted at all as the room lurched a second time, before everything was in its proper place again, and he was standing on the first floor of the house. Just like on ground floor, the entire house was made in all glass. All around him, even more so when a little above ground, were the dark night sky covered with sparkling stars. It was a little unnerving, Harry thought, walking around on a transparent surface when a bit over the ground. It was easy to forget that there was actually a surface at all, and that he wasn't simply walking on air.
Walking straight ahead in the long corridor, Harry soon came to a dead end. Confident this was the wall Leda was hiding behind, Harry walked through it and was not disappointed.
In the middle of the square room, a square, all white bed stood. Leda laid sprawled out on top of it, his long pink hair fanning out on the sheets from the top of his head, his arms spread wide as he laid watching the stars above. Harry came to sit on the edge of the bed, looking down on the cool as a cucumber man, watching his contemplating, dreamy expression.
"I'm sorry."
He got no answer, no response at all, but Harry still felt the other had forgiven him despite this. There was something about the atmosphere between them telling him such.
They sat in silence for a bit longer, Leda watching the stars, Harry watching Leda.
"She needs to see you," the lounging man suddenly whispered, breaking their comfortable silence.
"Who?" Harry wondered, surprised. If he had expected the other to say anything to him, it hadn't been that.
"Gaia," Leda said with a soft, almost childish, smile on his face.
Harry was standing in the middle of the Godric's Hollow graveyard. In front of him, he had the tombstone of one of the best people he'd known, ever. A person he still mourned, terribly, and barely could speak of with others. Whose death still hurt him to the bone.
As per Leda's instructions, he had taken off the ring he carried on his right index finger, the ring he had gotten from the person he loved the most. He held it in his right hand, palm up and open. With his left hand, he flipped it over once.
Twice.
Thrice.
He looked ahead, wondering what would happen next.
The night sky seemed to shine a little more brilliantly, the moon seemed more golden, the air around him seemed a bit more sparkling. And then, it a swirl of magic golden light, she stepped forwards, her form fairly transparent, the skirt of her beautiful green dress flapping in the breeze.
Wet tears flowed down his flushing cheeks, his breath caught as he choked up, unable to form any other words than:
"Lora!"
A/N: *Stops and stares at chapter* Bloody hell! How in the world did that mammoth of a chapter come to life? Unbelievable. I just had to stuff it all in there, didn't I? Oh well, hope you liked it.
Thank you for reviewing, reading, favouring and all other awesome things you do. It always makes me happy to just think of the people who actually like this crazy story.
Mischief managed!