Scars of the Future

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, both Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. Theywere created by the amazing minds of J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien.

A/N: This fic was not created by myself alone. It was done inscript format over Instant Messenger by myself and Animagus-Spirit. This fic and most of the events in it are her brilliant ideas, I have just taken the task to write it. Therefore, this fic is dedicated to her. You're the greatest!


Chapter 25: Not Truly Alive

Frodo managed to pull himself from his comatose-like state, and looking around blearily found Sirius sitting in a chair next to the couch.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked tiredly.

"Several hours. It's the middle of the night," Sirius responded with a slight shrug.

Frodo sighed and stared at the ceiling. He shivered, although he was swaddled in more than a few blankets and the fire burned strongly. His eyes stung from his weeping. Neither he nor Sirius said anything for quite some time.

Sirius thought a moment, then said, "I lost my best mate to Voldemort."

Frodo swallowed, apparently fighting back tears. "Who was it?"

"Harry's father…it wasn't long after that when they sent me to Azkaban."

Frodo seized this as an opportunity to change the subject. "Why?"

Sirius sighed. "For going after Pettigrew for turning them over to him. I convinced them to switch to him as their Secret Keeper last minute, and he went straight to Voldemort. I might as well have killed them myself." He frowned.

"Do you blame yourself?" Frodo croaked.

Sirius shook his head. "Not anymore, no. At least, not the way I used to. It's still there, but not as strong. The guilt is the worst part."

"Is it?" Frodo pleaded.

Sirius nodded. "It eats at you like a sickness. I turned it into rage, and it got me landed in Azkaban, where I had twelve years to wallow in that guilt….don't put yourself through that."

"I can't help it. I keep thinking about all the things I could have done. If I hadn't said something, or if I didn't say enough, if I had moved, or reacted more quickly…every time I do something different, and it ends with both of us alive."

"Every day I think that if I hadn't persuaded Lily and James to switch secret keepers everything would be different. But I manage."

"I wonder if it's worth going on."

"I've wondered that too."

Frodo sighed. "Does it ever stop?"

Sirius glanced up from his scrutinizing of the rug. He thought a moment. "It never really does. It fades after awhile, but it's always there…I get by knowing what I have to do and being there."

Frodo shook his head. "But my task is finished. I have nothing left to live for."

"There's an emptiness inside you, Frodo, and the only way for it to leave is to fill it with something else. I let rage consume me and sought only revenge, and now I hate that I was that way, but it kept me alive. When I escaped Azkaban, I had Harry, and by watching out for him I felt that I was doing James good. Sam has a family; maybe if you care for them it'll ease the pain."

"Perhaps," Frodo said tiredly, although he didn't believe it. He turned on his side, eyes dropping closed. "Goodnight, Sirius."

"Night," Sirius said, as Frodo drifted into a place where he felt no weight or pain, where he could cease to think or remember.


Frodo woke up again late the next morning. Merry and Pippin were talking softly near him. He blinked in the sunlight streaming in through the window.

"Morning, Frodo," Pippin said, grinning half-heartedly.

Merry did the same, adding, "Did you sleep well?"

Frodo rubbed his eyes. "Well enough," he said monotonously. He stood and, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, left the sitting room and returned to his own. He dressed and went quietly to the kitchen.

Gandalf and Remus were the only two there, and they stopped talking and looked up when Frodo entered. They watched sadly as he sat in one of the chairs, wrapped in his cloak and nibbled on a corner of bread.

He had diminished greatly in the past two days. Gandalf had witnessed something similar in the Hobbit when he carried the Ring, but it hardly compared to this. The Ring brought a weakness of the mind and a strength to the body—if it so desired. What Frodo was experiencing drained the emotional spirit, the mind, and the body. Frodo's eyes were red and swollen, but beyond their exterior outlook they were dark, lost, and vacant of all expression.

After noting that Frodo wouldn't really eat anything, Gandalf said, "Frodo, if you still wish to speak to Voldemort, we must go now. By tonight, it will be too late."

Frodo sighed and stood up, pulling his cloak more tightly around his frame. Gandalf pulled a small stone from within the folds of his cloak. He and Frodo placed their hands on it, and a few moments later they stood just outside of Azkaban.

