§
Day 1:
Blair Kryeen-
Aduru Eposis--
That woman.
She really was quite annoying. No, beyond annoying. She was hated.
Tom Riddle had a clear and crisp loathing of the entire structure of the world. He wished to, would; destroy this petty society and rebuild one of greater being with himself as the eternal lord. However, he could count on his fingers the number of people he truly, absolutely, all-consumingly; hated. The rest of those meat-bags weren't important enough to earn such high regard. In fact, the exclusive club of Lord-Voldemort-truly-hates-you composed of a grand total of three people. Two males and a female. Two adults and a child. Two wizards and a witch.
Albus Dumbledore—his old professor. That senile old man with his ridiculous notions on life. The fates had certainly screwed around with giving him all that power. He didn't deserve it; with his false little lies and silly, wasted dreams. He was a lost cause, too old and rooted to be of any help.
Harry Potter—that blasted boy. If Dumbledore didn't deserve his power, Potter had stolen it. From him. All because one servant had poor ears. Prophecy? He was a god, he was above such mortal callings. That kid that followed his headmaster like a good dog; how pathetic. All that power, his power; was being used by the Ministry and that old man because the boy-who-lived was simply a toy. That's okay. When he killed the brat, all that damage would be undone.
And the newest addition to his little club.
Blair Kryeen—damnable woman. She thought she could use him, the greatest Dark Lord? That night when she overpowered him with her immortal magic; he had become fascinated in her strangeness. She was not a dog of Dumbledore or a devotee of Potter. She had hunted with them, killed with a laugh. But slowly, that crude little creature had began to fight with them, all for the child bearing his power. So he had gained her power through another aspect; he could become an immortal just as she was. Then he would punish that insufferable girl. Make her see that she wasn't his equal, didn't deserve to give him that fiery glance. Or fill his dreams with fire and things he hadn't felt since Tom died. Because Tom was dead, the human was dead. He was a god, and he would make her see that to drive away the dreams.
But all that would wait.
Lord Voldemort smiled wickedly, spidery fingers trailing along the map. The little black dots were growing, concentrating.
One week. One week until the take-over begins.
While many would say insane, no one ever accused the wizard of stupidity. In fact, it was the man's incredible cleverness that helped make him such an opposition. And the Death Eater's trusted their Master; and saw his plan as infallible. Because of course, it was.
Fenrir's werewolves will move in here... Scarlet eyes glowed in the lamplight, coursing over the parchments and spiraling notes.
The giants will go in first wave, with Lucius's squadron leading them.
If before he had been dangerous. If the last war had been devastating.
Then he was invincible this time around. The second war of Revelations would end in his victory.
§
Day 2:
The heavy thud of a large book on her desk interrupted her furious scribbling. Golden eyes shot up in questioning. She met his green, defiant ones as he crossed his arms.
"It's the album, my parent's album. I though we could use it to see if you recognized anyone in it since you drew my mother's eyes."
Smiling a little at the scowl that had worked its way onto his face, the professor feigned disinterest and turned back to her notes.
In response, Harry plopped himself down on the chair beside the table.
Giving an exaggerated sigh, the DADA teacher replaced her quill and looked up, humor obvious in her orbs despite the false exasperation she had placed on her visage.
"Need something, or do I entrance you to the point where you must to stare?"
Her pupil snorted, still giving her a half-glare. "Don't flatter yourself."
"What?" Kryeen kept the game up, enjoying herself. "I had a student come in and tell me those exact words just a day ago."
His eyebrows lined in disbelief. "And what stupid oaf would say something like that?"
The woman folded her slender, worked hands. They were calloused and burnt, used hands. "Michael Corner, you know him?"
Ginny's previous boyfriend bubbled into his mind and the youth turned his scowl into a smirk. "Oh, I think he is just your type Blair."
The fiery witch chucked a book at his head and only his Quidditch reflexes kept him from having a nasty bump on the head.
She chuckled. "Alright, I really do have things to do. So why are you here?"
The black-haired boy gave her a look that almost made her want to crane her neck over to see if she had suddenly grown a few extra heads. When the immortal didn't recant, the seeker sighed and began his explanation in a highly impatient tone.
"I agreed to help you with your memories; so I should be there when you go through the scrapbook to answer any questions, tell you who it is your looking at, help prod thoughts out of that twisted brain of yours. Did you fry a few brain cells or did that extended trip to nowhere give you a five-second memory?" He asked pointedly, hinting at the source of his annoyance with her.
Oh, of course. That completely trivial non-existing disappearance. She'd have to talk to Celia later about shutting that pretty mouth of hers.
