The next chapter! I'm a little evil, I should say that in advance. In any case, enjoy!
Also, please don't hate me.
Harry Potter; in the corridors of Hogwarts, stumbling forwards. Tentative. It'd been a while since he'd been any substantial time outside his dormitory, or outside the normally comforting Room of Requirement.
He was surprised the teachers hadn't acted against him yet; though from what he'd heard, the Doctor was to blame for that. Harry murmured a light thanks; one the Time Lord would never hear.
Draco had persuaded the Boy Who Lived: not much, his mind was too scarred for that, but enough: so now Harry wandered around, outside those two rooms, exploring. Perhaps he'd be able to return to lessons, maybe even begin teaching the DA once more. Maybe. Sometime.
"You're out," it was a child's voice; a girl's. The same girl as before; Harry gave a fond smile, surprising himself with the gesture. "You haven't been moving around for time."
"Lots of time," Harry murmured, resting against the wall; not turning around. That was almost habit now, with the girl. Her odd phrasing was fairly easy to understand, as long as he thought about it; "I guess I finally snapped out of it."
"You're happy?" the girls poke after several seconds; her speech still seemingly delayed. A trace of distrust in the normally emotionless voice.
"No," Harry's voice dropped to a murmur once more; "Doubt I'll ever be. But there are more important things than me." It was quite some time until the child spoke again; Harry was about to repeat himself, believing she hadn't heard.
"Like?" now, the girl's voice was soft: once more blank of feeling, but not heartlessly so. A pause.
"Everything," Harry murmured; a trace of depression. "I mean, there's Voldemort. Apparently only I can stop him; and Ginny wouldn't want me to be- to be like this. If I'm going to keep thinking about her, I- I don't think I'll forget her, I don't want to," Harry hesitated; contemplating, "Anyway, I- I know she wouldn't want me to stop doing, to stop being anything."
Harry fell silent; as was the young girl. Nothing to say; or no response to give. It was hard to tell. During the pause, Harry began to move; to leave, before being halted by the sound of the girl's voice.
It was odd; she wasn't speaking harshly, or demandingly: she wasn't being emotional, and yet Harry found himself moved by the girl's words, found himself obeying her. He identified so much with her; and it scared him. Her voice was a child's, yet she spoke with a maturity and a sadness that implied centuries.
"And?" once more, her speech was small; quick, as if it was a struggle to even voice that one word.
"And what?" Harry replied, hesitant. His voice was anything but happy, anything but the emotionless noise of the girl. Echoes of the tragedies which had stalked him were resplendent in his voice, it was hard to believe he wasn't in tears: somehow, he controlled it now. Used to it, perhaps; or simply, as suggested, living for Ginny.
"You said," the girl spoke after several seconds; a pause. Then; "Voldemort… do you want to," a pause for a few seconds; then, bizarrely, the girl used her voice in an inexplicable manner, enunciating two words simultaneously unable to decide which to say: "Kill/stop him?"
"I, uh-" Harry hesitated, caught off-guard by the complex combination of words in the simplistic voice. He stuttered before responding. "I don't think I want anything. I'll do what I have to; and see what happens from there."
Silence again. Behind the Boy Who Lived, the Nameless Angel stood, still, despite her ability to move; none beheld her. She was thinking.
Others had suffered the same loss as her; she knew it would be the case, yet it was nonetheless moving to see such a victim before her, just steps away, talking. He'd survived; pulled through, after struggling, and collapsing…
But he hadn't known his wife for as long as she had known her husband. Centuries against months. But from what she'd fed upon, the potential of humans: they burned so, so brightly, lives rich with meaning and feeling. Perhaps their feelings could indeed be considered similar.
Would she ever recover? It seldom felt like it.
A look at her arm; stone worn, image faded. Like sand, held together by will. Not her will. She longed for nothing more than to return to that dust: an Angel could not die in any normal manner, she instead sought dormancy, with too little energy to even be capable of sentience.
And the Doctor. She had been hired and commanded: kill the Doctor. The man who killed her partner.
