An Improbable Harry Potter Fan Fiction
He sighed to himself as he quietly looked out on the forest. Fate. Lady Fate had tripped him up yet again, and was probably mocking him behind his back. Oh, well. He had delt with it before (in the worst of ways) but that was another matter (yes, indeed it was) that should be saved for another time (not to mention another place). He had long renounced what he had done before, he had changed his path (from selfishness to selflessness, he supposed) and so he didn't want to call himself by the other name that he had. But what other choice had he? Lady Fate was laughing at him, he knew it. And he had been settled into a life of guiltstricken misery and long walks in the woods just when Fate decided otherwise. Now here he was leading and army and taking lives, as he used to... he shivered. At least it was for a better cause (he hoped, but then, who could really tell?).
"Sir?" A soldier's voice interrupted his thoughts and daydreams. He tried to break himself free of... wherever he was, shaking his head.
He cleared his throat. "Yes, Captain?" He hadn't realized he spoke so quietly. Almost timidly, he supposed (James would laugh if he knew, but then he would see his son and weep...).
"The report, sir. We've recieved word that the Dark Army is raiding for supplies in a town near here just after sunset, Draco's army is reccouperating well, and we have enough supplies for a good two weeks not counting the foraged suppliments." The quick, easy report in clipped and short militarian speech reached his ears. He had become used to such speech over the years.
"What town are they raiding?" Probably useless information, but it would be nice to know. Details could always be important.
"Errr..." The captain's face twisted into thought. "I believe the name was Woodtangle."
Curse it all, he thought fiercely. This wasn't a raiding party, it was something far more lethal... See, now look what you've done, he chided himself, scared your captains yet again - but the brooding look would serve him well. If only he could get there before it was too late!
Grabbing the reins and mounting his chesnut stallion, he called out to his soldiers who was to be in command and rushed down the path, pushing the horse into a gallop. He was going to save a woman who currently considered him an adversary. Trying to see the humor in the irony, Lord Voldemort forced himself to smile bitterly as the wind whipped around his cloak.
The small village of Woodtangle was about to become a casualty of war.
Only one family in the small huddle of straw-thached buildings knew this, and they were choosing to be martyrs.
"Go," the woman begged to the younger woman beside her. "Et ez not safe for you 'ere anymore!" The french accent was undenyable as the motherly, larger figure started to saddle the horse.
"I can't go." The younger woman's voice was soft and fearful, her brown hair floated around her shoulders. "Not after all you've done for me. You'll be killed..."
"Aye." A man, much larger than a man should be, and stockier, stood at the doorway. "But ye shan't be. Now go, 'Ermione." No harshness was in his voice, just a quiet command. Both knew what they were doing.
The woman mounted the horse, the dapple-grey mare as it gnawed its bit. Slowly at first the mare plodded, and then though it was not urdged on by its rider, it began to run... Only now she allowed herself to breathe, but it came out as a ragged sob. The figures faded into the distance. Her safe harbor was no more. She grabbed the reins harder and sobbed into the mare's mane.
And the sun dipped below the horizon. All would soon be dark.
Fire. It lived and breathed. Samael stared into the depths of the bonfire and smiled darkly. Sunset - the sky was bloody red. More blood to be shed. He couldn't waste time, after all, he had been taught to be effecient.
Flame. What the Burrow had gone up in just days after he saught the dark path. Samael's smile grew fiercer. He had locked the windows and made sure every Weasley was there. A slow and painful death because they knew too much about him. And now... the last. The last of the two who had been closest to him. He seeked revenge, revenge for thier fear when he showed them his dark power...
It would be perfect. A black steed and firebrand for each soldier. They would sweep through the village. Death by fire. A roar of distant thunder saluted his ears. Perfect. All anyone would find were charred and blackend remains...
"We ride." His voice cut through the silence as he issued the command.
Please don't let me be too late...
Voldemort didn't wish to stop himself. Ravings of a lunatic, a
madman, that's what they were (all right as long as they aren't
spoken aloud). She was the only one who could conquer him fully,
but she didn't know...
If only he knew there was a higher power. Proved by science, written
in stone, of course - he accepted nothing less. For now the rising
moon would do.
Please...
Lord Samael kept his face stony. The last shaft. Three should do to kill even a half-giant, especially with his aim. At least Hagrid had shown some spirit and had not begged for mercy, unlike the weeping villagers. He had done worse. He had asked why.
Why Samael had turned.
Was it not obvious? He had his reasons, his secrecy. No questions. None. He was Lord Samael now, no one questioned him, ever, ever...
And then... he could not find her. Like the fox she had eluded his hounds yet again. No matter. The best archers on the fastest horses were on her trail. No one escaped from Lord Samael, no one...
Green eyes alight with vengeful hatred, he gave the silent command for every villager to be killed.
Hermione kept herself barely from screaming as her horse reared, bucking, wild. For a split second she felt herself falling, reins slipping from her hands. A few moments of blackness...
The pain in her wrist and side were staggering, but the even harder blow was that the grey mare hobbled along, one leg useless because of a bloody gash. Dispair dropped on her heart and she managed to slide off of the ground. She was miserable. Wet, cold, and... it was starting to rain, wasn't it?
Shuddering and sobbing, she leaned against a nearbly tree. The tumble of the creek echoed in her ears. For a moment she felt oddly detached, like if it were all a bad dream and soon, soon she could be back... back where she felt at home...
No! She shouldn't think about that, she musn't. Concentrate, concentrate on the world around you...
Rain. Thunder. The creek, the horse, herself, hoofbeats... hoofbeats? Fear stabbed into her like an icy knife. Hoofbeats! Paralyzed with her realization, she could only remember to breathe, and then just barely.
The rider entered the clearing, chestnut horse glistening with sweat as he brought the stallion to a halt. Invisible, there had to be some way to make herself invisible, but she couldn't remember the words or the way... But... the rider wore a brown cloak. Brown. Brown and the saddle had an embroidered eagle on it...
The Freedom Army!
Her gasp, his notice. He jerked his head around and Hermione felt herself fill with terror once again.
"Hermione!" His wisper was quick, quiet, desperate. "Come on!"
Taking a gasp to swallow her sobs, she inched up the tree, keeping her back to the rough bark. Eyes livid, memories stirred not by the face (never the face, it had changed) but by the eyes of the rider, she gave her answer.
"No," she hissed, voice full of rage.
The manaical, dark side of her enjoyed watching him nearly go mad with panic. "Please," he said, voice having an odd pleading tone. Funny, from the least person she would ever expect. But she said nothing and kept her face stony.
His voice took a sudden razor edge. "If you truly think I am going to kill you, ponder this: if Lord Samael catches you, than he will do far worse than simply kill you outright. I, however, am one of the few that can still preform the most unforgivable of the Three."
Hermione shivered. He had a point. Necro-lightningmancers could make you die several times over, while Voldemort had retained the ability to use the advera kadavera curse for some reason. (What she didn't know is that he hadn't.) Clumsily mounting the horse next to him, she became aware of a strange feeling in her stomach. Nervous, she was nervous... riding clinging to the back of her adversary... Ron would laugh if he knew, if things were normal, and then he would panic...
She hoped he didn't notice the tears falling onto his cloak. Her world was crashing down around her yet again, what else was there to do?
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Yet More A.N.: Whooooo. That was long and pretty free form.
Please be a resposible little darling of a reader and review,
'kay? ^_^