The woman sighed. "Is it really that impossible for you to believe that I wasn't up to some insidious plot for one brief moment of my life?"
"Yes," Scar-face didn't miss a beat.
Golden eyes faced him finally with sharpness and inspection as she pondered something within the twisted complex of mentality that was the creature formerly known as Ally. The wizard stayed still, determined to meet whatever criteria she seemed to be thinking over because it just... irked him beyond reason that Blair would hide something from him. It wasn't the fact that he was closest, next to Daemon, to the strange sprite, or his natural curiosity kicking in so much as past experiences with gaps in his knowledge. However, all she seemed to do was blow him off with crude humor.
After a moment, Kryeen shifted her gaze to the leather-bound tome before her with all sobriety.
"All right then, let's take a look at your book shall we?"
Potter blinked in surprise. "Er—what?"
One eyebrow arched. "The scrapbook, my memories; we were just—"
"Yeah, yeah I know." The dark-haired youth quickly interrupted. "Alright."
Without flair, Aduru slid open the cover of the book and came face-to-face with the waving picture of James and Lily Potter holding a baby Harry.
"Those are undoubtedly the eyes I saw." Her finger carved an invisible little line across the paper, narrowing in careful speculation.
She flipped the page, coming to his parent's wedding photograph. A moment of peering, and with a frown and a shake of her head, it was dismissed.
Lily and James at a picnic, James posing in front of some foreign building of grandeur, Lily and an unknown blond female, Sirius and James looking buddy-buddy, Lily holding hands while Remus smiled sheepishly. The pages flipped without any recollection. They were nearly memorized by Harry himself; and still brought a decent-sized lump to his throat. When his professor came to the the page with an image of their Hogwarts graduation, she paused.
It was one of the orphan's personal favorites. Lily was standing at the podium in fine graduation robes; auburn hair combed back and familiar eyes bright as she opened her mouth to speak. However, her boyfriend had snuck up behind her and with freakishly similar features to his later son; grabbed her by the waist and laughingly declared for them to all have a,
"Jolly good time drinking to freedom! Go out and live everyone; but hell we'll miss this place!"
It was in fact, one of the few pictures that had a rather expensive and rarer cast that allowed a voice to carry through along with the moving people. Almost like a muggle voice recording, seventeen-year old James' Potter had his voice forever engraved in the memory album.
"Blair, do you remember anything?" The Chosen One felt required to ask after she spent nearly a full five minutes staring at the photograph without blinking or breathing, as it would seem.
Her index finger moved slowly, surely toward the brazen, proud, and beautiful figure of his father.
"That voice... it's his laugh." The Eposis had lowered her voice into a more contemplative tone.
What! The green-eyed prodigy swallowed his surprise with a simple, encouraging nod. "That's the voice you heard, are you sure?"
Blair shot him a look before nodding. Of course she was sure, she knew every figment of her past because it was all she had to study, to live on all these years.
"Right," The sixteen-year old took a steadying breath. "Now all we have to do is figure out why your last memories are of my parents."
"Harry," The DADA instructor said suddenly. "Tell me everything about them. And I mean everything."
§
Day 3
Owls and Flu Powder were the common use of communication for the wizarding world. However, as Umbridge proved a little less that a year ago, both of those methods were quite faulty. Due to this, the Order of the Phoenix had taken to using a messenger of... a different sort. Namely, finches.
A finch is a small, brownish bird that is fairly common in Europe and Northern America. They have rather tiny brains, little hunting skills, and no unusual traits; so are constantly overlooked. However, the Order had devised a way to put a spell on these insignificant little twitters. The spell allowed the caster to record up to five minutes of voice on one bird and direct it toward the receiver. The finch would then, guided by internal magic in its thimble-sized intelligence, find whoever the message was to be delivered to, open their beak and out tumbled up to five minutes of speech. Any more and the poor thing's conscious would collapse. Despite the time constraint, however, the birds proved to be useful simply because no one ever monitored the number of finches anywhere and so they were safe to send to anyone anywhere.
And currently in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, was receiving one of these finch-messages. In fact, he was a very important member, the head if he would take that name. He did take the name, however, of Albus Dumbledore.
