Chapter Two
Harry ran through the fighting wizards and witches, ducking low to avoid curses and hexes, leaping over the fallen bodies in his path. Sweat was trailing down his face, dripping from his chin and nose, flecking his ripped and torn robes.
Hearing a yell to his left, Harry dove, barely missing a jet of brilliant green light that continued past him into a wall. Debris flew from the wall, falling all around his prone body, and he could feel the crumbled stone beneath his palms, cutting and digging into him viciously.
Not hesitating for another moment, he rolled swiftly toward the origin of the curse, yelling "Stupefy!" A red bolt flew from his wand, crashing into the Death Eater, who was thrown several feet back into the air before falling to the ground unconscious.
Pushing himself back to his feet, Harry sprinted once again toward his target; a desperately fighting Remus Lupin, who was surrounded by four Death Eaters.
As he got closer to the skirmish he could make out the face of his ex-professor. Dirt was smudged across the man's left cheek, overlapping what looked like a giant bruise that spread the entire left side of his face. Blood ran from a wound at the edge of Remus's hairline, slicking a patch of light brown hair to his forehead.
One of the Death Eaters' masks had been blasted off by what looked like a cutting hex, and the man, who Harry now recognized as Lucius Malfoy, was bleeding profusely down the front of his cloak. The others were not completely unharmed by their duel with the werewolf, but were still fighting strong against the weakening man.
Feet pounding on the flagstones of the hall, Harry raised his wand shouting, "Expelliarmus!" The cloaked Death Eater who had been in the middle of hissing the killing curse found his wand ripped from his hand.
Remus, seeing Harry approaching, ducked a cutting hex and threw his own, hitting the person immediately to Lucius' right. The unnamed dark wizard fell.
A stream of red blasted past Harry's shoulder as he reached Remus's side, scorching his robe as it went.
Leaping over a fallen body, Harry joined Remus in the middle of the two armed wizards, wand pointing into the face of Lucius. Sneering, Harry raised a shield and deflected the blasting hex sent his way. "Can't you do better than that you sadistic twit?"
With a growl the blonde man spat, "Avada Kedavra!"
The green light flew at the Boy Who Lived with incredible speed, leaving him little time to grab the back of Remus' robes as he threw himself the ground and rolled.
"Incendio," he whispered, watching in fascination as the robes the elder Malfoy was wearing burst into flames. High shrieks escaped the pained wizard.
Looking quickly around, Harry saw Remus standing above him, clutching his arm tightly to his side. The other wizard, who Remus had been duelling, lay on his back, sprawled out in the throws of death. He had taken the killing curse meant for Harry.
Having used aguamenti to disperse the flames, Malfoy was standing with smoke rising around him, panting in pain. Burns ran down his arms where the cloth of his cloak had been burnt away, the pink flesh covered in blisters. He stumbled, advancing menacingly as possible in his state.
Remus, who was standing, aimed his wand. "Expelliarmus!" he yelled, and Harry noted with worry, blood flew from his mouth with the curse.
Malfoy blocked the spell, sending it skittering off to crash into a wall that promptly burst, leaving a deep crater. With a threatening glare set on the brown haired man, he opened his mouth, straight white teeth covered in a film of blood. "Ava-"
Harry, hearing the beginnings of the killing curse, leapt forward, throwing his body into Malfoy's. They crashed to the ground, a kicking ball of torn and bloodied robes with Malfoy's wand rolling away. Harry, gaining the upper hand, smashed his fist into Lucius' face repeatedly, feeling the bone cave underneath more and more with each explosive strike. 'Oh, disgusting,' he muttered within his mind, staring at the man.
The blonde was unconscious. 'Or,' Harry thought, surveying the damage, 'dead.' Thin trails of blood ran from the nose and mouth of the Death Eater, mixing together in a pool forming quickly by his head. Where there had once been high and aristocratic cheekbones, was now a deformed mashed mess.
A weak grip wrapped around Harry's arm, pulling him up and off of the fallen wizard to stand. Sending a look of thanks to Remus, Harry looked further down the hall to the entrance to the Great Hall. The fighting had progressed over the past hour, spreading throughout the castle and grounds, damaging Hogwarts beyond recognition.
