School's back... Oh joy. I'm so TIRED. We're almost at the end. The plot is coming together! Also - kudos to one special guest who gave me my favourite insult of all time. I had to take it down but you've got to admit - calling someone a 'f*cking limey' takes dedication. It made me laugh, I hope that was the desired affect.
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Arthur coughed a couple of times, swaying slightly on his feet. He looked into the faces of Voldemort and the 2Ps, a confident smirk on his face. Inside he was quaking. He tried to think of his Empire, his pirate days, his victories, but nothing came to mind.
"Hello, Mr Riddle." He said smoothly, taking a deep breath. "How have you been for the past… oh, how long was it - fourteen years?"
Voldemort's eyes widened. His snake-like nostrils flared dangerously as he replied, in a calm, quiet voice laced with underlying venom, "Oh, England, I'm afraid you missed the niceties. These are my followers, the second players."
England stared blankly around at the 2Ps. "Second Players?"
"You don't know?" Laughed Voldemort, sneering at the smaller man. "How can you not remember?"
A tall man with his hair scraped back into a ponytail stepped forward. "Oliver gave all of the 1Ps memory wipes last time. They don't remember." He sounded Canadian.
"Oliver…" Arthur tried the name out. It felt strangely familiar on his tongue.
"Oliver Kirkland. Your 2P. We are you, only stronger and infinitively more powerful. The 2ps and the 1ps are incidentally complete opposites. We also tend to gravitate towards… evil."
"I-I don't believe you!" Arthur spluttered.
"Don't you?" Voldemort laughed again, it sent tremors down England's spine. "How sweet. We are going to have to teach you a lesson in respect, England. Nagini, take the boy."
The long snake slithered towards Harry, coiling tightly around his body. Harry let out a yelp of fright that ended in a dreadful wheeze. The snake was strangling him. Harry's lips worked furiously, his voice lost on the air he didn't have. He managed a croak.
"Don' let 'm win, Engl'nd. F-ght."
England's eyes widened as he saw the boy. He stopped and stared. The boy's use of his country name completely unsettled him.
"No."
The snake coiled tighter.
"No!"
It let out a hiss.
"STOP!" Arthur fell to his knees in a way reminiscent of a time almost three hundred years previously. His voice cracked and broke. "Don't do it. I'll do anything. Just let the child go."
Voldemort looked delighted. He snapped his fingers and the snake unwound in a long, smooth ripple. Arthur rushed over to Harry. His lips were blue but the country could feel the weak rise and fall of the boy's chest.
"I've always wanted to do this…" The man was rubbing his hands in glee. "England. Stand up."
England stood. "What?" He asked sharply.
"You said that you'd do anything." The voice was malevolent and soft. "I want a duel, England. Can you give me that? A duel? I'll let your little friend here go…"
Arthur nodded stiffly, dropping Harry's limp arm. "Fine." He said briefly, hoping that there was honour in being taciturn. He stood straight and tall, wand held steadily at his side.
"We bow to each other. England," said Voldemort, bending a little, but keeping his snakelike face upturned to Arthur. "Come, the niceties must be observed. . . . I would like you to show manners. . . . Bow to death..."
The Second Players were laughing again. Voldemort's lipless mouth was smiling. Arthur did not bow. He was not going to let Voldemort play with him before killing him ... he was not going to give him that satisfaction. . . . He could see it in the wizard's eyes. He knew the loophole. He knew how to kill a country - a secret guarded as the most precious of jewels.
"I said, bow," Voldemort said, raising his wand - and Arthur felt his spine curve as though a huge, invisible hand were bending him ruthlessly forward, and the 2Ps laughed harder than ever.
"Very good," said Voldemort softly, and as he raised his wand the pressure bearing down upon him lifted too. "And now you face me, like a man . . . straight-backed and proud, as though you could save Harry by fighting me, foolish immortal. . . And now - we duel."
Arthur realised that he had been tricked but Voldemort raised his wand, and before he could do anything to defend himself, before he could even move, he had been hit by the Cruciatus Curse. The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, that he no longer knew where he was. . . . White-hot knives were piercing every inch of his skin, he was trembling all over, he felt as if it would never end -And then it stopped. Arthur rolled over and scrambled to his feet; he was shaking as uncontrollably as Luciano had done when his hand had been cut off; he staggered sideways into the wall of watching Second Players, and they pushed him away, back toward Voldemort.
