Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter.

Chapter 36

An endless stretch of void spanned far across distant lands and shores yet untouched. Amidst the absence of existence however, a strange energy was thrumming across it, first felt as a nascent murmur before it swelled to limitless heights: the promise of life in the desolation of dark. Something – or someone – was being sculpted by primordial energies that once lay dormant and slumbering.

Blackness engulfed an entity's thoughts, as it did all other senses.

A breathless gasp released from parted lips as air suddenly rushed into a pair of lungs; a body began to move as blood began to circulate around a body, causing a heart to start beating vigorously. A nose twitched and tingled as an unfamiliar and metallic smell infused its senses; a low melodious hum caused two ears to perk up in wonder as they tried to locate the source of the ineffable hymn of music.

Feebly, the pitiful creature tried to think, instinctively using a part of its structure called the brain, a powerful tool it somehow knew was capable of casting light unto darkened lands. Such efforts were sluggish and disconcerting, but after a laborious effort that seemed to span for an echo of eternity, the first cogs in its brain slowly began whirring to life, causing the first synapses to fire and the first neurons to connect.

The first signs of existence were instilling into the witless creature.

Where form gave rise to function, cogitation gave rise to purpose. Flashes and echoes of scenes from an unknown past began to thunder through the entity's head like a steam train roaring ahead at full speed with no signs of stopping. A scream pierced the maw of darkness as the entity's mindscape was assaulted by scenes that had shaped and defined its very being, screaming with a voice that neither held agony nor terror, but rather revelation.

Its mouth opened to whisper their very first words.

"M-My..."

It faltered, losing to an overwhelming pressure within this head that sought to deny it speech. The feeling was fleeting and temporary however, for its willpower strengthened with every passing moment.

"My n-name…" it wheezed faintly, "…is… is…"

Panting unabatingly while it repeated the last word over and over again, a strange strength perfused throughout its body and the very last doors in his mind finally opened, giving the creature full knowledge to what it once was, is, and will be until the very last flame of life winks out.

"My name is… AUGUSTUS ROOKWOOD," the creature ended with a mighty roar, its voice somehow magnified and glorious in the vast emptiness.

A moment passed before reality sunk in for the now-realized human, prompting him to begin assessing his surroundings. The world was hidden from his waking eyes for he saw only vast fields of grainy darkness in all directions. Curiously, he heard the sound of something familiar: the rhythmic percussion of waves lapping onto something solid. Cautiously swishing one leg to and fro, he soon surmised that he must be standing in a shallow layer of water, yet strangely his feet did not feel wet in the slightest.

My feet. He thought in surprise, realizing that he was not wearing shoes; he subsequently registered he was wearing nothing at all and that his wand was nowhere in sight.

For the first time in his life, he found himself completely alone.

It took a little longer than he expected but he eventually gathered enough willpower to properly utilize his brain to become the shrewd and calculating wizard that he was once before. His lips bore the semblance of a frown as he spoke out loud to himself, breaking the stretched silence.

"Am I dreaming?" Augustus murmured, immediately noticing that his voice gently melted away into the forlorn night.

As a prominent Unspeakable that hailed from the Department of Mysteries, he was no stranger to magics and wonders beyond human comprehension. To be intimate with works of a theurgical matter within the Brain Room, to witness invocations that defied all magical theories and principles in the Locked Room, and to even wield objects capable of sending organic matter across the cosmos from the Planet Room, he had observed much of the world, both seen and unseen.

This however, was different to anything he had ever encountered before.

Forcing himself to relax, he then pinched himself on the arm hard enough to ascertain that this was not just a dream but a lucid dream too. The familiar pain of twisting skin quickly relayed a message: he was definitely not in the land of the subconscious.

Cautiously, he then wondered if he had gone insane, finally broken from the burden of untold responsibilities from allegiances to both Light and Dark. To keep the up the appearance of a warmongering blood purist, he had partaken in many raids and skirmishes that involved the death of Muggle-borns, wizards and witches of diluted heritage, and even… children.

He shivered as his brain regurgitated such memories, goosebumps erupting across his skin as he recalled his darkest moments, ones of Muggle-born orphanages caught aflame by the will of his wand, hoping to prove his loyalty to a false master. It was a bitter tactic but was one which had rewarded him generously and bestowed upon him swift and successive promotions to the fabled Inner Circle – much to Lucius Malfoy's delight.

Blood and honor, he quietly realized, was often the price to pay for freedom.