"They are already fully gathered and ready to deploy. It will be a simultaneous triple-strike. London first, just a terrorist plot big enough to distract us. Half an hour later, He'll divide his forces to attack the Ministry and the school at the same time. It is an effective strategy, Albus. The Auroras will be preoccupied with their own building and the Order will be divided into protecting both keeps... It's a good-sized force, my friend. Enough that if we try to hold both, we will only loose both and thus the war. I know it will be difficult on you, but Albus you have the influence alone to decide this. Do we stay and fight at Hogwarts or do we save the Ministry? I need your answer by tonight; borrow a finch from Minerva, she has the under the pretense of teaching kids to transfigure them into hats or something... My time is already up, but Albus, listen to me when I warn you of this. Don't allow personal feelings to intervene in your decision. Be a strategist, an uninvolved spectator. Choose logically, not emotionally as you are only too prone to. My greetings and hopes for a brighter tomorrow-"
The Headmaster sat back in his chair, looking thoroughly used up and stretched over. Behind his half-moon spectacles, his sparkling blue eyes were dim with worry and knowledge. For you see, for those who love easily; both knowledge and power are a heavy burden. Because you are forced to make choices between the greater and lesser of two evils, rather than the good or evil of other, less significant people. And in order to help as many people as one can, there are at times, sacrifices that must be made. Even sacrifices that the person may not want to give up. As hard as it is to die a martyr, even more trying it is to sentence someone to martyrdom. Choice of death can be made honorable by noble men. Choice to kill is always painful; because even the worst of people have someone who would want to see them alive. If not, they would have simply died of empty hearts. So here we find the old wizard, stuck between his heart and his mind; duty over desire. And such a man was Dumbledore, that even as he looked for some complex design to save everyone, he had already decided against his own heart.
The silver-bearded man sighed softly and rubbed at his temples. He had been locked up in his office for the better part of the day and no open door had revealed itself to him. Finally defeated, he picked up his wand and opened the cage with a little, twittering bundle of feathers.
I am sorry Harry, but you must stay strong through this.
§
Day 4:
When James' son walked through his door that evening for his daily training; a familiar figure was with him.
"Harry, Professor Kryeen;" Lupin greeted with a cordial nod of his head. "I was unaware that you were visiting. Should I put some tea on?"
Her glare almost twitched and the boy was wearing a unusual frown. "Professor, we have a few questions for you."
Detecting the seriousness of the inquiry, Moony dropped his pretense and nodded, ushering the pair in and closing the door. In custom, the more civilized of the two sat while the other stood proudly. Seating himself, the old DADA professor nodded for them to continue.
Potter fidgeted in his seat for a moment before resolution settled upon his handsome features. "My dad and my mum, did they happen to know someone called Ally or Anna? She would have been quite young and—"
The boy-who-lived stopped at the taut look on Remus's face. He had been looking healthier by the day after he lost his wolfish curse. However, something had struck the man so hard that it reminded Harry of that tattered, prematurely aged man on the Hogwarts Express who had given him chocolate after a dementor attack. If anyone had a right to be happy, it was the former werewolf and the teen regretted causing such an expression on his visage.
"I am sorry Professor, but it is really important to know anything about her."
Almost as if his voice was a spell, the older man's face loosened slightly until a more melancholic visage. "Where did you hear about her, Harry?"
Discretely, chartreuse eyes side-glanced at the silent woman. Just as subtly, she shook her head. The seeker turned back.
"I... can't say Professor, but please if you could just tell us everything you know."
Lupin looked between the two, and then let out a low sigh. "I won't even ask again; I don't think I'd want to know if it dealt with the two of you. Just... you are being careful, aren't you Harry?"
His gray-blue eyes searched the boy's own and he suddenly felt horrible for going alone to save Ginny, and for playing the hero. Isn't that what killed Sirius last year? Hadn't he learned anything? The scar on his arm, on his brow, did they mean nothing? So caught up was he in remorse, that he failed to notice his companion stepping forward.
"Of course he's not, he's your damn Harry Potter and you all have him playing the savior." Blair spoke in that deadly quiet of her that raptured much more attention then her normal loud-mouth voice. "However, I can keep him safe—even from the shit you all throw at him."
The meaning of the words left an uncomprehending silence until the last Marauder cleared his throat and found his mellow speech again. "Are you pledging your protection, Professor Kryeen?"
The witch scoffed. "Promises are words as flimsy and useless as the speakers. But if you wanted me to come out and say it so it fits into your tiny brain, fine. I feel like protecting the kid. Are you afraid I'm going to corrupt him or something?"
She could have said a string of swear words and called him a mangy half-breed, and Lupin wasn't sure that she would make him stop wanting to... hug her, or something of that nature. Biting, offensive words were tossed aside to find the base. This boy who he had been training, who he had been watching after, who he loved; would be taken under the wing of the best protection. Dumbledore may be more reliable, but Blair was stronger. She was an incarnate of Old Magic, like the kind that saved the boy-who-lived the first time.
