§
Goodnight my Sun,
Goodnight my friend
Rest your soul at this
Long Day's End.
The fire inside
Will warm our night
and Daddy's arms will
Hold you tight.
Dream of summer skies
Sunset is bound to each sunrise
Rest if your first right
My friend goodnight
This world spinning
Time always winning
The silver chain keeps thinning and
This is just your beginning
Sleep my friend
At last be free
No we won't forget
Our merriest melody
Go to another place
Of carousel rides 'round an angel's face
I'm sure we'd both laugh at the sight
My friend Goodnight.
-'Goodnight My Friend' performed by Vertical Horizon
§
"Listen to me my Ally. I have loved you, and even when this body decays, I will still love you. But you are great and something above this petty world. If you forget even my name in time, remember this: You are meant for great deeds, my love, for the world has not yet taken you. So do not let this world have your heart—it is the only thing any of us can truly claim..."
A heart, She mentally repeated, staring out at the dawning light. The orange-tinged sky warmed her taut skin, casting its new light over her bent form; crouching on the upper windowsill. It is what all immortals must loose in order to achieve their power—it is what I was to give up to complete my ring of magic. I am a death-dealer, the Aduru Eposis, I have no need for mortality. Yet...
He was a troubled youth, bearing a lightening-shaped scar and a deeper wound over his soul.
He was a phoenix phantom with a love for philosophy.
"I do," She whispered into the light breeze picking at her strange; coiling hair. "I do love. I do have a heart."
The woman felt his presence behind her; faint and airy, and choose not to respond just yet. Golden eyes surveyed the spiraling castle; cast in magnificence for the morning.
I came looking for a past...
A photo album—Lily and James Potter. Their child Ally Anna.
and I found a future.
Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons at the castle, spatting with Severus Snape, listening to Celia and her visions.
But the thick tomb of Salizar Slytherin burned against her breast, and suddenly that door was shutting; last shaft of light mingling with the sun's first rays.
"It's a little bit ironic, isn't it?" Kryeen spoke to her silent companion leaning against the gray stone of Hogwarts School. She didn't look at him as her voice continued. "It is only after I find a life; that I should give it up."
He moved behind her, light and graceful. "Blair," Astor replied with a detached remorse in his fair eyes. "There is still time if you wish to turn back. I am doing this for Larka; for our love which has been manipulated and stretched beyond all reason. I want an end. If you—"
The witch glanced at him, a devil-may-care smile stretched over her alluring visage. "I have a brother, Astor. I have two of them; in fact. And I am not willing to watch either of them die for the sake of heroics... besides," She winked in her troubling way. "I always wanted to screw death over."
The wind immortal gave her a grateful smile. "They are lucky to have someone like you."
With a languid stretch, the queen of fire unfurled the great ivory wings. The tight metal of her wrist guards clanked slightly with the movement. "Nonsense, I am as mischievous and immoral as they come."
Astor picked up the wind, preparing to shift. "Undoubtedly. However, you are also as protective and passionate as any person ever has been, and will ever be; I should think.
"All the way?" Blair glanced toward the large, snowy swan in the man's place.
"It's the only way." Astor's musical voice came strange from the black beak.
She turned back to the sun; its low disk already igniting the horizon in deep reds and flashy yellows. A sunrise.
Blayne, Daemon, Harry; the three men I have loved in such different ways. For each of you, I have been made and molded. For my great deed will be you. So now I leave my second home, to save for the sake of the first...
The human vertebrae snapped and tawny skin stretched and reddened to a brilliant, gossamer cardinal red. Sweeping feathers spread from her nape down; and the wild eyes narrowed while angled features sharpened.
If there was ever fate; it was meeting you... Harry Potter.
A phoenix and swan took wing in the morning of the fourteenth day; companions to hell.
§
The golden trio were gathered in the common room once more. The addition of Ginny was a welcome, easy presence. However, as the first signs of sunlight pierced through the red curtains; a tense energy sat over the long-time friends.
This could very well be their last sunrise together, and the knowledge was suffocating.
"We've been training, taking the DA members and others. They're young, but we could fight." Hermione began, trying to keep her stern voice from shaking.
The memories of the night in the Ministry rushed back, and the boy-who-lived felt a prick from the scar on his arm.
I will protect them. I must protect them.
It wasn't even selfless anymore. If anyone else died... he would die with them. It was frightening; that veil, that void. And he was still a child, crying out for those he loved. No, it wasn't selflessness. It wasn't chivalry; it was need.
"Everyone almost died at the Ministry, Hermione." Harry replied softly, feeling too old and weary for his sixteen years. "You got lucky with a killing spell, Neville broke his nose, Ron went mad; Ginny was lost..."
