I do not own Harry Potter or Sailormoon. I'm sure that comes as a great surprise to everyone. J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and Naoko Takeuchi owns Sailormoon (as well as many different other companies that I do not know about, I'm sure.)

Note as of 2/11: This is a revised version, but the revisions, for the most part, are very slight. A changed word here, a reworked paragraph there, but not much either added or deleted.

Notes as of 6/11: Major revision this time--almost twice as long with some new scenes added in to the bargain.



1. An End and A Beginning


She and I died that night. But the worst part, in many ways, was not our death. We knew it would happen eventually; it had happened before, and in our line of work, it seemed a certainty that it would happen again. Being one of eleven people standing between our world and domination by ultimate evil does not tend to do good things to your projected lifespan. No, the worst part was not our death, but what had come after. The cold stares, the accusatory looks, the knowledge that we had just betrayed the one we were sworn to protect and she knew it. She knew it, and there was no forgiveness in her for us this time. Not anymore. Hers was not the cold or accusatory stare, because she refused to look at us, refused even to acknowledge our existence.

And then, to discover that we had all somehow reverted to eleven years old again, even Mamoru and Setsuna, who have always been years older than us. Our happy home was gone, the four of us who had been a family, a good, happy family for each other, before we had to go and ruin it. Ruin that love the four of us had shared, with no one else left to give it to but each other.

We can't go home tonight. Michiru, my partner, confidante, best friend, beloved, had again spoken exactly what I was thinking, through that uncanny connection we have. Sometimes, it seems we can almost read the other's thoughts, but she's always been much better in figuring out what's on my mind than I, trying to figure out what's on hers.

Her aqua hair was disarrayed, lying flat and dull against her head, falling into her face. Her beautiful cerulean eyes, too, were dulled by the recent events. She felt the scorn, the abandonment, at least as deeply as I . . . although I had always seen her as the strong one in our relationship, with the strength of character and will to always go on no matter what. To see us both brought so low--Usagi's companionship had never seemed to mean much to us, but now that we had lost it . . . it was a dreadfully lonely feeling. I think the fact that we still had each other was all that kept either of us from completely breaking down.

But at least we had each other. A cold comfort, just now, but . . . perhaps just barely . . . enough. Enough that Michiru would always be by my side to pick me up when I fell, just as I would always stay by her. Of that, at least, in this cold variable lonely world, we had no doubt.

I agreed, as we stood lonely in the shadows, watching the others separate and head to their own homes. They'll hate us forever . . . and I can't really blame them. I would have, in their place, with far less provocation.

Michiru sighed. Somehow, everything always ends up landing on her shoulders. We both knew who she was talking about, the blonde princess we had sworn to serve, who now refused even to acknowledge our existence. It doesn't matter what you or I do, it doesn't matter what any of the senshi do . . . she'll always be the one to take the brunt of it, and she's always the one who ends up saving us.

Michiru's right. Everything we've done . . . it doesn't really matter when all the cards are laid on the table. None of our action have ever made any real difference that I could tell, and I only wish . . . I wish that I knew that what we have done, dirtying our hands continuously, really did matter. That some action of ours, that we knew was the right one--except events always seemed to turn out to show it hadn't been necessary--actually had made a difference.

I know I will never be the one to decisively defeat the enemy, or to banish the evil, but it would help immensely if I just knew . . . that what we have done was not as futile as it seems now, that we knew of at least one time the decision we made that she contested, was the right one. It's hard, realizing that you are useless to the team except as a source of supporting firepower, that the life you've been living has always been a lie. That every time she said Sacrifices do not have to be made! she was right and we were wrong. So wrong.

At some point, we sat down, I think, although I have no memory of the actual act. We knew of no place to go where we would be welcomed--and it was certain that we would not be welcomed at what we had come to see as our home. If it even remained. So we sat there, in the park, waiting for the dawn to come. Knowing it would be a long time before the dawn came in our hearts.

We could try my parents' house. Michiru suggested quietly, as the dark surrounded us. The street lamp had winked out quite a while ago. Perhaps, the change in our ages has also changed their opinion of us. And if they've forgotten everything, since we didn't actually meet until years from now, I could just introduce you as a friend of mine. Unless you'd rather try your house . . .

