Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD
Uber long chapter, nearly 12k! All because I love you. You love me too, ne? So you can't hurt me. :3
The scene from the omniscient-ish/student POV (you should be able to pinpoint it, as I've never gone from a non-character POV in this story before) is meant to be utterly over the top. I actually wanted it to be more Gary Stu than it is. But yes, the descriptions in it are intentionally flowery and over done. Empy needed a drama break. ;)
Alternating realities again, and a crapload of ellipse abuse (one scene in particular). Sorry, but Harry's… umm… messed up? :P
Paraselenic
Pernicious // wicked; meaning to cause harm, destruction, or death
Glass. A room made of glass. It was some form of night outside the glass room Harry found himself encased within, stars shining brightly around a full moon. The light from it cast long shadows, engulfing whatever scenery there was around him. The moon was too bright, Harry thought, too close and too bright. It was surreal and shining white overhead, hovering far too close to earth and filling the sky, ominously contrasting with the black around him. Calling to him, beseeching him to rise up.
He wondered if the earth's center of gravity was thrown off by the proximity before realizing what a foolish thought it was. He was obviously still trapped in some parody of reality… if he was not dead.
Harry stared for long moments, caught somewhere between asleep and awake, between the light of the moon and the darkness that surrounded him, between smug crimson eyes shining with victory and the feeling of waking up alive. Had it been a dream, that strange alternate world? Heavy hair once more hung over his shoulder and he didn't need to do something foolish like poke his fangs to know he was a vampire again.
Tom -- no, Voldemort, that hadn't been his Tom -- Voldemort could not have really just shot an Avada Kedavra straight at him. He couldn't have, because Harry was alive. Alive… in a glass room. He was alive, wasn't he? He felt alive. Harry reached down and jabbed his left thumb into the fleshy mount at the base of his right one. It hurt. He was alive, then, and likely awake to boot. But where was he?
He became aware of the voices first. Echoing and eerie, a chant just under the level of comprehension. Harry stirred finally and rose to a crouch, eyes trailing through the shadows outside the clear walls. He was distracted by the shifting of the shadows, the unnatural roiling of them. There was no way he was in reality, not with the living dark he was trapped in. He slid his hand along his thigh to check for his dagger, fingers wrapping around the hilt. He would break his way out of here if he had to.
The wind howled outside, sending slightly overgrown grass to sway outside around him. There was no door, not that Harry expected one. There were no seams that connected the walls, no discernible way that the room had been made. If not for the reflection of the portentous moon, he might not have realized he was in an enclosure at all.
The hand that wasn't holding his dagger clenched in the grass. The tips of his fingers dug into the dirt and prised a rock out, letting it settle in his palm and studying the translucent wall. The rock was larger than a pebble but still not very substantial, but it would have to do for the moment. The hum of the chant had yet to stop, and Harry felt his nerves becoming more taught with anticipation with every passing moment. Something was coming, lurking in the shadows thrown by the moon, and Harry refused to be caged when it arrived.
He flung the small rock with as much force as he could manage, a flick of his wrist adding to the momentum. The size wouldn't cause much damage if the glass was as thick as he imagined it to be, but it would at least give him an idea of its gauge.
He wasn't expecting the rebound.
Harry dove to the side, feeling the small rock graze his neck as he fell. A sharp clang and he was scrambling to the side again, trying to avoid the rock as it once again hurtled towards him. He managed this time, and was ready as it hit the original wall and sped back. He thanked his reflexes as his hand darted out, after the rock like it was a snitch, closing his fingers around it and cursing.
Blood seeped through his fingers almost immediately, enough to warn of deep injury but not enough to worry him. He had stopped the rock, but it had gathered enough speed to drill its way into his hand. Harry let out a string of obscenities as he let his hand fall open, dropping the dagger from his left hand and studying the damage to his right. The wound was smaller than a fifty pence coin, but the rock remained buried within it and blood continued slowly seeping out.
Harry glanced back up at the walls of his prison, glad that he hadn't thrown his dagger at the wall instead. But this presented a problem, surely. There was a barrier or shield charm worked into the walls, and Harry had to assume it would forcefully reflect anything that came in contact with it. He didn't particularly want to find out by trying something else. With the sharp burn of the rock still embedded in his palm, he thought that even a blade of grass might manage to impale him.
Harry racked his brain for his next move, but didn't get a chance to think very long before the shadows parted.
"You lie."
Tom had no other thought in his mind for that moment, utter stillness wrapping around him just before the maelstrom of emotions hit. But in that moment, there was no feeling within him but the dead assuredness that Pierce must be lying. It couldn't be right, he couldn't be honestly saying that Potter was a lost cause. Tom's mind could not even consider the idea as a possibility.
Pierce's face was stony as he turned away, voice toneless yet somehow tight. "I am not."
"Dumbledore is dead! How can Potter be forced to ask his forgiveness?!"
"It is not Dumbledore's forgiveness he must earn. He will be forced to regret every sin he has ever committed, every evil he has perpetuated. Whatever Dumbledore would have perceived as a crime, Mylläkkä must atone for, to himself and to the personifications formed in his mind. If he does not, he will remain in a painful purgatory until his psyche can take the anguish no more. And then, when he reaches that breaking point, his body will follow after."
"Potter is not so weak!" Tom was aware of a few sharp intakes of breath, but ignored them easily. "He will not succumb to such foolishness. He will not be ended by some false reality within his own mind. He will--"
"You speak as if it should be easy for him, Voldemort. It will not be. The longer he resists supplication the more he will be tortured with those things that plague him personally in the waking world."
The Granger girl had somehow wormed her way to his side, fingers twisting in her bushy curls. "Harry has made it through so much, I can't imagine him giving up now, Professor. We… we can't let him, don't you see?"
Tom sneered at the girl before shifting the look to Pierce, glaring malevolently up through his fringe. He rolled his wand between his thumb and pointer finger rhythmically, trying to dissuade himself from retorting. He was seventy years old, for Merlin's sake! Even discounting the thirteen years he had spent in incorporeal form, he was far past the point of this… foolishness.
But he couldn't deny the thickness in his throat, the rapid staccato of his pulse as it pounded behind his eyes. He had to check the urge to wipe his sweating palms against his robes, the action so juvenile he could hardly fathom it. He was frightened. Frightened for the first time in many years. Frightened because Harry Potter might very well die.
Harry Potter. The bane of his existence for fifteen years, his mortal enemy and general thorn in his side. His happenstance partner in the war, his unlikely confidant. His bedmate, his lover. His loçkë.
