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People are stupid; given proper motivation, almost anyone will believe almost anyting. Because people are stupid, they will believe a lie because they want to believe it's true. People's heads are full of knowledge, facts, and beliefs, and most of it is false, yet they think it all true. People are stupid; they can only rarely tell the difference between a lie and the truth, and yet they are confident they can, and so are all the easier to fool."
|Wizards First Rule-Zeddicus Zorander|
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Epilogue-
Azkaban, one year later...
The cold towers of Azkaban pierced the sky with their spokes as the waves beat relentlessly upon the rocky shores of the prison. The day was cold, a slight hint of greyness in the clouds bespoke of light showers. A loud, shrill shreik broke the silence, and could easily be traced to the fearsome black dragon tethered behind it's precints. A tall figure wrapped in a flowing cloak ascended the grime-laden pathway into the dank gloom of Azkaban.
He did not even knock, the door was opened for him.
"Master." The Dementor fell to it's knees.
"Reil. I wish to see him." The figure threw back the hood of the cloak to display argent-blond hair. He was seemingly unaffected by the Dementor's presence. The kneeling figure looked up, obviously startled, and drew in a great rattling breath. Draco shied away from him, his grey eyes flashing fire. "No!"
"I beg pardon, Master. I will lead you to...him."
The Dementor led Draco Malfoy through a series of twisting corridors. To each side were thick metal doors, reinforced with haematite. Though it was a secret closely guarded by the Wizarding Community, Iron compounds were disastrous to magic- it either rebounded off it or was absorbed by it. The Haematite lent a brownish, rusty appearance to the entire place and filled Draco's delicate olfactory senses with it's pervasive smell.
Reil opened a door and drew back, allowing his master to pass inside.
A graceful man with the same silver-blond hair, but with different deep blue eyes looked up. His face was wan, and dark bags formed under his eyes. Yet he did not look pushed to desperation or haunted by reminiscence. He was a Malfoy- and Malfoys face their troubles with equanimity.
"Hello, father." Draco said, his tone unemotional.
"Draco." Lucius regarded him with a critical eye. "Son."
"By blood only, Lucius."
The elder Malfoy arose and paced the room, stopping to gaze reflectively through the small slit which hardly deserved the title of 'window'. "Why are you here? I presume that this isn't simply a familial call. There must be another reason."
Draco smiled strainedly. "Ah- right and wrong. I do have a reason- but it is a familial visit." With a flourish, Draco cast aside his cloak- and the dim light of the Azkaban prison cell revealed two beautiful babies.
Lucius' eyes softened, and he took a few careful steps closer to his son. "I'm a bloody grandfather at thirty six." He whispered to himself. "How old are you anyway, eighteen- nineteen?"
"Nineteen- if you count the time we spent inside the TimeFreeze."
Lucius reached out a hand and touched the older of the two gently. "What are their names?"
"She's Draca Ariane Malfoy, sort of derived from Marian- Mia's mother, and-" Draco smiled fondly at his barely month old son. "-he's Daryl Antonius Malfoy. After great-grandfather."
Lucius' expression was indescribable- he cradled both children in his arms. Draco watched warily, his concentration never straying. "They're...wonderful." He touched the forehead of his grandson gently. The hand that slaughtered thousands delicately brushed over the baby's skin. Draca Ariane opened her eyes and Lucius' lips stretched into an approximation of a smile. "Well, well...green eyes."
Draco stood straight, unflinching. "Yes."
"Your little MudBlood brunette is straying. What's the matter, Draco-son, can't keep her satisfied?"
"She's my daughter." Draco said simply.
"Really? Explain the eyes, then?" Lucius regarded Draco's impassive face and looked back at the baby. "Oh Magic Undone, Draco- this isn't Hermione Granger's kid...it's Parthenope Czyren's! You're more a Malfoy than I thought you were."
Draco did not reply.
"She's PureBlood, then- it's just...your son." Lucius smiled wanly. "I don't really care anymore, Draco. They're Malfoys and that's all that matters...dammit, you're not even human any more, Draco." Lucius sighed, sounding more like an aged, decrepit pensioner than the vigorous young man his physiognomy claimed him to be.
"Oh that's a fine thing for you to say, father. I'm not even human." Draco reached out for his two children. "I don't want to argue with you. I came to say goodbye."
Lucius sat down heavily, his back suddenly lax and stooped. "They're administering the Kiss? So soon?"