"It'll be different this time." The said girl perked up, desperate and defiant. "We're older, stronger. Besides, we're on home turf. We could win this time."
Potter felt his heart break somewhat when he looked into her glowering amber eyes and knew she was so ready to die for him. All three were. It made him feel ill.
"There is an army of dark creatures waiting outside that the Order itself couldn't fight. And they're not coming because right now the Ministry of Magic is under assault as well. What do we have? A handful of underage wizards? It wouldn't even be a battle; more like a massacre." The boy's voice sounded hollow to his ears.
Ron clenched his fist, loosing his temper. Not because he was in denial; but because even through his self-imposed void, he still knew his best mate. He knew what was coming even after a year of separation, of detachment. "Well then what do you suppose we do? Sit on our asses and wait for night so they can strike!"
The muggle-born laid a calming hand on his arm on impulse and the red-head turned brusquely away.
The dark-haired boy surveyed them with a tender pain. God, he loved them all.
"No... we strike a bargain with them." Potter replied carefully avoiding the hurt look in the Weasley daughter's irises.
Granger swallowed. "W-What kind of bargain?"
She knew. Already, she knew exactly what path was the easiest solution... but the hardest to walk.
His green eyes looked up, staring simply at her until she started shaking.
"Harry," Hermione pleaded. "Harry, no. There has to be another way."
"We're not letting you do this!" Ron snapped, gripping the armchair until his knuckles whitened. "I don't care if I have to knock you out with one of Snape's bloody potions and tie you to the Whomping Willow; I'm not letting you!"
Ginny was all but silent. "You want to trade yourself—for us."
The emerald-eyed wizard nodded slowly, the numbness swelling through his veins. "It's the only way... no one else will be effected."
"No one else will be—" His best friend sputtered, standing up with a flaming face. "Bloody EFFECTED? Hell, this isn't your BLOODY WAR alone! You need help to fight Voldemort!" He was too angry to even hesitate at the name. "You can't just go on playing some bloody HERO as if we were all too weak to defend ourselves! Well guess what, WE'RE NOT! We're just as damn good as you are and—"
"I heard the prophesy that night... I lied, but I heard it." Harry cut him off swiftly with a penetrating look. "'Neither can live while the other survives'", that is what it said. Either I have to kill Voldemort or he must kill me. That is our fate."
Bleached of color, the elder Weasley crumbled back into his armchair.
"But, fate can be changed." If he had ever loved a girl, it was her. "Can't it? You don't really have to fight him...Harry?" She wasn't begging, but the chaser was hard, hurt.
"Oh, stupid!" Hermione gasped before breaking out into tiny sobs. "It is the only way, isn't it you damn Chosen One?!"
Ron made a move as if to go to her; then reconsidered and settled back down into the cushions. His wide, muddy eyes stared once more at the tragic teen.
"You're going to die, aren't you?"
Emerald eyes shut, black bangs falling over them as the wizard stood. With one last, long look behind him—he walked out of the Common Room.
The images burned themselves as much as the lightening-bolt scar on his forehead did.
A ghostly, still Ron Weasley.
Hermione Granger, huddled in a corner and giving angry little hiccup-sobs.
And that silly, auburn-haired girl with tears streaking quietly down her pale cheek.
I'll save you.
§
The troop of Dark Army beasts were moody and snappish in the light. The invincible euphoria of their night chase had swept away; leaving them disgruntled at their defenselessness during the day. A handful of the platoon—vampires, shifted werewolves, and the like—were forced to resort to sheltering in the Dark Forest on the grounds for fear of the penetrating vibrancy.
All in all, Fenrir was in a very brooding mood. He was able to keep his wolfish form in the light of day, however it took a greater deal of energy than he cared to admit. His weakness combined with the solder's agitation had made the Death Eater captain a foul person to cross. Even the giants in all their stupidity shifted a little from the path of their werewolf captain.
Grayback was forced to stop his snarling stalk through the forces when a small, skiddish harpy hobbled itself toward him. The winged creature bowed its feminine head thrice before talking in its scratchy, high voice.
"My apologies captain, but you sent for a messenger."
The wolf-man gave a predatory grin when he surveyed the messenger. Colorful, scaly, and with a grotesque combination of beauties; the harpy was a perfect species to scare the shit out of that meat-boy.
"Yes, I need you to fly up to the castle and deliver a message to the boy... Potter."
The harpy seemed distressed at this news, squawking and hopping up and down on its talons. "But master, how am I supposed to get close to him?"
In a flash, Fenrir had turned. He tackled the smaller creature down, snarling in its face and threatening with his endowed fangs. Disgust and fury were evident in his wild, yellow eyes. "Don't have such fear for a meat-bag; you piece of filth! The boy will come to you; just wait outside his window near his sleeping chambers. Do you understand?" His front paws pressed painfully into the tough harpy skin.
