Disclaimer: The rights to the Harry Potter series go to J.K. Rowling. All original ideas present in this belong to me.

Chapter Fifty-Three | And Then There Were None

I run one hand over Fleur's back, the other methodically untangling messy hair.

She groans quietly, eyes screwed shut as she fights back against the urges - those low, saccharine voices that whisper in her ear.

We whisper in yours, they say, reminding me of their presence.

It's a constant barrage of broken languages, words lost in time and spilling from the lips of creatures with no mouth to speak of. They bob and weave just out of sight, creeping past the veil in hordes.

They watch. Watch and wait. Watch and sing. Always.

I can feel the burn of their sight across my entire body, a tangible thing that's so cold it stings. Their words are an ice-bath. Frigid and so terribly distant that even the creeping of the void feels like a homely place.

Fleur lets out another pitiful moan, lips trembling.

"Hey, you're okay, it'll pass."

She shakes her head. "Not soon enough," she chokes out, snatching a glass of water from the nightstand and downing it in one gulp, some of it spilling out and dripping down her chin. "It's getting worse."

"I know." I massage her neck, fingers moving in smooth motions. "Yesterday, it was you helping me."

"Really?" My hand moves of its own accord, wiping away a speck of drool that collects at the corner of her mouth. "It feels like weeks ago."

"That's the pain."

Fleur nods, dazed. "Of course."

The only remedy, it seems, is time.

That, or death.

Not hers, not mine - but someone else's.

A life for… peace of mind.

"I'll be right back, okay?"

She groans.

I blink over to an alley in London, slipping into the shadows.

Diagon is too empty, what with the known resurgence of Voldemort. Amelia made it quite clear after the attack at Hogwarts that the threat he posed to Britain was insurmountable.

People complained, of course.

'What about Potter and Delacour?' they asked, the Ministry having spun around on their position so quickly that the population got whiplash.

'A future problem,' Amelia replied.

Maybe we will be.

I can't see this ending well for anyone, let alone the two of us, driven to madness as we are.

In fact, what I'm doing right this second would leave me dead to rights in my own book but a year ago.

Standing outside the door to a patisserie - currently under renovation, by the look of things - I watch and wait, leaning up against the wall.

People pass by off the main road and I fiddle with my jacket, staring at the brick walls until a woman turns the corner.

She doesn't so much as glance at me as she walks by, letting out a quiet squeak as I snatch her by the arm, the red flash of a stunner striking true as she's pulled into the shadows.

My eyes flicker shut for a moment before I find myself back in Salazar's quarters, the woman slumped in my arms.

"Fleur."

She slowly turns to me, spying the woman in my arms. "No," she gasps, pulling away. "No, no no no. Please don't."

"I don't..." I look down. "I just don't want to see you like this."

"I can't- " Fleur cries out in pain, hands slamming against the sides of her head.

I drop the woman, rushing towards Fleur and taking her shaking hands into my own. "Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm right here."

Her face is contorted into an awful grimace, lip bleeding from where she's bitten through it, sliced right through the flesh revealing a small, jagged hole - her bottom teeth visible through the wound.

My wand is in my hand, tracing over her lip and knitting it shut. "I'm here, okay? Everything is fine."

We sit there for a while, her hands in mine and the low drone of the wireless hanging in the background.

"Do you want me to take her back?"

Fleur swallows heavily, her breathing laboured. "I don't… I can't- I don't know." Her head shakes back and forth, hair swaying. "I think- I think I do."

"Yeah?"

"No- not like-" she grips my hands tight. "I'll take her into the Chamber."

"Okay."

She stands up on shaking legs, flickering with annoyance when I move to help her. "I'm fine."

I watch as she drags the woman by the arms, out towards the chamber.

The wireless continues, a news broadcast - the usual tripe.

'My nan saw Voldemort in Aberdeen mugging some poor man,' and 'Bones has no idea what the hell she's doing, letting those two run wild.'

Same old same old.

There's a muted explosion in the distance, echoing off the walls, and I know Fleur will be right as rain.