It should not be this hard. Reach out a hand: plunge him into the future, so, so far, wreck any of the energy she still had stored, and end his life by placing him in the right era.
Yet every time she neared him, she froze. She did not enjoy killing; everyone she'd warped through time had been targeted to a safer point in history, and all to the same point. It was those to the future she could not control; it was a wild action, a plunge forwards. She regretted it; but was comforted by the fact she would no longer be capable of regret should she be able to expel all the energy she'd obtained.
Oblivion. A strangely enticing thought.
"How could you not want revenge?" she spoke; voicing her own confusion, in a hope that Harry could aid her.
"How could anyone want it?" Harry retorted; shaken by the thoughts in his mind. Revenge. Avada Kedavra, and steal their heart for a Horcrux. The taint ever since his glimpse of that repulsive future; it still spoke to him. "I don't want to become him."
"Do not be a killer," the Angel whispered in the child's voice; monetarily overcome by an all-consuming guilt.
It was these people she'd attacked; flung them through time, torn apart families… Was she any better than the Doctor? Despite her conscious care for the individual, she'd been cold, cruel even to the families, the groups, the whole race. Perhaps her actions had been but a façade; to make it more bearable for herself. She couldn't be kind, flinging those children back in time. She could only ever be heartless.
No more; a vow. No more theft of potential, let them live as they can.
Except for one. One more person; one last touch, and one last push, to take a life and lose her own.
She hoped. It could not be long.
But who? Her mind soon went to that pale man, and the masked woman, the torturer. Yet that blinding pain forced her thoughts away; unused to any discomfort, due to life as stone, such agony was unthinkable.
The Doctor, then; a pang of guilt, yet so, so much less than she felt when thinking of other such students. To touch the Doctor, to take his life, force him into the future; past the destruction of the Earth, whirling through space as well as time. And to use all energy in doing so; and to become dust.
Perfect.
"Thank you," the Weeping Angel whispered. Silence.
"For what?" Harry tilted his head; confused.
The Boy Who Lived didn't know what to make of the young girl. Originally he was sure that she was a product of his imagination, a construct of the Room of Requirement; to comfort him.
Now she travelled the corridors of Hogwarts; and wasn't always comforting. Sometimes she helped, other times, she haunted. Harry didn't know what she was; but he'd grown not to care. Whoever the girl was, she needed help, and the part of Harry that hadn't been damaged by all his harrowing experiences, was his compassion.
"I don't want to kill," the young girl spoke; voice echoing. Then, almost inaudibly; "Unless I have to."
O
Draco Malfoy paced down the corridor, impatient, irritable. Too soon.
He kept his wand in his robes; but rested his hand on the hilt, the contact in addition to his temper singing his clothes. It was the wrong time. A groan; an irritated sigh.
The blonde found his way to the Room of Requirement, barging through the door. Manners weren't the first thing on his mind; neither was embarrassment, even as the whole DA turned to face him, mid-practise. The class lowered their wands, several Patronus charms flickering out, while the strong did one more lap of the room, peering down at Draco, before vanishing.
Malfoy couldn't help but feel impressed, for a distracting second or so; they were still able to practise such an advanced charm, with Harry unable to cast it. Had he told them? Malfoy didn't think so.
"Tonight," Draco spoke, cutting off his own thoughts with that word. "They're coming tonight."
Silence; confusion. No one was sure what the blonde meant; save of course, for Harry, who met the Slytherin's eyes, and watched the blonde's gaze dart towards his forearm.
"Who's this then?" Zacharias Smith sneered; the Hufflepuff had never been receptive to Draco's membership in the DA, even though the Slytherin rarely turned up. "Who's coming, your dad?"
Surprisingly, despite his impatience, Draco didn't shout at Smith's mocking. Instead, unnervingly calm, Malfoy turned, meeting the student's gaze and speaking, unflinching.
"Don't you wish," his voice was cold, yet not sneering, "The Death Eaters. They're attacking Hogwarts tonight; Fenrir Grey-back, Gibbon, Thorfinn Rowle, Alecto and Amycus Carrow, and," Draco hesitated for a moment; a shudder, "Bellatrix Lestrange."