With a painful screech, the harpy was released. She hobbled a few steps away from the dangerous turncoat, before bowing with indignant eyes. "Yes, master." She stiffly muttered and spread out her sickly green wings; the folded parchment within her large talons. Within two beats, the harpy was airborne.
The captain watched her go with morbid satisfaction, trotting away from the spot to finish his inspection.
Harry Potter... you die tonight.
§
The swan and the phoenix landed, side-by-side, next to the dark sheen of the castle lake. A petite, slender woman with foamy skin and ocean blue hair was sitting on the edge, feet dipped in the water. Her turquoise eyes narrowed as the phoenix lengthened and lost its red color to the tanned skin of a young woman. She stood, gathering the elegant swan up in her arms and glaring openly at her opposite.
"I don't like you; or trust you." Larka spoke with unconcealed fury to the fire immortal. "But for Astor's sake... for our sake... I'll work with you."
Blair shrugged off her hate with surprising disinterest. "I'm only here to defeat Death. I don't really give a damn why you are helping." She hissed in response, but was cut off before she could interrupt. "Now, should we get started?"
Larka sealed her mouth shut, readjusted her grip on Astor's white body, and nodded curtly.
"Well then," The Aduru raised her palm; allowing the white-hot power to focus there. Ancient words, beautiful and ethereal, spilled from her tongue and scorched her throat.
For this breath, I unite the two tortured souls.
The crackling spell wound about the two immortals of water and wind, igniting upon itself in crescendo. It reached a climax of white fury, and then cleared with just as much dramatic suddenness. Astor, in his human form, stood beside his immortal lover.
Impulsively; hungrily, the pair embraced as if to fuse together and never be separate again.
"Astor, my wind... my oxygen, my life." She murmured into his white chest.
"I am here, Larka—my love, my sea." He whispered into the whorl of her ear.
Kryeen waited patiently for a moment, before stepping forward. "The release won't last long. We need to get started now."
The woman tensed, looking as if she might protest for. However, Astor prevented any brawl by removing himself from her arms and nodding. "I am ready." He stuck his limb out, unblemished hand waiting.
Larka was next, placing her own appendage atop of her lovers. To complete the ring, Blair added her far darker palm to the trinity.
The unholy trinity. The three death-dealer looking to end Death.
Old magic stirred at the forces they called. The very entities of life in the souls of the dead. It spurred and the earth groaned as it felt it summoned, straining to pull the life-blood from its core to aid in their effort.
Fire-Water-Wind: The three life-bearers and destroyers. A perfect balance of each other.
The magic spiraled and stung the atmosphere, creating a low hum which added to the gothic music of the dead language spilling off their tongues like poisoned honey. The sun itself pulled back its pursuit of the shadows and turned brilliant rays toward the eye of power. Colors flashed—the crimson-tangerine of flame, mixed topaz of sea, and periwinkle-cream of sky.
The children of the gray sea call to their master beyond the gate.
The warriors of life come back home to the end.
The Death-Dealers return to Death. And all is as it should be.
Life, the very side of this realm, began to rip at the tug from the scythe of ancient forces. It snagged at the focal point, and then began to pull. Finally, the border between the two world tore. Like a seam, it unraveled slowly and unwillingly; protesting to the end. But the power of the last immortals was great, and surely the gap opened wider. It was a colorless river, slate against a backdrop of early morning sky, dewy grass, and cerulean lake. It was as though a patch of a painting had yet to be colored in. Their chanting rose, and soon the portal was large enough for a man to step through easily.
Astor was first to break the trinity, dancing upon the wind and turning into the hole. His glowing form was swallowed up, unseen.
Larka gave Blair a final look, one without malice and instead, gratitude; before stepping out of the circle of magic and into the gap. She vanished behind him.
Aduru Eposis was now left in the tempest of ancient, true-blooded magic. Carefully, she shifted the words bleeding from her lips.
Seal the wound in this land.
Let it be no more than a passing of these memories.
Leave no scar so resembling that of my heart.
With a force of will, Kryeen stepped through the cutting magic—feeling it eat at her flesh and drink of her blood—deft hands pinched the ends of the portal and worked it shut with competing magic. She was like a seamstress, and through her power and blood, the gray sea was once again serrated from life.
The magic died at once, and fire immortal collapsed in blood and sweat upon the grass. Panting, the woman managed to prop herself up on her hands. Red dribbled down her chin from her throat that was burnt from the force of the dead language.
Astor, Larka... you know what to do. Blair breathed in deeply, pulling herself sharply up and stumbling. Determined, honey irises gazed back at Hogwarts. She fell again, squinting in the mud and hulling her exhausted body back up.
I don't have much time... let's end this, Tom.
