Noxius

Disclaimer: All of this is based upon the lovely J.K. Rowling's work

Warnings: Character death and slight language.

Part Five: Revelations

"Prophecy?" I ask blankly, staring at my pseudo-son/brother in complete and total confusion. "I thought that it was destroyed?" I gaze at Harry, whom is still recovering from the Dark Lord's most recent attempt on his life.

"Er… well, it was." For some strange reason Harry looks nervous, not that I can really blame him given the circumstances. "But Dumbledore already knew it. He was the one that originally heard it," he continues, steadfastly avoiding my eye. He scoots himself up more firmly against his headboard.

"Well," I ask cautiously, certain that I will most definitely not like the answer. "What did it say?" Belatedly I realize that I have crossed my fingers in the traditional manner usually associated with situations where you pray that something bad is not about to happen.

Please, Great Maker, I beg you … do not make the prophecy say what I think it is about to say. Please, do not make it have anything to do with the Dark Lord being destined to kill, maim, or in any way shape or form harm Harry.

"Er." That's my Harry, so very articulate – just like Sirius. "Well…"

"Out with it already, Potter!" I put on – what Kingsley has labeled as – my 'stern mum' expression and fold my arms across my chest.

"… It says that I have to face Voldemort. It says that I have to kill him," he says this very fast, as though to not hurt me by saying it this way, and it takes me a few minutes to comprehend what I have just been told.

I hear a faint pop and realize that, in my shock, I have reverted to my natural form.

"Voldemort… and you… what?" I feel a faint flush of pleasure at being able to actually speak the Dark Lord's name without flinching; this has been one of the things that Harry and I have been working on since he finds the whole You-Know-Who business to be annoying – which, come to think of it, I do now as well.

My sapphire blue eyes stare into his bottle-green ones. "What do you mean that you have to kill Voldemort?" I place special emphasizes on the last part of the sentence and lean forward slightly to look at him better.

"The prophecy says that I either have to kill Voldemort or… he will kill me." Again he won't look me in the eye, but this time I know it is because he is fighting back tears.

I look at him dazedly and, without even realizing, leave my chair to sit next to him on his bed. I gently loop an arm around his waist and he first stiffens but soon leans into the embrace.

"It's alright, love," I murmur gently, the fingers of my free hand running through his hair.

"No," he mumbles, his face pressing into the space between my shoulder and neck. "No, it's not… it's not okay." He sniffles and I know that the tears will come soon. "I either have to be murdered… or a murderer," he whispers as he clings to me.

I sigh heavily and have a sick feeling in my stomach. As morbid as his last statement is, if the prophecy is to be trusted, it is nothing but the truth. My heart shudders with the realization that both of our lives have hit an all time low.

I could really use a shot of Firewhiskey right about now. I glance down at Harry, who is still clinging to me like I am his life-line.

Make that … we could use multiple shots of Firewhiskey right now.

This cannot be happening… this cannot possibly be happening. This has to be some sort of sick cosmic-type joke. My son cannot possibly be fated to face Voldemort once again. He can't be destined to either kill the Dark Lord … or be killed. It just can't be.

I shake my head forcefully and squeeze him tighter. This whole past month has just been the worst of my entire life – and Harry's as well. First, Sirius dies. Then, less than three weeks later, Harry's home – though I shudder to call it that – is attacked by Death Eaters and he is badly injured. Next, to make things even worse, Remus completely loses it and actually tries to murder Harry, forcing me to kill him instead. Lastly, as if I need more worries, the Order becomes suspicious of me and is all but initiating an Inquisition to find out what I'm on about.

Please, Great Maker, I beg you… please let us get through this. Please, let things get better.

But even as I whisper my prayers, I have this sinking feeling in my belly that it is all about to get much worse…

Noxius: culpable, guilty, responsible, blameworthy

Ever Hopeful,

Azar