Her footsteps are quiet, but steady - that bang, bang, bang no longer crashing against her mind. She sits next to me, feet splattered in blood and relief upon her face.

"Thank you."

I lay my hand on hers, squeezing it once. "It was nothing."

She sighs, laying her head against my shoulder. "Is this really what we've become?"

"I think so."

"We just… we destroy everything we touch." Fleur reaches her hand out, seemingly grasping at nothing. "My family, friends. They're all gone. They don't- I don't… I'm not me anymore. Not to them. We're not… I don't really know how to put it."

"Different?"

Fleur laughs, the sound humming through my bones. "We're just creatures to them now. Caricatures."

"We… we are what we hate." I worry at her hand, thumb rubbing small circles over knuckles and pale skin. "Some sort of cosmic joke that we happily walked into and never thought once to question if it was a good idea."

I look up as the radio hisses, the broadcast suddenly halted. A single crackle and a voice cuts in.

"We come to you with an urgent announcement," it begins, and I can't for the life of me remember the presenter's name. His voice is surprisingly high, yet full of gravel. "There have been reports across Britain of large magical events. Explosions, lightning, and forest fires are some of the phenomena being- "

There's another hiss, and the sound of hurried whispers carrying through the radio. "I've- I've just been notified that a portion of the western cliff face along the Isle of Wight has been… you can't be serious," he mutters, aghast. "Destroyed entirely - and, a forest near Little Hangleton - the location of the recent fight between Helene Potter and You-Know-Who, has just- er, disappeared."

"What the fuck." I let go of Fleur's hand, the two of us locked onto the radio. "Is he- "

"We… it has been confirmed that it is You-Know-Who himself is the one responsible. I- "

There's an explosion in the background of the newscast, the tinny radio barely able to translate the sound into anything reasonable - instead coming out as a garbled mess of harsh static.

"Oh, merlin," the presenter curses, worry tinging his voice. "He's- he's in Diagon Alley. I- I can see from the window. He's walking- it seems he's walking towards Gringotts."

"Horcrux," Fleur growls, leaping to her feet. She snatches a pair of shoes off the ground, putting them on as quickly as she possibly can. "We have to go. Fast."

"Shit, shit, shit." I grab my jacket, throwing it over my shoulders just as Fleur snatches my arm, the two of us appearing in front of the Leaky Cauldron in a blinding flash of light.

Muggles shout in fright, falling over themselves as I kick the door down. We ignore Tom, the barkeep standing stock still and quivering as we push our way through the tavern and out the back, destroying the enchanted brick wall with an explosive hex.

"Good lord," a man shouts from ahead of us, frozen.

Fleur banishes him out of the way, the two of us sprinting headlong down the winding Alley, growing closer and closer to the sound of muted shrieks and the warbling battle cry of the banks guards.

The front door of Gringotts has been thrown off its hinges and spells can be seen within, the tell-tale bright green of the killing curse lighting up the dim halls. Voldemort is within the foyer, mowing down Goblin and Auror alike, the fighters being scattered across the bank in pieces.

His hand is still missing, nothing but a knotted stump just below the elbow.

We really do match.

What catches my attention is the black robed men that accompany the aurors, their faces hidden by some impassable darkness - their hoods enchanted.

"What the fuck are the Unspeakables doing here?"

"Don't know, don't care," Fleur stated. "Kill them if they get in the way."

The Unspeakables seem to be holding their own against Voldemort, at least, in such a large group as they are.

They're baiting him, playing off his anger and instability as they peck at him with errant spells, distractions.

We don't have time for them.

Fleur kills one of the Unspeakables before they can so much as squeak, vines wrapping around his chest and pulling snug, his head popping like an overripe fruit.

Voldemort cries out in anger at our appearance, handily killing the other two before blasting a hole in the wall.

I throw up walls of stone in front of him, barring his path just as he attempts to rush into the depths of Gringotts.

He snarls, turning about and sending a string of hissing, crackling spells our way.

Fleur and I dodge, leaping out of the way as the spells destroy the shopfronts behind us, splinters and rubble flying across the Alley, showering it in destruction.