"A little break," said Voldemort, the slit-like nostrils dilating with excitement, "a little pause . . . That hurt, didn't it. England? You don't want me to do that again, do you?"
Arthur didn't answer. He was going to die for nothing, those pitiless red eyes were telling him so ... he was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it... but he wasn't going to play along. He wasn't going to obey Voldemort... he wasn't going to beg. . . He had been an empire. He was going to fight.
"I asked you whether you want me to do that again," said Voldemort softly. "Answer me! Imperio."
And England felt again the sensation that his mind had been wiped of all thought. . . . Ah, it was bliss, not to think, it was as though he were floating, dreaming
...just answer no ... say no ... just answer no. .. .
I will not, said a stronger voice, in the back of his head, I won't answer. . . .
Just answer no. . . .
I won't do it, I won't say it. ...
Just answer no. . . .
"I WILL NOT!"
And these words burst from England's mouth; they echoed through the graveyard, and the dream state was lifted as suddenly as though cold water had been thrown over him - back rushed the aches that the Cruciatus Curse had left all over his body - back rushed the realization of where he was, and what he was facing. . . .
"You won't?" said Voldemort quietly, and the 2Ps were not laughing now. "You won't say no? My little island, obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die. . . . Perhaps another little dose of pain?"
Voldemort raised his wand, but this time Arthur was ready; with the reflexes born of his WWII training, he flung himself sideways onto the ground; he rolled behind the marble headstone of Voldemort s father, and he heard it crack as the curse missed him.
"We are not playing hide-and-seek, England," said Voldemort's soft, cold voice, drawing nearer, as the Death Eaters laughed. "Come out, England . . . come out and play, then ... it will be quick ... it might even be painless ... I would not know... I have never died. . . You have though, and will again although this will be mercifully more permanent…"
Arthur crouched behind the headstone and knew the end had come. There was no hope ... no help to be had. And as he heard Voldemort draw nearer still, he knew one thing only, and it was beyond fear or reason: He was not going to die crouching here like a child playing hide-and-seek; he was not going to die kneeling at Voldemort s feet... he was going to die upright like the world power he was, and he was going to die trying to defend himself, even if no defence was possible. . . .
Before Voldemort could stick his snakelike face around the headstone. Arthur stood up ... he gripped his wand tightly in his hand, thrust it out in front of him, and threw himself around the headstone, facing Voldemort.
Voldemort was ready. As Arthur shouted, "Protego!" Voldemort cried, "Avada Kedavra Gentem!"
The jet of green light passed through the shield charm and hit England squarely in the chest. With a small oomph of pain, Arthur was pushed backwards as bright gold strands shot from his chest where the spell hit him. It shot across the clearing and hit Voldemort also, a wide arch of glittering light being formed. The golden thread connecting Arthur and Voldemort splintered; though the two of them remained connected, a thousand more beams arced high over Arthur and Voldemort, crisscrossing all around them, until they were enclosed in a golden, dome-shaped web, a cage of light, beyond which the 2Ps circled like jackals, their cries strangely muffled now. . . .
"Do nothing!" Voldemort shrieked to the Death Eaters, and England saw his red eyes wide with astonishment at what was happening, saw him fighting to break the thread of light still connecting him to the country. "Do nothing unless I command you!" Voldemort shouted to the Death Eaters.
And then an unearthly and beautiful sound filled the air. ... It was coming from every thread of the light-spun web vibrating around Arthur and Voldemort. It was a sound England recognized, though he so rarely heard it nowadays: phoenix song.
It was the sound of hope to England. . . the most beautiful and welcome thing he had ever heard in his life. . . . He felt as though the song were inside him instead of just around him. ... It was the sound he connected with his family, and it was almost as though a friend were speaking in his ear. . . .
Don't break the connection.
I know. He told the music, I know I mustn't. . .