The name-dropping had quite an effect. Most of the DA had learnt about the Death Eaters, mostly from Hermione; all the history, their exploits in the First Wizarding War. They doubted many others had such a depth of education, so when Draco could casually name some, even some fairly obscure ones, it was truly disconcerting.
"And how would you know?" Zacharias Smith challenged again, "Your dad tell you?"
It was at that point Draco snapped. He'd spent the last year trying to demonstrate that he was someone who could help, yet Smith saw him as no more than his father's son; which was little more than blatant hypocrisy. The DA challenged Voldemort's opinions on blood status, and yet Smith did the exact same.
The blonde strode across the room, closing the distance between himself and the Hufflepuff in a second, wand somehow in his hand halfway across the journey.
A ripple spread through the watching DA; partially concerned for Zacharias' safety, and partially annoyed with Zacharias and eager to see just what Draco would do.
They were mildly disappointed when all Draco did, was to move close to Smith; close enough to make the Hufflepuff take a step back, up against the wall. Malfoy lifted an arm, not his wand-arm though it held his wand, and pressed it against the wall, just over the student's shoulder; a flicker of fear on the Hufflepuff's face.
"No," Draco spoke; tight-lipped, cold, traces of his father surfacing. A flash; a ripple of air passed back from his wand, a non verbal spell, bringing his robe drifting back, exposing his pale, left forearm. "The Dark Lord told me himself. You might want to consider listen-"
A wave passed through the DA at the sight of Draco's arm. On the pale skin, as Malfoy knew, was the burnt, twisted Dark Mark: the sign of Lord Voldemort, and the sign of a Death Eater.
A Death Eater in the Room of Requirement.
Their brains went onto autopilot; an instinctive reaction against the feared sign. They forgot all Draco had said, all of what he was saying.
Even though the Slytherin had the best of intentions, for possibly the first time, he'd been naïve; he'd overestimated Harry's control of the DA, and judged most of them by the standards of the Boy Who Lived.
Several cries of "Stupefy!"
Many beams of red light, some hitting Zacharias (including Ron's, though he swore it was an accident), but three striking Draco's central back, and many other hitting other parts of the blonde.
He'd done the only thing he could to try and trigger a reaction in the DA: and he'd triggered one, just not the desired. Malfoy sank, stunned, to the floor.
Several quiet seconds. Almost a freeze-frame. The DA stood facing the stunned Malfoy, laying atop the similarly stunned Zacharias. Wands out and raised; the Dark Mark still faced the air. Draco's wand rolled along the floor, discarded.
Then, breaking the moment, Harry stepped forward; catching several students by surprise. It was one of the few times that the Boy Who Lived had taken the initiative in anything.
Though in all honesty, many couldn't believe it was this of all things that had prompted a reaction. All year passing, and it was in defence of a Death Eater that Harry stepped forward? It was possible that his one step had done more damage to the DA than the pending attack on Hogwarts would.
"What is this?" Harry spoke; arms open, by his sides, "Why?" He took in a deep breath, for once annoyed by the actions of the group; "Couldn't you see he was trying to help, he came to us, he said he was going to help, he was helping," Harry repeated the word 'help' again and again, growing ever-so-slightly louder with each one. A few people in the DA began to talk; Harry snapped, speaking over them in a fit of anger; a betrayal of his friend, and the after-effects on the repulsive vision of the future. It was surprising he didn't do more. "Quiet!" a shout; "He said the Death Eaters were coming. It looks like he would know; so if you don't want him to help, leave."
The Boy Who Lived surveyed the room, eyes drifting from person to person. He spoke once more, voice quietly kinder; yet just as resolute.
"I mean it," a pause, "I don't want you to do something you're unhappy with. If you don't want Draco to help us, leave."
And he watched as a surprising amount, just over half the DA took a semi-pitying, semi-disgusted look at Harry and the Dark Mark; and then walked out the room.
Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville, Colin Creevey and, surprisingly, Michael Corner stayed.
A smile from Harry; who then turned to Draco, ignoring Zacharias. Pointing his was at the Slytherin, he intoned: "Ennervate."