Golden light spouts from Fleur's wand, carving through stone in its path towards Voldemort.

He jumps and twists, eyes widening in anger as more Goblins pour from the back door, halberds and bardiches held in gnarled fists.

One spears him through the thigh, and he obliterates the offending Goblin - covering his brethren in gore and dripping blood.

They try to surround him, but to no avail, Voldemort handily mopping them up with a slew of curses all more dangerous than the last. One is torn inside out, his skin pulled off the top of his head like a cheap suit. Another squeals as his hands are drawn up of their own accord, wrapping around his own neck and tightening.

I attempt to slice Voldemort in half, a ribbon of thin, furious air splashing harmlessly against the shield that appears beside him with but a flick of his wand.

Fleur sprints headlong towards him, grabbing Voldemort by the shoulders as he obliterates the stone wall I had put up but a minute before, the two of them tumbling into the darkness.

I have no choice as my feet slam heavily against marble, leaping headfirst into the depths of Gringotts and down past the vaults - wind tearing at my face.

Faster.

A press of magic at my back and I'm screaming forward, quickly catching up to a grappling Fleur and Voldemort, the two of them clawing at each other as they descend.

Hand outstretched, I slow our fall, the bright orange of an exploding hex knocking against Voldemort's flank and sending him rocketing against the wall. Down and down and down we go, narrowly avoiding the thin steel tracks as we descend into the earth, the air growing colder around us as we sink to depths almost unimaginable.

It feels like minutes before the ground comes screaming towards us, the impact severely lessened by the blanket of wind that surrounds Fleur and I.

Voldemort, turned to mist, is unaffected, already marching towards us with a spell shining upon the tip of his wand.

"Oh good god," I murmur, watching as a Dragon slinks out of the darkness, swiping its massive paw across the expanse of the dungeon and smashing Voldemort against the wall, blood spurting out in a thick wave.

Its paw explodes, showering Fleur and I with chunks of pulped flesh and bone, Voldemort's body snapping back into place as he walks out of the hole in the wall, robes soaked in blood.

The dragon howls - fire spurting from its nose and lighting up row after row of ancient vault doors, the stone weathered with age and looking almost prehistoric compared to that of the vaults above.

Voldemort ignores us as he faces down the dragon, its eyes milky white and scarred with cuts, body emaciated and an unearthly pale white. He shoots a singular jet of blackened light through the roof of its mouth and out the back of its skull, brainmatter flying from between its eyes in an almost comical spray.

It slumps to the ground, lifeless.

"You know," Voldemort hisses, back hunched. "You know."

"We do."

His face is contorted into a hideous scowl, skin sagging and blackened with gangrene. "You did this to me." He snatches at his cheeks, pulling the skin off as if paper mache, the slab of flesh thick with pus. "You cursed me."

"Blood forcibly taken." I smile. "I came that night knowing full well what you would take from me. I gave it to you, a gift. But the rot… no, that's just a part of who I am - not entirely dead, but not quite alive either."

He hisses, the sound not human but animalistic, beastial, laced with fury and sickening rot. A flurry of spells fly from his wand, scattering across the entire basement. They smash holes in enchanted stone, form craters in earth, scatter lightning across the sky.

His rage is a palpable, living thing. It breathes and shouts and screams against the world - no longer the voice of a man than that of a creature trapped and wounded.

A fervor is about him as he leaps toward us, smashing the earth and sending us flying.

He screeches, movements erratic - stuttered - as he lumbers forward, spell after spell searing through the air and laying trails of burning light as they thump like mortars against stone.

Ducking and weaving, I move backwards, batting away his spells and showering him in a cornucopia of rotting curses, each one a unique, sickly yellow, shining brightly in the cavern.

Voldemort shields himself against them, a transfigured spike of iron erupting from his wand and impaling my thigh.

I reach down and smash my fist against the end of it, sending it out the back of my leg and clattering against the floor.

Fleur jumps in front of me as another spike heads my way, melting it down before it can even come close. She lets out a flurry of golden lights, scattering across the dungeon and spearing holes through Voldemort's torso.

