So sorry for the delay guys…..actually I'm pretty stuffed up with college and all kinds of things…..but still, I took out time to do this. Yep, replies to the reviews:
RikudoNaruto1: Thanks! Keep reviewing and encouraging!
Son of Whitebeard: Yep. Davis was nice. But nice people often do not survive. Sorry, friend.
Helga1967: Thanks, yes, that's actually what I'm aiming about…..to comment on the actualities of our common day-to-day life and world through this fic….but Harry is destabilized as he is the Heir of Slytherin? Elucidate, please. Didn't get that. At all. And if you think he's destabilized as Heir of Slytherin, then I doubt you'll like my fic much. 'Cause it's all about how cool is Harry for this role.
xxxLeanniexxx: Did I say that I have started to grow rather an unhealthy habit of starving for your reviews? :P and it's good to know the fic makes you starve. That's really quite an ego boost. Thanks. Albus is in the backstage at the moment, getting his beard allright…kidding. :D Yeeeesss…and the lovely friend is over here….ahem, no spoilers again But the tantalizing clue is, I finally decided on doing a bit of….you-know-what for the first time in this fic, that has been always looking to have been happening between the major characters, and now it's finally happened. Read on to find out the rest. :D Review and Encourage!
"So?" Sophia Starshed said as she sat beside The Lion.
She and Garret had struck up a strange relationship; maybe it was because the orders had come for them to stay where they were for quite a long period of time. Maybe, she mused, Lord Wolf had finally gotten off his arse and was preparing to do something by himself. Maybe like attacking Lord Slytherin's stronghold by himself. Yeah, she snorted, as if Serpent's Lair would ever fall with the assembled Armies and without the hand of the Lion.
She would watch Garret covertly, and was pretty amazed at how the man conducted himself. His honour was legendary, which even children found a bit strange, but loved immensely, but he wasn't stiff and uptight around the men and women. He wouldn't shrink from a clever prank, or not laugh at a sexual joke. He'd wake up the first of them, early mornings, and go and stand by the river nearest, and pray. Pray to the Sun. She had asked him why he did that.
He had answered, "No such reason. I always had liked the Sun."
To that, she had playfully told him that his eyes were of the same shades as what he worshipped, to which he blushed, and she teased him quite a bit after then. But it wasn't the Sun that took her in and mesmerised her. It was what he did after he finished his worship.
The Lion had taken a vow, after the horrible killing of Lord Wilcrow, and that Vow had been a source of constant friction between him and The Wolf.
The Lion had decided, that he would pray to the Sun for salvation in the burning fires, and for an hour after his worship, he would give anything and everything one would ask of him. People, as a result, flocked to him at that time; but only at the first. He had given away all his gold then, his acquisitions. But the Wolf had seen to it that The Lion was never unstocked on anything; and he rigidly controlled Garret's finances from then on, so that his honour would stop him from giving away what was not his by right, as the gold was The Wolf's.
But Garret was not one to be stopped merely by this. His honour had been challenged, and he had answered. The people flocking to him had lessened, but when the peasants from near came to him, or the Squib brothers who would oversee the stocks, would come to him for help in literally ploughing the field( without magic) or moving the cartons and armours(without magic), he would happily comply. She had watched him, amazed, as he had one day lent his shoulder to the ploughing of the field, along with another man, all his fineries cast away, only in rolled up trousers, sweat running down his taut muscles, and golden eyes gleaming in the Sun, as his hair caught fire in the setting Sun. Quite a few girls had assembled to watch him, and she had watched him narrowly. Not once had his gaze wavered from the ground, intent on his work, and his work only.
She had heard the argument between him and the Wolf; strange friends they were. The Wolf would value his counsel the most, but would fight him on the subject of honour the most. But one thing was certain: both, were, steadfastly, blindly, loyal to each other. She wondered if anything in the world could ever break that kind of loyalty. Such had the word of the Lion spread, that no enemies had ever tried to come and manipulate him by his generosity into giving up his side or something worse. She doubted Lord Slytherin would do that kind of a thing, wily as he was, he indeed had a peculiar sort of honour, people said he rather liked the Lion.
