The Past Awakens

A/N: Yet another chapter written by our lovely Kageno Tenshi-chan. This is the last full chapter we have written and edited, so it'll be awhile before more chapters come up. Hopefully the wait won't be too long, but sorry if it is. Two of us are in college and one is in the military. One is currently studying in Rome and one of us is planning on studying in China next semester. So we're scattered right now. Sorry, but it does take awhile for us to coordinate our writing times. But I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter. Tenshi are real people, so is Ms. Lange. We're poor people, so don't sue us please. We're just trying to have fun.

"You're not afraid of them." His eyes were narrow, calculating, as if he had never thought of that as a possibility. "You're much smaller than them, much weaker..."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, highness." She bowed, smiling up slyly, a knowing glint sparking in her eyes as the small boy above her narrowed his further in confusion. "You see, it's not about size or brute strength. Not if you're special. Not if, despite appearances, you're actually more powerful than any normal human."

She reached up her hand, so much bigger than his, accentuating the obvious age difference, and she smiled up at him as he stood, perplexed. "You could be their lord," she whispered, sweet lilting temptation floating on the silent, bloodied winds.

The Dragon had feasted, this night.

"I see it." Her voice, melodic, reached out to him, further than her hand. "I see the power and potential in your eyes. You can be their lord. You can be everyone's lord."

His eyes were trapped in hers, but in their depth there was something more. Something deep, and feral.

Hunger.

"Can I be your lord?"

And, the Dragon smiled at the boy who would name her and unleash the dark power the wild magic had leashed to the light so very long ago.

"You wanna learn how?"

His eyes were no longer confused, no longer distrusting, only dark, only hungry. He took her hand and walked off with her into the night.

Robin sat at the edge of the flat tower roof, her back against a rampart, her left leg dangling free in the cold night air. Her eyes were empty, again, as she stared up at the stars seeing only large, dark eyes hungry even in her memory.

He was like that, even so young. Starving for a way not to be afraid, to fight back, to control.

She clutched at her right hand, held tightly in her lap.

She hadn't taught him that, the hunger for control, which guided his every step. She had shown him the possibilities, she knew that, knew that if he hadn't seen her, seen the Dragon that day, he might have withered away in that muggle orphanage before ever reaching puberty without ever knowing there was anything he could do to stop it.

But, the hunger had always been there in his eyes. The hunger to control not just the people around him, but everything, including death.

'He -did- control everything. We thought we were the teacher, but from the moment we offered our hand to him, we were his, and you know it.'

She shivered, drawing her knees up to her chest.

'Not even death could separate us from his power.'

"I guess all dragons are nocturnal."

Robin pulled herself out of her cocoon and stared, surprised, into pale blue eyes. "Malfoy?" Her voice betrayed her confusion. "What are you doing out this early?" The fact that she hadn't sensed the young wizard's approach only did more to unnerve her.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, a smirk smartly curving a corner of his mouth. "Don't sound so shocked, Goodfellow." He leaned on the rampart next to her; her eyes followed him, craning her head upward to watch him. She hadn't even seen him move. What was wrong with her?

His voice lost a bit of its ever-present aristocratic surety as he stared out onto the dark night. "You're not the only one who feels imprisoned in these damned walls."

She stared at him, not sure how to reply. Had he always seemed so tired? Had those dark circles always cast such deep shadows over his eyes?

'Given the boy's familial circumstances, it's a wonder he's not worse off. I just must've not noticed, before.'

She stared at his sunken cheekbones, his sickly yellow skin-tone.

'This is not normal. He's up to something.'

He smiled, slightly, cocking his head to the side and kneeling to her eye-level. "Find anything interesting, Dragon?"

She started at the name, and then glared at him, in defiance of her own confused fear. "What did you say?"

He smirked, again, looking past her into the night.

She continued to glare, feeling anger burning up in her, forcing it to replace the other feelings she refused to face, didn't know if she could.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

The smirk was firm, his eyes remaining focused on the darkness. "You're not conceited enough to think I followed you, are you, Goodfellow?"

He chuckled as she groped for a reply, focusing on her, again. She didn't know how, but he was closer. Why couldn't she follow his movements? 'Why is he making me so nervous? I can't even think clearly...'

She forced herself to loosen up, just a bit. No point in being afraid of Draco Malfoy, was there?

'He knows the Dragon. Tom gave me that name.'

He stared at her, his eyes trapping hers, that damned smirk infuriating her, the mirth he portrayed never really reaching his eyes. "I was curious, Goodfellow." He leaned into her; she shivered at his proximity. " In England, the old names, like Malfoy, for example, or Black, have a special power all their own, a type of magic that binds you to it with blood and duty. I wanted to know, did this power follow magic into the new world?"