He hated that he was so weak, that he had let himself be pulled into this disgusting humanity so far. He was better than that, above that, above feeling attachment and affection. And yet here he was, barely holding himself together in the face of losing Harry bloody Potter. He didn't know how he had managed to lose himself so deeply. He didn't know when things had changed from a conquering lust to whatever in the world it was now. But it had, and he was now irrevocably lost.
He had to respond now, dispel the smug look that had overtaken Pierce's eyes while Tom had been ruminating. As if the vampire knew where his thoughts had taken him. He likely did, Tom realized. He could probably hear his pulse rate and could deduct the reason for it. Pierce hadn't been very stealthy with his beliefs. He set his jaw and made to make use of his wand, tightened in the grip of his fist, when there was a knock at the door.
Tom turned his wand to the door and flicked it, sending the door crashing open to reveal Lucius Malfoy bowing at the waist with distress tightening his lips. "My lord, the Marquis Valerian is at the doors, and he requests an audience."
Tom would never in a million years admit to paling.
Harry had expected something like this in the back of his mind. It hadn't been a surety, but he had had the inkling of where the strange dream-like world might take him. But the reality of the situation was much harder to swallow, even as he clenched his uninjured fist.
If anyone was to appear, he would have assumed it to be these three. After all, with the history of Harry Potter's Fucked Up Life, who else would it be?
"Oh, Harry… what have you done?"
He averted his eyes as quickly as he could, breathing deeply to reign in any instinctive response to that voice. This wasn't real, was not real, so he couldn't let himself be sucked in.
A sob. "Harry, luv, please look at me."
He wouldn't. He refused to look, he couldn't stand the idea of turning his head. He refused to lower himself to playing into the whims of the world he found himself in.
"Look at your mother, Prongslet! I thought you were better than this!"
That voice made his head snap up, even if he had vowed not to. His mother, his father… they were very little to him in a real sense, and he was far too old to break down bawling because of phantoms. But that voice… one he had known, one he had loved, even if he had loved him for all the wrong reasons. "Sirius… ?"
Haunted gray eyes bore into him, and Harry fought the urge to flinch. He felt fifteen all over again as he stared into the eyes of the man he had lost. "How could you, Harry?"
"No son of mine would be such a disgrace."
Harry gritted his teeth and shook his head. The intentions of the Hallucination were coming clear now. Harry snorted around his grimace, turning his eyes from the familiar ones of his dead godfather and narrowing them at the man who he really had looked quite a bit like as a teen. "Sorry Father Dearest, can't say I'm thrilled to have a second-rate, bullying twat as my paternal figure myself." A stab of something wrenched his innards.
Sirius was growling, but James held up his hand and shook his head. "No, Sirius, let me. You dare to call yourself my son? We died for you, because of a prophecy hanging over your head. And how do you repay us? How? You sleep with the man who murdered us! A fine choice that was." The tone was derisive, but Harry paid it no mind. He wouldn't have expected anything less from James Potter.
"I didn't do it for you or for anyone but me. I really couldn't care less what you think, James." Harry didn't wince, but he felt his abdominal muscles tense as pain set upon him once more. It wasn't severe, but it was enough to call his attention.
Dark eyes, indiscernibly colored, regarded him silently for long minutes. Harry stared back. When James spoke, Harry was surprised by the soft tone, the dejected slump to his shoulders. "I was proud, so proud. When I find out that we were having a child, I don't think I was even touching the ground for days. And then they did the spell and we found out it was going to be a boy. A boy! I was having a son, someone I could teach to fly, take to the World Cup, let use my wand when Lily wasn't looking.
"And then we had you, and I was scared to death. Suddenly having a child was a reality, something small and fragile and so dependent. Would I be a good influence? Would we be able to raise you to be a good, intelligent person? I would look down at you and see your mother's eyes… and I was so sure we would make it. Dark Lord or not, we would make it."
James's eyes were less unaffecting now, and Harry remembered a conversation from years ago with… who had said it? Lupin came to mind, but it might have been Dumbledore or perhaps even Sirius. One of them had told him of how his father had grown after leaving Hogwarts, but he hadn't understood until now. Still mocking, still derisive and petty… but underlying that Harry could see what had enticed his mother, what had caused the admiration of so many in this man. He was cocky surely, but he had gained some semblance of sense in the years in hiding, it seemed.
But no. Harry shook himself mentally and clenched his jaw. This was not James, this was not reality. He couldn't begin thinking this way.
James continued, more fiercely now. "And look at us now. Dead, dead for years, and left to watch our little boy's life from afar. As he grew up and then ran away. I don't care that you decided to become a bloody vampire, Harry; Remus should be proof of how little I care about creature status. I don't even care that you decided you didn't like Dumbledore, though that was a mistake if you ask me. But fucking Voldemort?! Joining up with the Death Eaters? You are no Potter, boy. You are no Gryffindor. No son of mine would be a filthy, murdering Death Eater."
Harry wanted to snarl, wanted to lunge at the man just to shut him up. But the pain came again and spread up to his chest, wrapping around his innards and squeezing. Harry jerked, but never removed his eyes from James, gritting his teeth and speaking through the pain the seized him. "I'd rather be where I am now than Dumbledore's pawn any day, James. You were not there for the life I have lived. You are nothing to me now, not since growing up and moving out of the shadow of the man I would never be."
"How dare you, Harry?" Sirius again, teeth bared ferally. He took a step forward, then another, until he was just beyond the glass, fingers clenched at his side. He glared at the glass for a moment and left his hands at his side, and Harry wondered if he feared the same rebounding result as Harry had experienced. He met Harry's eyes after a moment with his shoulders shaking. "How dare you after all we suffered for you?!"
The silence spell was still working on the hundreds of students that filled the Great Hall's tables, fingers clasped in those of their friends to convey the fear that lay thick amongst them. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named only feet away, the Light's hope discovered as a double agent, their leader dead on the floor barely hidden by the staff table. Many students wept in their seats, and even the Slytherins looked ill at ease with the events of the evening. It was too much too soon, too much of the adult world encroaching on their teenage serenity.
When the Death Eaters, robed and masked and silent in a line before the Hall's doors, parted suddenly, the attention of the entire room was turned towards them. The opening of the Antechamber's door went unnoticed as an unfamiliar face swept through the double doors.
Inky black hair reached down past his waist, eyes glowed citrine as the candlelight caught them. The mysterious man smiled charmingly to the students nearest to him as he swept in, sauntering down the middle aisle with hair swaying. The silencing spell kept any whispers from beginning, but the sudden spike of curiosity was thick in the room.
Another man was noticed now, tall and thin with cropped dark hair that grayed at the temples. He stood with a regal tilt to his chin and a menacing glare, arms crossed over his chest as the newcomer strode towards him. He had an air of vicious authority about him, even standing in the mundane surroundings of the Great Hall.