Such was the man, that nobody would ask for something for him, that would break him, physically, mentally, in this War. There often come such men, who can't be asked this. Just can't be. Sophia caught her breath as he was returning from his morning ablutions, sweat running down his exposed torso in rivulets, and his golden eyes met her brown. He smiled widely, a brilliant smile that took her breath away. He didn't smile like this usually; it was a private smile for her.
He would then pass onto the camp and into his own tent, change, and come to the Room of Strategy, and talk, or do whatever he did, then wander amongst the camp, smiling, exchanging news, and as evening would fall, he would find her, or she would find him, by the base of the tree beneath which they had first sat, the Elder Tree.
She wasn't a fool; she knew perfectly what was there in Garret's brilliant golden eyes which often followed her; what was there in his auburn hair that he had to always have a hand up it(she thought he did that unconsciously) whenever she saw him; what was there in that crinkling of auburn eyebrows and brilliant smile which were privately reserved for her; and what was there in that peaceful relaxing of his muscles whenever he saw her.
The question was whether he was a fool.
Because she just couldn't help staring at those golden eyes that spoke of such an ancient sadness, as though spelling out the entire story of The Lion. She cursed Gertrude Gryffindor, but also pitied her. Gertrude, in her opinion, could've avoided the fiasco and have had Garret as her most trusted warrior, but now, he was her most dangerous enemy. How ironic. She was not a fairy-tale-lover, but she still felt at awe whenever the story of the Son of the Squib was narrated. It was the legend of their clan. That such a man from such a heritage would rise up and make the world look at him with awe was unprecedented amongst them.
Was it love? She wondered.
She knew that in Wartimes, in such unstable times, people often searched for solace in other's arms; and she knew that this situation might have gone that way. But it had not. The Lion had asked her for advice, she had helped, she had listened. The Lion had asked how she was, her life, and she had said. He had listened. He hadn't offered any words of sympathy, but his stance and his face was enough for her.
Sitting in the shadow of the Elder Tree, she could hear the footfalls, the uncertain footfalls of a man. She knew who it was. As she turned to look at those golden eyes, she determined she wouldn't lose herself in the maze of emotions running through those eyes, for this night…would be a decisive night. To make, or to break.
(line break)
The wards over the ancestral stronghold of Slytherin had just fallen. Lord Black and Rosier stood where the camps were, shocked at the fall. Lord Nott stopped in his overseeing of the evacuation, as he registered the fall. Lord Lestrange and Lady Greengrass looked up worriedly at the turrets, as they saw the protective spells fizzle out and die. Lord Avery stopped his hasty inspection of the dungeons and started sprinting towards where the Snake Lord must be.
There was a proverb about Serpent's Lair; that however much its protections would fall, no one could apparate into it as long as there was Slytherin blood inside that fought to defend it. And there was the Lord Slytherin present, along with many others, who had, if not direct, then a distributary of the Slytherin blood. Nobody could apparate. But everyone knew, it was only little time before the enemy finally would storm the millennia old Castle.
Harry stood over the battlements, and surveyed the Night sky. Indeed, Mars was blindingly bright today. A fiery omen of War. A meteor was streaking across the sky, and he wondered what kind of an omen it was. The battle had finally been brought to him. He looked down, and saw the five hundred men and women gathered, in perfect stance, all waiting the orders to charge. Harry could swear that the Wolf looked at him, even from such a distance. Even as he waited, the gates of the Castle slowly opened, and two hundred men and women spilled out, battle gear awry, fearful, but still resolved to fight, to protect Serpent's Lair. Two hundred, facing five hundred.
He had seen despair before; but never on this scale. He had been at the Battle of Hogwarts, but it was all disorganized fighting. He had no experience, none at all, with Armies fighting. He knew nothing. The Armies looked to him for their orders, but he couldn't give any. He could only stand and stare, and feel an all too familiar guilt sweeping him off his feet.
The guilt of not being able to do anything worthwhile than fighting alone. He had done so at the Battle of Hogwarts. He knew, he knew, that he had an important job. He had to hunt the horcruxes, and he had done exactly that, as the battle raged around him. But could he have not lead groups, like Percy, Fred, and so many others had done? Could he have not planned the strategy to engage Voldemort's troops? The questions plagued him.
What If.