Pushing the gruesome memories to the back of his mind, he began a series of specialized tests on himself to ensure that he was still a sane human being, scrutinizing himself closely in his mindscape. These tests, eponymously named M'Naghten and Durham, were variants of what the Muggle judicial system used to determine if one was clinically insane.

After realizing that he had a keen awareness of his situation, did not habour involuntary compulsions, and possessed an understanding and knowledge of what was right from wrong – even with his tainted moral compass – he quickly concluded that he was still fully in control his mind, with neither disease nor magical influence keeping him in their clutches.

"What was I doing last?" he wondered out loud as he shifted his line of thinking, emboldened by the fact that he was still sane and breathing. A deep frown took host to his lips as a pervasive mist that sat on his recent memories cleared, gradually revealing to him the latest in his past trials and tribulations.

"Ariana Potter," he gasped loudly as the face of a young witch appeared in his mind. He started swiveling his head frantically like a frenzied owl to see if the she was nearby; alas, there was nothing else in this fell realm but him. Interludes of disquietude struck at his soul as he struggled to fully piece together what happened before being plunged into darkness.

He stilled and took a sharp breath when he finally became cognizant of his last moments: it was a fusillade of red spells from three hooded men. Immediately he suspected that his current state of being was due to a spell or artifice created by either the Carrow siblings or the Dark Lord himself, for he knew only those talented individuals had the skill to come up with phantasmal magic this elaborate.

Despite seeing nothing, he knew he wasn't blind. He surmised that he was either trapped in his own mind or he was still conscious, and this world was facsimile to that of oblivion with presumably the intent to drive the victim to the brink of madness. Augustus carefully reached into his magical core in an attempt to perform wandless magic, a feat he was relatively skilled in should the occasion arise.

A sliver of fear coursed through his body, for magic he had known all his life was nowhere to be found.

Blood drained from his face as a choked cry for help forced itself up his throat, knowing from past experiences that even if he were bound by magic, he would still feel the warm hum of magic within his chest.

This time however, there was nothing. His birthright had been taken away from him.

Paralyzed by the revelation, a flash of vulnerability and powerlessness coursed throughout his body – for losing your magic felt like losing a limb, it was part of one's self.

Even though he was incapacitated by dread, his resilient and highly astute mind pushed forward with his analysis, now considering further options after eliminating that the fact that he neither dreaming nor magically trapped.

He faintly recalled seeing Ariana holding a Time-Turner while he was inscribing runic wards into a wooden floorboard.

Impossible. He thought grimly, quickly dismissing the theory as he thought of the recent moratorium on their research and development. I have personally operated with Time-Turners before; the intermission between jumps do not resemble this in the slightest.

Lastly, and with a strange sense of tiredness, his thoughts gave rise to a final avenue that he had been saving for the end, one he had hoped he would not reach.

"I am dead," he uttered solemnly.

Death is permanent. Death is forever. Millennia of study and research by devoted scholars and researchers accrued from across hundreds of cultures on the subject of life's departure has yet to yield anything of significance. Questions such as where souls move on to or where do memories go upon breathing our terminal breath are destined to forever remain unanswered it seemed.

All the wizarding world could conjure up however, were Inferi – husks of men and women long relinquished from their mortal coils, reanimated and controlled by spells pertaining to a branch of magic known as Necromancy, a Dark Art which the spy knew deep down his false master would be proficient in. Jeremiads, diatribes, and other salvos of viciously bitter soliloquies rose to his lips at the thought but died away at the last second, for something then happened the wizard did not expect.

A flash of light appeared in the heavens above him.

It was not a mere speck or twinkle as one would expect from a stellar body waltzing in the night sky, rather a burst of luminescence that neither dazed nor blinded him but captivated him with rapturous wonder. The mysterious light diminished ever so slightly before another flash of light claimed the skies to herald something else entirely.

He recognized tortuous, tattered bands of celestial gas and dust burning bright in the unfathomable blackness; beside that were shining corona of what he assumed were suns and stars, each one originating as a tiny dot before expanding in size and exploding, leaving a brilliant sapphire pallor of twinkling light in their wake. Curiously, these events were not unlike those observed naturally: to his eyes the coruscant blanket of cosmic wonders was unfolding at an unnatural rate.

Then came the next flash of light.

The images that were previously etched into the sky then shifted to show a small planet that glowed red and angry, spinning so ferociously that it almost took him to the brink of nausea. The sound of a terrible crash shook him out of his queasiness as he espied a collision between a large spherical object and the said planet, causing the former to begin spiraling haphazardly around the latter as consequence.

