Candles of Destiny
Disclaimer: None of those wonderful characters are my own, they all belong to J. K. Rowling and I was the thief of them. But I don't want any money of you, I only want to be red! ;)
Summary: If Destiny had Protectors and those needed to protect it from Voldemord, waht would it be like?
Warnings: Ok, I want it to get R or NC17 in the near future, but until now it's not realy R or NC17. I also want it to become HG/SS, but I don't know how to do it until now. Perhaps it will get a little bit Slash between Harry and Draco. ;)
Thanks: Ok, I'm a german writer and wrote a lot of stuff until now, but my english isn't that good. This is my first ff not written in my mother tongue, and my first HP as well. So please be kind wiith my language and thankful for my wonderful beta reader Aemos (*big huggle*) Thank you, it seems to me it was a lot of work and so I hope you will read the next chapters as well. ;)
And now, there are only a few things to say: Read, have fun and REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Prologue
100 years in the past
It was a stormy night. The branches of the big tree before the window threw against the jar like an angry enemy. But destruction was impossible, because the jar itself was a magical one and so nothing could destroy it and threaten the fragile thing inside the room; a sleeping baby. It knew nothing of the stormy night, and it would sleep until its mother would wake it for drinking her milk in the morning. It was a cute baby, lovely and full of knowledge.
No, at this moment the parents of the infant could only hope their child would do good in the future, but the persons who stood in the shadows of the babies room knew better. This fragile thing in its little bed would be worth for their presents.
The four shapes went around the child's bed, everyone stayed at one side. A feminine hand stroked the boy in his sleep.
"Sleep well, little Albus, you will need it." Lovely smiles crossed the faces.
"Are you sure we can do this?" A deep, planning voice spoke.
"We saw it, it showed us the way. Do you want to deny your task?" Asked a cunning voice, but in countenance of the child it could only sound like silk.
"No. But..."
"Let's start." The woman finished the discussion, which never began. She took little Albus in her arm, squeezed him lightly and stroked her fingers over his soft brow. The man, who hadn't participated in their little discussion, began.
"I give you eternal brave for doing the inevitable things and making the right decisions." He had a wand in his hand and pointed the stick onto the little brow.
"I give you everlasting intellect and wisdom." Continued the soft cunning voice, and pointed his wand on the child's forehead.
"I give you immortality for doing good." The one with doubts said and did as his friends had done.
The men looked at the woman holding Albus. What would she give the young one, who was able to do good in the future?
She only smiled and took a candle out of her cloak. The men were shocked. Only one glance and the candle ignited.
Albus opened his eyes.
"If this candle, little Albus, will die forever -" She blew the flame and the room went dark like it had before the white candle inflamed. "- your death will be eternal."
Present
Those words were one of the things the Headmaster of Hogwarts - school of witchcraft and wizardry - Albus Dumbledore, remembered from his early childhood.
She was like the flame of this important candle, everlasting and clear like the lake of Hogwarts. He could still feel the warmth of the woman's hand that had protected him over the years and still he was thankful for the presents the protectors had made.
He still didn't know what they meant, but he knew that the white candle, the simplest one of the whole castle, was what had protected him from the Dark Lord. Because he was immortal (in a way he couldn't understand right now), something that Tom Riddle never would be. There was only one way; he had to find his candle in the Hall of Candles. But this was one of the things that was impossible, like the survival of the curse of death. Like Harry Potter had shown though; it was possible.
So Voldemort had tried the impossible and killed the Protectors of Candles, the one that had made him their presents, but the Hall of Candles was still not under his control. So it would be this time - he hoped.
The old man sat in his chair, looked over his desk at his candle, the most beautiful present he ever got.
Fawkes was after his last day of fire lucky again and filled the headmaster's bureau with his happy song. If only Albus could be that lucky.
It was past midnight.
The Potions Professor Severus Snape sat on the other side of the table. He hadn't woken the Headmaster, but still Albus wished he had slept, because he wouldn't be able to find rest this night with the dangerous news in his mind.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, he gathered all of us…I thought he wanted a dark revel, but he only talked to us." Said Snape. He was as shocked and tired as the old man himself. He still wore the clothes of a Death Eater and the new knowledge made him have a big headache.
"Please..." Dumbledore thought he knew of Voldemort's plans, but he had to be sure.