I answered shortly. If being eleven now was anything like having been eleven then, I did not want to come anywhere near my parents' house. Allow it to suffice to say that my life became a great deal easier when I grew large enough to dodge, and mature enough to begin to understand that perhaps, sometimes, it wasn't always my fault. I stood up, extending a hand to help her regain her feet. It's better than waiting here all night, I suppose.

* * *

Walking, she paused suddenly and turned. There, on the edge of her vision, was the tree near where they had returned to life on this world. She looked at her hands. In the dim lamplight, they seemed even smaller than they were in reality, and infinitely smaller than they had been . . . before. What had happened? She had no real idea, but couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, it was her fault. The way it had been her fault when she wished for a normal life at the end of the battle with Metallia . . . and torn away all their memories of the friendship they had known, the love she had felt so very briefly . . . and left the door open for a new enemy to invade with no one to stop them.

Movement near the tree caught her eye as two figures, so tiny at this distance, stood. She knew who those two figures were, and her mouth tightened with anger; her fists clenched until she knew her knuckles were white, whiter than her skin ordinarily. So slowly, she willed her fists to unclench, pushed deep down inside all the anger she felt, still felt, toward their betrayal. She knew the right thing to do, the queenly thing to do, would be to forgive them once more. Yet . . . she found she no longer cared, and that gave her a feeling of unexpected freedom.

Forgive them? Why? So they might feel sorry for just a little while, but persist in their belief that all they did was right? Forgive them, keep them close, so they could continue to second-guess her every action, deny her every request . . . refuse to trust that she knew what she was doing, when events had always proven her right?

She shook her head firmly. Never again. The promise drifted quietly on the cool night wind, unheard by any but herself, but the spoken words bound her no more tightly than she had already bound herself.

* * *

Well . . . the house is still here. I wonder if that's a good sign. Hotaru commented as she walked toward the door.

How bad could it be? Though she couldn't see it, Hotaru could feel Setsuna's wry smile. I mean, if you reverted back to being possessed by Mistress Nine . . . like you were when you were really eleven . . . even if you didn't notice, I would have.

They reached the doorstep, and Hotaru turned. If you want . . . you could stay the night here. Since you're not old enough anymore to be legitimately on your own . . .

Setsuna considered, then shook her head. I may take you up on that offer later. It would be a good idea to have a base of operations here on Earth, and you're right, I can't exactly do it alone. She got an abstracted look on her face, revealed by the flickering light at the front door--Hotaru made a mental note to get her father to replace the bulb . . . again. This had always happened when she had been younger, his completely forgetting details in his all-consuming focus on his work.

Not tonight, though. Setsuna abruptly continued. I need to check in at the Gates, and . . . oh, a wide variety of things.

Hotaru asked gently. Seeing she had the green-haired senshi's attention, she continued, Please . . . try to get at least some sleep tonight.

Setsuna licked her lips and shook her head silently. Not now. Perhaps . . . later . . . when the memory has faded . . . She shivered. Hotaru wrapped her arms around friend and foster-mother, gently, as she too began to shiver.

Looking up into the starry night sky over Setsuna's shoulder . . . and how strange it was, that now they were nearly the same height . . . she finally let the tears out, let them roll slowly down her face, the way she knew they rolled down Setsuna's.

Why did you do this thing to us? We loved each other, I thought . . . perhaps not as much as you love each other . . . but we were a family. Why did you have to destroy that?

Why . . .?

* * *

He sat in the chair, staring unseeingly out into the night. The light from the street lamp right outside his house and the occasional passing car reflected off lightly colored hair and eyes that, in such poor lighting, could not possibly be seen as anything but dark. Even slouching in the chair as he did, his body conveyed a sort of lanky grace, an indication that, standing upright and tall, he would be taller than the average person if, perhaps, not by much.

He gazed, as if the depths of darkness held the answers he waited for. He waited, patiently. There had been an epic battle tonight. He knew, because those were the only ones predicted in advance. His daughter had warned him she might be coming home late tonight and, as always, even as his heart contracted in fear, he only hugged her and assured her that he loved her and was proud of her.