It didn't take long for the students to come back to themselves and recall the situation they were in. There was little good that could come of powerful men meeting in their Hall, and an even smaller chance that either was the type to be in awe of. But they knew they were helpless, even the brash Gryffindors. There was little to be done in their situation but sit and survive, or take action and die as their Headmaster had.
Hot anger coiled in Harry's stomach, dulling the pain that seemed to have rooted itself within him. "How dare I? Where do you get off trying to dictate my actions, Sirius? You were just as unhappy as I came to be, locked away as you were. You shouldn't have even been thrown into prison in the first place, let alone stayed there for over a decade! But you still stick up for Dumbledore, huh?"
"This isn't about me! This is about you turning your back on everyone who cared for you."
"I've done no such thing. I've chosen my own way in this damned war rather than blindly following after the hem of Dumbledore's robes. I didn't want to be a weapon, I didn't want to be used as cannon fodder! How can you blame me, Sirius?"
"Dumbledore is a good man, Harry. He is good and Light. I ran from the Dark because I knew the awful things they were capable of; I'd grown up with it my entire life! Do you think I ran for the fun of it?! I ran because they're all insane!"
"Insane now, am I? What next, will you blame me for your death now? Because surely the Boy Who Lived should have been able to know a dream from reality. I was their Chosen One, so I must have been expected to be extraordinary, right Sirius?" Harry knew how bitter he sounded.
"Shut up. You know damn well that I'd never blame you for that night, even if you'd not had a boatload of other things clouding your mind. Don't you dare try to turn me into the bad guy here, Prongslet!"
"Prongslet… another way for you to make me into James. Because that was all you wanted from me, wasn't it? You wanted another James. You didn't care that I was my own person, you just wanted me to be everything James was."
"I knew you were your own person!"
"Then why in the hell did you call me by his name?!"
Harry's breathing was coming fast and hard now, less from the steadily roaring pain in his chest and more from the emotional upheaval. He hadn't realized how bitter he still was over that moment. He tried to reign back his fury, but he had let himself believe in this delusion too much. He had fallen into the trap of the false reality, he knew, but he just couldn't stop. This looked like Sirius, sounded and acted just like him. And let him be damned if he wasn't finally getting the chance to get all of this off his chest. Harry strode forward, careful not to touch the wall but nearing the now frozen Sirius with a snarl.
"You missed him so much that you couldn't help but try to make me into him. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, right? You're a lot like Snape, you know."
Red was creeping up Sirius's neck in a dangerous way, and Harry swore he was frothing at the mouth. "I'd never be like Snivellus!"
"Then why did you think that I'd be just like James? Snape did too. From the moment he met me he assumed I was James's carbon copy in looks and personality. That I was just as much of an arrogant little shit as he was. That I was the same cruel bastard James had been. And then you, Sirius. You wanted someone to relive the old days with, since Remus was too mild. You wanted someone to throw caution to the wind and do whatever bullshit you had planned."
"Remus! Don't even speak of him, Harry James Potter. Don't you even dare to speak of him. I know what you did to Moony! Do you think I'd forgive you for that?"
Harry snorted and turned on his heel, refusing to look into Sirius's face any longer. "It was his own choice to be involved in the war. I gave him an out and he didn't take it."
"You tried to make him into what he hated!"
"No, I just wanted him to back off. I would have preferred him to be neutral. But he chose his fate, coward he was. He couldn't bear to take responsibility, to stand up for what he believed in. He would have let you rot for the rest of his life because he was so quick to believe the worst in you. He sat back while you tortured Snape in school. He sat back while my parents were killed, you were imprisoned, and while I was toted off to the bloody Dursleys. He would have sat back again while Dumbledore ruined the entire Wizarding world. I don't regret allowing him to die."
Silence resounded, the wind rustling through the grass highlighting the lack of voices. It was a long time before Sirius spoke again, and Harry refused to turn around even when his Godfather's voice came out raspy. Pain, both emotional and physical, seared him. He could hardly tell the difference between the two. But he refused to turn around and see the grief surely etched on Sirius's face.
"This was how you decided to deal? This was how you mourned me? By the gods, Harry, you became everything I hate." Sirius's breathing hitched, and Harry felt a part of him shatter. "I don't even know who you are."
Tom gritted his teeth as the vampire entered, seeming to bring a chorus of stupidity along with him. The students were staring as if this man had descended with a deity at his side, angels singing gaily to guide him forward. Tom had even caught a few of the girls pressing a hand to their hearts, a prime example of the fickleness of youth. Did they lose sight of the situation they were in so easily?
The Marquis Valerian halted before him, the smirk on his face far too casual for Tom's liking. An ostentatious bow later and golden eyes were boring into him. "Greetings, Lord Voldemort. I would like to know exactly why you have allowed my charge to come to harm."
Tom wasn't intimidated by the hardness of the tone, nor the falsely pleasant mask the vampire wore. Perhaps it worked on Valerian's subjects, but Tom was not so easily cowed. He straightened his back and smirked, eyebrow lifting. "I wasn't under the impression that Potter needed a keeper, sir Marquis. How foolish of me."
The vampire's smirk became more amused, more truly now than it had been. He leaned forward and put a finger to his lips, eyebrows quirking. "Keeper? No. But as his lover I would have hoped you had some modicum of sense and kept him safe, Lord Voldemort."
Perhaps, had Tom had been anyone else, color would have risen to his face with the loud proclamation. But as it was, he only tilted his head with a snort and ignored whatever reactions the silent hall might have had. "The mistakes and miscalculations Potter makes are his own. Allowing him to share my bed does not make me responsible for his actions."
"'Allowing'?" Valerian shook his head and tipped it to the side. "You've only become more of a fool, young Voldemort."
His wand was out, diplomacy be damned. He would curse the bloody vampire to the moon for being so condescending to him--
"V-Voldemort!"
He spun on his heel and glared, ready to curse the owner of the voice with all his might. He saw the Granger chit and his intent only became stronger, wand lifting. "Bad time, little girl."
"It's Harry. H-He's bleeding and he keep arching from the ground like he's in horrible pain, and I…"
Tom waited for nothing else, instantly running for the antechamber's door. He heard the clicking of feet behind him, but didn't bother looking to see who it was.
Harry's fingers were clawing at the ground, mouth open in a scream. Blood streaked the polished stone, more trailing behind the hand as it flailed. Tom grabbed the hand between his own, turning it over and grimacing. His nails were caked in dirt, and drying blood streaked all the way to his wrist. The wound was only perhaps two centimeters in diameter, but there seemed to be something lodged in it, making the wound seep blood even once the blood was drying.