He shrugs them off, wand pressed to his chest and pulling soupy flesh back together.

Suddenly, I hear movement above us, carts whistling on tracks as they grow closer and closer.

"Unspeakables coming," I manage, dodging another hurried spell that threatens to take my head off at the chin. "Carts."

Fleur shouts, fist pushing forward and forcing water to rush high above, crashing down on Voldemort, mixing with the sludge and dragon scat that lines the floor. He rises from the inky mess, skin sloughing off and revealing bone underneath - a yellowed grimace - cracked and bleeding.

Unspeakables jump down from overhead, lights flying as they crash to the ground, attacking all three of us with impunity.

What the fuck do they want?

For a brief few minutes - Fleur, Voldemort, and I are aligned in our goals.

Kill the Unspeakables.

We shred them to pieces, Fleur scattering magical seeds across the room that embed themselves in the black-robed men, flowers sprouting from their chests with bloodied petals, roots fixing them to the ground through their boots - the skin split and bone shattered.

Voldemort tears them apart, taking arms and smashing them into their owners' skulls, leaving their brains mashed and puddling across the floor. He stomps and screams, prying wands from bloodied hands and impaling the Unspeakables upon their own weapons. One man gurgles frightfully, blood pouring from his throat and pooling around the splintered mess of wood that lies half buried in muscle.

I let the shadows pour out, spider-like legs of broken time jutting out of my spine and slashing through the crowd. Felfyre pours from my wand in a blinding haze, reality itself shattering at its touch as it pries the Unspeakables very existence apart - hands pressed between their ribs and pulling until all that they are spills across the floor.

As he flies about the room, slicing and tearing - I'm pouring my magic into the cooling body of the Dragon, forcing its eyes open and it's mulched brain alight.

It stands up on crooked legs, the bone twisted from years of abuse, and lunges towards Voldemort, snarling.

He grabs onto its snout, hoisting himself atop its head as its jaw scrapes against the ground, tearing up stone. Voldemort cackles, plunging his arm into the Dragon's eye, buried up to his elbow.

I can see his hand poking out of the top of its head as he latches on, Fleur covering the man in flames.

His laugh cuts through the roaring fire, a sickening crack echoing off the walls as the Dragons head detaches from its body, blood pouring from the ragged stump of its neck in ribbon-like waves. It covers me from head to toe as I jump at Voldemort, hair matted against my face and the blood dripping from my chin in a thick, stinking stream. I knock into him, the two of us falling to the ground and his arm breaking loudly as it's torn from the bloodied skull.

He throws me off with surprising strength, my head smacking painfully against the ground.

Panting, Voldemort throws a burst of fiendfyre in Fleur's direction, forcing her to shield herself.

She hisses, redirecting the flames and sending them roaring down the hall behind her. A snarl on her lips and feathers bristling, she pulls me to my feet.

We bombard him with spells, Voldemort's charred arm moving so quickly as to be a blur as he shields himself, batting the other errant spells aside and slowly treading backwards - heels clicking against stone.

He lets a spell fly low, cutting off Fleur's foot at the ankle and knocking her headfirst into the ground, jaw clicking shut. Her tongue falls across her lips and onto the floor, torn through completely.

"Go!" she shouts, the words hardly discernible as her wand spouts green acid - still fighting even with a lost limb and mouth full of blood.

Voldemort's face is hideous as it contorts into a grin, eyes wet with mucus as he blows a hole in the vault door next to us, such a vast amount of gold hidden inside that the yellowish glow of it spills out into the corridor.

I stumble into the vault, legs burning as they come into contact with the gold within. I ignore it, ignore the way the skin on my calf cracks and smells of seared pork, ignore the way the piles of gold grow higher, clanging and ringing out so terribly loud.

All I can see is Voldemort, a golden cup held in his teeth and wand pointed my way.

His spell strikes me in the gut, tearing a long jagged tunnel from front to back and sending my intestines spraying across the stone. I grit my teeth, forcing muscle and bone to knit, ignoring how my guts seem to rush headlong towards the holes in my body and leap out onto the floor.