O
The Doctor peered at the Marauder's Map, scanning, thoughtful. Searching. It wasn't long before he found his target, exclaiming an 'ah-ha!' as he jabbed his finger down onto a spot of the Map.
Amy and Rory peered over his shoulder; confused, trying to read the elegant inked writing. The Doctor was pointing at a room of the castle, the trapdoor room; where Fluffy had dwelt in the first year. Beneath his finger was Nameless.
"You can't seriously be seeking that out," River spoke from a chair the opposite side of the office; she hadn't looked at the Map, apparently able to guess what the Doctor was going to do.
A pause; the Doctor seemed about to speak up, when Rory interrupted.
"She's right, you killed her partner, I don't think she's going to want to talk."
"Rory, Rory," the Doctor muttered, "Why do you always see the worst? She's met me before, remember? Me and River, to the past? She's not decided yet, not totally."
"She's a Weeping Angel," Amy stated; as if it were a point in itself, "Stone."
"She's alive," the Doctor shot back; "Most things have some kind of struggle when contemplating murder, even if the worst of us quash it quickly. She's had her chance, but I'm still here. So it's time to talk."
Amy's eyes widened in despair. In all honesty, it wasn't reason talking, so much as a prejudice against the Angels. They'd been in her head before, convinced her she was turning to stone, controlled her voice... It wasn't an experience she was eager to repeat.
"That's his 'you're not going to stop me' face," River threw out, voice seeming indifferent, somehow amused. "I'd give up if I were you. He does what he wants when he's like this," River licked her lips, "Sometimes it's harmless, sometimes he scuba dives into a gas giant."
The Ponds blinked, frowning as they looked up at the time travelling woman. She just smirked, and gestured towards Dumbledore's desk; they looked, just in time to see that the Map was gone, and the gargoyle slowly descending.
"He can be fast sometimes too," River said, voice rife with suggestiveness.
The Doctor sprinted through the corridors, hopping from rotating staircase to rotating staircase, eager to find the Angel before it moved on. Where it was now, there was no risk to others, should things turn ugly. It was better to keep it that way.
River, Rory and Amy were probably planning to follow him; which was why he needed to get this done as quickly as possible. No interference. A grim smile on his face; his hand entered his pocket, twirling the sonic screwdriver once. He was unarmed, in essence: nothing that could harm the Angel or protect him from it, nothing but his eyes; and even he'd need to blink sometimes. This was just the way he liked it.
About a minute later, and the Time Lord fell through the door, peering up with a grin.
In the centre of the room was a grey woman, a statue seemingly. Eyes open; staring down at the floor; the now-solid-stone floor, trapdoor long since filled in. No wings; eroded too far, and coarse, chipped arms and body. The only thing that marked it as a Weeping Angel was the Doctor's knowledge; it could just as easily be mistaken for natural rock.
"I'm sorry," the Doctor said, hoarse, after several long seconds. "Please, I- I didn't want to do any of this; let me speak, please."
He shut his eyes.
It was the only thing to do; demonstrate absolute trust. His life in the hands of the woman whose husband he'd killed. Maybe not the safest situation, but it was needed. True repentance.
Yet somehow, he did manage to survive.
There was silence; for quite some time, maybe a little too much time; and, slowly, rigid pressure was applied to the back of his neck, just on the top of his coat. Threatening; but the instant before it became too uncomfortable, the increase in intensity stopped.
"Why?" the girl's voice again; the Doctor paused. It was a pain, being unable to look at them; he was always proud of his eyes, he'd perfected stares that could scare a serial killer, eyes that bored into your soul, or eyes that comforted, eyes that couldn't help but make you laugh.
He could hear her though; hear her all too well. She was crying, and it was all the more moving, given the age of the girl she'd stolen the voice from. The tear-stricken words of a first year: it sang to every instinct of the Doctor's. He couldn't harm her.
"Why?" the Doctor mumbled eventually, still speaking and thinking fast, "Why- um, why should I speak? Well, I- I uh wanted to say sorry, really. I know it's not enough…it's never enough. But I am; I really, really am."