Draco laughed shortly. "Oh, Father. You're not going to die...I am."
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||Six months later, Valwracen Hall
The crowd gathered was small- but the emotion they displayed more than made up for the size. The press coverage was extensive, with broadcasts on every Wizarding service. Only BBC WizardWorld and the Daily Prophet had been allowed direct access- they were supplying the video shots to the other companies. Unlike their usual behaviour, the Press was acting remarkably restrained.
That is, apart from one person.
Dressed in orange-red robes with a black sash to pass for mourning colours and sucking on a traffic-light red QuillQuotes pen was Ms Rita Lila Skeeter. One arm was draped around a teenager in dark blue, sucking on an aquamarine pen with the same intensity as Rita.
"The resemblance is striking." Harrison James Potter enunciated acidly as he passed her. "Your daughter?"
Rita Skeeter smiled widely. "Oh Harry, darling! We simply must do an interview...The Boy Who Lived and his amazing friendship with the Dark Lord of our times!" She tightened her hold on the younger girl. "This is my niece Nicole."
The teenager didn't seem to ecstatic about the introduction. "Nicky. Nicky Skeeter." She said, flashing a typical reporter smile.
Harry didn't even acknowledge the girl. "Draco was not the Dark Lord! He helped bring down Voldemort...what has he ever done?"
"Oh Harry, darling! Didn't you even hear about the War? And about those raids on Gringotts and his link with those disgusting Dementors and things? And can I quote you on that? Of course I can!" Harry's eyes widened at Rita kept talking.
"I hear Fleur calling...got to go. Sorry, Rita." Harry said hurriedly, excusing himself.
It was hard enough his friend was dead- now this Skeeter woman had to be at his funeral. He hurried inside towards Hermione's room, knocking.
"Come." A thin, tremulous voice said. "Harry! Oh Harry!"
Hermione threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. Her cheeks were sallow and her mouth trembling, grief written into every crease. Harry pulled her towards the sofa, making her sit down. "I'll make some tea." He said, softly.
"How am I going to get through this, Harry? I have two kids- my daughter's one and a half and my son going to be an year old. And I'm just sodding twenty." She sucked on her bottom lip, running her fingers through limp hair.
"You're Hermione Granger. You'll get through this. Shall we go visit the..the.." Harry fumbled for a word as his mouth caught on 'grave'. "..place..since the ceremonies are over?" He asked, supporting her as she got up. "Where's Fleur?"
"Getting the kids. And on the same note- are we going to see Harry the papa any time soon?" She asked, smiling wanly.
"Er- not just yet. Fleur has- other things on her mind...and we take care of Gabriele as well."
Hermione smirked slowly, making a conscious effort not to be gloomy. "Gabriele Delacour- she's growing up to be even prettier than her sister, isn't she?"
Harry blushed. "Well...er- it's all in the family, I suppose."
They walked the rest of the way in silence. The Malfoy Tombs were large, tranquil and disgustingly lavish. The Malfoy dead seemed to live in more splendour than even their living relatives. The last tomb was less ornate- simple polished granite inset with silver gleamed in it's newness. The headstone was smooth and rounded, bearing the statuette of a dragonhead and the Malfoy family crest.
Hermione took a white rose from the bunch she had been carrying. They seemed out of place, somehow. The thorns hadn't been removed, and as she bent to place it by the tombstone, her skin was pierced by it's sharpness. Drops of scarlet blood dripped onto the cream-ivory petals like a guilty blush. Hermione smiled gently at the parallels.
Fleur Delacour appeared on the scene, in her arms were Hermione's children- neither of them bawling or making any sort of noise- as if the sanctity of the place had already been stamped upon the nacent minds. Hermione took the children from Fleur, her eyes lingering on Draca's visage. It seemed preternaturally knowing- almost eerily powerful.
"Goodbye, Draco Malfoy." She said, quietly- her whisper pervasive enough for all three adults to hear.
You said you wouldn't leave me. That we'd love each other forever. You left me. You broke your promise. You broke me.
Hermione Granger turned on her heel and strode back towards the Hall- she would not cry at his grave. She would not cry. Harry and Fleur followed, with Harry casting one last glance towards Draco's resting place. He seemed about to say something but stopped. Hermione should have the last word.
Though he wondered deeply why she had chosen those particular words to emblazon on his gravestone.
Draco Argentus Valwracen Malfoy
"The evil that men do live after them,
And the good is oft interred with their bones."