§
The harpy messenger did not find her quarry in his bedroom, as her captain had suggested. Rather, she cornered him in the Owlery, right after sending off a letter to the last Marauder, who would undoubtedly be worried about him.
With a cackle, the winged fiend dropped the roll of parchment into his stony hands and flew off. The black-haired teen now sat reading it, his free hand stroking the fine feathers of his long time pet and companion. Hedwig seemed to sense something was amiss, as she pecked him affectionately and gave no protest at the lack of attention recently.
His mind, half-thawed, read out the coiling, neat handwriting with a certain amount of loathing.
Harry,
By now you must see that your beloved castle will fall at my command tonight. My troops will penetrate your defenses without resistance. Your adored Tumbledown has left Hogwarts open for the sake of his 'greater good'. Everyone in that school will die tonight. Since I am forgiving, however, I shall allow you a chance to save them. Come to the Quidditch arena at noon today. You and I will duel, and we shall see who lives and who dies. Who does fate favor, the Good or the Powerful?
I'll await your arrival.
-Lord Voldemort
The end address was written especially elegantly and embellished, as if to prove some point. The note crumbled in his fist as the boy-who-lived crushed its delicate surface and looked out the window to the free expanse of sky and land.
Noon... it's just a few hours away.
His other hand was still absently petting the snowy owl, who he now turned to and lent a half-smile to.
"Sorry I haven't been up to visit much, girl." Scar-face murmured, earning an accepting 'hoot' from the beautiful bird. "But I'm afraid this might be goodbye..."
Hedwig clicked her beak in dissatisfaction at these words, brilliant eyes staring at him imperiously.
Her lean master chuckled softly at her antics and pat her large head. "Don't worry. Ron and Hermione won't let you starve. Hermione needs an owl anyways; what with only that damn cat..."
The bird let out another little hoot, a gentler one as if she sensed his sorrow and was offering some form of owl-comfort. With a final pained-grin; Harry stood up and removed his hand from her cage.
"Stay safe, alright?"
The owl simply cooed in reply.
§
Golden eyes slid open. Their viewpoint was skewered, a rectangular slit of side-ways ferns and dirt. They blinked from the pressure settling on their long lashes. The water seeped into her skin like awareness.
Blair shot up. Mud slid from her tight face and ran down slender arms as tangled hair threaded wetly across her face. The morning sun was long gone, obscured by the gray clouds unloading their heavenly burden. She shivered before mentally rekindling her inner flames.
The woman was beside the lake, where she had completed the ritual. She had collapsed shortly afterward, unnoticed in the downpour. Time. Time had passed.
"Fuck!" The witch snapped as she ignore the weather and regained her footing.
How long have I been like that?
The most important fight in her life, and she passed out. Damn, what luck.
Wild-eyed; the professor sprinted back into the looming shadow of the castle. Her feet tore up trek and breath puffed little signatures in the air as Blair scaled the rock walls with deft expertise. Her lean, dripping frame propelled itself through a first story window. The glass shattered, and her booted feet landed on the ornate carpet with a dull thud. Without missing a beat, the immortal kept on moving.
Pushing and bullying her way through throngs of students, Kryeen sped up the stairs and along winding hallways of her strange, unwitting home. The familiar landing stretched before her and without so much as a pause before the indignant Fat Lady; ripped the portal doorway open.
The Gryffindor stragglers, dressed in their school robes and all wearing expressions of bewilderment, all stared at the appearance of their latest Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor.
With a quick sweep of her caramel irises, Blair locked on the pair she had been searching for. "The brat?"
The curly-haired witch suckered in her breath and the freckly boy beside her replied in a hoarse tone. "Harry's gone to face him."
Fuck! Chorused in the Aduru's head. "When?"
"We... We peaked at his note; he left it in the Owelry..." The bookworm brunette found herself rendered able to talk once again. "The Quidditch field, noon."
"Time?"
"Five Till."
"Damn it all!" Kryeen screeched at no one in particular before turning her attention once more to the pair. "And what the hell are you two doing up here? Let's get a move on it!"
Hermione opened her lips to protest, however Ron beat her to it.
"We'll be there in ten."
Surprised, the girl looked back at Weasley; who shrugged. "It's not like we could actually stay here while that bastard was out fighting for us."
Granger smiled slowly. "I'll call all of our troops. Get the gear ready."
As the two parted ways, their strange messenger was already barreling down the opposite way she had come just a moment ago. Ignoring the glares and yells, the last death dealer raced across the landing and down several flights of steps; taking them two at a time and hopping over the inconvenient one that felt the need to change mid-way.