Giants, three of them, had lumbered their way to the castle, scattering the ranks of the Death Eaters as they did, only twenty minutes into the fight. Harry could remember the cold wretched fear that had filled the Entrance Hall as the creatures had arrived, throwing massive hunks of rock and pounding on the stone walls.
It had taken himself, Dumbledore, and a seething Professor Snape ten minutes to take one of the massive brutes down.
The Giants, in their appearance, hindered them extensively. Too many people were busy trying to be rid of the large creatures, allowing Death Eaters to pour into the castle, breaking ranks, and forcing a melee of mixed sides to churn all around.
A great crash sounded overhead and Harry's head snapped up, watching as a member of the Order was thrown over the ledge from the second level of the castle, flailing minutely. A shadow of blood followed him in his decent, spraying Harry liberally as Seamus crumpled not three feet away, head hanging by a thread to his body. Dead.
Nausea ripped into Harry as he turned from the sight, knowing it was too late.
Remus, who was standing by his side, gave a great shudder before collapsing, falling back against the pockmarked wall, than sliding to the floor. Harry was immediately on his knees beside the man, wand hanging limply in his fist as he took in the sight.
The arm that Remus had been clenching to his side had dropped away in the fall, revealing a mangled mess of flesh and bone. It looked as though the werewolf had taken a blasting curse to his side, the damage internal and external beyond repair.
"No," he cried out softly, reaching his left hand out to touch the gasping Lupin's face. Precious life fluid was running from between his friend's lips. From between his lovers' lips. "Remus," he sobbed, "You can't do this! Please…"
A small shuddering quirk overtook rapidly paling lips, blood bubbling with each breath. "I love you."
Harry, who was besieged with shock, shook his head. "No. No, no, no…" 'Oh Merlin, I'm loosing him, too.' A short flash of warm memories danced across Harry's mind, but then they were gone.
The light in the kind honey eyes he stared into was dimming, so fast that Harry barely knew what had happened. Remus' face was slackened, the small smile having dropped as the life fled from the wizard's body.
Harry sat back on his heels, his hand falling away from Remus' face, slick crimson blood coating the tips of his fingers. A sob escaped, rocking the dark haired man back. The body of his lover lay out before him, slumped defeated against the wall, blood slicked and cooling. Dead.
Tears slipping down his face, Harry took one last look into the face of the man he loved, than reached out, closing the familiar eyes.
Without another glance he stood, shoulders slumped in despair. His feet felt heavy upon the cold stone, and screams were echoing in his ears from every direction. Spells flew, bursting against the walls, or against the people who were duelling all around, sending spatters of rock and red through the air.
A burn ignited within his scar, a familiar feeling that Harry knew meant only one thing. Voldemort was near.
With an anger boiling from within like he had never felt before, Harry took off at a run, stumbling briefly over large pieces of rock and occasionally slipping in the heavy pools of blood. As he ran he felt something in the air that he had never taken conscious account of. Something that had been an integral part of Hogwarts for as long as he had known it.
Magic was sizzling in the atmosphere all about, running in and out of every crevice and dancing atop every surface. It radiated from each person he ran past, glowing around the spells. It was a life unto it's own, flourishing and writhing in the battle, dark and light, hot and cold.
Passing into the Great Hall, Harry was abruptly sent sprawling, arms rushing to brace his fall. A sharp 'crack' rang out from his left arm, and agony ripped through him.
The Trip Jinx that had been sent at him came from the right, called out of a sneering Macnair's mouth. Old and festered abhorrence grew in Harry's eyes as he glared up at the approaching executioner. Getting ready to lift his wand, Harry was beat out by a madly running Fred Weasley, who unarmed Macnair with Expelliarmus.
"All right there Harry?" was yelled out of a gasping Fred's mouth as he cast stupefy on the unarmed Macnair, throwing the Death Eater into unconsciousness.
Wincing from the sharp pain radiating from his arm, Harry stood, using his good arm to support him on the way up. "Yea, thanks Fred!"
They ran in opposite directions, Fred out into the hall, and Harry deeper into the Great Hall.