Once the realization of the injury hit, the root of the problem presented itself. How had Potter gotten dirty and injured? He had had no such thing when Tom had arrived and there was no way anything within the Great Hall or its antechamber could have caused it. Tom turned and met Pierce's eyes as he stood beside the other vampire, talking quietly near the door. "What is happening to him?"
Pierce did not respond, and Tom knew he would easily get very angry with the secretive glances the two vampires kept exchanging. Valerian strode forward and leaned down, finger pulling at his lower lip as he studied Potter's unconscious form. "He's progressed farther in the spell than I thought. We don't have much time."
"Time for what, you annoying bloodsucker?"
Golden eyes narrowed on him seriously. "The only thing that can save Mylläkkä's life."
Harry's knees went weak in the face of the pain that consumed him, and he had to lock them to keep himself standing. The white-hot pain arched from his chest through his extremities, burning like fire in his veins. It tore his mind from the emotional ruin Sirius was causing and turned his thoughts inward, his breathing coming in gasps. What was wrong with him? Where was this pain coming from?
A hand rose and clenched below his sternum, where the pain seemed to be emanating from. He hadn't felt such pain since the last time one of Tom's Cruciatuses had managed to hit him. Perhaps it was not as intense, but it was enough to cause him difficulty.
He had no choice but to turn away from the pain when a sob reached his ears, his body turning to look before he could force it to remain still. His teeth gnashed together as he saw the woman stumbling towards him, eyes overflowing with tears as she watched him.
"Oh Merlin, Harry. Oh my sweet boy. How could you be forced through such trials?"
Harry took a step away from the glass and let his hand fall to his side, feeling the caked blood crack and sticky warmth signify that he had reopened the barely healing wound in his palm. Memories from the false world flooded him, memories of Lily's smile and her arms around him. He remembered so much still from that world, including the false memories of a happy childhood. She gave him a heartbreaking, shaky smile and raised her hands to ineffectually wipe at her eyes.
"You've made such horrible choices, Harry luv. I hate that you were left to make them on your own, that you had no guidance. If I could have one wish in this world, it would be to have been there by your side."
"I don't."
Green eyes, so like his own, froze on him. "You don't what?"
"I don't wish that."
She swallowed audibly, fingers falling from her eyes to rub at her throat. "You… you don't wish we could have been alive to be with you?"
Harry's toes curled as he became aware of a slight relief to the pain. Had he just gotten used to it? He exhaled. "I don't wish for change. The most intelligent man I know told me once that regrets were only for those too weak to take responsibility for their actions. Things would have been different, better maybe to some, but I am satisfied with how my life has turned out."
"You are satisfied being hated, rejected? You are satisfied being less than human?"
"I am," he said with a glare.
"I didn't mean it that way, luv." She came forward more, gently pushing on Sirius's chest as she came alongside of him.
Sirius set his feet and met her eyes. "Don't, Lily. He's beyond hope right now."
"Sirius Orion," said Lily, "I am Harry's mother, and I can damn well decide for myself when hope is lost. Now get back to James before I kick your sorry arse into next week!"
Sirius's jaw tensed, but with a glare to the ground he turned and walked back towards where James watched on in silence. James shook his head at something Sirius whispered, and with a huff he transformed into Padfoot, sulking in the grass.
Lily turned back to Harry and placed her hand on the glass, her lip between her teeth. Harry jerked as he realized she hadn't been repelled. "Voldemort told you that, didn't he?"
"And if he did?"
Her fingers spasmed. "He was wrong."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "No, he wasn't. I wouldn't be who I was without my experiences. I don't have any wish to change things now, not when I've finally gotten to realize that."
"Regrets are human, Harry. We all do things we wish we hadn't, have things thrown at us that we wish we could change."
"It is a good thing I'm not human then, isn't it?"
Lily took in a shaking breath and leaned forward, forehead pressing into the glass. "Harry -- oh, Harry. Humanity isn't a state of your body, it is the state of your mind."
"Maybe," Harry said, closing his eyes. He gripped control with all he had, recalling his earlier assertion. This was not real, these people were not real, and he couldn't let himself listen to their pleading. He needed to stop himself from being affected by these words, hold back the sick twisting of guilt that had begun to gnaw at him. This felt so real, the personalities as he had imagined them to be, the tones of voice and the reactions… just as he had always imagined as he'd grown, as he'd chosen his own path. But they were not real. Harry knew this with every ounce of him. This wasn't real, and he wouldn't concede defeat to some spell or dream.
The chanting that Harry had thought had faded away came back fiercely, and Harry was again seized with unimaginable pain. He was taken by surprise and muffled a shout, hands clamping to his chest. It burnt more fiercely than it had the last time, intense and roaring. This was at least as bad as Cruciatus, and Harry was barely able to stay standing.
Arms wrapped around him, soothing and warm. Harry froze in place. The arms were pale and lightly freckled, leading down to fine-boned fingers with lacquered nails. Against his will his own hand rose to lay over the foreign one.
"Luv… oh, Harry…"
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry was screaming with questions. How had Lily gotten though the glass? Why was she touching him? But those thoughts were drowned with an overwhelming relief as her touch seemed to drive away the agony, rendering him almost limp in her arms. She was stronger than she appeared, because after a small stumble she held him fast, face buried in his hair and making shushing noises into his ear.
"Hush, luv. It is alright, Mummy is here. Mummy would never have let you go through all that, never. Nothing will hurt you so long as Mummy is with you."
Shuddering breaths, and Harry tried to regain himself. White spots still danced in front of his eyes from the breath-stealing pain, and Harry was reminded of using the Reversion potion while being Cruciated. He came back to himself at a snail's pace, but pulled out of the arms and turned towards Lily. "I don't need to be coddled."
The pain left his limbs feeling dead and numb, and Harry was having serious problems standing. But he wouldn't show it, not with James and Sirius standing near the shadows and watching his every move. Lily shook her head. "You've grown up with so little contact, I suppose it is no wonder that you clung to the first people who wanted to touch you."
Harry bit his tongue to keep back his automatic denial, knowing it would only strengthen her argument.
"But Voldemort, Harry? Why him? Why him of all people?"
"Because…" he stopped and looked away, jaw tight.
"Because?"
Lily didn't see him move. She just had time to gasp as Harry's hands wrapped around her neck, thumbs pressing into the hollow at the base of her throat. Her knees went out quickly, and Harry snarled down at her as she dangled in his grip. "It is none of your damned business." The pain surged back as strong as ever.
"Lily!"
"Get your filthy hands off my wife!"
Harry turned his head and hissed at the two men that were running towards them. James's control broke; he lunged forward, fists raised to pound at the enclosure. The force in which James was thrown back was shocking enough to make Harry's grip loosen on Lily's neck
She broke away before he could reaffirm his grip, dropping to her knees and coughing. Sirius had run to James's side by now, and Harry turned to glare down at his fictitious mother, flexing his damaged hand. He saw blood smeared across her throat and refused to wince.