"Stupid kid," Blair hissed between clenched teeth as she made her way to the double doors. Him and his chivalry shit. Dumb fuck; why the hell does he have to go and... he can't win, the little shit has to realize that even though he's strong; he can't win. He cares too damn much; he loves. You can't murder for the sake of saving! It doesn't... FUCK!
The rain pattered off her body, steam rising from the reaction as Blair stepped outside toward the field in the distance.
§
If he closed his eyes; he could almost pretend that it was just another game. One more time to enjoy the rush of the wind past his ears, the high of quick scanning eyes and the rush of blood to his head as he dove to catch the minuscule golden snitch. The crowded stadium would irrupt in a series of cheers and clapping. And in the center of it all, he would land; smiling through the sweat at the euphoria and swell of pride for his team.
Except this wasn't a Quidditch match. As the jade eyes cast open, they saw only the empty grayness of rain. There was a terrible loneliness that filled his chest; aching so bitterly that he almost wished Voldemort were here for his company, as horrible as it might be. This was the true weight of the prophecy, of the famous boy-who-lived.
He was to live alone in friends; and die in solitude.
Harry sensed the approach of his nemesis before his blurry visibility spotted the tall, dark figure. It was like a black stain on dark carpet—made all the infinitely more prominent by the blackness that surrounded it.
The Dark Lord moved without noise across the wet grass, the tailored ends of his robe swiping in its muddy blades. The rain silhouetted a lanky, powerful mass snaking toward him.
The green-eyed youth made no noise as the wizard stopped; one hundred feet parallel to him. Slowly, the spider-like fingers removed the hood which shielded the face of horror itself.
The last Potter was shocked. Not that the white; inhuman visage had changed, or the red eyes had gotten any less malicious. No, what surprised him had very little to do with the appearance of Voldemort, and much more to do with the enigma.
He wasn't afraid.
This was the man who had murdered his parents. Who was the most feared dark wizard to ever roam the earth.
And he wasn't afraid.
Harry searched himself, checking in the dark nooks of his mind for that familiar; stab of fear which he would coil into anger and use to fight. But no where in his soul was there any more hesitation; any more fright. Instead, a rather determined calm had filled its place. For a moment, the black-haired boy wondered at it. But other than the rather splitting headache his scar was causing, he was fine. And then it hit him.
He was willing to do this. Willing to die for them. No, more than willing.
He was ready. He was expecting not to walk away from this duel.
"Harry Potter," The serpentine voice interrupted his thoughts, diverting his attention back to the pale figure which glared at him with open loathing. "It has been too long."
Harry drew his wand; allowing the precision to settle into him. "Let's end this."
No, the boy-who-lived did not anticipate that he would hold that title for much longer.
Voldemort smirked, drawing his own wand. The twin. "Your love for them will be your death."
Potter shrugged. "There are worse reasons to die."
The pair began to circle each other; anti-hero and hero in the deadly ring of challenge and speed. The rain made the only sound; its constant patter around them. It was... mourning, perhaps?
The training with Lupin, his adventures with Blair; the death of Sirius... the Tri-Wizard Tournament, rescuing Ginny from a memory, loving her... meeting Hermione on the train, seeing the Weasley's enter through the magical gateway... Having Hagrid come to his house, his parent's death, his birth—they all had come down to this day. Everything that had happened to him was for this purpose.
Lightening forked forth from the dreariness and thunder crackled not far away from it. It was the signal to begin. Both wizards lifted their wands with tactile speed, moving their lips in familiar rhythm of spells.
Yes, he was born to die here.
But he sure as hell wasn't going down alone.
§
Harry swerved left, barely avoiding the jet of red light which grazed by his ear. In response, he gave a particular flick of his wrist and sent one of the lower bleacher rows flying at Voldemort.
With a swish of his cloak, Voldemort vanished and appeared safely out of the path.
"Diffindo!" Voldemort hissed in response, sending a slicing blade of magic through the air.
"Imperturbable!" Harry responded without flair; creating the clear shield around himself just as the spell hit. The effect rattled him, and he gripped his wand with a tighter hand; but the shield held. "Impedimenta!"
The words made the hex to slow, and Voldemort easily conjured his own shield. The metallic liquid spun from the tip of his wand, solidifying into a hard metal resistance. With an intricate figure-eight; Voldemort cast his next spell.
The ground below Harry exploded, sending rocks flying everywhere. With reflexes honed by Quidditch practice, he managed to leap away from the explosion seconds before it left a fair-sized crater in the soaking field. Harry rolled, feeling his body coat with mud. Blood slid down his cheek from a stray stone, and he was panting in the cool air. Wordlessly, he drew a design with his wand.
Voldemort had no time to react before his magical shield combusted. The fire spread swiftly, racing toward his long-fingered hand. The heat singed it as he released the shield, allowing the spell to dissipate. Red eyes glared back at his opponent, who had regained a stance. "Clever boy. It seems as though you've learned a few new tricks..." As he spoke, his wand moved with a mind of its own. "But don't expect that to help you!"