Gandalf led Frodo into the prison, and Frodo staggered slightly as a horrid stench overpowered him. As he followed Gandalf down the rows of cells, he sensed terrible fear from within them, and felt ill in the presence of the two dementor guards who served as their guides.

They stopped outside a very secure cell. Half a dozen dementors guarded it, and Frodo felt dizzy under their sightless stares.

"I will step aside. Call me when you have finished," Gandalf said.

Frodo nodded and moved forward. Not only did the cell have bars, but a strong magical barrier shrouded it as well. He looked into it, and Voldemort's red eyes glared up at him.

"Hello, Thomas," Frodo said quietly.

"I felt you would come, Frodo Baggins. No doubt you have come to kill me. I thank you for that. I would rather die than suffer the fate that has been set for me." He grinned wickedly.

"That is not why I have come. I have no desire to kill you," Frodo said, though his voice dripped in anger.

"So…you have not come for vengeance? I should think not, your pathetic servant was a fool!"

Frodo flinched slightly, the words striking an almost physical blow to him. "You are responsible for the death of one I love dearly."

Voldemort chuckled. "Yes…I have caused many deaths, and not one do I regret."

Frodo gazed at the fallen Dark Lord in pity. "I am sorry, Thomas," he said.

Voldemort's eyes widened in surprise and anger. "For what? You abomination!"

"I'm sorry it must come to this. We are not born evil, and we are not born to hate. Fate was cruel to you, and from that cruelty you learned these things. I do not hate you Thomas, despite all you have done. I never hated you, not even when I carried the Ring."

"You speak as one who has known greater evils than I."

Frodo considered his words a moment. "There is no greater evil," he said. "Nor can evil be lesser. It is merely evil—one being which takes on various forms. While evil can be thwarted, it cannot be destroyed. When one state falls, evil rises in another. I have faced you before, Thomas, when you went by another name. Even then you craved power, but I pulled you down, and now I stand before you once more, and you have succeeded in taking more away from me than you previously have. But I have not come for vengeance; I have come to forgive you. You will not hear that from anyone else, and I offer it to you freely. You will be gone soon, far beyond the reach of anyone."

"Gone?" Voldemort cackled. There was an insane desperation in his voice. "I cannot be defeated! Have you not heard how I rose again?"

"Did you really believe it would go on forever, Tom?" Frodo said. "Without your soul, you will be nothing, and no servant of yours can restore it. Namarië,7 Tom, for the second time, and may fate serve you more kindly in another time and place."

Gandalf returned then, and the dementors led them out. As they reached the gate, Gandalf and Frodo heard a short scream that was quickly cut off, and then nothing. Frodo turned a final time, and a tear fell down his cheek.


There was celebrating at Number Twelve that night. Finally, Voldemort had fallen, and the world could relax. That same day, Peter Pettigrew had testified before the Ministry of Magic, therefore clearing Sirius's name. Tonks had returned from St. Mungos, for the hospital staff had no trouble bringing her to health. She still walked on the road to recovery, and it would take time before she could eat normally again, but she was getting her strength back, and all were the better for it.

Fred and George celebrated by setting off several of their own fireworks and dishing out fake wands and other tricks. And instead of the usual reprimanding for it, there was laughter.

But the partying was subdued. The conversations were purposefully kept light, the decorations were black. They stood victorious, but not without a great loss.

Throughout the merriment Frodo sat in a dark corner away from everyone. He watched with longing, wanting to join in but unable to—his pain was too great. He noticed that everyone—particularly those who had known Sam best, didn't have completely genuine smiles. Somehow, this comforted him, but in other ways it made him long even more for the presence, the life of Sam.

Aragorn found him, and he came and sat beside the Hobbit. His company soothed Frodo somewhat.

"I wish I could enjoy this," he said.

Aragorn placed a hand on the Hobbit's shoulder. "You're mourning, Frodo. I won't lie to you, it will take some time before you can truly find happiness again. We're all feeling it, you strongest of all, but I do as well. You know how dear you and Sam are to me. It—it's hardly bearable the pain is so intense."