She turned her eyes up, watery and heavy lidded, and Harry couldn't breathe when she smiled. It was the most heartbreaking expression he had ever seen, lips wobbling as her breathing ran ragged.
"You've sinned so much, Harry. You've killed, you've tortured, you've broken people. You took pleasure in pain, you betrayed those who love you. You destroyed the hopes of so many, and you didn't look back. Sodomy and murder and hatred and so many things…"
Harry raised his hand, determined to end this charade. He was wearing thin between the physical anguish and the see-sawing emotions. He couldn't keep this up, he couldn't. Harry's head was steadily feeling more like a battlefield; emotions waged war on one another and left his head with the feeling of being fired upon. The pounding in his temples reached a crescendo as the roaring pain in his chest reached a peak, and the world went white around the edges.
Hermione left Neville in the Great Hall to keep an eye on things, not liking the unfair advantage the Death Eaters had over the students. Silenced and frightened, the teens could do little but sit and weep. They were too easy of prey, especially once Hermione had glimpsed Bellatrix's uncovered head amongst the group. Neville was much stronger than anyone gave him credit for, and she knew he would be able to protect them long enough for her to join him. He was sure to keep a wide berth around Ron, though, who sat with a dark look on his face as if he was ready to kill. And perhaps he was, but now was not the time to worry about her childhood friendships.
Anger twisted in her gut, and she pushed it down as well as she could. Without Harry to intervene, the last thing she needed was to lose control. The very last thing. She would be able to kill half the student body before one of the few people capable of non-verbal spells managed to fell her, she thought. She knew her intelligence and the ferocity she vaguely remembered of her other side combined would be a dangerous thing.
Making her way back to the antechamber, hope shone again in the form of simple words spoken by a tall man she had never seen before this evening. Even without knowing him, the concern with which he treated Harry made her feel some form of comfort towards him, even if she didn't trust him in the slightest. She approached and pushed herself into the conversation, just like she was good at. "You say that you know how to save Harry. Please, sir, what can we do?"
He looked down at her, and Hermione suppressed a shiver. His eyes were practically incandescent! Another vampire, she had to assume. Professor Pierce seemed deferent to him, lowering his eyes when addressed and bowing lightly. He must be important. Hermione drew herself to her full height, attempting to make herself feel less low on the food chain.
After a long, contemplative look, a smile broke out on the vampire's face, and he bowed low while seizing her hand. "Miss Granger, I presume? Mylläkkä told me much about you. You are just as I imagined you to be. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am the Marquis Valerian, Lord of the Shadowed Realm. It is a pity this meeting it not under more pleasant circumstances." He placed a kiss to her inner wrist, and Hermione fought back the girlish part of her that swooned just a bit, until what he had said caught up with her.
Her mind spun as she allowed all the pieces to fall into place. Valerian, the one Harry had told her about. Valerian, the Vampire Marquis. It made sense, really. She stuffed the thoughts into the back of her mind and bowed as formally as she could, thought she was sure she looked horribly awkward. "A p-pleasure to meet you. Harry told me a lot about you." She rose and looked up into his eyes, worrying her lip between her teeth. "Sir, how can we save him? I'll do anything…"
Valerian turned his eyes toward where Voldemort still knelt by Harry's side, strange elongated fingers wrapped around Harry's wrist. With a hum the vampire stepped forward until he hovered over Harry. "It depends on how much you are all willing to give. It will take a lot more than some of you," Hermione couldn't see his eyes, but she was sure by the look on Voldemort's face that Valerian had given a look to him, "would give normally. It will come down to just how much you care for Mylläkkä." Valerian spun around with his hair fanning around him, charming grin once more in place. "Will you be able to give your all, Miss Granger?"
"Without a doubt," said Hermione. She kept her back ramrod straight and took a deep breath. "I would give my life if I knew it meant him being okay, sir."
"Gryffindors."
Hermione turned her eyes to Voldemort and watched as he stood, brushing the dust from his robes. Red eyes swept over her and Hermione shuddered. She accepted Harry's choices and didn't look down on him for them, but she didn't know how he could handle those eyes on him all the time, in intimate moments. They were… were… demonic, somehow.
"Ah, this should be amusing. More prattling from you, Lord Voldemort?"
"Only a Gryffindor would lay down their life for someone else. Slytherins know better."
Hermione felt like an outsider suddenly as the two powerful men faced one another in the dark room. Power was beginning to buzz all around them as tension built, making the air feel thick and murky. Hermione breathed slowly to stay calm.
A hum and a smirk from Valerian, no longer charming and now seeming sharp at the edges. "You mean to say that Slytherins care less for their loved ones, then?"
"No. I mean to say that Slytherins are not so foolish as to think that giving their life would ever make a difference."
She took a step to the side, unconsciously nearing her Defense professor, and didn't recoil when she felt a cool touch to the back of her neck. She was thankful for the reminder of not being alone with these powerful beings. Even as she knew that Professor Pierce, surely, was frighteningly powerful in his own right, she had rarely seen him be anything less than perfectly placid. The raging emotions that she could barely control were soothed by it.
"Ah, and here I thought you had no idea what love even was."
Voldemort sneered, teeth bared. "I have no use for such a paltry dalliance like love."
Hermione nearly ran into Professor Pierce as she took a step back, seeing rage ignite Voldemort's eyes.
"Oh, you cannot move, dear Voldemort? Apologies, but you're being a foolish little thing, and I just cannot stand people in denial."
"Vampire, release me this instant!"
"And then what?" Valerian's head fell to the side, sending his hair swooping down in a curtain. "You will only continue in your foolishness. You will only perpetuate your sorry lies. That will get us nowhere. Miss Granger, I believe you should leave now, as I need to have a chat with Lord Voldemort."
Hermione's fingers clenched and unclenched, the curious part of her wanting to stay, but the rest of her not wanting to be in the room when the two powerful figures clashed. She heaved a sigh and ran for the closed door, slipping out of it as quickly as possible.
Harry was too far gone to flinch at the look in identical green eyes, threading his fingers through auburn hair and tilting Lily's head back. A tear rolled down her cheek as he brought his other hand down, convulsing fingers sliding to wrap around her throat.
"No matter how I feel about your choices, Harry… your life is your own." Her voice was little more than a whisper, eyes glowing in the moonlight much like his own preternatural ones. His hands were shaking, and he didn't know why. The quiver to her voice entranced him. "I love you Harry, more than anyone else ever could. Even if you took the wrong path… I love you just the same. No matter the blood on your hands, or the person you love. I love you, Harry."