Harry was half-way through his hex when the spell took effect.
A giant, rusty-scaled snake blossomed from Voldemort's wand; complete with predatory slitted eyes and lengthy fangs.
Harry was only thankful that it wasn't a basilisk. One fight with a mutant rooster-serpent per lifetime was plenty.
The snake coiled its massive tail up, eyes glued on the boy as he moved; waiting for a chance to strike.
It did.
Harry finished his shield in time to deflect the snake; but it shattered into translucent pieces from the assault. The acidic poison from its attempted bite made the grass smoke in the rain. It coiled back up, preparing for another attack.
Harry thought quickly. There was no evading the animal—it was faster than him; and with his shield broken he had nothing to hide behind in this field. His mind whirled for an answer.
It came to him just as the snake struck again.
With a swift rush of his wand, Harry cried out; "Expecto Patronum!"
The silvery summon caught the great reptile half-way; dipping its bright horns into the roof of its mouth. The snake hissed in pain; pulling back again and the stag stood his ground. Wasting no time, Harry moved his wand again.
"Prior Incantato!"
The spell hit Voldemort's wand straight-on and evoked its effect immediately. The glassy liquid pooled out of the wand, coiling into the form of a second large snake; its scales an olive green.
Now all Harry had was his limited knowledge of biology and a hunch.
Please let it...
The second summon did not disappoint. After a slow swaying and hissing between one another, the two serpents clashed. Red and green meshed and twisted together through the rain; ravaging the muddy field. It was impossible to follow; but after a time the battle between the two titans slowed and at last came to a halt.
Both snakes were dead.
"You're next, boy;" Voldemort promised, sending a sickly familiar hex.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Without bothering to counter; Harry skidded out of the way from the emerald light. As it whispered past his cloak; he could almost here voices. In some morbid part of the boy's subconscious, he wondered what it was like to die.
"This is the difference between us, Harry Potter;" Voldemort began, relaxing his poise in the slightest as a smirk wound its way onto his flat face. "the thing that separates master and reflection."
Green eyes stared back at him, masked and cool in the storm.
"I will will you Potter. I have the will to kill; to savor in death," The Dark Lord continued. "but you only want to kill me. You have no real love of death." He tightened the grip on his wand again; preparing for a final assault.
"Av—"
At first, Harry thought it had been a fork of lightening that hit his enemy. However, as the being slowed and the rain fizzled on contact; he recognized the dripping hair of multiple shades.
Blair.
"He will never need the will to take a life," She spoke with a furious sort of calm; turning her burning eyes to the man once named Tom Riddle. "Because I possess it already!" Blair swung at him, missing as he disapparated and apparated a few meters away.
Voldemort was seething. "Leave us, Aduru. This fight is between the boy and I."
The immortal was taking deep breaths in the rain, which continued to roll of like stream from her body. Wild eyes fixed on the leader of the death-eaters; she slowly straightened up and began to take steady steps toward him.
Harry watched, transfixed by it all. Until, he noticed something. The bent grass where his sister had stepped; a dark residue was left. Sticky and sweet and coppery. She was bleeding.
The Chosen One stepped forward in concern; and his professor turned around at the movement. Her look scorched him, and the silky, peppered voice resounded in his skull.
Don't.
The rocking force behind the mental intrusion made him pause and Kryeen turned her attention back to the wizard.
"Tom," Blair spoke, a little softer and a little more forceful. "This has to end."
Voldemort laughed cruelly. "Not even you can defy fate, Aduru. I will kill the boy."
"My name is Blair, Tom;" The witch replied with that quiet force that was so terribly unlike her. "And you're right, I can't bend fate..." The water rolled across her sharp cheek. "..but you can."
Cardinal eyes narrowed. "Why would I want to do that, Blair? Fate is kind to those in power."
"Destiny... Fate... they are chains, Tom. You can have all the power in the world and still be held fast by those chains." Her tone was heavy, she was still approaching him with a steady ease. "And I know you, Tom Riddle. You would come to hate those bindings; even more than you hate this boy."
The pale wizard hissed. "You would claim to know me; you who plays pawn to those fools?"
There was only a few feet separating them now. "You called on Death, and Death is a part of me. I know you Tom; because you have all of my malice, my vengeance, and my cruelty. But those are not traits becoming of either of us. Let it go. Free yourself. Be remembered as the mortal who walked the planes of immortality and defeated destiny itself. That is a victory worthy of greatness, Tom. This," She waved her hand across the field. "is murder. Nothing special. Nothing new. Anyone could kill a child."