The five tables that had once accommodated the four houses and the teachers during meals had been blasted apart, the wood littering the floor. It was an obstacle course of deadly and hindering spells, bodies felled by the Avada Kedavra curse, and chunks of stone and wood.
There were only about four duelling couples in the Hall, all of which were immersed deeply in their individual battles. All except for the Dark Lord himself, who stood stoically at the centre of the Hall in the place where the Head Table would normally stand.
Jumping over yet another body, Harry was now between where the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables should have been. It was scarcely twenty meters from Voldemort when he happened to catch a glimpse of blood soaked frizzy brown hair.
Hermione lay on her side with legs flopped inelegantly about. A circle of dark figures rested around her, their dark cloaks and Death Eater masks in alternating states of disarray. All dead.
'Please,' he thought desperately, rushing to kneel beside her. 'Please be all right. Please,' he pleaded to himself as he turned her over gently, feeling before seeing the coolness of her skin. A set of eyes glared up at him, their depths of knowledge and joy, and everything that was Hermione gone. Dead.
'So many people,' his mind screamed over the buzzing that had filled his ears.
He lowered his chin to his chest, ragged breaths bursting from within as he cradled his best friends body in his lap, stroking her hair softly. The position reminded him of a time when he had felt the same heart breaking sorrow, when he had felt the same tears fall from his eyes in endless torrents. Ron's funeral.
And here he was, two years later and once again mourning the loss of a friend. Except this time he wasn't being held tightly to provide comfort, this time he held on and was surrounded by a sense of loneliness so strong it choked him.
"Crucio!"
Pain engulfed the boy saviour, turned man, with a maddening force. There was acid rushing through his veins, eating at his flesh, a blade playing in his skin, slicing and tearing in a symphony of anguish. A force pressed at his eyes until they burst and- 'Oh Merlin, stop… Make it stop. Stop, stop, stop,' his mind threw the thoughts crazily in a mantra of pained panic.
Then he was freed from the horror, twitching weakly on the ground, a puddle of vomit lying under his cheek. It smelt of bile, strong and acidic.
"Harry Potter," the voice hissed, "you look so beautiful writhing beneath my will."
Harry opened his eyes and met Hermione's cold empty ones before he let them rise to meet the red orbs of Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord. "Tom," he spat, "how nice to see you. Ugly as ever I see."
Thin pale lips pulled back in a sneer, the flat nose's slits flaring in hatred and anger. "Crucio!"
The pain hit again with tremendous force, and Harry tried not to scream, to hold in the shrill cry he knew was bubbling in his chest. So focused on not making a noise, and so overcome with the thousands of knives penetrating his skin, the fire twisting in his mind, he did not feel his teeth bite savagely through his lip, spilling forth a rush of red liquid.
When the agony stopped Harry was immediately caught in a bout of choked coughing. The blood flowing from his lip had filled his mouth, some of it trickling down his throat. Tears in his eyes and red in the face, Harry noted his hand was empty, and he scoured the floor with his eyes to find his missing wand.
When he found it, he discovered it had been thrown six feet to his left, resting against and slightly under the body of a fallen man.
It was then that he realized who one of the bodies scattered around was. Albus Dumbledore. The old man's eyes were resting peacefully, face eased in death as if in sleep and without a blemish upon his skin. Dead.
"Ah, do you like my handiwork, Harry?" Voldemort was standing not a foot away, his polished black boots unflawed by the grit of death that covered everything. "He was easy. The old coot barely even fought," he said ponderously, "do you think he was hoping for you to save him?"
Harry heard the words as if they were said in passing, nothing more than background noise to the actual conversation.
Dumbledore was a signal of strength, the pinnacle of light that the Order leaned upon for leadership. And there he lay, beard in a perfect rendition of liveliness and yet so still, his ever-eccentric robes swathed about him.
"Oh, and we can't forget about my dear dark traitor. He was so lovely; the feel of his breath as it slipped away beneath my fingers was exotic. Perfect." Harry was drawn to another body, this time dark-haired and thin. Severus Snape.
The trademark greasy hair splayed about the Potions Master's head, the thick strands stark against the grey of the floor. There was paleness to his visage that Harry had never seen on the already sallow man. Dark bruises encircled his long thin neck, the shape of spidery finger clearly evident. Dead.