The red sphere slowly changed to a swirl of colours of deep blue, forest green, and mottled umber, as if bright inks were eddied into a current with precision. The axis of the planet looked a little off as it rotated, with surface features not yet distinguishable in the haze of ever-changing shades. A few seconds elapsed before he understood what he was seeing in the sky, but before his sluggish mind could piece together what was happening the planet suddenly vanished as the next flash of light came to pass.

Aramaic, Sanskrit, Ugarit, Latin, and all other manner of words began to appear in cuneiform inscriptions in the firmament – lingua francas spanning one civilization after another hewn into an ever-changing canvas above him. The images seemed related to the births and deaths of once great empires, each forming in a blaze of fire before disappearing in a whirlwind in dust.

Then came the next blinding flare, and with that the scene changed once again, this time showing rapidly changing scenes that were both seemingly nonsensical and random.

A shower of fire and brimstone; a small bedroom; a grand castle; a three-headed dog; a giant snake; a hooded creature; a dragon of fury; a room full of crystal balls; a knobbly wand; a greyed cloak; a dark stone; and lastly, a scene of a train station with a single boy in its forefront that spanned the empyrean, gazing down at him and piercing his very soul.

Then, came the last flash of light.

Augustus was breathing hard as he shielded his eyes with his hands for what seemed like the thousandth time since he had arrived in the void. Fear gradually ebbed from his system and he hesitatingly lowered his hands when he eventually realized that scenes of a terrifying and unimaginable nature weren't appearing in the sky any longer. All that was left was a faint glow in the darkness almost thirty feet away from him, its soft rays drawing his attention downwards to show a flat expanse of rippling water under his feet.

All thoughts about why he was not sinking flew out the window when he realized what the genesis of the light was. A small figure stood upright and was facing his direction, its body emitting a brilliant and eerie glow of white. The only name that was floating around his mind rose to his lips.

"Ariana… is that you?" he cautiously called out.

After getting neither a physical nor a verbal response after a pregnant pause, he began treading over to her with caution in his wind, his mind working in overtime to figure out what in Morgana's name was going on.

As he moved closer to the beacon of light the expression on his face morphed into relief, for he recognized whose name belonged to the figure. It was indeed the young girl – or Albus' weapon, he reminded himself– that he had come to call his comrade in arms on the battlefield. The brilliance she emitted from her skin neither stung his eyes nor blinded him when he reached his destination, barely a foot away from her.

The lack of response from his arrival disturbed him, causing the spy to characteristically analyze the situation and scrutinize the lucent girl that stood before him.

Porcelain skin glowed unnaturally on a body whose apparel was absent on a thin and white form. Her eyes were wide open yet were cold and lifeless, staring right through him into the infinite abyss without nictation. Her shoulders lay curiously hunched forward as she stood in a shattered posture, almost inhuman from a rock-like stillness.

"Can you hear me?" he spoke nervously, swallowing a sense of uneasiness that attempted to fill his being.

From the sustained lack of response, he looked even closer and his eyes quickly discerned something very disturbing: the young witch was being held up by what seemed like lines of string originating from the murky darkness. Vivid in hues of fiery scarlet, they were the sole reason why she was standing upright as four distinct lines encircled each arm and leg and held her up limply like a lifeless doll.

There was one strand however that was different from the rest. It encircled around her neck as an ashen noose, thinly wrapped across her delicate neck and was one that was strung so tight it was a miracle that her skin had not broken.

Almost in a daze, Augustus leaned forward and began clawing clumsily at the binding on her neck, hoping to free her from whoever was holding her in bondage. A grunt of frustration issued from his lips after an eternity of trying to undo the fiber with his fingernails, his futile efforts moving him even further away from his goal as at certain points could feel the cord tighten from his tampering.

He didn't even notice when blood started dripping down his hands. In the milky glow of the light the skin between his fingers was ghostly pale and the blood streaks almost black, only reddish when the light shone right on them. When the wizard finally noticed the runs of red that coursed down his hands like rivulets, he gave a cry of surprise and stumbled backwards, tripping and landing with a muted splash on the infinite bed of water.

"What in Merlin's name?" he murmured quizzically when he composed himself, inspecting his lacerated hands.

The string had been cutting into him.

The cuts were long but not deep, giving rise to only a slight sting and nothing more. More significantly, this was the first time he had experienced pain on a physical level since he had arrived here.