It was like the world had stopped. No longer did the ominous chanting fill his ears, no more did the shadows roil and deepen. Sirius and James were silent and still and the faint breeze that had been tickling the long grass died, leaving Harry staring down at Lily's heartrending smile. That the pain had miraculously abated was hardly a matter in his mind. Even the numbness that slowly permeated his limbs went unnoticed. Tear-tracks across his mother's face glistened in the stark white light of the moon, and Harry found that breathing was an impossibility.
A joint popped when his knees hit the ground. Still the world seemed frozen, no sound but the harshness of his pulse. No movement but the slow rolling tear that escaped one of Lily's eyes and made its way to her jaw line.
He hadn't even realized that he'd released her hair, only noticing when his head fell down, staring at his upturned hands. Love. She loved him, despite all he had done. She loved him, even when he had killed and tortured. She loved him, unconditionally.
He didn't recognize the constricted feeling in his throat for what it was, the burning around his eyes and nose. As the first teardrop fell into his hands, it took Harry several long moments to realize that it had come from him. He hadn't cried in years, years, so long ago that he couldn't honestly remember it. His first year in Hogwarts, maybe? He looked up, meeting his mother's eyes, disregarding the tears he could still feel rolling indolently from his lashes. "Mum…"
She crawled forward across the meager space between them, hands raising to cup Harry's face. A fog was slowly creeping over his senses, clouding his mind. He didn't jerk away as her cool palms slid across his cheeks, didn't feel awkward as leaned forward to gently kiss each of his eyes. His hands fell to his sides to rest in the overgrown grass. It was cool and slightly damp, night's dew settling over it even through the enclosure's walls. Harry didn't question this.
He leaned into Lily's touch with a vacant stare, letting his head fall to her shoulder as she guided him there. "Hush, luv. I'll make sure nothing hurts you again. You won't ever have to hurt again, never fear rejection or heartbreak. You won't have to fear a wrong step with that lover of yours, or the thoughts your friends harbor when you turn your back. I'll not let pain touch you ever again. And luv, my Harry… all you have to do is repent."
Harry felt himself nod.
The force of the vampire's magic held Tom immobile, and he wished vehemently to be able to shove his wand down the Marquis's throat. He felt as if someone was sitting upon his chest, crushing his ribcage and suffocating him with every breath he was forced to take.
Tom forced his tongue to work, his mouth to move. "You have no right to do this to me--"
"You are right to be angry. You are a powerful man, Voldemort, but power will never be everything. I have a very hearty advantage over you with my blood magic. But you are very young yet, and you have yet to learn the limits of power alone. I have power. I have more power than I will ever have use for. You think this brings happiness? Serenity?" The vampire gave a mocking smile, leaning forward.
"No, Lord Voldemort," Valerian continued, "Power is but a tool. Power is not the answer to every question. I have the power to move through time, but how has it served me? I am bound not to meddle in the affairs of mortals. Even young Mylläkkä… for this I will be punished, because I have used my powers to change the inevitable, to prevent his death. Can you imagine what power brings me? I am expected to sit idly by as people die, no matter their connection to me. If I had obeyed my limitations, your lover would be dead."
Tom stayed mulish, jaw set and crimson eyes gleaming. He was no fool.
Valerian shook his head slowly, encroaching on Tom's personal space. It was oddly nonsexual for the flamboyant vampire, the folds of his jacket brushing Tom's chest and his hair falling to tease his arms. Tom had a flash of similar long, dark hair curtained around him. He shook the thought away as Valerian spoke, serious and quiet. "Does your pride really extend so far? Would you see him die because of your foolish arrogance? I see myself in you, young Voldemort. I see the man I once was. I pray that you do not make the same mistakes I did."
"You presume much, sir Marquis," Tom murmured, throat constricting as the spell clamped around it.
"Mmm, it is what I do best," said Valerian, golden eyes narrowing on Tom. "I give him to you, but you will not take advantage of this gift. You will not stay in your delusions of detachment, and you will not continue to deny him. It would be a mistake to do so, and I will not see him harmed for it."
Golden eyes widened as a wand was pressed hard into his throat, Tom Riddle's gaze firm on his own. "Potter is no gift to be given, Vampire. And I won't have you dictate my affairs. Lord you may be, but this is not your realm, and I am not your subordinate."
"So bold, Voldemort. But can you back your claims?"
"You have no clue what I can do." Tom's eyes were blank, expression vaguely sardonic. But inside he churned with anger at the impudence the vampire had displayed, the brazen ordering of him, Lord Voldemort! …But he was being irrational. He had to remember that the vampire was a lord in his own right, and had been such for much longer. It gave him little right to treat him in such a way, but Tom swallowed down his resentment and settled for gazing unflinchingly into Valerian's eyes.
"I assure you that it would not be anything I have not seen before."
"I care very little for what Potter might think of you, and I would very happily send your realm into chaos with your death, but I would rather maintain diplomatic relations."
Valerian smirked widely. "I am surprised you have lived so long with such an attitude. Thankfully for you, though, I care very much for what Mylläkkä thinks. But I will not overstay my welcome. You have been warned and Dante knows what must be done. Now is the time to dispel your petty neurosis about admitting you are human."
Tom made to retort, but the vampire was already spinning away and striding towards Pierce, hips swaying outrageously. Tom's jaw tightened, but he refused to fall into Valerian's trap and react. He would not be made a spectacle of, even without an audience.
Instead, Tom turned towards the door and ignored the room's occupants, striding out into the Great Hall and towards the head table, grimacing a bit at the sight of Dumbledore's corpse before focusing on his long-time operative. "Minnie?"
Minerva stood immediately and hastened to his side, dropping to her knees in supplication. "Yes, my lord?"
"See that any untrustworthy vermin are rendered impotent, and see that the children use the facilities and change. It is beginning to smell like a hospice in here. They shall be escorted in small groups to do so under the watch of no less than three adults at a time. I want no chance of one sneaking off to send a letter or escape altogether. Until the situation with Potter is sorted, I want the school to be on lockdown within the hall, so see to having the professors create accommodations."
"Of course, my lord. Should I confiscate wands?"
"It would be best, though any that are known loyals need not have their wands taken."
"I will go about this immediately, my lord." Minerva stood and straightened her robes primly, nose turning up as she gazed out at the terrorized students.
"Oh, and Minnie? Do have someone clear away the dearly deceased Headmaster. He is distressing the children."
A sweeping bow and Minerva McGonagall was hurrying away, snapping out orders. Tom cocked his head lightly and considered leaving her permanently in the position as Headmistress. She was the most obvious choice, and was familiar with the students and the workings of the school. But this was not the time to worry about such a thing.