I jump forward as Voldemort destroys the wall behind him, dirt pouring through the gap in the stone as he wriggles through it, tunneling up towards the sun as if a worm.

Latching onto his leg, he kicks and howls as the earth opens up above us, his wand spinning and mist clinging to his rotten skin as he flies towards the surface. Soil finds its way into my mouth, my eyes - spitting out the offending substance, grit and pebbles trapped between my teeth.

Fleur's magic is close behind us, rising up on thick roots, and I can hear her cursing loudly at the falling dirt that bars her path.

Thank god she's okay.

The ground above us splits, sun shining down as we breach the surface.

Voldemort screams as I hold to his body, climbing across him as we strike the ground. I pull and scratch and rip my way across his decaying flesh, thick blackened sludge caught beneath my fingernails and clinging to my jacket.

Lunging, I grab onto the cup. A swift yank and his teeth crack, peppering my face with spit-soaked bone as I melt it down between my grasp, gold puddling between my fingertips and spilling onto the cracked cobblestone of the alley.

An ungodly wail slips from his lips, eyes wide and frantic as Voldemort tries to scamper away, to pull himself up and escape my grasp.

"That's it!" I laugh, deranged. I can hear the madness in my voice. "That's all of them Tom!"

His wand lights up, carving my right arm off at the shoulder. I just keep laughing, can't stop laughing, shadow bursting from the bloodless stump and snatching at his robes.

He continues to carve away my flesh, my eye bursting in its socket and dripping down my face.

I can't stop laughing.

Pressing myself against his body, I bite his wrist, teeth sinking deep and mouth filling with the sour, fetid mess that is his flesh.

Voldemort screeches, voice high and warbling as his arm disintegrates under my touch. I snatch and grab at everything I can, his throat and face hissing as the pussing slop of muscle turns to ash.

He scrabbles uselessly, two stump arms slapping against the ground like angry fish as his body shivers, twisting intimately beneath me.

Blood stains my teeth, his blood, bared in a feral grin as his skull begins to melt, pooling between cracks in the stone.

Another howl, and his motions cease, the top half of his skull missing - nothing to show for the man's previously twisted face but a crooked jaw bone, teeth gnarled and pointed every which way.

I find myself screaming my victory, our victory, the ferocious roar blaring out across the alley as if a lions - mouth bloodied with its catch.

It's over.

Panting, I look to the sky with my one remaining eye, hand dragging across the top of my head and pushing blood-soaked hair back, shivering as it splashes wet against my neck.

I can hear Fleur gasp from behind me, steps quiet as she falls forward, knees striking the ground heavily.

"He's dead?" she breathes, unable to tear her eyes away from Voldemort's mutilated corpse.

"Yeah. Yeah he is."

Oh how it's rapturous to say such a thing. My eyes sting with unshed tears, muscles aching, organs missing, arm gone -

I laugh and laugh and laugh - the sound spilling out of me like the gospel of a church choir, final and absolute.

Fists clenched, I smash them against his torso, burying them in soft flesh and bathing the shadowed limbs in gore.

Another laugh, high and wild and beautiful as Fleur practically sings it across the alley, her voice ringing out as if that of a church bell.

"We did it," she crows, hands raised to the sky. "We did it!"

"We did," I echo, gazing into the dim midday sun - half blanketed behind muddied clouds - the pale blue of the sky peeking out from around it, as if shy.

"Keep your hands up," someone shouts.

Slowly, I turn my head, grinning as the Auror and his companions wince at the sight of me - bloodied from head to toe and covered in the rotten flesh of the madman that lays silent beneath me.

"Or what," I hiss, leering at him. "You're going to kill me? Arrest me?" Legs shaking, I stand up, one of the men retching as he lays eyes on the gaping hole in my belly, the twist of my spine visible against ragged muscle.

An Unspeakable walks out from behind him, laying his hand on the man's shoulder. "The… artifact, Potter," he interrupts, voice cold and silken. "Where is it?"

My jaw cracks as my grin widens, hands raised and empty. "Gone."