What if he had led the defence, what if he, the symbol of their hope, had been present to fight, to shed and lose blood along with him, who were fighting to buy him sheer time? What if he could have saved many a life if he could have led the fighting on his behalf? What if a boy faltering and fleeing under the effect of the Dementors could have seen Harry Potter fighting off multiple dementors and had stood and had courage to fight back and hold the lines?
Harry knew why leaders didn't often get nights of sleep. Not because they had the expectations, but because they always were plagued by that one true question: What If?
"My Lord!" Lord Rosier shouted from the ramparts, "Orders, My Lord. Defend or retreat? Shall we join the fight now?"
So many dying. So many worthy men dying.
"Order for the lines to be hold." Harry said, his eyes tired. "Tell them to fight, kill, do whatever they ought to do till relief comes at last. I think Gertrude already knows, and might be on her way to lift the siege. The Lords won't fight."
Rosier was shocked. "But, My Lord we will not fight?!"
"As I said," Harry snapped, and he turned back. "Let the remaining Army fight it out. I'm ordering you Lords over here. All of you, would be over here, do you understand? And shut the gates."
Rosier looked like he couldn't believe his ears. He stuttered, "B-but My Lord…..our defenders fight and we do not fight with them.."
Harry turned around and yelled, "HOW MANY BLOODY TIMES MUST I ORDER? SHUT. THE FUCKING GATES!"
"This…this is cowardice." Rosier said, and shut his eyes, terrified of Lord Slytherin's expression. When he opened them, he saw that Lord Slytherin was staring at him. But his eyes weren't the familiar shade of green any more. They were blood red. But even as he watched, a streak of emerald green passed through them and soon was consumed by the red in Harry's eyes.
"Is this?" Harry whispered in a deadly voice.
"No-nothing, My Lord." Rosier stuttered in fear, and moved back and out of the room.
Harry fell to his knees, hands at his head, the green and the red fighting desperately in his eyes.
The battle started outside.
(line break)
"I just came to know…..that I am not the son of my parents." The Lion said in an expressionless voice, to Sophia.
"What?!" Sophia was shocked.
"Yes." Garret sat down beside her. "My mother died long back, and left me a letter. Which, I got, today, from the assembled Squibs from my ancestral village."
"Oh My God." Sophia squeezed his hand. "Who is it?" She asked with bated breath.
"No one." Garret said, with a long sigh. "She didn't know who my parents are. She wrote that she and my father were childless, and they continuously prayed for a child. Till, my father saw a baby, in a cot, drifting in the river he stood in his prayer. He took the child in, thanking heaven for answering his prayers, and the child grew up to be called The Lion."
Sophia was speechless at the revelation. The poor man. All of his life, he had believed in his parents, and now he just came to know he wasn't any son of them. And he didn't even know who his actual parents were. Whether they're alive, dead….or whatever.
Garret's eyes grew distant, and again reverted back to that ancient sadness which Sophia often found so intriguing. Garret used to be so proud that he had grown from the Son of a Squib to be The Lion, but now, even that achievement had been taken away from him. Most probably, he must be a son of a Lord or a Lady.
"Isn't it wonderful, Sophia?" Garret laughed, a humourless laugh. "My entire life has been composed of abandonment. Luck abandoned me, far back. My faith, abandoned me far back. I wondered how I deserved all this. Now I know. Sophia, from the very first moment of my life, Fate has branded on my forehead the ultimate rejection: an unwanted son. Is it any wonder I'll continue that line of abandonment in the future also?"
Tears fell down Sophia's cheeks at the pain in the man in front of her. So honourable, she thought. So damn honourable. Born from a mother who didn't want him, he still insists on doing it the right way.
"Why do you give yourself such pain like this, Garret?" She cried. "Why can't you simply be normal? Why can't you rage and swear at the damn woman who didn't want a baby she herself conceived?"
Garret's words were just what she expected.
"She gave me birth, Sophia. She gave me my life. She brought me into this world. I owe her that honour. I'm not her son. I'm still the son of Squib parents who took an abandoned me in and raised me as their own son. But, she gave me my life. And for that, I can never rage upon her."
The dam broke. Sophia broke the dam she had built upon her own feelings. She reached up, and slapped The Lion. He averted his face, and looked at her, with hurt in his eyes. And she reached out, took hold of the front of his shirt, and pulled him to her in a deep, passionate kiss. He kissed her back hungrily; like a man who is drowning, finds a plank of wood to hold on to. Like she was the only anchor he had to this world, and he desperately wanted to hold onto her. Desire, love, pain, all mixed up in that kiss to make it a passionate inferno of emotions, as they lost themselves in each other.
