Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All rights go to respective owners.

Chapter Summary: AU! Gabrielle Delacour died during the second task of the Triwizard. Harry can't take the pressure of the Horcrux locket and turns his back on his friends, as well as his destiny. But Fate and Ancient Magic had other plans for them both…

Prompt (Star Gazers Club — The Golden Snitch): Epsilon Crucis: An orange giant, Epsilon Crucis is featured on several countries' flags, including Australia, Papua New Guinea and Brazil. Write about Fleur Delacour, Gabrielle Delacour, or Viktor Krum. Word count requirement: 500 words (give or take 10 percent)

Word count (not including title and author's notes): 550

The Lady of the Lake

"I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK, RON! You have no idea of what my life is like! I have suffered more than anyone should ever have to! And you know what? I'm done! The two of you can go on Dumbledore's bloody suicide mission alone!"

"Harry—!"

Harry rounded on Hermione in a blind rage. If he had paused, he would have noticed that she looked torn between heartbroken and furious, while Ron was downright murderous.

"But nothing, Hermione! I'm out!"

He wrenched the locket off and threw it on the ground. Before he could think of a better plan — or any plan at all — he bolted out of the tent and ran into the dark woods.

Harry staggered through the brush. Minutes slowly passed, before the fog eventually lifted from his mind.

I'm done. I'm not staying—

—What have I done?

Oh, Merlin! What've I done?

What've I—!

Harry suddenly tripped over a root and tumbled down a small slope. Coming to an abrupt stop, he landed on his hands and knees in an icy stream. He tried to stand, but fell to his knees once again.

I can't do this, he thought despairingly.

With that thought, a cold, pale hand shot out of the muddy water and grabbed his wrist. Shouting in fear, he tried to yank his arm out of the unearthly grip. It tightened and then sharply pulled him down.

Harry suddenly couldn't breathe; he was surrounded by infinite water. There was a dim glow around him and beneath him, her grip still tight around his wrist, was a young woman.

A young woman Harry knew to be dead.

She wasn't wearing the pale blue robes she had died in, nor did she look exactly the same. Her features were sharper and older than before and her perceptive eyes seemed to stare through him. Or perhaps she was staring into his soul.

He felt the weight of her judgment.

You must bravely walk down the path laid at your feet. The path so many have paved before you; so that you could be able to stand, instead of fall.

Her midnight blue dress fluttered and fanned out around her, providing the illusion that she melted into the dark water.

You are meant to rise above, Harry Potter.

You must choose to accept this destiny. For if you do not, the whole world will fall to Darkness.

His eyes widened at the thought. Everything he loved … destroyed at the hands of his enemy…

Stand, Harry Potter, and accept the weapon of those who came before you.

And lean on those who would follow you into hell.

"HARRY!"

Harry's eyes suddenly opened. He found himself in the creek, still on his hands and knees. Hermione and Ron stood around him.

"Harry?" Hermione questioned, a gentle hand on his shoulder. But Harry wasn't paying her any attention because there was something still in his grasp, just beneath the water's surface.

Uncertainly, he began to lift it out of water that was no deeper than three inches.

"Bloody hell," Ron said in awe.

Harry stood, the shining Sword of Gryffindor in his hands.

"I— I don't understand," Hermione stuttered. "How—?"

Harry looked up at her, pain and conviction piercing his heart.

"Gabrielle Delacour gave it to me."