Epilogue

After

There was a house, high on the cliffs, facing the tempestuous sea, where a man and a girl lived. It's exterior was stark white, like bones bleached by the water below. The home had been cold when they moved in, but the girl had soon turned it warm and welcoming. There was always a log fire burning in the cold days and nights. At the beginning, the man had refused to move from the threadbare armchair facing the hearth, but the girl had thrown homemade blankets and rugs over him as he recovered from his injuries and his appearance altered back to some resemblance of his natural form.

The town down the steep, narrow, winding road had speculated at the young, beautiful teenager and the man that they thought could only have been her father. They were an odd couple, but they kept to themselves. The townsfolk had not seen the man for quite some time since the pair moved into the old abandoned house. They had thought he must have been ancient, but on closer reflection they realised it might not have been so, as the two had slowly walked down High Street, peering into windows. The man was holding onto a gnarled wooded cane; his gait slow, yet determined, fire burned in his green eyes. The girl had her slim, pale hand looped through his, supporting him. The muggles in the town saw a man who might have once been handsome, but there were scars littered across his face and nose, dark circles under his green eyes, and silver streaking through his thick black hair. The air had tasted like salt, the girl had thought to herself, before moving on with him, back to their home.

There was indeed something quite off about the secluded duo, whispered the townspeople. How the man would sometimes twitch his fingers when they took their occasional supper in the pub, the Red Lion, rage lighting his eyes, before the girl placed a smooth hand on his to calm him down, almost like a drugging effect. His eyes would stutter and close, but a thin frown line would sometimes appear on his brow. Or how the girl supported the elderly, yet refined man. She did not find employment in town, or anywhere else that the people knew of. Although, sometimes she would join in with the county fair to sell jars of preserves from fruit that she grew, and small bottles of rosewater hand lotion that she had made at the house on the rocks.

The couple kept to themselves, not wanting others to intrude on their privacy.

There were bad days, such as when the man would wail and rampage around the house, searching for the girl's wand, even though she had hidden it in enchantments in the caves below the cliffs months ago. For emergency uses only, of course. Some part of her wanted to say, it is time that you are now the one being haunted.

There were nightmares that would wreck their bed and keep the girl up at night. The man would dream of her dead, lying still on a cold forest floor, of how his lips had fumbled against her cool ones in panicked confusion and grief. He would dream and remember, would fruitlessly hope that his kiss could miraculous wake her up again, like in those muggle fairytales she had used to read when they were little. Then the man would wake up and look into her sad grey eyes and think that maybe he did love her after all.

The bad days would be followed by good ones. The first time the sun had properly emerged from the clouds, the girl had taken the man around their small, yet blooming garden, her hand holding his calloused one. There were herbs growing in the shade under the kitchen's windowsill, and buds of roses, peonies and wildflowers blooming nearby. The girl had led the man carefully to where a bench rested under a grand willow tree that faced the ocean below. Sunlight had filtered through the gaps in between the tree. The rays of light had shone on his scarred face, and at first he had flinched at the contact. But after some coasting from the silver-haired girl, he had tilted his face up and a small, half-smile had graced his face. The girl's quartz-grey eyes had filled up with unshed tears at the sight.

The man and the girl had not completely healed. He would still cause accidents to happen in the house; his temper evident in the way the stones and stucco would shake. He still would whisper to the snakes in the garden. After he had recovered, he would take his anger out on the only possible way he knew how. The girl had learnt how to deflect him, her power so much stronger now than his.

They would make up for quarrelling in the dead of night; their bodies slick with sweat as they met and moved together. Despite his frustration at the loss of his magical capabilities, the man still had the same strength and stamina from before.

On one such bad day, when the man was still weak and recovering, he had lain slumped in his chair by the fire and pleaded with the girl. It broke her heart to see him in such a way, but she remained by his side.

"Kill me," he had said, his eyes beseeching hers, hating his frail form and the struggle it took to summon his once prevailing and violent magic. When she did nothing, he spoke again. "I once told Dumbledore," he began, his voice still faint, "that there was nothing worse than death. I was wrong." The girl knew how much it must have cost for him to say those words, how much he must have been suffering. It must have been torture for him to admit that his adversary was right, and she had applauded his acceptance, even though it had come far too late. Yet, she knew that once they had overcome this, once they had learned to live with their fate, they might find happiness again with each other.

"I can't," she whispered to him. If I left you alone, then I'd be lonely too. The man closed his eyes, as if he understood, as if he could hear her hushed thoughts repeated back to him from so long ago. He released a hissing breath and his hand reached over the chair to hold her outstretched palm.

One day found the two in the kitchen. The girl had been warming her hands by the AGA cooker. Her fine blonde hair was left down, unruly; it's waves cascading down her slender back. The strands of her hair seemed to shine against the backdrop of the window behind her silhouette that looked out into the lush, ripe gardens. The man had hesitantly reached forward to finger the locks, his green eyes connecting with her stormy grey ones. The old man shared a kiss with the young girl, and hope had filled her for the first time since they had left their lives behind.

There were still orphans in the world, causalities from the Great War, the Battle of Hogwarts. The man and the girl had grown up together, mortal beings. It was only fitting that they would live out the rest of their remaining moral time together too. These two orphans had found their way back to the other, had been given a second chance at life together. When the time came, he would follow her fearlessly, into the light.

They did not have to adhere to any names or titles from before. They shed them like the skin and scales off a garden snake. They were no longer the Dark Lord, or the lost, undying girl.

They were simply Tom and Alina, like they had always been.

I just want to take the time to say thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Thank you to everyone who read and enjoyed, who reviewed, favourited and followed. Your words and encouragement meant the world to me and I am so glad that you loved Alina and Toms' story as much as I loved writing it.

If anyone has any questions, please don't hesitate in asking them, as I will definitely reply on PM if you have a FF account. Please review! I love hearing what you think, or even if it's a simple: I enjoyed your story.

When I was writing this epilogue I had the song: I'll Drown by Soley playing. I encourage you to listen to it as it sheds some light onto the mood presented in the chapter. I also have two playlists on 8tracks (links on my profile) and these songs were playing constantly when I was writing if you would like to listen to them too.

Once again, thank you all! I hope to hear from you and I hope you liked my story. x