The Unspeakable curses, wand raised. "You have no idea the level of knowledge you just cost this country, do you?"

"Oh, I do. Seven of them, right?" I tilt my head, Fleur's hand pressed comfortingly against the small of my back. "I know about it most of all," I say, tapping my forehead. "I was one of them."

I can feel a deep, terrible anger settle in my bones as his shoulders roll. I know Fleur feels the same.

Death is all that awaits us.

There's no world for us anymore. Not after this.

Not with our bodies soaked in blood and a trail of corpses lying on the road behind us.

I remember that woman from this morning.

I wonder what she was off to do, buried in her thoughts as she was. Well-dressed. Prim. Proper. Hair held tightly and makeup immaculately layered upon her face.

Was she off to see her family? To visit a friend? A lover? Maybe she was off work, simply out and enjoying a brisk summer day.

I took her, quite happily, into our lair - for what else could it be called, but a lair? Dark and decrepit, nothing but the memory of a legend long mired in hatred and bigotry.

That anger, deep in my bones, slowly changes.

Calm, true calm, not one I've felt ever before in my life. Not this one nor the last - a blurry haze of death defying adventure and rank stupidity, all building up to this one, beautiful moment.

Too late for second thoughts now.

"Do it."

His wand glimmers for but a moment - bright green - before everything stops.

Not the same as before, not as it's always happened. No, the man, everyone around him freezes, but their eyes - I can see them flicker, swaying back and forth in ill-disguised panic.

They're aware.

"What?" I shout, wide eyed. Furious.

Death stands before me, Life at his side - their faces impassive. "Very anticlimactic, Helene. I'm disappointed."

I choke on my anger, teeth still packed with stone and mouth full of dragon's blood. "Just do it."

Fleur snarls beside me, wand pointed at the two Gods that stand calmly within the square, Life's hand resting on his shoulder. "Get away from her."

He smiles, a low chuckle escaping him. "Oh, my dear, I've not come to do much of anything. See, you've already given me all I ever wanted and more."

"What then. What's this?" I bark, manic, gesturing at the frozen Aurors, that same camera man from Fudge's execution standing atop that same roof, camera raised and flashing. Unaffected by whatever fel, unimaginable power that the two beings use as easily as one would breathe.

"Why? Why the showmanship? Why him?" I point at the camera man, fury in my voice. "A show? A final hurrah, before we're placed into the history books as some of the most terrible women to have ever lived?"

"Oh, that. Well…" he rolls his eyes, head wobbling playfully. "The world must know."

"Know what!"

He kneels before me, reaching forward. "Take my hand."

"No."

"Take. My. Hand," he enunciates, calm and steady.

"Why."

"Because you must."

Trembling, I raise my hand. "Are you going to kill me?" My voice cracks. "Because if you are.. just get it over with."

"Helene," Fleur whispers, horrified.

"No." His face is kind, kinder than I've ever seen it. "I've come to tell you a story. To tell your world a story." He turns. "Dear, you as well, remember?"

Life tuts, slinking next to him and pulling Fleur to her feet. "Calm, child. Calm," she mutters, Fleur wrestling uselessly against her grasp.

"What's happening?"

My mind is spinning, the slow, steady drums of the warmarch picking up pace once more - thundering quietly against my mind.

"What are you doing to me?"

Death flexes his fingers, reaching forward and snatching the gnarled shadow that I call my hand.

I can feel it, so unearthly cold that I fear the darkness itself may frost over and shatter, crumble out across the ground as if nothing but a bad dream.

But it's real, so terribly real as he helps me to my feet, cradling my hand in his own so gently that I can feel fear bubbling up in my gut.

It's wrong, wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong-

It's not real, a hallucination of a dying mind.

Voldemort killed me, I'm sure of it. So terribly convinced that I lie dazed at the bottom of Gringotts, a gray ichor pooling around my already frozen corpse.

"This is real."

"What is?"

I can feel cables within my mind snap, flinging sharply against their confines and flaying my very soul to pieces. I scream out in pain, voice raw and hoarse as my whole body shakes, quivering from the inside out.

