Estelle took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer to whomever would see fit to hear it.

It wasn't like her to be so dramatic or theatrical – she was pragmatic to a fault – but the moment warranted a certain ceremony, at least. She had been waiting for this for so long… Her future depended on it.

An end to all of her problems, and the beginning of a new life. Eternal youth. It was a dream come true, at long last. She still couldn't quite fathom why Nicolas and Pernelle had not brewed this potion for themselves – and for Estelle, their darling daughter. That Pernelle had refused to drink the original version of the Elixir of Life made sense, given her rigid principles. That Nicolas had agreed out of love for his wife was sensible as well. Acquiring maiden's blood every few weeks was a hassle; Estelle knew that only too well. But this potion? One needed only drink it once to become immortal. The ingredients were a pain to assemble, certainly, but a Master Summoner such as Pernelle would have had no trouble doing so, with a little determination. After all, they had once gathered what was required to create the same elixir that had saved Sirius Black's life.

So why had they never bothered? Was Nicolas afraid of destroying the Philosopher's Stone, afraid that he couldn't make a duplicate, should the potion fail?

Estelle would never know, and didn't really care. She had done it. That was all that mattered.

She unclasped her necklace and carefully removed the precious pendant. She admired it one last time: the Philosopher's Stone, the one and only. Its perfect ruby colour, its faint glow, its comforting warmth. She thanked it silently; it had kept her young and beautiful all these years, but its services were no longer required. It was about to accomplish its ultimate function.

Estelle let it fall in the simmering mixture. Nothing momentous happened, but that was normal, according to Nico's notes. The texture, colour and odour of the potion were exactly as described in the notes. It was perfect. It was her masterpiece.

Estelle diminished the intensity of the fire until it died. Now she only had to wait three more minutes. She suspected that they would be the longest three minutes of her entire life.

She glanced at her watch seventeen times, and thrice at the old clock she'd bought at a flea market the previous year.

Twenty seconds to go.

She picked up a cup and a ladle.

Ten seconds.

The ladle trembled slightly in her hand, due to her excitement.

Five seconds.

Four.

Three.

Two.

Estelle plunged the ladle in the cauldron and hastily poured some of the liquid in the cup. It was probably too hot to drink, but she didn't care. Her mouth and throat would burn with delicious immortality.

It tasted like cinnamon. Ordinarily, this would have made her gag, because she couldn't stand the taste or even the smell of the spice, but she drank regardless, thirstily. Just to be sure, she poured herself a second cup and-

Dropped it. She dropped it when she saw her hands.

Her wrinkly, age-spotted hands.

What the hell? Heart pounding, Estelle ran to the bathroom.

And immediately wished she hadn't.

The mirror revealed a middle-aged woman. The crone had crow's feet, and her hair was turning grey. Gah, and she had a turkey neck.

Estelle couldn't associate the image in the mirror with herself. It couldn't be her. She was supposed to be young and beautiful forever!

She understood then why Nico and Pernelle had never brewed this potion: it was a trap, designed specifically for Estelle. They knew her too well. After they had agreed with Albus Dumbledore to destroy the Philosopher's Stone, they must have known that Estelle would do anything to keep the Stone, somehow, and that she would use the original version of the Elixir of Life forever, if she so desired. They had come up with this scheme to make sure that the Stone would be destroyed, one way or another.

Oh, the bastards. The cunning, evil bastards.

She had walked right into that one. Now the Stone was gone, Nico's notes had been burned to ashes, and she was old.

Estelle fell to her knees, which creaked ominously, and she screamed, tearing at her offensive greying hair.

Goldeneyes stopped mid-sentence, looking around curiously as his lieutenants vanished around him.

An interesting move, that. Improbable. He had backed the Resistance into a corner, and they had responded by eliminating most of his army. Lord Voldemort would not survive this new development, either. Without the Immortal Horcruxes, he was but a man, after all, and an old man at that. They would kill him easily, he had no doubt. Not that it mattered; Goldeneyes had no real use for the wizard anymore.

Of course, by doing this, the Resistance had also wiped out a good portion of the global population of this world. Innocent people, for the most part, children among them.

A daring move indeed.

The Muggles would go back to their witch hunt days when they realised what had happened – although many of them already had, after the Revelation. There would be war… There would be chaos. This world would never be the same. It would not recover, not any time soon, anyway.

Thanks to the Resistance, Goldeneyes had achieved one of his goals.

Without a Master Summoner, it would take him longer to accomplish them all, but he would, eventually. He was hardly without resources, or without allies. Already, he was concocting a new plan.

It would be so easy, now. The mortals were at each other's throats. They didn't know who Goldeneyes truly was, and they had no idea that this radical move of theirs would have no effect on him. They didn't know that he was alive. In fact, they didn't even know that he was the real enemy. They thought that Lord Voldemort was the worst contender in this game.

Oh, it would so easy to deliver the final blow.

But he had to pace himself. One thing at a time. Slow and steady wins the race, as the saying from his native world went. He had been stranded here for many years; what was one more, when one was immortal?

The mortals across the multiverse were right to fear the passage to the new millennium, for most of them would not live to see it dawn. This new age would belong to the Wolves, to all werewolves, with Goldeneyes presiding over them all. No more gods, no more demons, no more vile bloodsuckers. Only the hunters and their prey, as it was meant to be.

It would be the golden age of Goldeneyes.

Author's note: This concludes the second part of the Sliver of Infinity trilogy. I am now going to write the last one... It will take a while.

Thanks for reading!