But no sooner had he thought it, than the thing became much harder to do. He was trembling violently as the beams shuddered. . . and now the beam between him and Voldemort changed too ... it was as though large beads of light were sliding up and down the thread connecting them - Arthur felt his end of the golden thread strain as the light beads began to slide slowly and steadily his way. . . . The direction of the beams' movement was now toward him, from Voldemort, and he felt his wand shudder angrily. . . .
As the closest bead of light moved nearer to Arthur. He closed his eyes tightly and allowed the balls of light to penetrate him.
He felt something inside him tear, he shouted out in pain. Arthur could feel the golden light but nothing else. Dark shadows were moving about inside him, clawing to get out, ripping at his insides - so he let them… A flash of bright white light, a scream - Arthur opened his eyes.
He saw three shadowy figures in front of him. One wore a dark green jacket and trousers, a WWI military uniform. He whistled in admiration at the glowing web.
"What on God's green Earth is that? It is so bright and… shimmery. Nice. Almost as good as my new battle strategy." He laughed slightly and looked at England. "The war's going to be over by Christmas, did you hear?"
England looked at his younger self in astonishment. He had forgotten how happy he had been, how carefree, before the errors of WWII had forced papers and meetings into his life.
"Ignore him." Said the apparition on the far right, straightening his scarlet tinted jacket and gazing into England's eyes. "He's an idiot. He wouldn't understand, would he. You've seen so much since, and so much before - he is just 'happy' enough to block his past out. It would be understandable if you just sank away into the sea, wouldn't it? You know that life gets worse than this."
"Agh, shut it, you morose bastard." Said the middle figure, wearing a plumed hat and a blue velvet tailcoat. "No one likes a loner. Come on, Arthur. You can be your own hero again, remember? Let's take on this man like you used to, eh? Remember your ship, the English Hero? We are part of you. We will stop that fecking idiot from harming you and the boy. Understand?"
"When the connection is broken, we will linger for only moments . . . but we will give you time. . . you must get to the Portkey, it will return you to Hogwarts ... do you understand, Arthur?" Said the revolutionary shadow, intensely.
"Yes," Arthur whispered.
"Do it now," whispered his WWI self's voice, "be ready to run . . . do it now. ..."
"NOW!" England cried; he didn't think he could have held on for another moment anyway -he leapt back with an almighty wrench, and the golden thread broke; the cage of light vanished, the phoenix song died - but the shadowy figures of his past selves did not disappear - they were closing in upon Voldemort, shielding Arthur from his gaze -And England ran as he had never run in his life - he was dodging curses and graves, pelting toward Harry's weakly stirring body, no longer aware of the pain in his chest, his whole being concentrated on what he had to do -
"Get him!" he heard Voldemort scream.
Ten feet from Harry, Arthur dived behind a marble angel to avoid the jets of red light and saw the tip of its wing shatter as the spells hit it. Suddenly there was a knife against his throat.
"Aufgeben…"
A smallish man was holding him to the gravestone. England could see the German's pinkish eyes and light blonde hair clearly, and what looked to be a scar running over the bridge of his nose. He looked like Prussia, only smaller and somewhat subdued. England felt a drop of blood run down his neck and tried his limited German.
"Bitte…Preußen…"
"You see me?" The second player whispered, looking astonished.
"Ja." The knife was loosened slightly but England dared not try his luck.
"Sie gehen müssen." 2p Prussia withdrew the knife and stepped back. "Godspeed, England. They are not as strong as they claim but in numbers like these… Viel Glück. Don't try to kill them. They are linked to you in ways we don't understand. Just know… They are all powerful in their own right, each of them has a reason to be here-"
"Prussia's got him!" An exclamation filled the air.
"Go." 2p Prussia whispered, shoving England towards Harry. England sprinted.
"Stand aside! I will kill him! He is mine!" shrieked Voldemort. Arthur's hand had closed on Harry's wrist; one tombstone stood between him and Voldemort, Arthur picked up the weakly moving boy and flicked his wand.
"Accio!" Arthur shouted, pointing his wand at the Triwizard Cup. It flew into the air and soared toward him. England caught it by the handle -He heard Voldemort's scream of fury at the same moment that he felt the jerk behind his navel that meant the Portkey had worked - it was speeding him away in a whirl of wind and colour, and Harry along with him. . . . They were going back.