Harry pushed his torso out of the puddle of blood and vomit that had accumulated under him, using his right hand while cradling his broken left arm to his ribs. Voldemort was leaning back, a smirk of victory twisting his vein-painted white face disgustingly.
Looking into Voldemort's eyes, the eyes windowing a black and withered soul, Harry felt a deafening calm fall over him. It was similar to the slowing of time that anyone who had faced death could account for, the creeping drawl that gripped space and time, warping it ever so slightly.
With only one thought running through his mind, Harry burst into action, jumping from his place on the floor and to his feet in one swift move, at the same time throwing out his right hand, bellowing, "Accio Wand!" at the top of his much depleted voice. His wand shot up into his hand as he stabilized himself on his feet not ten feet from the wide-eyed and dark faced Lord Voldemort.
"It's time to end this, Tom." There wasn't a single hiccup in the words as they rang out clearly in the Great Hall.
The two remaining duellers stopped mid incantation to watch in awe as each of their icons faced off, one standing strong with not a mark on his robes, much less his body, and the other stooped slightly, tremors racing upon him, broken arm cradled.
Harry could once again feel the magic crackling in the air, building in strength as he allowed the confidence and sense of absolute need rush over him. This was why he was placed in Gryffindor; this was why he was marked as a child to do the bidding of a man. This very moment was what his whole life had been building up to, preparing him to fight this very battle, in the place that he called home, for the lives of all those he held dear.
It didn't matter that almost every person he loved was dead, not now, not when the moment that would save every person who was left who could love was depending on an end to this war, to this madness.
With power flitting around his body, and within him like another beating heart not made of flesh, but of absolute need, Harry steadied his wand against the most despicable creature to have ever existed.
Drawing in a long pull of air, Harry locked his eyes with those of the Dark Lord. "Goodbye, Tom." And with a mighty roar of, "Avada Kedavra!" Harry put every piece of strength and warmth he could find within himself into the stream of emerald green light raging from his wand.
Voldemort reacted at the same moment he saw the Boy Who Lived act, sibilating his own malice-filled yell. "Avada Kedavra!"
The twin spells surged together in a mighty roar of wind, the green lights converging in the middle between the two wizards, green energy pouring from where the spells met.
Harry could feel the power crack about him in loud bursts, the killing curse from his wand becoming more and more powerful as he pushed with all of his capacity to make it bigger and stronger than that of Voldemort's.
Feeling the boost of power from Harry, Voldemort echoed the action, pushing harder into the curse, and as he did so he heard a great crack that ricocheted about the grand room, and than an even louder crash as the windows all around the Great Hall shattered simultaneously, the shards bursting outward and away from the duelling men.
Harry saw the windows disappear in a twinkle of shards, but concentrated on the spell he was pushing everything into. All of his quickly diminishing power, every emotion he could pull from the depth of his chest, and everything that he was. Screaming in the effort, Harry used one last explosion of pure will.
A flash of green light lit up the entire Hall, then dissipated as fast as it had been. In the deathly silent after, Harry's wand arm dropped, hanging limply by his side. He couldn't feel the energy anymore. There was a distinct lack of anything and everything swirling around, and he shivered.
It felt as though where everything once was, and where it could have been, there was a gaping hole. Like the temperature had suddenly plummeted, and the air, the pieces of debris, the bodies, everything, was more than just gone. They were a negative whereas they had once been a positive.
With a last fleeting image captured in his mind, Harry tumbled forward unconscious; forward, and straight into a portal where the two killing curses had once met.
-
Harry smiled as he sat up in bed, stretching luxuriously in the warm welcoming feeling that radiated from all around. The smell of bacon, eggs and toast floated through the closed door, awakening a deep and ferocious hunger within the pits of his stomach.
Thumping sounds of fast moving feet pounded upward in a cadence of energetic excitement. As the sound became closer, and therefore louder, Harry turned to the heavily worn door as it burst open, allowing a tall redhead to tumble into the room.
Ron was panting in exertion, face flush and eyes bright as he keyed into the bed with his gaze, grinning at the unkempt boy with insane hair. "Harry!" he exclaimed. "Happy Christmas! C'mon, breakfast is ready, and we're gonna open gifts when you get your arse downstairs!"