She glared, still confused. "You speak as if there was a new world for magic to go to." She felt light-headed, almost, staring into the shallow sky of his eyes. Her words seemed to be coming from some other person, some other voice. It was a giddy, heady feeling, like watching TV. She was slowly detaching herself from the emotions, the responsibilities, everything. "There is no new world and old world in terms of magic, Malfoy. It has been interpreted differently by different faces in different places, but it all comes from the same force which envelopes each of us."

"So," he said, his voice lowering as she watched him move closer. She noted from her detached point of view how incredibly close he really was. Their two shadows merged into one as he closed in, reaching for...

For what?

"So the blood of Goodfellow, the oldest family in the New World, must be screaming for its revenge. Must be screaming for the death of the beast that pulled Robin Goodfellow from this form and replaced her with a soul that should have died decades ago. The dragon who kills indiscriminately to stay alive, only so that it may further serve its master."

He was so close his breath whispered across her cheek, and her detached self watched as his fingers drew goose-bumps along her bared neck, watched as his hand slowly slid down her right arm, slowly grabbed her hand.

"You could have died, if you had wanted to, all those decades ago, at the end of the war." He was holding her right hand in his, now, tracing the signals written across the surface which glowed at his touch. "You could have forced the power which made you to evaporate into the wind of fate, but you couldn't, could you?" A darkness behind her tensed, ready to leap, ready to free itself. "You were afraid to die without seeing your master, again, weren't you?" She couldn't stop it, didn't really know if she wanted to. "Deep down, you know only he can allow you to die," She shivered as the shadow of the boy next to her faded, and the shadow of the man behind his words flooded to the top. "And I won't let you."

The cold eyes, the cold smile, the cold control.

"In the end," the shadow of Tom Riddle whispered through his youngest servant as he brought her hand to his lips and placed a light, oppressive kiss on the main ward, face not even budging as the light on the shielding symbols seemed to lash out in defiance and then flicker and die. "Even the ancient blood magic betrays you, a being which should not be, and screams for your revulsion. In the end, you have no choice but to come back to me."

The boy-puppet smiled and the glove was off.

"I'm waiting, Dragon."

Remus almost panicked as he felt himself be pulled into the empty classroom. He had been in his head, again. Could an enemy have taken advantage of his inattention? Then he remembered where he was and the wolf recognized the smell of his pack-mate and his wand lowered as he sighed exasperatedly in Sirius's general direction.

Sirius was angry, that much was evident. He practically growled as words were forced through his gritted teeth. "What the hell was that, in there, Moony?"

"I'm sorry," he tried, honestly confused and still distracted from the slight tug which had been pulling at his mind since Dumbledore's last words to him, yelling at him not to dally, that he was needed elsewhere. But, first things first: damage control. "I'm not sure I understand what you're talking about, Padfoot."

"You know what the bloody hell I'm talking about!" His pale, sickly face was livid with passion. "You practically gave Dumbledore the go ahead on Robin's execution!"

"Now, Sirius, don't get carried away..."

"I'm not overreacting, and you damn well know it." He was pacing the small classroom, clenched fists flying about wildly as he spoke. "The Order has had her marked from the beginning. They told us when we started this mission to watch her, that she was a liability. They view her as a weakness in those girls' powers, and they are cruel enough to cut her out of the equation if they think it will help to defeat Voldemort."

"What would you have had me say, then?" He looked him in the eyes, genuinely begging an answer. What could he have said? Deep down, even he wasn't sure she -could- be saved, as much as he now alone felt responsible for doing so.

He stalked up to him, eyes ablaze with anger. For a minute, Remus thought he was going to strike out at him, and it was all he could do to keep his arms from flying up in defence. But, he walked past him, pausing momentarily at the door. He didn't bother turning. "You could have told him the truth, Remus. Could have told him that you could help her, that you, at least, haven't given up on her, because if you give up on her, you give up on yourself." His voice cracked, almost unperceivable, but Remus heard it. "You could have told him that there was hope, that that cage was big enough for both a wolf and a dragon. If she dies because you didn't speak those thoughts, old friend..."

And, he left, his words ringing through the empty room and echoing in his ears.

How had he known? How had he seen his heart clearer than he, himself, had been able to?

He smiled weakly, relieved that at least, when this was all over, his best friend would still be there.

And, then the tugging in the back of his mind became a panicked pulling, the screaming feeling his head as he ran out the room and through the dark, empty halls, past confused, sleepy portraits and leaping over the damned confounding stairs. And, in his heart, he listened to his friend's words, listened as they cut him open and exposed him to the cold night air.