There was silence again. The Doctor was shaking; not from fear, he'd resigned himself to what was to come. It was the consequences; he couldn't help but wonder, what of all the other lives out there, all the worlds he'd touched, would touch? Did they all have families such as this? How many innocents had he hurt?
"You're a murderer," the girl's voice was simple; as were her words. Again, flooded with motion: the Doctor could picture the original child. Short, First Year, the kind with long hair, very long, so that it almost formed a jacket; a pale red/blonde, the sort that'd always grin, always smile. And yet the Time Lord could also see, in his mind's eye, a drop of water fall from the stone eye of a statue.
"No-" the Doctor hesitated, "Yes, I suppose. Not by choice. There's just- just never another way," heartbreak in his tone now. Nothing compared to the Angel's emotion; but it seemed to have an effect. Almost half a minute later, the Angel responded, slowly, a little less sadness in her voice; somehow mellowed by the Doctor's display of feeling
"You…regret?"
"Always," the Doctor responded; he didn't hesitate for even a second. "Every time, I search for a different way, I need a different way; when all else fails, I give them a chance. I just wish- I'd just wish more of them would take it."
Silence. They could both remember the time in the room below Hogwarts: with the Mirror of Erised behind them, Philosopher's Stone almost in reach. This Angel was in marginally worse condition than she was now; but only marginally. And the other, proud, perfect, faced the Doctor.
One last chance. A shining silver blade in the Time Lord's hand: the Weeping Angel reached forward, intent on feeding-
And the Sword, obeying instincts programmed into it, absorbed all such temporal potential from within the Angel. It crumbled to dust.
The Doctor had given it a chance; he knew he had. But would the other Angel see it that way? Maybe, maybe not. The Time Lord tensed; a tear slowly trickling down his cheek at the memory.
"It as his fault?" the girl's voice was very nearly emotionless now; yet the Doctor could recognize that edge to it, that warning.
"No," the Time Lord shook his head. "No, nothing like that. It was my fault, I- I should have done something else, found a different way." A tentative few seconds ticked past, before the Doctor got up the courage to say what he wanted to:
"Don't forgive me," the Doctor's words resounded for a few seconds. He repeated; "Don't forgive me. I know you don't want to, and it'd be a lie to do otherwise. And don't try to forget, remember me, hate me if you have to; as long as you feel, as long as you remember that you, are, alive," he emphasized the last few words, taking in deep breaths between each.
"I cannot move on," it was odd; hearing such a young voice speak in such away; yet now, devoid on emotion, under control. It was hard to tell just what the Angel really felt. "Yet you can. I have met a boy; Harry Potter. He is me. Partner stolen; yet he goes on. And does not hate the killer," a slow pause; "Why doesn't he hate the killer?" Almost a minute passed; the Doctor opened his mouth to speak, again, when the Angel said something else, voice now that of a young woman, mature, and brimming with tragic feeling, a cry: "Why don't we hate?"
Silence. The Doctor felt the Angel's hand on his neck loosen; she had promised herself that's he'd do this, maroon the Doctor in the future, avenge her husband, and join him. But she could not.
"I'm sorry," the Doctor could only say that; simply.
The thing that touched the Angel the most, was how the Time Lord genuinely cared. She'd threatened him, done harm quite possibly to his friends; yet he still cared about her, enough to try and help. It seemed impossible for one man to hold so much compassion. And how was she repaying him?
"Do you have a name?" it was the Doctor; quite some minutes later, the Angel's hand still pressing on his back; yet the statue was silent.
"I don't need one," was the eventual response; traces of regret in the girl's voice.
"Oh, everyone needs a name," the Doctor sighed; suddenly, somehow relaxed, even with his fate one thought from being decided. "Would you like one?"
"I-" a long pause now; almost a minute. The Angel's stolen voice, the young girl, was all the more poignant. Then: "I'd like that."
"What do you think then?" the Doctor grinned; stepping forward, easily and fearlessly leaving the Angel's grip; he turned around, eyes still closed to give the Angel freedom, yet he gesticulated as if he could see. The Angel made no motion to return the Time Lord to her grip. "What's a good name?" the Doctor tilted his head; "Ace? Barbara? Bella? Tegan? Peri- no, not that,"
"Ginny," sadness still in the Angel's voice. "In remembrance."