Augustus rose unsteadily back on his feet and critically eyed the offending object that harmed him. He could've sworn the inanimate thread possessed a level of sentience, for his eyes saw it pulsate in what could only be described in smug victory for the briefest of seconds.

He stood quiet for a second, deliberating and ponderous about the situation. After a lifetime of thought, he broke the tense silence with purposeful words that would dare to challenge the lords of this domain.

"Of all creatures trapped in such cycles of torment, it is I that should be fettered, not this young girl," he declared powerfully, his words floating upwards to whatever power deigned to listen.

"I have betrayed, enslaved, tortured, and killed many in my misbegotten life," he cried out, his blood-soaked hands raised in the air, "Either for the advancement of magical theory or for the greater good, it has all made no difference to me. Their deaths have never sat heavy on my shoulders, and their screams of anguish have never burdened the throne of my heart; I am, and always will, be capable of such monstrous acts."

"But for a girl of tender age to be judged by her actions and not by those of a master puppeteer who forged her to be their weapon, is pure madness," he growled, unable to forgive Albus for grooming a Pureblood scion after learning of the fact, "Children shall not be put to persecution because of indentures by fathers who walk the way of the wicked."

If an observer was present, the gesticulating Unspeakable would have beheld an extraordinary sight.

Truthfully, he had no idea what he was talking about, and was even more lost as to why he as posturing to no one in this miserable realm, shorn from reality and unbeholden to none. But he was confident about just one thing, this had to be a variation of Purgatory – he was sure of it.

"This girl can still be saved," he finished with a steady voice, "Let me take her place."

Mendicancy had never been an option. No, he could never bring himself to beg or grovel even when world itself was his enemy. He would do it himself with reason and logic, as he had always done his whole life.

A sustained silence felt as if poison was entering his veins, for in that absence of sound the one-sidedness of his speech was laid bare. The quietness grew deeper and Augustus heard only the steady rhythm of his heart, almost deafening him from within.

It was in that very moment the wizard realized something.

Where cruelty was the cause, love was often the antidote. In this case love was not for the child, but rather he knew that wherever love treaded peace would invariably follow. Despite his cold disposition and descent of Dark, he knew of love. Oh, how his heart ached for Marie Mayers in that moment, a childhood friend he was always sweet on in the hopes of strengthening their bond.

Shaking his head, Augustus refocused on the task at hand. Though now illuminated by the fact that his fellow member of the Order was actually a young girl, a skilled fighter that bore the name Harold, how he felt towards her had not much changed; brothers-in-arms fighting closely on the battlefield against the Enemy had long instilled a sense of brotherhood between them.

Something burned within him at the thought. Something fierce. Something unquenchable.

Without warning he lunged at Ariana and gripped at her throat with his hands, as if to violently throttle her. His hands then worked downwards, the grips of each palm supporting each other as he tried to slip his fingers under the ashen noose that bound the girl.

His hands became slick with blood as the string cut into his existing wounds, the red fluid causing him to temporarily loosen his grip. With gritted teeth he focused on nothing but his goal as adrenaline surged through his body and dulled his sense of pain. The string was doing more damage than a blade ever could as it ripped into his flesh and bone with sickening determination.

No magic was coursing through his fingertips to repair his hands; no power from his core was accelerating his natural healing processes; no wand lay nearby to cast to a simple healing spell; no potions were in sight to rejuvenate him.

It was just him.

Pain indescribable took hold of his body, in some ways even worse than the Cruciatus. This did not deter him however, for through his laborious efforts he eventually managed to fully slip all his fingers underneath the tightly wound strand, his digits nestled in-between it and the waxen skin of the girl.

Taking a brief moment to muster all the strength he possessed, he then gathered the string with both hands in opposite directions and pulled. His fingers screamed in protest as it cut deep into him, deeper than ever before, the fluids from within his body splattering the unmoving girl and coating her bare body in a garish sheen of red.

The indolent lifestyle of the wizarding world offered no aid as rarely exercised muscles in his body grew taunt and screamed in protest from the exertion, feeling as if they would pop right out.

Augustus knew he was strong. Not strong in a physical sense, but rather in a way one could only achieve in the human condition – by the limitless strength of one's will. It was not hubris that gave him such poise, but rather a unique form of pragmatism that had evolved by his interactions with the world around him, shaped by his dealings as a shadowy member of society, his subversive schemes as masked blood purist, and his fearless feats as a freedom fighter.

Such purpose and drive spurred him onwards, causing him to pull even harder. He ignored the hair-raising sound of something both ripping and popping simultaneously as he felt the mysterious string groan in protest to the point of breaking, but also feeling as if it was miles away from its destruction.