If you give up on her, you give up on yourself.

The wolf in him raged as he ran up the tower stairs.

He must save her.

He must save himself.

He must save everyone, must never fail to protect those dearest to him -ever- again.

He hesitated at the door to the tower, shivering in the sudden chill. Was that why he was doing this? Was this some sort of atonement for James and Lily, Sirius and Peter, Harry and all his lost tomorrows?

Then the image of Robin Goodfellow's empty eyes staring into the dark abyss of the night sky as if it were a lost lover flashed in his eyes, and he slowly opened the door.

Everything was silent on the other side. Even the air felt empty as he slowly entered, closing the door behind him out of habit more than anything else. He wondered how late it was, whether this absolute darkness, which seemed to envelope everything wasn't due to that hour which tore cruelly at men's souls in the darkest moments right before dawn.

He felt her presence more than anything else, felt the sudden screaming and pounding in his mind die, leaving a strange emptiness in its place.

She was standing atop the tower turrets, her back silhouetted against the velvety night sky. His first instinct was to yell at her not to jump, his second to wonder if she wouldn't just sprout wings and fly off into that abyss which reflected her eyes.

Could one drown in that darkness? Or, would she welcome it into her lungs and be lost to them, forever?

He walked slowly towards her, not once fooling himself to think she wasn't aware of his presence. He stood behind her and waited. For what, he wasn't sure. He let his instincts take control, not sure he was capable of grasping this situation on a conscious level.

The cold air, the darkness, the silence of everything. Something was definitely wrong.

Out of the silence grew a sudden, thick music, a lilting, heavy chant in a language he couldn't understand in any words but that of color and image and emotion. He felt himself drawing forward, his mind wrapping itself in the thoughts and hopes and past of a dying race.

The music was gone as abruptly as it had begun. His eyes cleared, and when he could finally interpret the vision before him in a way his mind could understand, it was her that he focused on.

She was facing him, now, perched atop the turret like a bird of prey, a dark raven baring its cryptic message. He had moved forward without knowing it and was too shocked to jump back at her proximity. Her dark eyes were level with his, filling the small space between the two of them with a kind of ancient knowledge.

She smiled, a slight tug of her lips that sent shivers up his spine, it was so unexpected.

"He was right, you know." Her right hand was on his cheek, and he shivered again at the chill touch of her skin. "The blood magic is strong, and it screams to purge itself of our taint." Her hand slid down his cheek, her fingers brushing across his neck, his rapidly beating pulse, sending waves of electricity throughout his body with each feathery touch. "But, the call of my master is stronger..." Too late he noticed the gloveless right hand, too late he saw the strange light in her eyes, too late he realized his mistake.

"Robin..." he managed barely through a suddenly dry throat.

She smiled, again, the cruelty in it reaching her eyes and warping her young face into something older, hungry looking. "Not quite."

In a desperate burst of defiance, he tore his eyes from hers, tried to break the contact, but instead saw the empty eyes of Draco Malfoy staring up at him out of the shadows. He faltered in his shock, and her hand was on the back of his neck, immobilizing him, forcing him to stare back into those deep oceans of night, swimming with life where before they were empty voids.

"Poor mortal," she whispered, leaning in and letting her words brush across his skin where her fingers had so recently marked a path of cold fire. "You see, I just woke up, and I'm rather famished." Her lips were by his ear, now, her breath sending hot, shameful waves lancing outward from that point. "Tough luck, mate."

He felt himself suddenly surrounded with cold, raw, hungry power. He was reminded of earlier and a sudden panic rose within him, as if the cold had awakened his consciousness.

"Robin!" he yelled past the restricting cold. She was staring into his eyes, now, hungrily, as if she were somehow drinking his sudden fear like a sweet elixir. He met those eyes, hunted desperately in them for the one he had come to seek, to help, to save.

"Robin," he tried, again, his voice struggling past the barrier of fear mounting within him as the frightening living darkness reached out to devour him from her eyes. "Fight it, Robin... Regain yourself. Take control. Push her aside." He felt a sudden stabbing pain as her hand tightened on his neck. "You know you don't want to do this. Don't do it..."

His vision was fading, tears flowing unbidden from his eyes. On the edge of his blurred sight he thought he saw a shadow beside her of a woman, taller, paler, grey tear-stained eyes begging for his help, for his forgiveness.

He focused on this shadow, somehow using it as an anchor of light in his darkening world. "Do it," he whispered to it, willing it to understand, to latch on to the support he was throwing out to her. "Do it, Robin. Take control."