The Doctor froze, mid-gesture. "I- yeah," he mumbled; it was one thing he hadn't expected, if it was a prejudice, or if the Angel was unusual, but he wasn't expecting such a display of, well, humanity. "Good name."
O
Draco had lead the small pocket of the DA; Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, Colin and Michael, to that part of the castle where the vanishing cabinet stood. The Death Eaters were soon to come through; he'd described as best he could what was happening, and now they waited.
They'd played with the idea of getting teachers involved; but even that, Draco feared. He hadn't shared the last past of his mission: Kill Dumbledore.
And even so, what were they to say? A young Death Eater had told them of the plot; and when they asked 'who?' what would happen to Malfoy? Harry had vetoed the idea almost immediately.
Tentative, Malfoy stepped forwards; slowly opening the cabinet.
He might've been able to not do so; but then what? As soon as he left the castle, Bellatrix, Voldemort, the rest of them would descend; who knew what they'd do? Draco didn't like pain; and in addition, he'd never yet tried to resist Imperio, and did not want to try.
And then, all thought was at an end; the Death Eaters began to walk through the vanishing cabinet, appearing one by one. The first was stunned by a jet of light from Hermione; and the rest were on guard. Draco ran back, trying to take cover, as the rest of Voldemort's Army fought against the tiny fraction of Dumbledore's Army.
O
The Doctor strode out of the room, smiling broadly. Sometimes, things ended well; while it was far from perfect, this was one of the best endings he'd found. The Weeping Angel, reformed, and while not cheered, unwilling to force herself over the threshold to death.
River, Amy and Rory stood just outside the room, River just ahead of them, distinctly unimpressed, tapping her foot.
"Hello," the Doctor beamed, oblivious to her annoyance, "Meet Ginny!"
"You named a statue," River stated dryly.
"You're such a…an archaeologist," the Doctor muttered despairingly to himself, before clapping his hands, whirling out the sonic screwdriver, buzzing it at River. The woman's eyes widened, hearing her vortex manipulator, "Fixed! The Doctor clapped his hands, still twirling the screwdriver, "And before we end up yelling at each other," the Doctor winced at River's moderately flirtatious expression, "I'd suggest you head back, rescues all the students in the past. And maybe head back a couple of years; you know I was here before."
"It's a date," River flashed a grin; "See you back then, bye!"
Rather abruptly, there was a flash of light; and River Song was gone. Amy and Rory blinked, a little disturbed; though River was used to such departures. They'd meet again; she knew it. A better farewell could be done then; and a much better farewell, when he was a little older.
"So," the Doctor began, intending to explain things, twirling the screwdriver once more, intending to pocket it on the next-
"Expelliarmus!" a jet of light shot across the room; an instant too fast for the Time Lord. It struck him; and though he remained standing, the sonic was flung out of his hands, clattering along distant stone floor.
Amy, Rory and the Time Lord all looked one direction; towards the source of the interrupting curse. It didn't take long to find it; or rather, her. A cruel smile, as she surveyed the now defenceless trio, and the stone Angel near them.
"Crucio!" she shrieked; relishing the word, and relishing how the two humans fell, contorted to the floor; and how even the Doctor flinched, screamed, despite somehow being able to stand. What she relished most of all however, was the Weeping Angel: unable to react, yet tortured beyond words behind that stone visage.
"We warned you," Bellatrix whispered; voice alternating between yells of curses, and harsh, dangerous whispers. "Which of you shall I kill first?"
Her eyes went from Doctor, to Angel, to Amy, to Rory. Then, a smile, as she picked one at random; she saw no purpose in debating, they'd all die, soon enough. Bellatrix Lestrange raised her wand; pointed at Amy.
Rory's eyes widened.
Then, almost bored, the Death Eater intoned: "Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of green light; it whirled through the air, illuminating every imperfection in the stone below, cutting through even gas. And came to a halt, spattering along instantly-lifeless human flesh.