The dispiriting feeling caused by that realization distracted him and nearly made him lose his grip but not before something great settled on his breast. It was as if the warmth of another had been passed unto him, bestowing to him strength he never realized he possessed.

An unintelligible murmur escaped from his lips as he grabbed the string one more time with his hands. A voice that began ever so quietly gradually grew in intensity as he started pulling again with every fiber of his being, the sounds emitting from the wizard growing exponentially with each passing moment from mutter, to growl, to bellow, until words borne from his indefatigable spirit burst forth.

"YOU CANNOT DEFEAT ME."

And with a final roar that shook both the heavens and the earth, he snapped the yoke that bound the young girl's neck.

The ashen noose that once constricted the girl crumbled like dust under his grip and he watched it slowly disappear back into the void with an unholy silence, leaving only a faint score visible on the young witch's neck in its wake.

"Merlin save me," Augustus gasped breathlessly when at long last the string winked out of sight, expelling hot air that was searing him from inside his lungs.

Before he even had the chance to celebrate a soft splash sounded below him, causing him to look downwards quizzically, his mind still working overtime from the event that had just transpired.

Long and elongated silhouettes shaped like misshapen cigars were floating on the thin layer of water near his feet, the shadows of recent and outbound ripples showing that these objects had only been previously dropped there.

Adrenaline that had once been pumping through his veins was slowly ebbing from his system, and when a ray of wayward light shone upon the mysterious objects his mind slowly recognized what they resembled.

They looked like fingers.

"What?" he blurted out stupidly, mechanically bringing up his own hands in front of his face.

Horror gradually dawned upon him when he became cognizant of the fact that only half the digits on his hands remained while the rest were hanging on precariously by a web of torn muscle and chiseled bone.

Before pain of a nameless order could take hold of him, a gentle tingle perfused throughout his system, causing his body began to shut down against his will. The expression on his face no longer held agony as his muscles relaxed before crumpling with a noisy splash onto the watery plane. Sluggishly, he tried to move his body, but his limbs would not obey his commands, and as a warm darkness descended over his glazed eyes he could have sworn someone was cradling his head, ever so gently.


An Unknown Time Period

It seemed unfair to Ariana that no matter how much she strived to be one of the luminaries of liberation and justice her conscience wanted her to be, it would keep taunting her with her failures. Each time the regrets re-emerged she would diligently analyze them again, hoping that time this her mind would be satisfied with her remorse, but it never was. Like an unforgiving specter, it haunted her endlessly as she gazed down at the sight below her.

Her young father lay sleeping below her in utmost tranquility. A swirl of moonlight washed over his tousled black hair and peaceful face; the scent of fresh grass kindled memories of Quidditch matches gone by, its familiar aroma strong enough even to bring back half-forgotten dreams from a life once lived. Clad in cambric nightwear, his features were much softer in sleep, making it hard to image that this was the same boy that was once the terror of Hogwarts, pranking teachers and students alike without discrimination.

Every detail of that image was etched eternal into her brain as she stood silently in the stillness of the boy's dormitory in Hogwarts. In actuality, the reason as to why she was in the sentient castle in the first place was one borne from both impatience and selfishness. After finding the Time-Turner she had stumbled across in the depths of the Order's derelict headquarters, she had turned the gyrating rings as many times as she could until she was roughly interrupted by Unspeakable Rookwood.

The journey backward through time had been strange.

In her third year when she and Hermione used a Time-Turner, the device had caused a visible reversal to the natural flow of the world around them as they stood unaffected. This time however, a bizarre blackness had coated her eyes for some period of time before the cessation of temporal magic spat her out into the same room the device was used in.

A great shock had greeted her when she found out the Order's spy had hitched a ride and been unceremoniously dumped onto the wooden floor beside her. She had spent many a minute trying to wake him from a strange state of unconsciousness before her desire to find her family overrode all other feelings. Hastily scribbling a note and leaving it on his chest, she then took a Portkey to the outskirts of Hogwarts before arriving at the spot she was currently musing at.

Ariana gave a tired sigh, for this was not a moment of untroubled happiness, but rather one of deep sorrow.

The young witch was neither dumb nor foolish enough to feign ignorance about her situation: she knew Time-Turners did not have the power to reset reality. Soon, the person she had come to love as both her father and adopted brother would inexorably perish in the fires of war alongside everyone she had ever cared about in this lifetime.