Harry felt a jab of anger in his stomach. The way she was talking to Voldemort, to the greatest Dark Wizard to ever live; was almost... intimate.
Voldemort smirked. "If it is so easy; Blair, then why don't you do it. Kill the boy, or kill me. If it is that easy."
The sensual woman shook her head. "Harry... he is family, and I have lost enough of that."
Eyes widened and red irises swiveled to fix Harry with a possibly increased hatred.
"And you," Kryeen drew Voldemort back with a bitter little smirk. "If I kill you, he wins. And I hate him."
The Dark Lord scowled and Potter stared at her in bewilderment.
In response, Blair pulled out the thick black book from the insides of her torn cloak and threw it by their feet. "You're his last living ancestor, though I'm sure you know that." The fire immortal began as the tall man picked up the book and began to finger through it with reverence.
"There is a tree that traces all the way to you—Salizar must have been or had a seer, but it was done with visual connotation as well. I looked through it and recognized the man... your mother married."
Contempt swept across his marble features. "A muggle?"
Blair shook her head. "You tracked him down and attempted to kill your father and his family. However, after your mother had bewitched him, Tom Riddle Sr. had versed himself in all magical lore. He learned of your coming and allowed a distant cousin of his to stay at his house and watch over his family while he ran out on a little 'errand.' You had never seen your father; so you had no idea that the man you killed that night was not him... However, the loss drove him mad and he became a vigilante against all magical kind. He resorted to kidnapping children and mutating them to death until one day... he found a girl who wouldn't break."
It was as if cotton had been draped over the entire scene; the noise simply suffocated.
"I can't kill you, Tom Riddle," she said, "because he wants me to. And I'm selfish and I'm vengeful; so I can't let him win—even as his corpse lies in the ground.
Everything was still as realization set it. It was so twisted, so completely fucked...
That it had to be true.
The rain fell.
She moved again.
"Tom," She was pulling them from a dream-world where Harry was paralyzed and Voldemort was reliving a failed murder.
"I'm tired."
And her brother was afraid.
Harry felt the fear well in him and searched her form over again. The tone, those words... They weren't Blair. He knew Blair. She was an annoying, bitchy, antagonistic...
The blood that was flowing wasn't coming from any specific wound; but rather it seemed to be seeping out of the pores of her skin. Like sweat. Mud streaked her cheek, the fiery locks clung wetly to her face...
Blair Kryeen was hurt. Badly.
Voldemort gave no reply, but apparently the Aduru Eposis had ready something into him for she turned swiftly around and placed a hand on the boy-who-lived's shoulder.
"I broke the shield around the castle," The Professor seemed to say for the man's benefit as she made a quick hand-sign with her finger.
They popped away from the field, following a second later by the swishing of a black cloak.
The rain still fell, torrenting down on the abandoned field. Desecrated and alone.
§
When Harry found himself stumbling on a carpeted hall within the same breath he had been outside; he looked straight up at his... companion. They hadn't traveled through dissaparration; he would recognize the yank around his navel. This had been more direct, and fluid. The instant it happened it was over. However, now that the shock was wearing out, the fury set it.
"What was that?" The green-eyed teen seethed.
Golden eyes gave him a half-hearted look before walking off down a darkened hallway.
Stung by her blow-off; Potter walked to catch up. "It was like you two were old fuddy buddies or something. He is EVIL, Professor. He gets off on torturing little children. He—"
"Harry," The immortal finally cut him off, glancing back as she led the way through the familiar, ancient halls. "I am a death dealer."
She may as well have slapped him in the face.
I did that too.
It's what she had meant. How ironic, a DADA professor who was an incarnate of the Dark Arts herself.
Brooding, the boy stayed silent the rest of the walk. Then they reached a pair of moving gargoyles on the spiral steps and it finally clicked where they were heading...
"Blair," Scar-face unfolded his hands and frowned. "why are we going to Professor Dumbledore?"
The witch took so long to reply that he almost thought she wouldn't.
"Because he has the power to absolve Tom Riddle, and I need him. That peace-loving fool shouldn't be too hard to convince."
Potter was too worked up to bother with defending his Headmaster. "He doesn't deserve it, you know." He settled for instead.
"Voldemort doesn't deserve a second-chance; not that he'll even take it but..."
A tiny smile appeared on her face. "But isn't that what is so great about forgiveness?" A mysterious shadow fell across her eyes. "That we don't deserve it."
The seeker fell silent as they came to the large, circular door. Impulsively, he went to knock on it.
A tan, calloused hand caught his wrist half-way to the wood.
"Blair?" Harry asked with a worried look. "What is it?"
Her lips pursed. "Something 's not right..." Hawk eyes scanned the door frame. "It is as if... but... why would he..."
Between all of his teacher's babble, he heard it. The most heart wrenching sound ever to grace mortal ears. A phoenix dirge.
