By reset
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the rather hopeful thought that this might make some sort of sense.
Summary: [AU][DM/HP] Night had always charmed him, but the moon was what he loved most. If I am going to die, he thought, I should like to die under the moon.
Warnings: Future slash, mentions of death, but nothing squicky. ^^
Author's Notes (long, boring author's notes… the bane of every reader's existence): Both my fics are alternative universe slash (ok, well right now, it's technically future-slash ^^) about knight-like people. I fear that I'm starting some sort of an obsession… Ignore the title. I've never been able to think of decent titles. As far as the piece goes, um… I guess it's really just a teaser right now. A strange, convoluted teaser, but a teaser none the less… A lot of the things from the Harry Potter universe have been warped for my strange little story. And I'm still rather unfortunately beta-less, so please forgive any errors. ^^
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Night had always charmed him. The darkness was like a thick, woolen blanket tucked lovingly around him, protecting him from the harshness of day. At night, everything was still and silent, as relaxing as a tiny pool of water, secretly hidden in the lushness of green. But the moon… the moon was what he loved most about night. It lit up the coldest, most hopeless hours of night, cloaked the land in its rich glow. He had always felt that he could do without the sun-drenched warmth of day, as long as he had the moon's milky caresses. Many of his nights were spent gazing at the moon, pondering its secrets and delighting in its softened, hazy comfort.
But tonight, the moon was not to be his solace.
The forest was dark. Not the velvety soft darkness he was accustomed to, but a piercing, chilled gloom that made his stomach coil tightly. But on this night, he somehow found that fitting.
Sixteen men, he had been out with this night: sixteen men going home to their families; sixteen men he'd trained with for years; sixteen men he'd seen slaughtered at the hands of Lord Voldemort's dark army. Kindness had turned her back on his brother's tonight. Their deaths had been gruesome and cruel: excessively violent, even in this time of war. He had not the time to mourn for the fallen; the crest of his mortality was glaring brightly in his heart, spurring him to save himself. He had barely managed to escape with his life, throwing himself into the depths of the Forbidden Forest.
The forest was an accursed place, welcoming home to all things dark and terrible and exiled - things with no name and no place in a world such as his. The sheer size of the forest was immense: it stretched over halfway across the kingdom, and he had never set foot in it once. Not many did; they had heard of the darkness that lurked within. They could sense the death and fear that clung to the air.
Four had followed him in. A trail of blood was left in their aftermath. But not all of it belonged to them, he thought coldly. Voldemort's soldiers were as fierce as they were brutal, and he had suffered heavy wounds. Movement was a slow agony, but he pressed on, stepping slowly and unsurely in the unfathomable black of the forest.
If I am going to die, he thought sardonically, then I should like to die under the moon.
Eyes, green and changing as the sea, scanned the thick canopy of trees, looking for an opening, from which he could get his last glimpse of the night sky, but to no avail. The leaves were closed tightly over the roof of the forest, as if fearing to let anything in. He felt weaker now, as if he were only half a man, dragging himself to the gates of hell. Death is a woman, he decided with a grim smile, for only she could be as unforgiving as this. Another terrifyingly painful step was taken, before he fell to the ground: a loud clatter of armor and sword in the enveloping silence of the forest.
He could not rise, and he had not the strength to drag himself any further. It was with a sudden clarity that he realized it was over for him. He closed his eyes tightly, wishing to shut out such thoughts. That his life should end, not in the glory and honor of a battlefield, but the quiet gloom of the forest, was a crushing blow. With the conviction that he should not die as a coward, fallen in the bushes and crying like a boy in the shadows, he opened his eyes one final time… and saw the moon.
Strange, that the moon should be so close to the land, he thought, eyes cloudy and unfocused and vision partially blocked by the ample foliage as he gazed at the silvery mass. He strained to try and look more closely at the blissful patch of light, and it slowly became more defined. Legs and arms and an elegant neck formed themselves from the blinding light.
No, 'tis not the moon, but an earthly creature.
Though the longer his tired eyes lingered on the pale, heavenly creature, with silver hair and fine-boned features, the more he felt it to be the moon, indeed.
For it was certainly beautiful, pale and delicate like winter, and glowing in an ethereal light that a mortal creature surely should not possess. And if the moon wanted to walk the earth, looking like heaven itself in a human form, he, dirty and dying in the bushes, was not one to argue.
With the flickering thoughts of a dying man, he wondered if the pale beauty, approaching him now, ever so slowly and gracefully, could be an angel, coming to release him from the mortal realm. Not an angel, he decided as the creature drew close enough for him to make out the silvery sparkle in it's eye, for angels were beings of sun and gold, and the form before him was too delicate and cold, too starkly white and silver in flowing robes, to be swallowed by the sun.
I do not much care what it is, only that it's so lovely to look at, his mind cried as everything but the creature faded from focus.
It was then, caught in the beauty's liquid eyes, that his fevered mind grasped the memory of a legend, perhaps a story he had heard once. It was a story of a creature that lived in the forest and was so beautiful, that none could resist it. And once it had you in it's claws, it ripped out your heart and sacrificed you to its dark sorcery.
Sorcery was very foreign to him - to most, it was taboo to even speak of it, and the act was forbidden and seen as against the gods. But looking upon the creature, he couldn't help but think that he wouldn't mind if a creature so lovely ripped his heart out, just as long as he could gaze at it's beautiful face.
The creature was upon him now, and all thoughts were wiped from his mind as one strange, long-fingered hand came to hold the side of his face.
"Sleep now, Harry Potter," said the creature in a calming voice, "For it is not yet your time to die."
And then Harry's world faded to black.
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Comments would be terribly appreciated, though be wary, because I have plans for fluff, angst, and maybe even some plot and reviews only encourage me. ^^