An Improbable Harry Potter Fan Fiction
Lord Samael gazed out over his lands, black hair tousled by the winds criss-crossing the hill. Gripping the hilt of his electric-sword, he frowned, cold gaze following the two guards climbing the hill to speak with him. Black cloak flapping in the wind, the two hapless soldiers dragged a man between them. Lord Samael regarded this with amusement, looking down icily at the man's shabby appearance. Pale skin, tanned slightly by work, dressed in a brown tunic and pants with worn leather boots, blonde-white hair floated about his face. He kept his face turned down. Samael smiled. Wise.
"Sir?" one of the guards panted as he leaned on his spear. It had been a hard climb, and just to be looked down upon by Lord Samael... he cringed as he recieved Samael's icily cool gaze. "We found this man making trouble in one of the towns," he reported, maintaining a brisk military attitude. "I think he may be the leader of the small rebellion going against you, M'lord."
"Leave him here. I shall deal with him, captain." Lord Samael turned to the man, a thin dark smile crossing his lips. "Too cowardly to show your face?" he jeered at the man.
Turning his face upward, the man replied in a quiet threatening voice. "I simply like to stay alive." He had a perfectly normal face, nose just a tad flat, but Samael could tell cosmetic magic had been used. Then, the man flicked his eyes upward...
True, instead of being a flaming orange they had mellowed into a light amber, but one thing remained true. Framed by light brown, the narrow slitted pupils could only belong to one person...
One who had not shown his face in many years.
Lord Samael hissed. "YOU!"
"Yes," said the man dryly. "You were always slow to wit, Harry..."
Lord Samael's furious scream echoed through the air. "Never speak that name!" Drawing the sword in one smooth movement, the steely arc of lightning crashed to the ground - the other had quickly dodged. Another blade was drawn, glowing and tipped with flame, and it crashed down. Breathing through gritted teeth, Lord Samael let his pain only be shown through his grimace.
The stranger frowned down upon Samael, eyes hard. "Because I flee this one time does not mean this is over, because it is not, not by far." The white-blonde hair blew across his face, for a moment it became clear who he was as intense hatred flashed through his eyes. As suddenly has he had come, however, he had Apparated, leaving Lord Samael behind.
Hissing, Samael's wounded hand clenched and unclenched. Blood trickled across his clothing, onto his cape, darkening the black slightly. Ignoring the rush of troops hurrying up the hill to help him, he whispered to the wind. "Someday, Voldemort, someday I shall get my revenge..."
"Sir!" squawked the nearest soldier. "Are you all right, M'lord?"
He said nothing in response, the pause growing long and chill. Looking out over the rolling forest and hills, his reply finally came. "We march, come dawn, captain."
"Yes, M'lord," said the captain quickly, then turned to his men and began shouting orders. All regarded thier leader, thier Lord, with quiet fear. Fear, if they showed thier fear he'd kill them, he didn't like cowards - was that why he hated himself?
On the crest of the hill, Lord Samael - the man who used to
be innocent Harry Potter - stood, watching the sunset turn the
sky blood-red. Blood would be shed in the morrow, he promised
himself. Blood would be shed, lives would be taken, and someday
Voldemort would lie at his feet and beg for mercy...