Shaking his head, Harry barely managed to shout a "Happy Christmas!" at the retreating back of his friend.
A loud snort sounded sleepily from beneath the covers at his side, and Harry looked down with a content smile at the slowly shifting lump of which was emerging from the delicious warmth of the comforter.
"Morning then, is it?"
Grinning largely, and feeling as though his cheeks would burst under the pressure, Harry replied, "Yup. Happy Christmas!"
Pulling down the edge of the blanket just enough to uncover a sleep mussed face and dishevelled light brown hair; Harry leaned down, brushing his lips across those of Remus in a light kiss. Just as he was about to pull away a hand reach from within the depths of the comforter to grasp the back of his head and pull him down for a much more enthusiastic and deep kiss.
Murmuring in delight, Harry pulled away, his eyes meeting honey gold ones joyfully. "Ready to face the clan?"
Remus groaned as he sat up, his bare chest catching a dazzling ray of early morning sunlight, painting him bronze. "Do we have to?"
Harry laughed, his chest rumbling. "Yes! What else would we do, oh lover of mine?" A cheeky smile was sent in the direction of the werewolf.
"Humm, I don't know. Lets see…" Remus was suddenly laid out atop of Harry, his body a pleasant weight pressing the younger man into the mattress. With a smooth move, Remus had caught Harry's lips with his own, moving against them, and then pressing his tongue into the warm decadence beyond.
A moment later had Harry panting against Remus' lips, his moist breath breezing across the other man's cheek. "We really don't have time to do anything, do we?" he asked, a sort of disappointment in his tone.
"No," Remus said, "but we do have all of tonight…"
"Ohhhh… That sounds excellent, now doesn't it?"
"Oh yes. Very much so." With a last peck against luscious lips, Remus rolled off of Harry, moving easily across the room to grasp a shirt. "What do you think, red or green?"
"Red, of course," said Harry, pulling himself from the bed, "Green is far too Slytherin for you." It was said with much matter-of-factness, and an easy smile.
"Well then, I suppose you'll just have to be the Slytherin poster boy for the day. Here." And the green, and indeed it was Slytherin green, shirt was thrown into Harry's unsuspecting chest, where it was caught instantly and held at a distance.
Looking at the offending piece of material, Harry scrunched his nose in mock disgust. "You want me to actually wear this?"
Single eyebrow raised, Remus shrugged his slight shoulders. "You could always go around half naked. I know I wouldn't mind." And then he was turning away, shirt halfway over his head and being pulled down.
Blushing at the thought of wandering around without his shirt on in front of every person he ever considered family, Harry pulled the shirt over his head, stuffing his arms through roughly. "How do I look?" he implored, flinging his arms out wide.
Remus, from his bent over position of pulling up his trousers, let his eyes wander slowly over the thin torso of his lover, than up to his face, lingering for a moment, than turning back to his task. "All right."
Harry gaped at the man, a scowl playing at his lips. "'All right'? Is that all you have to say?"
Swaggering forward until he was face to face, or more like chin to nose, with the younger man, Remus bent his gaze down, staring straight into the glittering green eyes. "It matches your eyes perfectly, my dear."
Harry, with his breath caught surreptitiously in his chest, smiled small and shyly, fluttering his eyes. "Really?"
Growling low in his throat, Remus lunged, kissing with a ferocity rarely seen in the normally docile man. "But of course," he muttered as he backed away, smiling proudly at the dazed and lost look in Harry's eyes.
"Oh dear Merlin. You two deserve to be on one of those Muggle soap singers that Dad always talks about!" Hearing the mock scandalized expletive from the widely opened doorway, Harry and Remus, arms wrapped tightly around one another, gave George twin smiles.
"We know," Harry said, giggling silently as Remus echoed in answer in unison.
Rolling his eyes in exasperation, George went to leave the doorway, making his way to the stairs. "Hurry up! Or you're going to miss everything!"