The shadow shook her head despairingly, speaking words he couldn't hear.

He could feel his eyes closing, but the vision remained, and he grasped at it desperately, ignoring the hungry blackness all around him. 'Please', he thought, no longer strong enough to voice his plea. 'I can't help you until you help yourself. You have to push her aside. You have to take control.'

'And, you'll be there?' The voice was beautiful, like a song of sorrow sung into his heart, and he ached to hear the pain in it, longed to remove the cause of it. 'You'll be there when I come back, though everyone else has gone away and left me alone? You will be there?'

"Yes." He spoke without hesitation through his frozen throat, his eyes locking with the shadow's.

And, the shadow was gone. He felt a sudden loss as the pained grey eyes left his vision and he looked back into the black orbs in front of him, expecting the hunger, the cruelty.
Not expecting the shocked anger.

"You stupid man." She spat the words, squeezing the back of his neck so hard he felt she would crush his spine. "Stupid, stupid man. You have no idea what you're messing with. It will kill you in the end."

He screamed as the pain became suddenly intolerable, or maybe his body was just no longer numb. Then, it was gone, the pain, the cold, the sense of hunger. He looked into the eyes, again, and was shocked to see a sudden burst of grey fading into empty blackness.

"Robin?"

Her hand lay heavily on his neck, her eyes slowly focusing on him.

"Stupid..." she whispered weakly, a hint of the beautiful, song-like voice teasing at his ears from behind her deep, natural alto. "Stupid man. This will kill you..."

He smiled gently as the final streaks of grey faded from her eyes, leaving them as empty as before. "I'll decide when I die, thank you very much."

He felt the hand on his neck slide slowly down, the rest of the small, deceivingly frail-looking body following suit as she toppled off her perch into his arms.

He kneeled there for a while, gathering strength after his recent ordeal and studying the girl in his arms. Who was that woman he had seen? What was the story behind the two souls living within Robin Goodfellow?

Would he -really- be able to save her?

He glanced over at the prone form of Draco Malfoy, who at least appeared to be resting peacefully now, and wondered what should be done about this. If he told Dumbledore about how close they had come to losing Robin to her darker half...

Surely he wasn't as callous as Sirius believed. Surely he wouldn't go to such extremes to contain one power.

He remembered the look of pain in those grey eyes, and his heart ached.

'You'll be there when I come back, though everyone else has gone away and left me alone?'

He couldn't even think of risking anything that would cause that soul more pain.

He pulled out his wand, reaching over and carefully placing a quick memory charm on the Malfoy boy. He'd become rather skilled with those things since joining the Order. Malfoy would wake up wondering at his vivid dream and only slightly confused as to his strange location.

Bracing himself, he stood up, baring his new burden and grimacing as he felt and heard half his bones creak in the process.

Shaking his head, he sighed, smiling down at Robin.

"I'm getting too old for all this drama."

In his office Dumbledore sat, staring into the fire, seeing nothing but memories of a single face framed in the flames.

"Jessica," he whispered, his voice heavy and tired, "I'm sorry, my dear. I've tried, for your sake, to forgive her, to let her walk around as if nothing happened, as if she doesn't know the past..." He buried his face in his hands, hoping to black out the memories the flames brought back dancing into his mind. "I've tried not to hate her..." Even with his eyes closed, the flames flowed back and forth in a slow dance of death. He looked up, above the flamed, past his walls, towards the hospital wing where two injured tenshi lay, all too reminiscent of the not so distant past, and his fists clenched in a sudden, unexpected rage.

"I'm sorry, Jessica... Nicole... I can't let Kageno Tenshi kill you, again. I can't lose my daughter to the shadows, again."

He sighed, the sudden anger draining more of his waning strength than the memories had.

"May the fates watch over Remus Lupin, for I don't know what I'll do if he fails..."

Empty blue eyes opened as soon as the man left and the puppet stood.

The puppeteer glared through its eyes. The Dragon had been back. Completely. Yet, that man...

Monster, the puppet's mind supplied. Werewolf.

One of -His- creatures.

Defying him, just as the Dragon had.

But, that didn't matter. He flexed the muscles of his puppet. A willing servant, this one, giving himself all to save his father.

The idiot.

The puppet's face twisted in a mockery of a smile.

The Dragon had awakened once, and now that the seal was broken, would return to his side.

"And, with her, the last defences of the wild magic will fall in its angels' wakes."

A hatred not purely that of the puppeteer's filled the cold blue eyes.

"And, with that last obstacle removed, the Boy- Who- Lived will be nothing but fading memory."