DISCLAIMER: The following work of Fan Fiction is based upon the Harry Potter Universe which is the work of J.K. Rowling. No infringement of copyright nor financial gain is intended by this work.
The Author owns nothing of the Known or Cannon Characters in this work. Except, perhaps, the idea for this story.
Summary : The Dork Lord, the guy with the long white beard, armies of angels... oh, yes… preparations for battle!
Chapter 8 – Apocalypse… Now.
She slithered sensuously up and down in a frantic yet measured pace. Her moans of pleasure traveling across the darkened room, only to be dampened by the elaborate, thick curtains.
She slid her naked body, sweat glistening like diamonds across her back, as she pushed herself down to fully take in his throbbing shaft.
He thrusted… she squealed in delight.
She tightened herself… he growled and thrusted deeply again.
Her young body suddenly rose up and bent back, pushing herself down… not satisfied yet full…
He eagerly met her with an upward movement of his hips and she shuddered in her release.
He stiffened, and growled again as he too, released.
Her chest was heaving from the excursion… mane of lovely red hair in alluring disarray.
Her once bright, brown eyes now vacant of who she was…
Tom Riddle, aka Voldemort, fixed his gaze at the young girl on top of him. It's been a long time… a long time since he had ever really experienced the pleasures of the flesh…
Flesh… His Master has granted him a reversion to his former self. A mask to hide behind the monster he truly was…
Whoever did say that selling your soul to the devil was a bad idea.
He smirked and turned his attentions to the other young girl…
He needed to catch up on atleast fifty years worth.
Then, he'll have to get back to work… After all, he grinned at his thoughts, 'No rest for the wicked…'
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The Avatar stood alone atop that hill he'd known like the back of his hand. Memories of his former life flashed forth bringing him both joy and pain. But, that's all they were now… memories of his distant life.
Almost all he loves is safe in Valhalla… those that remain in danger from the Enemy and his Lieutenants will need the hope his messenger shall carry.
This is where he'll stand in that final battle… he knew the past as well as he remembered the future… it was promised him.
As long as he has Faith.
His gaze moved upward as the first light of dawn caressed the highest spire. He took in for a moment the castle that was once his home…
"have faith and believe… ' he whispered. His warm breath causing the chilly air to fog with each syllable.
He then nodded at an unseen entity… a trumpet suddenly could be heard calling.
The sounds from the keening notes were unmistakable to those that could hear. It was a call to arms.
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Albus Dumbledore was suddenly awake. He felt as if his body was strengthened… Renewed. He moved quickly to the windows of his tower to survey what was left of once proud wizards. From this, the highest point, he looked on.
The sun was just rising from the east and smoke are just beginning to come out from the bakers huts. Likewise a sweep through the grounds showed him that his games keeper was likewise awake. The smoke from his chimney proving that.
His tired eyes the fixed on Hogsmead, the Last Bastion, as it is now otherwise known. While the Muggle world had its respite from the darkness that was always encroaching. It would seem that the wizarding world was forsaken.
'Ever since Harry disappeared…' the white mage thought sadly. It was boggling to the mind that it was that unassuming boy that carried their torch of hope. Oh, Albus knew ofcourse, that Harry was prophesized to defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort. But, things where not what they seemed…
Harry was their light. That guiding force from which they were measured. The lone candle in a stormy night…
But that had been snuffed out too early. And they, that are left… are left to grope blindly.
'…you shall not want.' A whisper… a thought… filled the air and his mind.
'He shall make us to lie down in green pastures: he shall lead us beside the still waters…' then Albus clearly heard a voice say.
He suddenly whipped his head around once more… tearing his gaze away from waking town.
'He restoreth my soul: he leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.' The voice continued on… eerily familiar…
He then was fixed at a figure he hadn't notice…just beyond the bakers' hut with the sun at its back. But even at this distance, two pinpricks of green he saw. Not unlike the twinkle of a distant star…
'Yea, though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we will fear no evil…' The voice was unmistakable. He has heard it in all its tones… happiness, joy, anger, despair…
And now he heard it with its Authority.
'You had began your prayer Albus, you and others were heard… the children of the Nephillim shall again be under The Shepherd's Staff…So, don now your armor and call upon thy faith, the real war is to be fought and this battle shall be our jury.'
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The days that followed went into frenzy. With a surge of vigor and hope, Albus rallied the remnants of the Order.
Although a lot of them had already passed on, the few that remained where resolute on seeing things through.
The blacksmiths and the tailors worked tirelessly in making new weapons and armor…
Bakers, butchers and farmers pitched into supply food for the small army…
Non-Combatants help in the building and strengthening of the defenses. Even the children who were old enough to carry baskets of food, or jugs of water did their share.
There were no more Brave Griffindors, nor Smart Ravenclaws, nor Loyal Hufflepuffs, nor Cunning Slytherins. They were all these and more…
Together they were more than the sum of each individual.
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Altair stood silently, waiting, with his ranks behind him. Slowly he moved his head to look at Michael, who had just landed infront of his own troops. On the far end of Michaels ranks, he could see Uriel flitting among his own ranks as he inspected them and their weapons. Raphael's and Gabriel's troops were on the process of deploying along the gates of the first and second levels of the way to Heaven.
His task was to attack the left flank of the enemy and purge purgatory, after which to push through the attack and lock the gates of hell once more.
Uriel will support them and Michael's troops, while Michael shall again face the Morning Star.
Altair brought himself back from his quick observation. He knew that though they, as angels, could do such powerful things, they are but servants of the Most High.
Mankind has the true power and authority. They were made in the image of the Most High himself, afterall.
He also knew that the true battle shall be fought not here but by the mortals. The war would continue, yes, but the outcome of that battle will resolve on whether it is time for the Day of Judgement.
… the mortals must not lose, they're not ready yet. But, it has indeed began. The Nephillim are being gathered, the worthy of them shall be granted back their titles and status as protectors.
"Good luck Azeral, Good luck Harry. God speed to you both." He thought and readied himself as the seventh horn sounded.
TBC