Harry was happy. That was the only thing he could feel, as he stood in a Slytherin green shirt in Percy's old room at the Burrow, wrapped tightly into a solid chest and surrounded by warmth. It felt as though summer sunlight had been bottled within him, shining radiantly from every dark crevice. For the first time in his life, he was exactly where he wanted to be, and not even the daunting thought of Voldemort could ruin this moment…
-
The fields surrounding Hogwarts were peaceful in the daylight of mid November, the rolling grasslands set out before the great castle to the north shining with recently fallen moisture.
The Whomping Willow swayed in the distance, its limbs slicing through the light wind without hesitation, following no outside set of motion, instead moving to it's own harmony. The leaves were changing with the season, falling into the yellow colours of autumn, painting a picture of serenity for the dangerous tree.
The Forbidden Forest, stretching beyond the horizon to the left, was silent. No creatures created any ruckus, leaving the leaf strewn forest floor unchanged except for the intermittent soft lift of leaves upon the wings of wind.
A bright light unexpectedly fractured the quiet and calm, shining blindingly white with a silence that was more than just quiet following swiftly, and then it was gone. And the grounds were back again as they had been, the blue scarcely clouded sky and radiant sun smiling down upon them.
The only difference was a small clump of black that was lying in the middle of the field, pressed firmly into the grass.
When Harry found himself pulling back into consciousness, he was not immediately awake. It was a slow process not unlike swimming from the bottom of a lake toward the surface, pushing and churning the water that was all around in an attempt to go forward. To break the surface and take a deep, refreshing breath of air into deprived lungs, sending beautiful oxygen to replenish weakened muscles.
The figurative surface that Harry swam toward was much further than he could have held his breath though, and the man was glad he was not in water, and was actually crumpled on a soft patch of grass.
As his senses slowly returned to him, first the feeling of the blades of grass pressing into his cheek, the moisture slick and cool against his fevered skin, and then the smell of the last day of heat on the brink of winter, he was left pondering where exactly he was. Then finally, he blinked open his eyes.
The sight that greeted him was that of a fairytale, something that his mind would have conjured in the darkest of the night to lure him toward a fit-free sleep. It was what he wished the most for, and yet knew would never be truth, at least not anytime in the near future.
It was Hogwarts in the distance, unmarred by the horrendous battles over the past years, the fields still covered in grass and not rough and uneven from too many spells and feet trampling over the land. The Whomping Willow stood proud not far to the left, all of its many limbs still attached and moving. The Forbidden Forest was what caused it all, all of the fantasy, to shatter; it was standing, all of the trees and shrubs unfettered by the fires.
That was not possible, though. It was nothing more than a creation of his imagination to damper the harsh reality of the true history of Hogwarts.
Groaning in pain, Harry shifted onto his right elbow, trying to ignore the horrid ache spreading from his left forearm. His hands, and everywhere else also, were trembling, the after affects of the Cruciatus playing a brutish rendition of Quidditch within his nerves.
He could feel the drying blood clotting in his hair and down the side of his face, it was also sprayed on his robes, of which were tattered beyond any further use. 'Seamus' blood,' the thought slipped into his mind, and Harry snapped his eyes shut in quiet remembrance of all of those who fought.
Mind still clouded with the remnants of unconsciousness, Harry flexed his hand, suppressing a gasp of surprise when he did not feel what he was supposing was a fake reality crumble. Instead, he found himself with a handful of slowly withering, but still green, blades of grass.
Pushing himself further up, making it all of the way to his knees this time, Harry took a better look at his surroundings. It was undoubtedly Hogwarts. But there were differences that he hadn't accounted for at first look; the Whomping Willow looked decidedly younger, and the forest was not as far encroached upon a much healthier looking version of Hagrid's hut.
The very same hut that had burned to the ground not two years before in the same fire that took over a quarter of the Forbidden Forest closest to Hogwarts. 'I wonder if Hagrid made it out, if he survived the battle…'
Taking a staggering step upward, Harry stood as still as he could when the world tilted and spun in a way that was becoming increasingly nauseating.
When the spinning stopped, and Harry felt as though he may be able to take a step, Harry started forward, his eyes perusing the landscape around him, but mostly resting upon his destination; an undamaged and beautifully standing Hogwarts.
-
A/N: So... What do you think? Continue? This is one of those plots that have been used before, but I'm sure this one will be different.
Tell me what you think!