Chapter 2

ouroboros

Harry

Time moved in circles. An endless stream of patterns, repeating over and over.

In the centuries before his imprisonment, he'd seen it, the repetition, the same people returning again and again, with only hidden strings of connection to their past. But he could see it. He saw it all, the marks on their spirits, the stains left from their previous lives. They were all visible to him. He'd come to recognize the people who would drift in and out of his life. It was a small solace, in the neverending eternity, to see familiar souls again.

Then came his jailor. Death approached him one dark night, as he had many times before…

It was a moonless evening, but Harry laid sprawled in the field, enjoying the stark beauty of the stars spanning above him. He found the joy in small things, such as the Milky Way appearing bright and clear on a cloudless, moonless night. He had to. That was part of this… acceptance. Death was nothing for him to fear—in fact they'd become an old acquaintance, however reluctant—and Harry had to appreciate every moment. Eternity, afterall, was a very, very long time.

He hadn't planned on any of this; this whole "Master of Death" thing.

Death had not been pleased the first time Harry had invoked them. They'd turned up in a foul cloud of black fog, trying to frighten him, he supposed. But Harry had just explained he had no intention of vanquishing Death, in fact he agreed with their entire mission, the world needed Death. He just wanted to inquire about his new position, what it meant, what he could do, what he was supposed to do.

And Death, while unhappy, had explained everything to him.

But now, a little over three hundred years later, the circle started to loop back around, and Harry didn't know how to deal with it. And he realised Death had lied about everything.

He sighed. The stars always made him a bit maudlin, but he continued to stare into the sparkling sky, enjoying the crisp Autumn air.

Then, the sky blackened, and a deep scent of fresh dirt permeated the air. Harry sighed again, sitting up.

"Hello, Death."

"Master, " Death whispered, a bit snarkily. Who knew Death could be so bitter.

Harry rolled his eyes. "No need for the formality, old boy. We're all friends here, surely."

"As you say," Death said, in their death rattle voice. They sounded like dead leaves in the wind. To be honest, Harry was a bit jealous of their whole "spooky" vibes they had going. As Harry's power had grown, his physical form had shifted, he was definitely looking a little beastly these days. But Death's voice was awesome. So Harry was a bit jealous.

"Well, what do I owe your delightful presence to?"

If Death wanted to be snarky, Harry could be as well.

Death sounded smug in their reply. "It's time, Harry."

"For…?"

"Your end. We grow tired of you and your meddlesome nature."

Harry stood up at this, he didn't appreciate Death's tone of voice. "We…?"

"Us."

There was a great clap of thunder, a flash of lightning, a harsh burn of ozone and sulphur. Like the retort of a cracking branch they appeared, rung around Harry in their eldritch glory. He almost laughed. It was too late. They thought they could cow him ? They'd waited too long. He'd had centuries to hone his power, to work his miracles. There was nothing they could do to stop him.

He grinned. "I see. Are you quite sure you all want to do this? There's no going back once we start." He drew his wand, holding it loosely at his side.

"Your time is over, Harry, " Death grated out, "you're done."

Harry smiled then, and pointed the Elder Wand, ready to battle.

"Goodbye, Harry Potter."

And then it was over. They all joined their spectral hands and, in a vicious imitation of ritual, in a single echoing phrase, they chanted, like the crash of waves upon a cliff. He was bowled over, pushed back in a skidding crouch, and their magic sparked and sputtered around him.

He couldn't move. He couldn't touch his magic. He was locked away.

Stone.

He howled within his mind. But he couldn't move. He couldn't use his magic. He couldn't do anything.

And one by one, they all disappeared, until only Death remained.

And Death smiled at him, a horrible grin like the cracking of a tombstone. "Eternity suddenly feels very long, doesn't it Master ?"

And then they were gone as well. Only the stars sparkled above, and Harry was all alone in the field, and it was cold.

Time moved in circles, an endless stream of patterns repeating over and over.

The field slowly became forest, saplings growing into tall spiny pines that blotted out the sky and dropped him into shadow. As the trees rose around him, seasons bled together, and the years drifted on and on. He existed in a hazy form of consciousness; aware of the world around him, he was, however, unable to focus on anything for too long.

The stone slowed his mind down until everything seemed to flash and stutter by all too fast, in little blips of time. As more and more time passed, his mind grew slower and slower, until his thoughts were sluggish and delirious, a mash of colour and sounds.

Then, one day, something shimmered into the hollow, a brilliant glow of magic that yanked him back into reality.

His mind reeled as, all of a sudden, his existence crashed through his mind like a jolt of lightning, shocking him into consciousness. His body ached! Everything hurt, the stone of his flesh pressed against him in a constant crush. He wanted to shout, to yell, to move, but he was still locked away, his magic removed from him, his body unable to follow his mind's commands.

Then he noticed the two little children at his feet, staring up at him in fear and wonder. Their voices were muffled, as if coming from a far way away, and then they were gone, running back out of the hollow, taking the glow of magic with them.