Faux was mourning.
Dread seized up in him, constricting his throat and churning his empty stomach. Yanking his hand from her grip, the wizard burst the door open.
"Harry don't—"
The black-haired youth raced into the room, and what he was made his heart freeze over, shatter, and try to stick itself together again.
Nothing in the office was out of place. The walls were immaculate; a number of strange instruments buzzed and whirled. The pensive misted silver from its case, and neat stacks of books remained in order.
But every portrait in the room had a mournful, dark countenance and some were openly weeping; if paintings could cry. And everything seemed pinnacled around the slouched over figure on the desk; long silver beard crinkled and blue eyes dulled. If not for that, Harry could almost have believed that Dumbledore was sleeping. But then there was lovely, brilliant Faux; whose slender neck was bent over and bright tears held no healing for his master.
The student opened his mouth to scream—and no sound came out. His lungs had doubled over on themselves, falling apart at the seams. His knees shook and he had a feeling he would have collapsed if not for the burning presence which gripped hard on his shoulder to keep his standing.
"It was Voldemort," Potter wildly scrambled for a reason. "You let him in and he's killed Dumbledore. I'll kill him... I'll KILL HIM!"
SMACK!
The immortal's powerful hand connected with his jaw, making him reel backward as the bone gave a sickening crunch. Blinking in shock and rubbing the angry spot, Harry looked up at the young woman.
"It wasn't Voldemort, Harry." She spoke crisply; and he stood, ready to slap—all of her uncaring, unflinching, and goddamn assurity—until he saw that where her hand had touched him, there was blood; and not all his. Instead, the teen curled his hand and shook with fury at some unknown force. Then she gave it a name.
"It was Death."
Death. The thing that designed the death-dealers, a sacred entity fighting a war with life.
Chartreuse eyes turned for an explanation; but Blair was facing a window, suddenly looking old as she stared out at the storm. It was beginning to thin, slowly but surely. There was some unfathomable emotion residing just below her biting calm.
"Tom," Blair called without turning around; and to Harry's shocking loathe, Voldemort stepped out from the shadows. He had been invisible, following them. And she had known.
"Harry," The said person turned away from his glaring contest to look at the corner of Blair's eyes, searching for some sign of whatever twist she had come up with.
"The war is over... and tomorrow, instead of being sad... go out with that red-head whatshername you love so much... and play some Quidditch, let the wind run through your hair and the heat through your veins... make sure to thank your friends. You have good ones, you know that. Keep them close, and... just live, Harry. Don't survive, live. Not for any prophecy or anyone else. Be selfish. Screw around. Just... Be your own master."
She didn't ask for compliance and gave no time for interruption as the woman once called Ally continued.
"And Tom... In a world without Ally... without Voldemort... there was a chance for us. But in this one, there is still that girl residing within my body just as insanity runs in yours... So when you see me next, I'll be free. Remember that."
Her smile was odd—true and bright and so damn torn at the very same moment. A contradiction, like the rest of her. And that image, her battered, bleeding body form oozing power and allure, burned itself in his memory.
And then she turned, back to the window; and jumped.
Harry was never sure who reached the shattered void first; but he knew that it didn't matter right then that he was in a room with his parent's murderer. All he could do was watch as a bright spit of orange flame ignited as it free-fell alongside the tower.
The lake waters swallowed her up without a ripple.
"BBBLLLLLAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRR!
§
"An immortal cannot die. A death-dealer cannot love." Seraphina admitted
Ally opened her eyes, all the years and the pain stripped away. She was in the forest again; its tall trees a welcome home with the sound of wolf song. She turned her pale head, looking at the person cradling her.
Tan skin, olive eyes, soft hair...
"Blayne," She sat up, her long black hair falling loose around her shoulders.
He smiled affectionately. "You had me worried, love. I thought I might have lost you for good."
"But if you can somehow do both..." The immortal of light paused, smiling faintly. "Death looses."
Ally touched him gently in response, cocking her head. "I never meant to leave you.
He kissed her chastely before standing, pulling the thin figure up with him. "You were only gone for a little bit. It's all forgiven now; because you're here now..." He made a sweeping gesture. "and we're not alone."
As she turned her head, she saw three people. And suddenly she was small again; and all those memories came rushing back at the sight of congenial green eyes, windswept black hair, and a doggish smile.
"Momma! Papa!" Little Ally ran forward, dragging Blayne with her. "Uncle Sirius!"
She was all smiles and innocence.
"I'm home!"
§
A/N: And this is not the ending. There is an epilogue after this to tie everything up and hopefully answer everyone's questions... So, was it predictable? Too over-the-top? It's almost done folks, lets pitch in a few last-ditch REVIEWS shall we?