"What?" The fiery immortal demanded as both men in the room smiled a knowing, sincere look at her.
Bygones would be bygones.
But they could be Heroes too.
§
Day 5:
Her spell ricochet off the wall, inches from where his ear had been. A flash of sienna, and he was up again; waving his own wand into a fast design and sending a stream of red towards his partner. The witch conjured up a shield and deflected the jet of light; forcing the boy to tumble to the ground again or face being hit. Unfortunately, he hurled himself straight into a bookcase and the heavy tomes lifted from their shelves to pile onto his stocky frame.
"Ron, you alright?" She asked, striding up to the fallen mountain of text quickly.
"Fine," A muffled response came.
Hermione sighed, flickering her wand and causing the books to levitate off her...She blushed. Well they really couldn't be called friends after that night in the kitchens, now could they?But it wasn't anything official.
"Thanks 'Mione," Ron grunted as he rubbed his bruised solders and sat up on the tile floor of the spare classroom they had been given permission to practice in by McGonogall.
The clever 6th year made a nasal sound of exasperation and clumped down beside him. "Ron, what are we?"
His broad back tensed, muscles clenching even as the Weasley's face went purposefully slow. "Om... people... British... magic folk?"
The curly-haired girl poked his head lightly. "You know that's not what I mean."
The youngest brother sighed and a look of resignation came upon his pale, handsome face. "Look Hermione I... I don't know right now. Let's sort it out after the war and all this hell with Harry is over, what do you say?"
The wizard had actually closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, awaiting the fountain of protest. However, when only silence met him, he peeked one hazel eye open. Granger was smiling.
"You're—You're not mad?"
The mudblood shot him a playful glare. "I'm not that superficial you know, I do have priorities. And you are right. Helping our best friend and helping out in this stupid war as best we ca should come above... defining a relationship."
They both colored a little at her choice in words and then the youth looked back at this tiny bookworm who had grown into a fine young woman, something smoldering in his eyes.
"Hey Hermione," Ron scooted a little closer to her. "I know that our training and all to help Harry should come first; but do you think we have a little time for—"
The caress of her lips stopped his speech and he instinctively brought one calloused hand up to the back of her neck and thumbed at her brown locks.
After all, love had a magic of its own that could be just as powerful.
§
Day 6:
Ginny realized something as she sat in the Common Room, gazing out the window for inspiration on her Potions essay.
It was Winter, or February, to be precise.
The change of seasons, the festivity of Christmas an New Years—it had all passed over her in the midst of war and chaos and Harry.
But in the quiet of the Gryffindor chambers, she had spotted the telltale flutter of tiny, white flakes. It was snowing, and she hadn't even realized the holidays had come and gone. This led the girl to another revelation.
Time was moving on.
Even in the middle of death and fear and confusion; life was continuing on as it always had. The seasons still switched off in their unpredictable dance, and the holiday would come whether or not it had anyone to celebrate it. Snow still fell, the water would freeze. Nature was not stopping for the play of mortals. As the Weasley daughter lengthened her gaze, she became transfixed with the only pine tree in view of her window; a splotch of evergreen on the washed-out horizon. It reminded her of another, enticingly evergreen object. A pair of them in fact, hiding shadows of his smile.
You are a force of nature, Harry. The red-haired girl smiled to herself before turning away from the snowy view and back to her essay.
No matter what happens, nothing seems to stop you.
Autumn to Winter:
Your family, the Dursleys, Fred and George used to always tell me what asses they were. I wish I could beat the shit out of them for what they did to you.
Winter to Spring:
But then you came to Hogwarts, away from those pigs. I remember when I first met you, ha, I was such a child. You were... well you were hot and famous and in my old, run-down house. I was a little girl who just met her idol. Really, what was I supposed to do? I like to think, that despite my weirdness, you were happy at school; and at the Burrow.
Spring to Summer:
And then I started to grow up. I never really grew 'over you', I suppose. I still think you're hot, and I still have... I don't know what... for you. But you weren't my life. I loved Quidditch, and I had my own friends. I was living, and you were always living somewhere else. But to me, I think Ron and Hermione made you happy. Happier then most people. Sirius, Lupin, Neville too. You have a lot of loyal friends. Hell, I think Mum likes you best. I told Fred one time that I thought everything you had right now was the world's way of compensating... for what you hadn't had all those years.