Temporal axioms and postulates dictate this fact and there was nothing she could do to change it. Unbidden temerity sparked the first signs of defiance against such laws undergirding the usage of Time-Turners, even though she was aware of anomalies and complications with their abuse such as un-births or creating alternative timelines, though these events were only theoretical and have yet to be proven in practice by researchers in the Department of Mysteries.

A hypothetical scenario rose to the forefront of her mind, causing an unidentifiable emotion to crawl across her skin: what if she had never stumbled across the McKinnon Time-Turner? What if she had lost her final chance to spend time both in tangibility and spirit with her parents? She thought about the very last words she had said to James ever so long ago before succumbing to the ring that once lay slumbering and dormant within Marvolo Gaunt's Ring.

'No thanks, you go do that yourself.'

She gritted her teeth in silent anger, remembering keenly how it went. It was late after supper in the Great Hall and James had approached her, asking for some help to manage his broomstick kit for Chaser practice on the morrow. Laziness on a physical level had overshadowed her youthful ebullience and with dismissive flick of her wrist, she declined to assist him before plunging herself into a book she had just appropriated from the Room of Requirement.

Truly, how very wrong her decision had been. How could one possibly know that their conversation with a loved one would be the last they ever had? One day everyone was alive and well, the next moment her world was torn asunder. Though in turmoil, her mind was able to identify two things she had come to realize: the fragility of life, and the terrible pain that bonds between people could bring.

It was as if there was both ice and fire within her body, one freezing her mind from within and making it even impossible to conjure up positive thoughts while the other burning her from the inside out with a spark that sought to blaze until there was nothing left but a shell. Guilt cut deep into her soul as her body swayed precariously like a frail flower in the wind.

A sudden thought gripped her: if she somehow could choose her last words, then what would she say instead? Her lips pursed, thinking deeply about this matter. Her quiet deliberation ended as she dared to speak out loud.

"I love you," she whispered softy.

No, those words sounded wrong. The phrase meant so much yet so little; an endearing affirmation of affection yet platitudes they were. A trite statement said by those who were not necessarily speaking from the heart, repeating it in ad infinitum until its meaning diminished. She quietly wondered what words could convey a longing to be beside someone, be a final parting, yet also one that conveys a promise of remembrance?

A life-changing epiphany suddenly struck her.

People died not once, but twice.

The first is when the body ceases to function and is consigned to the grave, while the second is that moment, sometime in the future, when one's name is spoken for the last time. In essence, as long as the she existed, those who were linked to her soul would always remain.

As she thought ever harder, memories unbidden rose to the top of her mind, ones from a distant past. A place where her parents were lionized as war heroes, her father figures demonized as betrayers, and her mentors canonized as necessary firebrands that defined history.

Scenes of both past and present collided seamlessly in her mind's eye, creating a feeling of warmth that blossomed in her chest. She knew at that very moment what she wanted to say.

"Wherever you are, you will always be in my heart," Ariana managed to whisper without choking up to the sleeping figure.

How lucky the young witch was, to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.

No matter how hard the forces that ruled this world tried to rip them apart, they would meet over and over again in different lives and in different ages; first as a baby in life with no sin to its name; next as a tired boy in death whose burden was second to none; and lastly, as a girl who simply tried to be, meeting again and again in a cycle that to her, seemed never destined to end.

It was at this moment of realization that hot tears that had been courageously suppressed this whole time slipped quietly down her face, her eyes still locked onto the person who would forevermore remain the greatest hero in her life.

Without warning a strange tiredness fell over her eyes from her emotional battle, almost as if a wave of soporific magic had just washed over her. The quiet breathing of those around her played a velvety, rhythmic song that lulled her deeper into sleepiness, causing her limbs to become heavy and her heart to slow to a more peaceful beat.

She didn't really know what happened next, but her consciousness ebbed and in moments she was asleep. Every muscle in her body was relaxed as a feeling of love and protection wrapped her within a comfortable cocoon, dreaming of the people close to her heart just once more time.


A/N: It's been quite some time, huh. How have you been?

Know that I had always intended to continue my stories but yet life throws itself relentlessly at me. Weak excuses aside, I shall seek to write more for this and my other HP/LotR crossover as much as I can. Also, if you have any thoughts on any matter at all please review! I read all of them and take them to heart.

As a side note, I have carefully combed through the previous chapters and fixed nearly all minor grammatical mistakes. Ty for those who point them out too!

A special thank you to Gonalt, who was an invaluable source of light in the darkest of times.

I hope you all had a Happy New Year and here's to the future!