Fire courses through my veins, muscles quaking as they're set alight - not with fire but with something more, something eldritch, something wrong.

It splits me apart, vision running black, running white, a kaleidoscope of colours I can scarcely imagine, ones not ever seen by the human eye.

The world is so terribly bright, so horribly beautiful as it shines out before me.

A deep flame rests within everything I see, some feeble and wanting, some blinding in their intensity.

Souls, I realize, the very essence of everything around me. The stone itself shimmers and breathes, the life within it steady and indomitable.

The Aurors, the Unspeakable - a Saul Croaker, I realize, not entirely sure as to how. Their souls flicker, fearful. I can taste it, scent it on the air and see it in the way their very being wavers.

One of them is close to dying. His heart is weak, the muscles tired and stiff.

He'll be gone within the month, off in his sleep.

The camera man above is bright and vibrant, a courageous intensity about him that brings a tear to my eye.

He'll live for half a century yet, see a happy family - children and a doting wife. He'll be famous because of this moment, his magnum opus.

"How?" I whisper. "How can I- how can I see this?"

"Your eyes have opened," Death replies softly, fingers gently taking my chin and turning my face towards him. "You now know."

His body seems to shimmer, becoming slighter, smaller - hair lengthening into almost ragged curls.

The face, that face - that face I know, know so well it stings.

I've seen it cry, seen it laugh, seen it wrinkle in disgust. I've seen it in the mirror every day for the last five years.

"Now you know."

"Oh."

"We always did have a way with words," she chuckles wryly. Me. Older, face sharper and somehow more round, not painted with age but with knowledge, a deep knowing that seems to emanate from her.

"I… how- what do you- "

She raises one finger. "Ah, no interruptions." My lips seal shut of their own accord, and she offers me a smug grin, so terribly alien to see it directed towards myself. "The world shall know who its Gods are. The two who are responsible for all that is, and will be."

How?

She smiles, no, I... her-

"The Hallows, my dear, the Diadem. Time is not a line, not a path that follows in but one direction. Our death, our resurrection, our discovery of our very own artifacts - all of it was for this." She grips my chin tight, painfully. "All Gods must be born, Helene. Even us. Even you."

My lips detach, unbidden. "But we're- "

"One and the same."

"Fate?"

She laughs. "Our daughter, one day. One of many children. Many Gods."

I turn to Fleur to see her standing over herself. Tears shine in her eyes, my Fleur's eyes - not the being she will become - is becoming.

Fear? Panic? Relief?

I can't quite tell what I'm feeling.

"Come." Death presses her hand against my face, and in an instant I'm healed.

My hand, both hands, made of flesh and bone and oh so real. My gut, stitched up and with nary a scar nor blemish.

Most of all, my mind. Finally empty of voices, empty of screeches and broken howls in a language yet to be born.

They're there, hiding and quiet, but they're not so loud anymore, not so terrible. They're loving, full of unwavering joy to see me - their mother, born again.

I'm shocked to find myself filled with the same feeling, love so profound I fear my heart may burst.

"Where?" I ask, voice trembling.

"Anywhere and anywhen."

"My family? I- our family? Friends?"

"You will see them in the future, when their days come to an end."

"How do you know?"

"I've lived it."

I blink, eyes settling on a world that sits side by side my own, housing a train of bright red, steam trickling from its whistle and flanked by foggy gray - a table and two chairs resting in the middle of the platform, a heavy book lying atop.

Death steps back as Fleur races towards me, wrapping her arms around my body and holding tight.

"Let's go," she whispers, ragged and exhausted. "Come on."

I look out at the frozen crowd, camera flashing out of the corner of my eye. Amelia stands off to the side of her men, and I can't quite tell if it's horror or relief that she wears on her face.

I wonder when she got here. Why Death - why I let her come - to see this.

Perhaps I'll know some day.

"Okay," I say, taking Fleur's hand, a tired smile upon my face. "Let's go."

Time resumes, and that beautifully green light - so bright, like spring leaves - sends us into the ether.

Epilogue incoming.

Thank you so much for reading.