Summer to Autumn:
But two years ago, Voldemort returned. It is always him, isn't it? Him or You. You or Him. I have this sickening feeling that your destinies are intertwined, and I don't even believe in such a thing. But you always sort of... danced in each others steps in some sort of twisted game. You save, he kills. You're Gryffindor, he's Slytherin. You love too easily and he hates too much. Yet at the same time, your lives are haunted by each other. As long as one of you is alive, it seems as though there is no peace for the other.
Autumn to Winter:
But then everything slows down and I remember that no matter how frightened I may be, how much loss there is; how bloody awful this war is... that there is peace. There is always peace. Stillness, silence, beauty. It will all come in the end. I only hope you realize that Harry. Realize that before you do one of your damn heroics and get yourself killed because I think...
I just may love you.
§
Day 7:
Days later, the shock had begun to wear off and the strangeness faded with it. The entire puzzle didn't seem so mismatched.
Blair Kryeen was... could be...
Harry's mind reeled with the aftershock and rubbed his temples, forcing the facts to surface again.
"Lily and James, had they been alive today, would be 40 years old today. Plenty of life before the, but..." Lupin cleared his throat and forced another soft smile. "As it is, Harry, you were born when they were 24. Of course, you were a wonderful accident in the middle of the war and we all loved you... sorry, I am reminiscing too much. Now, Harry did you ever wonder why your parent's took such precautions to protect you? A Secret Keeper, Old Magic?"
The boy in question shook his head, brow furrowing at the oddity.
The ex-professor continued. "Well, they would have been extra cautious during the war, but even for the times the lengths they went to were extreme. You see, your parents feared loosing you because..." He trailed off, seemingly to find his words.
The current Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher made an impatient click in the back of her throat to which Moody through a dark look of humored exasperation before continuing.
"Lily and James were a rare breed of people and had one of the truest loves I have ever seen. After dating several years in school, they were married young, at 17 and right after graduation."
At the surprised look in emerald eyes, Remus digressed. "Most people rushed into such things. We were in a time of chaos, on the brink of war, and it seemed that you had to rush your life... You have seen the wedding photos Harry, it was a wonderful event." He had to pause to swallow again. "By the time they were eighteen, they had their first child."
Under a messy foliage of black bangs, the teen's eyes opened again. He sat up from under his four-poster bed and scooted over to the small pile of old newspapers at the end of the bed. The 6th year spotted which one he wanted and allowed his fingers to trace the faded black ink in the column of missing people. It was filled with names from the first war, but one little article stood out.
Name: Ally Anna Potter
Age: 6
Height: 3'6
Ally is the only child of the auroras James and Lily Potter. She was last spotted in the street outside her house two nights ago. If you have any information, please contact us.
Below the short profile was a wizard photograph of a young girl. Her straight, ebony hair was pulled back in a pink ribbon so you could clearly see her cream-colored skin with the flush of youth and wide, hazel eyes. She was skipping on a sidewalk, switching between beaming toothily at the viewer and watching her feet for something out of view.
Putting the paper down, the boy-who-lived rummaged through his papers to find a few old photographs he had been given.
"Why wasn't I told?" Harry managed to croak out after a long lapse of silence.
Moony gave him a sympathetic look. "Because you had already lost so much and there was so much on your shoulders—Harry, your elder sister disappeared a few months before you were even born, she never knew you... It just seemed like an unnecessary pain. Dumbledore—"
He took out a picture of newly-wed Lily and James, and then the photograph of their little girl. Her father's hair, and unmistakably her father's eyes. But her emerging face structure, tiny bone formation was obviously her mother's. In fact, Harry could see some of his own tall and lithe frame growing in that girl. Today she would probably be heightened and slender, with sleek muscle; dark hair and brown eyes.
Unless of course...
"Did you ever find out who took her? Where she was?" He asked Dumbledore the day after, finally getting a chance to speak with his busy Headmaster.
"We did," The old man replied gently. "Your elder sister was kidnapped by a man named Tom Riddle... senior."
Lord Voldemort's father had taken Ally.
He had taken her, killed her, transformed her...
"Why are you doing this?" She asked in the gloom.
He paused. "So you will kill my son."
Until that girl had aged and met her savior. And in loosing him...
She became Blair.
Blair Kryeen was Ally Anna Potter.
His elder sister.
§
A/N: Hehe, who guessed that? I hope it wasn't too obvious since most people thought they wee going to become lovers... Alright, this story is winding up and I think I'm delaying the inevitable with slow updates—what has it been, almost a year? Two? Thanks for reading and reviewing everyone!
Chapter 35: The Countdown of Week Two
Chapter 36: The Final Day: Confrontation between Death and Voldemort
Chapter 37: Epilogue