Frodo nodded. "Sam was born the year my parents died," he said softly. "It's almost as if the Valar sent him to me…he was like my brother, Aragorn, a friend of friends. And now…now he's gone…"

Frodo retired to his room before anyone else left. He didn't expect to sleep, and after a long while of tossing and turning he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the opposite wall. He didn't notice when Merry came in quite some time later.

Merry stood there for awhile, watching his cousin. It pained him to see the once jubilant Hobbit in such a fallen state. Frodo hadn't been jubilant for years, but he'd lived relatively happy for a long while. Now, though, he appeared old and tired, weighted down by grief.

He was hurting, and he probably felt Sam's death more than any of them, but Sam was already sorely missed. Merry and Pippin both hadn't slept well since, and the eyes of each Fellowship member were red-rimmed. Merry mourned for Sam, but he wouldn't let Frodo sink into a depression over it—too many times had Frodo already crossed that threshold.

Merry cleared his throat. "You can't keep going on like this, Frodo."

Frodo looked up, slightly startled. "Like what?"

"In this…state you're in. You walk around like the living dead, as if you see nothing and hear nothing. You can't go on trying not to live."

Frodo turned his back on his cousin and strode to the window. He rested his forehead against the cool glass, gazing out. He felt the tears coming on again, the last thing he wanted. He gripped the window sill as he began to shake with barely contained emotion. He knew what his cousin was trying to do, but he wasn't ready yet—he couldn't face it.

"I can't do this, Merry," he choked.

"You can try," Merry said, his voice also wet with tears, but firm. "You can at least give Sam that much for his death."

"His death was in vain, Merry!" Frodo cried, overcome again by sobs.

"How can you say that?" Merry hissed. "How can you possibly say such a thing? You're here, aren't you? You're alive and…and you're still with us." His voice softened slightly at the last.

Frodo was shaking his head. He turned around. "I was supposed to die, Merry, not Sam! He has a family back home, a wife and thirteen children. Thirteen! What will they say when I return without him? What am I to tell them, that Sam died so that I could live? That he died because of me?" He took a trembling breath. "But he failed…he failed…"

"Frodo?"

Frodo glanced away. "I'm not alive, Merry, not really."

"Frodo, what are you talking about?"

"I draw breath, but I can't breathe. My pulse beats, but my veins carry no blood. I talk, I don't speak. I hear, but I don't listen. Look at me, Merry!" Merry lifted his eyes, meeting Frodo's. "I'm white as death and cold as the grave. Cut me open and I won't bleed, set fire to me and I won't burn."

He placed Merry's hand on his cheek. "What is this? This happened twenty-five years ago when I carried the Ring to Mount Doom! It's been growing steadily worse over the years. I've been fading more each day." He paused. "I should've left. I should have gone with Bilbo…Sam would still be alive, and I wouldn't be feeling as if a sword has been thrust through my heart."

Frodo took a breath. "Do you know what It did to me? I can't eat as I once did, you know that, and sleep rarely comes undisturbed. It's grown better over the years, but, oh Merry, you know how ill I become! Aragorn is the only one who can ease my suffering, and when he couldn't be there Sam took it away just as well. Both of them are like brothers to me, and now it feels as if my soul has been completely ripped away."

Merry's' voiced dripped in sorrow as tears cascaded down his face. "But, Frodo, it's not—"

Frodo's eyes flashed and he raised his voice slightly. Slowly, deliberately, he said, "When the Ring went into the fire, it took a part of my soul with it. It had taken such control over me that its destruction wrenched a part of me away with It! I'd have jumped in after It had it not been for Sam! I wasn't strong enough, Merry, I didn't have the strength."

Merry saw him glance quickly at Sting. "But now…" Frodo said, staring at the blade as if in a trance. "Now I can go…now I can be free…" He walked towards it, and Merry grabbed his arm and shook him.

"Stop this, Frodo! You cannot throw your life away! Sam died for your sake, is this how you would repay him? What purpose would there then be in his death?"

"What purpose is there in my life?" Frodo growled, tearing away from Merry's grasp.

Merry glared at him. "If you take your own life, what will become of Rosie and the children? Sam named you their guardian should anything happen to him. Sam is gone Frodo. You're not the only one suffering, it's tearing at all of our heartstrings, but you can't drown in it. You have to stop this."

Frodo turned away and said nothing. Angrily, Merry stormed from the room.


TBC