But he didn't have to wait long for the magic to return. Every time the one small girl came to see him, it returned, and with it, came his consciousness. Each of her visits brought him an intense flash of clarity, reality a crash of thunder through his mind.

He came to dread and look forward to her visits all at once.

Her magic was a relief from the eternal mundanity and blur that time had become for him. He even welcomed the pain it brought, it was at least something different from his normal dull prison. But each time she left, he was returned to the bleariness of his stoney reality. And he hated it.

The years now dragged on instead of clipping by at their usual sprint. He watched his little star of magic grow, seeking shelter with him, and filling his hollow with her warm glow. He came to appreciate her magic. The more time went by with her presence, the less pain he was in.

Over the years, she danced around his hollow, hiding from the rain underneath his cloak, reading and drawing whilst laying across the stone pedestal he was stood upon. He enjoyed her slow study of him, the scrutiny at which she drew him.

She was entrancing, a sole reason to be grateful for his prison. Without which, he never would have met her. With his magic blocked away from him, he couldn't touch on her soul to see if he knew her, but he found he didn't even care about that. She made him feel free.

And then the day came when she ran sprinting to him at night. It was dark out. There was an owl in the tree across from him, hooting every now and then, mournful in the twilight. He was only slightly aware of this, in the usual dullness he lived when his star was away. But then she came crashing into the hollow, bringing the familiar rush of reality with her.

He watched as she eventually cried herself to sleep and then awoke shivering in the morning frost.

And then she cast the most wonderful magic.

And everything changed.

Daphne

The shouts had lasted all night, a clamour throughout the woods. She watched witchlights bounce and bobble around in quick flashes between the pines, hissing in the rain. But none of her pursuers ever found their way into the hollow.

She wondered if her parents were out there, searching her out. She wondered if the Dark Lord was. She trembled and hated herself just a bit for it. She wondered what they'd done with Astoria's body. She wondered what the purpose of theRitual had been. She felt too many things, it was as if she felt nothing at all.

She tossed and turned for a long while. Eventually, she succumbed to a fitful slumber, hidden from everyone and everything under Fallen's cloak.

She awoke slowly, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and stretching her sore limbs. She enjoyed waking up underneath Fallen's protective crouch, but stone was not a forgiving mattress.

It was early morning, and for a moment she wished she could go back to sleep, if just to avoid feeling for a small while. The rain had fallen steadily throughout the night and the air was now thick with the scent of juniper and icy fog. Frost limned the delicate white laurel's that rung around Fallen's hollow, their light pink flowers hung heavy. It was still dark among the dense woods, but she could see the slight glimmer of morning light past the gloom of branches that hung above.

She shifted to rise, wincing as her bramble cut arm and legs rasped against the rough stone. Tenderly touching the wounds she left upon herself in anguish last night, she sighed at the blood crusting there. She wished she could soak in a nice hot bath right about now. It'd be just the thing for the dreadful chill… and her dreadful sorrow.

But she couldn't go home again. What was she going to do? Where was she to go? She had no one now… Her parents were now forever forsaken, those monsters. She huffed, her breath puffing white clouds into the air, and pulled on the few clothes she had with her, the small layer of frost that clung to the wool shawl was easily shaken off at least.

Once dressed, she just stood there shivering, at a loss.

There was blood on the pedestal, little specks of red on grey. Tears dotting her eyes, she tried to scrub the stains off, but they had dried on overnight. She was so useless. She couldn't even keep Fallen clean. She hunched over, allowing the knot of pity to overwhelm her for a moment, and stood there bent over the socle, eyes squeezed tight to hold back the tears.

She looked up at Fallen . He had always been so fierce, her refuge from the storm brewing in the manor, scowling out at the world, looking ready to bowl over those that stood in his way. She wished she was that strong.

"I wish you could hear my prayers, my angel," she whispered to him. He was a dark shadow blotting out the sky, a hulking shape in the dim of dawn. It was so cold. She'd left her etching silver in the manor, but she sat up and scratched out a rough rune for warmth and pushed it into the air.

She sighed in relief as warmth curled around her. Magic seemed easier here, in the hollow. Usually, she could barely press a rune without silver. She looked down at the bloodstains on the socle and dotting her arms, and then tried etching a cleansing rune. It shimmered like the morning frost in the air and then took in a quick rush. Fallen's statue wiped clean in a brisk glimmer of magic and she gasped as it swept over her.

Then she jumped as a crack echoed around the hollow.

She barely had to glance at Fallen to know something was amiss. His posture changed. Her heart thudded in her chest. The sudden realisation had her abruptly shoving herself upright, her hand slipping off the socle she pitched backwards, tumbling toward the ground until… he caught her.

His stained hand wrapped around her forearm stopping her from crashing on the forest floor.

"Oh… my…"

AN-

Astoria is an English derived name that means "Like a hawk."

This week is a bit short of a chapter, a bit more of a setup really. I hope you enjoy!

Posting a day early since I'll be traveling tomorrow. But I'll be updating this story every other Wednesday!
And if you live in the US, have a great Thanksgiving!

-upstater-