Unspoken between them, as always, lay the fear that this time would be the time she didn't come back. But he never reproached her or tried to stifle her activities. He knew this was important to her as nothing else had ever been. Worse, he knew what she was doing was important to the survival of the world. What right did he have to try to hold her back?

So, as always, he did the only thing he could do. He made a huge salad--as though her favorite food would lure her back home safely!--turned his chair toward the window and, as daylight faded into twilight and twilight into night, he waited.

What else could he do, but wait?

* * *

We walked. Distances seem a great deal further, when one is only eleven years old, a rather scrawny eleven-year-old at that, and the world in general was a larger, scarier place. Not much farther. Michiru assured me. She was reading my mind again, and I flashed her a quick, small smile. Just enough to let her know that truly, I didn't mind the walk--which I didn't, especially with her company.

I could tell it took her nearly all her courage to go up and ring the doorbell--she was more frightened, I think, by this than she had been by Galaxia. I didn't blame her--after all, I doubt I would have had the courage to step within ten feet of the door, had I been in her place. I squeezed her hand reassuringly, to let her know that I was there and that I would never leave her.

We had been estranged from our families almost since we met (for me, far longer than that . . .) and now we had lost what friends we had come to believe we had, but I refused to believe that anything could ever come between us. Even Death--him we knew and defied at every turn. At least to me, he no longer held any fear. To someone who has died twice in this life alone, although I have no clear memories of either, Death has become almost a known quantity . . . and certainly more peaceful at times than the life we have chosen to live. Besides . . . if we died, we'd die together, and with Michiru by my side, nothing holds any fear for me.

Then the door opened, and a tall (I had never noticed how tall Michiru's mom was--another benefit of being eleven and short again, I guess) woman looked down at us with worry and relief. No contempt, no hatred, not even any dislike, I noticed with relief of my own that brought me closer to tears than anything else had in this ordeal we have been through since our resurrection. Michiru, Haruka, where have you been? You said the battle would be over long before dark, but it's almost dawn now.

I couldn't help it. I knew, even as I said it, that it was not the wisest thing to say, but my mouth ran miles ahead of my brain. You know?! Unfortunately, the art of keeping my mouth shut is not one at which I am terribly adept. Especially when something throws me off-balance, as Michiru's mother's knowledge of our alternate identities certainly had!

Michiru's mother frowned slightly. That the two of you are Sailor Senshi? Of course dear, you told me yourself. Another shock. What else had our counterparts said or done that we had no awareness of? She bent down, to look both of us in the eye. Except . . . there's something different about you now. Your auras are all out of whack, and your eyes . . . I can see it in your eyes, the bitter knowledge that only experience brings. The bond between you has grown immeasurably as well, a strength that I only see between old married couples, usually. Yet you are both still clearly my daughter and her best friend. What happened?

Michiru smiled a bit, painfully. We both killed and were killed today, Mom . . . and neither did any good. In addition, yesterday, we were both seventeen . . . She had seen, as I had, that her mother knew we were not who we seemed to be. Yes, she was Michiru and I was Haruka . . . but not the Michiru, not the Haruka, that before had belonged here. And so, knowing lies would do no good and potentially great harm, she told the truth.

I didn't mind. I was tired of lies, of half-truths and omissions.

. . . Living on our own with the two people we ended up killing, the two people we would have wanted least to ever cause any hurt to at all . . . I added, giving thanks that I could not actually remember committing the act . . . only the knowledge that I had been ordered to do so and had, unable to resist the command for those fatal moments . . . and then, collapsing, dying, reaching out for Michiru as she reached out for me and the comforting warmth of her fingers as everything else spiraled down into the cold black forgetfulness of death.

. . . Still friends, even if the relationship was a bit strained, with the rest of the senshi, instead of outcast . . . And how that still hurt, though it had been hours now since the decision was made . . . though I knew, deep in my heart, that we deserved it . . . and I knew that we would never have been truly part of the team in any case. We were just too different, the other senshi and Michiru and I.