He made his way back to the side room with a scowl, straightening his back. He needed to know what was to be done, and he wanted it done as soon as possible. Potter was mucking things up right now, and the sooner he woke up the better.
"Where there is light, the answer will always be illuminated. Where there is goodness, justice can always be done. Where there is hope, even the darkest of shadows may be eradicated."
Harry's first thought, inane though it was, was that the meddling old bastard had managed to avoid the Killing Curse. It figured. But the thought was light, whispering, skittering dully on the edges of his mind and never really reaching the conscious edge of realization or knowledge. That he was no longer in the glass room, no longer anywhere, was inconsequential. The lack of Lily's arms around him was nearly painful but that, too, faded quickly.
"Light forever conquers Dark, an endless stream in history. Don't you see, Harry? Integrity and justice always win. Greed, megalomania, massacre… they always fall under the mighty power of Light's inherent truth. Did you really think it could be any other way? You should have known better, my boy."
His head was heavy, and it would be too much effort to pick it up and look towards the man, even as he felt the insatiable need to cock his head in curiosity.
"What did you hope to find there? Family? Acceptance? You should have known, Harry, that there was no such thing to be found there. Your friends, your true friends… we were here all along. You made a bad decision my boy, but it is not too late to change it. Make it better. Do you think you can do that?"
Still he couldn't move, leaden weights attached to his every atom. Something deep inside of his mind screamed in denial. It railed at the old man, enraged words that held no coherence for Harry in his current state. Dumbledore's voice was the only one he could listen to, the only one that mattered. It was obvious, wasn't it?
"You are a good boy at heart. I know you are. You fought Voldemort for so long, so hard. He killed your parents, took away your chance at a normal life. You hated him for that, didn't you? You hated him for condemning you to your existence as it was, fated to be mistreated, hated. In the spotlight, forever fluctuating between revered and loathed. And you hated him. Right, Harry?"
A slow nod, more of a slow rise of his head and then gravity taking over, but it was enough to bring a warm tone to Dumbledore's voice.
"Ah, my boy. You are so close to understanding. The Dark is wrong, Harry. They are cruel, horrid people, bent on dominating all you hold dear. Can you really stand by and let such a thing happen? You hated Voldemort, remember? You hate him still. You worked by his side, but surely you hate him still. Right, my boy? Of course…"
The screaming in his mind rose in pitch, the rage transforming to something like panic as it drowned out Dumbledore's voice. Fear gripped at his mind and for a moment Harry had the strength to blink, eyes staring at the formless ground. "No… I love."
Dumbledore stopped speaking, a silence passing over them. "What was that? I don't believe I heard you."
"I…" What had he been saying again? Voldemort. Who he hated. Harry's eyes blinked more forcefully, and he felt his fingers spasm. No… Voldemort who he had hated. Voldemort, his Tom… "Love. No hate. Love."
Pain. His hair was grasped hard, and Harry felt like he should cry out. He… didn't like his hair pulled, did he? No. No he did not. But the urge to yell was lost to the fog that was suffocating him, pulled away even as his head was tilted back and he was staring into an age-lined face, blue eyes narrowed and angry. Had he seen those eyes this way before? Not much, and not in quite a long time. But why was he so angry?
"Love? You are so far gone that you think you love Tom?" The voice was at odds with the angry eyes, soft and understanding.
Harry stared blankly up. He felt like sleeping, falling. He was dead weight in the man's grip, and staring with unblinking eyes was the most he could summon at the moment. Those eyes softened just a bit, dropping Harry back to lie down, leaving him staring into the endless, amorphous white.
"You really believe these delusions, don't you my boy? Poor, sweet Harry. You were so taken in by that monster. No one can love something so inhuman. You cannot. Something like Tom is incapable of love, incapable of caring. He is soulless, heartless. He thinks of his own power and how to expand it, his own life and how to keep it from ending. He does not have the capacity to care for another being, my boy. Surely you know this?"
A snarl of rage on reptilian features, curses falling in a litany from a lipless mouth. The feel of a hand against his neck, crushing, demonic teeth bared in a snarl. Cruelly handsome features sneering, mocking, enjoying the pain inflicted. Extensive condemnations, hard smile and eyes staring into Harry…
He gasped, body trembling. He heard a low sound of sadness from Dumbledore. "I know, my boy. It hurts, does it not? The truth often does. But it something you need to face if you are to be cured. Whatever you thought you had with Tom was a lie. But it is alright, Harry. I am here to save you, don't you see? I will allow you to start anew, forget all the awfulness you must have had to endure. Come, my boy, all you have to do is say the right words."
Harry opened his mouth, ready to say whatever words he needed to, anything to escape the claws rending his heart. While before he could feel nothing, now he could not stop feeling. The pain was magnified tenfold, it seemed, and had he not been lying down already, Harry was sure he could have collapsed from the strain. He had to say something, something to stop the pain. Anything to make his world stop collapsing, his emotions from bleeding into his chest.
"I'm…" Harry paused to gasp for breath, the thick feeling in his throat constricting.
"Yes? Yes, young Harry?" the voice was eager, dark and coercing. But Harry paid it no mind.
"I'm…" another pause, this time from a more immediate pain. The screaming was back, this time accompanied by images. Crimson eyes, inches from his own and glazed in passion. The feel of even breathing against the back of his neck, a low rumble and tightening of arms if he shifted away. The light of a smile playing across handsome features, of long fingers reaching out to grip the back of his neck and pull him forward, teeth tugging at Harry's lower lip. The sound of startled laughter, choppy from disuse. The look on cruelly handsome features when irritated but putting up with it because he was Harry. The halting cadence of a dark voice when trying to be understanding, failing miserably or not.
And the white world turned black. "I'm in love with Tom Riddle," he rasped, feral grin pulling at his lips. "And I would never let you defeat me so easily, Dumbledore."
The darkness took Harry away.
"Well, isn't this just wonderful: stuck as babysitter to a bunch of brainless Gryffindors."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, belt up Malfoy. You aren't babysitting anyone."
"Like hell I'm not. I'd much rather be finishing my dinner right now."
Hermione tapped her wand against her forearm, eye ticking the barest bit. "You are inconceivably supercilious."
"And you're ugly."
Her lip curled and her eyes narrowed. "I pity you for being unable to engage in an argument without being a petty bitch."
"Bitch?!"
She was quite surprised when Neville stepped between them, broad shoulders squared. "M-Malfoy, back off. Without Harry up and about, do you really want to set her off again?"
Hermione wanted to hug Neville as Malfoy paled, and she relished in the vindictive pleasure that spread through her. The pointy little ferret deserved the dig, incorrigible arse he was. She let a smug grin flit over her face, and Malfoy's nose tipped predictably upwards. "Whatever, you gits. I'm only here to be sure none of your lot attempt any," his sneer was disgusted, "heroics."