After possibly several starlit nights, they broke apart, and The Lion laid his head on her chest and broke down into tears. Sophia held him, fearful that if she let him go, then he might shut himself out again.
Overhead, Mars dimmed a bit, while Venus suddenly grew much brighter.
(line break)
"What?" Lord Black roared. "Those people out there are dying for us! And the fucking Lord Slytherin wants us to stay put over here and abandon those men to hopeless death?"
"I agree." Lord Malfoy said. "This is rather unnatural. I really cannot condone such a behaviour of someone under whose banner we are fighting this War."
"Fuck behaviour!" Lord Fox yelled. "This is War. This is not a child's game that when one starts losing it, he kicks out of it! What in the name of Merlin's most hairy crotches is Lord fucking Slytherin thinking! Closing the gate!" He pointed over at the ongoing battle, where the defenders of the Serpent's Lair were being pushed hard by their overwhelming enemy. Any time now, their spirit would break, with the heavy losses they were suffering. "THOSE MAN ARE DYING OUT THERE HELPLESS!" he yelled.
"I say we give him more time." Lord Nott said in a tired voice. "The Lord must be thinking on a strategy. We'll make it out of this. After all," he looked at each and every one's faces, "We swore a bond of eternal loyalty to his House."
The Lords grumbled, and sullenly sat silent, temporarily held back by the reminder.
(line break)
The room grew darker around Harry, as one part of the darkness solidified into the shape of a gaunt woman, with terrible burning black eyes and a skull-like face, and a scythe in her hands. She spoke in a whisper that frosted over the walls of the room, and made Harry shiver to his core.
"I am displeased with you." She said.
Harry's eyes were completely blood red as he looked up at her. "I AM YOUR MASTER!" he shouted.
"That you are." The woman agreed. "And now you see me as the Reaper of the Fallen. And you, shall be one of them, also."
"I AM THE MASTER OF DEATH!" Bloodlust, or the now dominating other form of Harry, shouted, his eyes promising violence to the eternal being.
"Sit, little master." She snapped her fingers, and he fell to the floor with an animal scream of pain. It felt like his very soul was slowly being pressed to cold iron and fire simultaneously.
"That was your mistake, Master." She said remorselessly. "I am Death. I am eternal. And I am neutral. I don't take sides. I don't interfere in mortal timelines. You were the one who ordered me to let you do it. And so you suffer. You do not stay outside the mortal plane, you do not get the lesson of what immortality means. And those who do not learn, shall not have what they have left unlearnt. You are not immortal, Master. You. Will. Die. If not today, then maybe some other day. And I shall be eagerly waiting to see who does reap you, for if it not be me, then it must be someone above me.
"My will has been spoken." Death said. "So do your work, Harry Potter. Your time is running out, fast."
She disappeared.
Harry's mind felt like a dark abyss; he looked deeper and deeper into it, and could find nothing except hopelessness and fear. Is this how this would end? Is this what he had done to the timeline? His mother…..what would he say to her when he finally met her in death? That he had a chance to set it all right and fucked it up, again, as he fucked up all their lives?
If only I had not been the chosen one….they would not have died….father…mother…Sirius…Remus….
A soft footfall from behind Harry caused him to whip around and cringe from the pure, silvery light in the otherwise dark, damp, room.
It was a patronus. A silver doe. Brilliant, pure, white. Even as Harry looked at it, the red in his eyes retreated, leaving back the emerald green. A doe, of the purest kind. Hope, of the purest kind. But there was no Lily Evans, nor any Severus Snape in this timeline yet. Then who sent it?
He dropped on his knees, and stared into the eyes of the doe. And with a flash, he knew who he was seeing in the doe's eyes.
For the eyes of the doe were curiously a beautiful gold, eyes which he had often dreamt of, but always had squashed his hopes and feelings for its owner. She had sent him the partronus.
Gertrude Gryffindor had once swore to him, that she would one day come save him from himself. She had kept her word.