Julius Caesar|Shakespeare
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||Eighty years later
"A toast- to my love, Harry."
The tinkle of two glasses touching pervaded the still room- the woman's lips were twisted into a rueful smile. She stood taller that the boy- youthful as he seemed. His black hair was tousled, his features uncreased- yet his green eyes seemed weary. They held the same tired, beaten light that shone from Azaelyste's.
"And to my love- Elfin High Empress Azaelyste." Harry Potter's tone seemed to gently mock her title, while otherwise sincere.
"One hundred years of your life, Harry." She said, smiling. "And twenty with me. A mere blink of an eyelid." Azaelyste had made a conscious effort to keep track of mortal spans of time.
"Azaelyste- wait..." Harry cleared his throat, his eyes flicking downwards. "I must impart some knowledge to you." In twenty years he had adapted to her and her lavish lifestyle- now the Elfin Court was a second home to him. It's raging beauty awed his ancient eyes no more.
"Do so, my sweet. What knowledge is this that I am unaware of?" She placed a finger to her lips, a slow smile spreading accross them. "But after that- I must impart some knowledge to you."
"Azael...the Trident...I lied. I said that I was not Chosen. Those who fail in the tests are put to death."
The Empress drew away, horror on her delicate features. "That means- you were chosen." She whispered, her voice harsh and pained. "And when you turn one hundred mortal years of age you shall Ascend and be with the others of the Trident- and be mine no more."
Harry tried to take her hand in his, but she drew it away. "Please, Az- I'm sorry...I'm so-"
The specially magicked clock in the room began to chime twelve o'clock.
"One hundred years. Congratulations, my love. History has repeated itself once more." Azael stood stiffly, emotion queerly absent from her face.
"I love you, Azaelyste."
"I know."
A white, ephemeral light invaded the room, seeping over every surface like liquid mercury. It washed over Harry, swirling around him like silken sheets- and when the brightness dimmed, he was gone.
Elfin Empress Azaelyste placed a spindly hand on her stomach, feeling it swell beneath the multitudes of dress layers and sighed. She had at least kept a part of her last Gryffindor lover- a part that nobody- not even Destiny- could take away.
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||The Plane of the Trident
The Ceremony had taken place nearly eighty years ago, but the Trident had not Ascended. They had been placed in a kind of stasis- a point in the infinite universe where space and time no longer existed, not even in the rudimentary forms as on the mortal plane. The two of the Trident awaited the death of the Third and final member.
Since he had been gifted immortality- he had been given one hundred years in which to exist in the form of matter, before he too, became one with the Trident's Plane.
Harry felt the atoms in his body come apart and float away with a sense of complacence. Somehow he knew that this was meant to happen- that it was nothing to be alarmed by. This is my Destiny. Sure enough, soon he was nothing but pure energy. A stream of consciousness, not weak, like Lord Voldemort had been after his defeat, but strong and pulsing.
He- or rather It- felt an enormous sense of power- yet he felt it's limitations as well. He was all-knowing yet ignorant at the same time. His mind felt it would explode with the infinite possibility of the Universe. The stream of consciousness manipulated space briefly and rather crudely- guided towards a place with some kind of primal instinct.
Draco and Hermione were there- if they could be called Draco and Hermione. They too, had been changed into beings devoid of matter. Reality swirled around them, hovering at the boundaries of their minds- too hesitant to enter it's bounds.
With one smooth, flowing motion they came together as one- swirling chaotically before exerting centrifugal forces on themselves and forming into a perfect sphere. They/It/Trident, for they could not be described individually after the Melding, pulsed gently, extending their consciousness with tentative motions.
Soon, their Knowing was spread all throughout the universe. Each photon ray emitted by a star, each atomic reaction within a sun and each particle of dust emitted by an asteroid was felt and noted. Yet this did not take up their primary functions- all this went on only subliminally. Consciously, They/It/Trident could do anything they wished.
Though One- they contained separate thoughts- a certain modicum of individuality was maintained.
"The Mortal Plane is in Stasis."
"A new Reality must be forged."
"A Reality without the Trident three."
"Will the mortals believe?"
"They always belive."
"Let us begin."
There was a pause for a millisecond, when They/It/Trident gathered themselves- assessing the limitless powers they possessed and deciding how best to use them.
For a millisecond, all was quiet in the Universe...
And Reality came apart.
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