"He is obsessed with finding the Hall of Candles Albus. He spoke of the happenings of his last encounter with the four protectors - of their death. It was only a week before the Potter boy solved all our problems when he caught them and tortured them to death, but he still hasn't got the knowledge of immortality, which he thinks is in this room. Destiny still has no new protectors, because it didn't need protection, but now that he is back...He thinks, that four new ones are there." Severus silenced himself for a little while, he only spoke again after Albus motioned for him to do so.
"He thinks - because of your encounter with them - he thinks they are students of Hogwarts - one from every house. He wants to find them, interrogate them and search for this immortality. Again."
"Nothing more?"
Severus was confused; never in his life had he heard Albus Dumbledore ask something like 'Nothing more?'
"He thinks it's the only way to become immortal and get more strength, and as you know he is - a megalomaniac, but -"
"- He won't give up until he has what he wants. If he didn't tell the Death Eaters the last time then…and now - now he would do everything for his goal."
+++
A week later Harry Potter sweated badly at the house of the Dursley's. It was a hot summer's eve like the ones before, but this time it was really hot - excruciatingly hot. The street suffered from one of the hottest summers of the last twenty years. Perhaps the government would close the Brighton beach, because it was too dangerous for tourists to be there.
Harry had no problem with the temperature, but Dudley was now suffering from being overweight. The Dursleys were frightened for their son, so badly that they forgot to threaten Harry. But there was nothing different from this fact; they weren't really friendly or anything...
They only forgot. Of course they remembered him when someone had to buy water or ice cream, which Dudley mostly consumed, and so he went every day buying such important items from the supermarket and spoke to several youths. Some of them he still knew from his time at a muggle school, but they only hardly remembered him. Perhaps they were frightened to get squashed by fat Dudley. It wasn't really funny to think of his cousin like that - when he suffered. Harry didn't like him, but it was strange to feel the lament of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon for their son. Harry lay on his bed in silence.
Through his door he could hear voices. Vernon and the doctor, who visited them currently, making sure Dudley's situation didn't get worse, but the sound of the doctors voice told Harry. It was getting worse and so his cousin would lose more weight and…
No.
Harry himself couldn't think of this.
He didn't want to think of their current state of sweat and ice cream. His mind began to wander. It wasn't often that he didn't think about Voldemort and that night, that took place several years ago but now - he simply wished to get rid of this thoughts about Dudley and now - now he thought about Cedric, Bertha Jorkins, Mum and dad. Since the night of the final task he often dreamed of those experiences, thought about them to find a mistake, something that made the things that happened easier to accept even if that meant to be his own scapegoat. But he simply couldn't find any fault, he simply dreamed of that night to wake up screaming the names of his parents, sometimes screaming for Cedric. But every time he wished to dream of the nightmare again; hearing the voices of his parents made those experiences bearable. Voldemort's return was bearable, too, because Harry knew what would happen, what nobody could prevent from happening; a fight between The Boy Who Lived and the Dark Lord.
In the aftermath it would be The Boy Who Lived and Failed, because he would die.
It was something he had accepted years ago.
When he had left Kings Cross after his fourth year, he had simply accepted living at the Dursleys house and now he simply accepted that it would be Voldemort cursing him to death. It was he who would decide if it would be short with Avada Kedavra or a long painful death with Cruciatus.
Harry Potter's death was only a matter of fact like the death of so many in the last years. How many would it be in his last year at Hogwarts? How many would die in the year before his death? The castle protected him like the spells that the Ministry of Magic, Dumbledore and surely Sirius, too, had cast around the house in the quiet drive.
Crazy! This was crazy! He should lie here and think about his future! Think about the letter from the Chudley Cannons, who wanted him as seeker, or how he wanted to become an auror.
But he lay at his bed and thought about his death, how it would happen and how many would die.
A mournful laughter escaped his throat when he thought about his longing for death. He would hopefully meet his parents. Their death was years ago.
Perhaps they could be a family then.
A crazy thought again!
Sometimes he couldn't see Harry in his mirror; there was a boy who became partly Slytherin, who met Draco's comments with Snape-like sarcasm. How often did he avoid direct confrontations and searched for revenge in little intricacies, how often was he the tactical seeker who eliminated the enemy like one and searched after that for the snitch? It was only little changes, only a little group of students noticed, but most of all Ron and Mione noticed those differences in his behaviour.
Harry laughed again; he remembe¤äøÈ ]