. . . Completely estranged from you and the rest of Michiru's family because you disapproved of Michiru's lifestyle choices . . . I could still remember that night, the most nervous I had ever seen my calm soulmate, as she prepared to introduce me to her parents. She had hoped so desperately for their approval . . . had needed their approval. And at first, it had seemed as if they did approve. Then . . . when I took off my jacket . . . they had seen the curve of my breasts, realized for the first time what I really was.

A female. A female who dared to associate so closely with their beloved daughter and, worse yet, a female who had somehow bewitched' their beloved daughter into wanting that association. The evening had descended into one of the most painful I can remember . . . short, after that, but painful nonetheless. The ultimatum: me, or them. If she chose to continue her association with me, she would be disowned. If she threw me over, they would graciously receive her back into their loving arms.

And . . . perhaps the most unbelievable part of the entire night . . . she chose me. I had disassociated myself from my family long before, so I had no real concept of what having a truly loving, caring family meant. Until I met Setsuna and Hotaru and together we made something beautiful. To throw over even a pale shadow of that joy, that sense of belonging . . . purely for me?

A decision that I've never regretted making. Michiru added softly, turning to me with eyes that had regained a bit of their shine and squeezing my hand. It amazed me that she hadn't regretted it, even once, given the number of times I had wept silently, inwardly, over the pain that decision had caused her. Yet I knew she hadn't, and perhaps that was the most wondrous thing of them all.

I let my small half-smile answer her declaration as I gently squeezed her hand back. Nor have I . . . perhaps any other decision I have made in my life . . . but never, ever that decision. Michiru has always been my light in the darkness, my port in the storm.

Michiru's mother's frown had become the genuine thing, instead of just an expression of thoughtfulness. A decision you should never have had to make in the first place. What in the world was I thinking? She paused. That didn't come out quite the way it should have.

I laughed, for the first time in what seems like forever. I found myself genuinely liking Michiru's mother, something I would never have thought possible before. I don't know . . . remember, we were sixteen at the time . . . and it must have been quite a shock to have your daughter bring home a nice young man . . . only to find out that he was a girl. And by uttering those words to the analogue of the woman who had caused all that pain to Michiru and, through her, to myself, I was finally able to glimpse the humor of the situation. It would have been downright funny if it had happened to someone other than Michiru and myself.

Still, that's no reason to disinherit anyone, much less someone as sensible as Michiru. I trust her to make the right choices. Michiru's mother's voice was firm, and I could see how firmly she believed her words.

Michiru choked up. It was obvious, just looking at her, that she could barely breathe through the lump in her throat, much less talk. Yet somehow, she managed it, throwing her arms around her mother like she would never let her go, like the eleven year old we seemed to be, instead of the aloof, standoffish teenager I had come to know and love. But seeing this side of her did not change my feelings, except to love her even more--if such a thing were possible--and envy the closeness with her mother that Michiru had been lucky enough to discover. I would have no such happy reunion with my parents . . . however much things had changed, there was nothing that could change Ichiro Ten'ou that much. Thank you, Mom. She whispered, a silent tear making its way down her face. You'll never know how much this means to me.

And I just stood there, desperately wishing that it was me, being engulfed by my mother's hug and all the love that hug embodied. But that could never be my mother, for she had always been little more than a pale shadow of my father. Perhaps Michiru's mother realized some part of my yearning, for she looked up from her daughter, her cerulean eyes--so much like Michiru's!--boring into my soul. I don't know what my relationship with the seventeen-year-old you was. She stated softly. I don't particularly want to know, because I'd probably end up liking that myself even less than I already do. But I want you to know this--I have always thought of you as another daughter. She disengaged one arm from hugging Michiru and held it out to me. There's room--if you want to join.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Like Michiru, a lump had formed, completely blocking my throat. Perhaps it was just as well--even if I could have spoken, I doubt anyone would have understood what I said, as it would have been completely unintelligible, not at all like Michiru's eloquence. I just walked over, and soon found myself being hugged by two people and feeling more beloved than I can ever remember having felt.

And that was when I realized that, even if there was a way for us to return to the age we had been only hours before, I no longer wanted to. Nothing would bring back to us the friends we had lost, and at eleven I found something that I had never found at seventeen--someone, besides Michiru, who is and always will be uniquely special, who truly loved me.


7/21/2001
2/11/2002
6/11/2002