Hope reignited in Harry's heart. The love and hope he saw in the doe's eyes lit a fire deep within himself. Yes, he told himself, he had much left to fight for. He would fight for Tom. He would fight for them. He would fight for a grip on a life which he always wanted but ever had. Above all, he would fight for her.
His heart had found its purpose again. He looked into the doe's eyes, and said, "Thank You." The doe stared at him a bit, then nuzzled him, and vanished into his chest.
It wasn't Potter who rose from the dark room. It wasn't Slytherin. It was Harry.
(line break)
"Fuck him! Let's go and attack now! He can go and die when they take over the castle at last!" Lord Fox was shouting.
"What has happened to Harry?!" Lord Black shouted, wild-eyed. "I can't understand this. My Lords, I shall join you too. This idiocy has been going on for too long. We shall fight, whether there be the Lord with us, or not. We'll fight alone."
"There shall be no need for that." A voice whispered through the gloom.
They whipped around to see through the mist and the gloom, a figure emerge, black-and-emerald robes swirling, dragon hide armour around his torso and knees, messy black hair swept back, and unearthly emerald green eyes glowing with hope and power.
Lord Harold James Slytherin had come back.
"I'm sorry, My Lords, and Lord Rosier, "Harry said, bowing his head. "I acted in a cowardly way, and I owe all of you apologies on my unpardonable behaviour. You also, Lord Fox, for you are a new addition to our motley crew, but still, my conduct was hardly honourable."
Lord Fox scrutinised him carefully.
"Words don't win a battle, Lord Slytherin, wands do." Was all he said.
"And so we will fight." Harry said.
"FIGHT!" A roar went up in the room.
(line break)
The defenders of the castle were being pushed back, at the very gates of the castle which had been locked. The Wolf's army seemed bent on destroying them and the castle. Any minute now, the little resistance that remained would crumble. Another final wave of the enemy, and the line of defenders would break, rapidly thinning as it was.
As the enemy prepared for a last wave of attack, a deep, ringing knell sounded from the castle. It was the call for Battle.
And the defenders watched with amazement as the castle gates exploded open, and a group of men sped out, the formation spearheaded by one single man who was running through their lines now. They all knew the man. Lord Slytherin? They thought.
"TO THE LORD! TO THE LORD!" the Lords behind Harry shouted, and the defenders took up the chant, as they ran after Harry, at the enemy, their spirits now buoyed up by the sight of their Lord leading them.
"TO THE LORD! CHARGE!" was the cry that went up, as the line of defenders all counter attacked against the enemy. The enemy, taken by shock, was suddenly paralyzed at the sight of the formidable Lord Slytherin cutting a path of havoc and destruction through their lines, the Lords around him aiding him in his efforts as he seemed bent on tearing almost the entire enemy army apart by himself. Terrorised, they began to scatter in front of the Wrath of the Emerald Lord. Curses flew left and right; dark curses abounded; skulls were smashed, bones were smattered, blood spilled out in torrents as Harry's fury unleashed itself. Cutting a path through a group of soldiers in front of him, Harry saw her.
Gertrude Gryffindor had arrived at last, with a hundred soldiers behind her. The night was just over, and the Sun rose behind her, setting her hair on fire, as she looked like an Avenging angel, as she looked with fury down at the ongoing destruction. Even in the midst of the battle, her golden eyes found Harry's emerald ones, and her eyes softened with relief at his sight.
Harry dodged, ducked, cursed his way to her, and stood for a moment, marvelling at her sight. Then, he threw away all hesitance to the winds, pulled her to him, and smashed his lips to hers.
The battle raged around them; but inside, it was tentative, as political ramifications of this battled with Love. Love, evidently smashed its adversary, and Gertrude's unsure lips attacked Harry's with a ferocity borne of a passion kept long chained. Harry felt like there was no War, nothing. If this was floating in the Void, in the deep place away from the mortal plane where Death had its supreme reign, then he would gladly take what Death offered. But no, Gertrude was just way better than that. Harry felt like he had a long part of himself lost when he came in this timeline; the kiss was like finding it out again. He didn't care whether they won or lost. He only cared of how much time he had with her. He had fought, manipulated, pulled strings for a long time.
Now, he decided that he would Love, at last.
Now, the storm only raged around them, it couldn't come between them.
For they were the Eye of the Storm.