"Don't you think that Voldemort could very well handle that on his own, if it came down to that?"
Even without sound, Hermione was aware of the way people flinched and sucked in breaths. Even with all that had gone on that day, the sound of his name still sent them into a fright. She shook her head with a sigh.
"Why yes, I would think Voldemort could indeed take care of himself."
Hermione squeaked and spun, lips tightening at scowling man, even as her stomach dropped. No matter her recriminations towards the students, Voldemort just scared the life out of her. "Apologies, err, sir."
Demonic eyes rolled and he sneered as the Gryffindor students who edged away. "Great bravery from the lions, I see. Granger, a word."
Her heart wouldn't stop pounding and had she not possessed the intelligence to know otherwise, Hermione might have imagined it would explode. She nodded when her tongue refused to work, scurrying behind the long strides of the Dark Lord as he led her to the corner of the hall.
His wand came out and Hermione flinched, much to the obvious amusement of Voldemort and to her own chagrin. With a silencing spell in place, he looked her over with a sneer. "Listen, girl. Potter obviously thinks highly of your mental processes, so I will make this quick. There will be a ritual taking place at the highest peak of the moon, one requiring polar points of relations for Potter. A confidant and a skeptic, a friend and an enemy, and one who loves and one who hates. We need the roles filled by this eve."
This was about Harry. Hermione breathed and summoned everything that had put her in Gryffindor. "You have decided some of the roles, I assume?"
The sneer darkened frightfully. "The Marquis has placed Pierce as the confidant. Beyond that he has only named you as the friend. Your devotion is what led him to insist upon you."
Hermione swelled with happiness and nodded. "So it is dependent on the casters, not Harry himself?"
"No. This spell is based in emotion and in the binds of attachment, requiring the force of the emotions of others to make it succeed. You are the purest in your emotion towards Potter, though perhaps not the closest to him."
"We require, then, a skeptic, an enemy, and one who hates, then? Hmm, the negatives."
"You would understand your fellow students far better than I. I certainly have no inkling."
"You will take on the role of the one who loves, then?"
She knew it was a mistake even as the words left her mouth, and her screams echoed against the silencing barrier as she was hit with a Cruciatus before she would even inhale. Oh gods it hurt, worse than she had ever imagined. It felt as if her insides were tearing apart and reforming wrongly, only to be forced to shreds again.
It was released more quickly than she might have imagined, and she couldn't breath even to recover when crimson eyes leaned near to her, close enough to fill her vision. "Disgusting little mudblood, you seem to forget your boundaries. Speak out of line like that again and I will not hesitate to strike you down."
With a harsh slash of his wand, Voldemort removed the privacy spells and stalked away. But Hermione felt as if a victory had been won. For one thing, he hadn't bothered denying his place in the formation. For another, no matter what he might think, he had hesitated in killing her already; most would have been killed for the transgression. She was sure that Harry had influenced him far more than he would ever admit.
She shakily pushed her way to her feet and stumbled back to the Gryffindor table, ignoring the way hundreds of sets of eyes followed her. Years of being Harry Potter's friend left you used to it. She looked at Malfoy's ashen complexion and Neville's anxious face and tried to smile. "I'm fine."
"What did you say to him, you idiot?! Merlin's balls, Granger, but you've got enough stupidity to keep Gryffindor afloat for a unicorn's age!"
She scowled but let the comments roll off, strangely calmed by her knowledge of Harry's salvation. She couldn't fall apart now. She was needed. "I merely pointed out something that Voldemort is already aware of, not that he wanted to be told it."
A hand was laid onto her shoulder, and Hermione turned to meet exceptionally pale blue eyes, soft and smiling. Luna made a hand motion towards Hermione, a universal sign asking if she was alright.
She nodded. "I'm fine. It…" she paused and shifted, the twinges of pain not yet subsided. "It hurts, but there are more important things."
A long look from large eyes, before a subtle hand motion was directed down the Gryffindor table. Hermione turned out of reaction, but she didn't need to. She knew what Luna was trying to ask, and the sight of a bowed red head only sent a lance of pain through her heart. "I don't know. Ron is very, very upset. I… Harry knew this would happen. He didn't want to lose anyone, but he knew it was likely to be the way of things. I made my choice when I stayed by Harry's side."
"W-Well, maybe it will be okay, Hermione. Maybe… maybe he'll understand. We all did, after all."
She gave Neville a sad smile. "It is a nice thought, but it just isn't likely. Ron is too set in his ways."
"Salazar help me, but I've been thrown into the middle of a Gryffindor love session. Would you three cut the crap?"
Luna gave a dreamy smile, and Neville translated. "Luna isn't a Gryffindor, she's a Ravenclaw."
"And nutters to boot."
"Shut up, Malfoy," Hermione said with heavy exasperation.
Another hand motion, the smile on Luna's face showing her entertainment with the situation. This one was expansive, floating around the room before coming back to point at her throat.
"Hmm, I don't know. Perhaps we can convince Voldemort to release everyone from the spell if things go well."
"'If things go well'? Is there news about Harry?"
Hermione sighed and looked into Neville's eyes, a tight smile on her lips. "We have hope, and that's the best we can ask for. But I'm going to need your help. All of your help."
She ignored Malfoy's silent fuming and quickly set about filling Neville and Luna in on the situation, unsure as to the outcome. But she would succeed, no matter what it took.
The consuming darkness had returned to him, welcoming him back into the arms of serenity. Now he knew, oh he knew the truth. He knew the altruistic darkness was but a fantasy. Still he relished in the freedom given, the loss of the burning anger and roiling emotions. He breathed in the abyss.
In. Out. In. Out.
"Angel?"
Harry turned as well as he could, body lolling back towards the voice. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing there. "Hmm?"
"I am glad you are more lucid this time. We need to speak, child of Mawu."
"Mmm…"
"The time is here. You made no choice, Angel, so it will be worse and worse. And you will survive, even when you least want to. Oh, Angel, death would have been kinder…"
Harry struggled to find his voice, unseeing eyes blinking in a lazy droop. "Huh?"
"Oh, Angel… there are none so blind as those who refuse to see. Shall we endeavor to awaken truth in the heart of your chosen?"
Before the question had even registered, Harry's chest exploded into agony.
As usual, a huge thank you to all of my readers, reviewing or not. You all keep me going, and I will never, ever abandon this. Come hell or high water, this damned thing will be done.
A special thank you to Purple Uranium, who I just now realized I may never have replied to, for her absolutely breath-stealing review. Though I now doubt that I ever wrote to express my gratitude, that review is what got me writing 7k of this 12k chapter.
Revised: 3/21/09