Lightning Amongst the Stars

Chapter One – Moheschunder's Manoeuvre

"So, this is how it ends then?"

Padma stirred from her rest and turned to face the rest of the group. Ron's words came out through a clenched jaw, the lower bass of his voice trembling. He stood hunched, dirt marring the premature creases of worry which lined his still youthful face, as he kept an arm wrapped protectively over his lower abdomen. Red stained the white of his teeth as he spat a globule of blood onto the floor, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he fought against the pain.

She heaved a deep sigh. He was not alone in having a poor physical condition. Around him were the surviving members of the Order. His eldest brother, Bill, ponytail now long gone and a shaven, patchy thatch of hair in its place. Padma was with her sister, both huddled together for warmth in the barren cave they were using to bide time and hide in. Minerva and Kingsley too, the elder leaning on the broad frame of the former Auror, their posture that of cornered prey, not seasoned warriors. Missing from their group was Arthur Weasley, who was occupied elsewhere with their sleeping comrade.

Beside Ron, she saw Bill's glare pierce through the gloom, but it was the set of his shoulders that made Ron's own bravado falter. Bill's eyes flashed and he shot Ron a warning look: Don't, it said. Despite the pain, Ron seemed to have caught its meaning loud and clear; something akin to guilt and shame flitted across his face. His ears burned red at the top and he started to mash the ground around his feet with his boots.

The space was cramped, the dimly lit cave was thick with a mixture of damp earth and stale air. The remnants of a meagre fire crackled weakly in the corner, offering little warmth against the encroaching chill of the night. The faces of the Order members gathered there were drawn and haggard, their eyes nervous and hollow.

The silence was broken by the sound of heavy footsteps echoing through the cave. Arthur stumbled into view, his face pale and his breathing ragged. His clothes were torn and stained, his normally tidy hair dishevelled.

A collective gasp of relief filled the cave as wands were lowered, the tension momentarily broken. Padma watched as Arthur slowly lowered himself down, before sinking into the thin mattress of a rickety cot, his hands trembling slightly as he fumbled with a small flask he fished from his pockets.

"How is he?" Padma shifted, her head raised from where it had been on her sister's lap.

Arthur took a long gulp from the flask, looked at her, and sighed.

"There's been no improvement. He's still fragile, and only barely stable." The Weasley Patriarch sat himself down heavily in front of the flickering fire. As he settled, Arthur flicked his wand. More kindling joined the flames, which roared slightly higher. Padma watched as he was seemingly entranced, watching the fleeting, dancing shapes. Here sat a broken man, a man who had lost most of his family and his world. Arthur Weasley suffered and lost more than most could even begin to imagine, and yet here he was, still trying to right the world from wrong.

Padma closed her eyes as she laid back down. Parvati continued to run her fingers through her sister's hair, soothing her in the only way she knew how to. A troubled crease ran across her brow, a seemingly permanent fixture from the dire situation they were in.

The cave's damp air clung to them like a shroud. The light illuminated the faces of her comrades, their expressions an uncomfortable mirror of her own weariness. Padma shuffled again, her body aching from weeks of hiding, running, and fighting a losing battle against a darkness that seemed to seep into every corner of their world.

She glanced towards the figure laying at the back of the cave, in the shadows: Harry. Her heart ached with a love so profound, so all-consuming, it threatened to shatter her from the inside out.

They had met in the chaos of the war, two unlikely allies forged in the fires of the resistance. She, a Ravenclaw known for her sharp wit and logical mind, found herself drawn to him, and how he was just Harry. He, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, found solace in her quiet strength.

Their love had blossomed like a fragile flower amidst the ruins of their world. It was a secret they shared, a stolen moment of warmth and tenderness in a world gone cold. But even their love couldn't shield them from the harsh realities of the war and the constant fear of loss.

The memory of that day still haunted her dreams, a recurring nightmare that left her gasping for breath and clutching at the empty space beside her in bed. She had searched for him, tirelessly, desperately, clinging to the hope that he was still in there. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, that hope had dwindled, replaced by a bone-deep weariness that threatened to consume her entirely.

It had been sudden, Harry's accident. A recon-turned-rescue mission in Oxford, scouting for Death Eater activity and to disrupt it had quickly descended into an extraction after finding four Muggle children hiding in the rubble of their former home.

A trap.

One stray curse later and Harry was comatose.

With that, the composure of the Wizarding World fell into chaos. Whether anyone wanted to admit it or not, Harry was a devastating force against Voldemort and his army. Padma had seen how Harry had come into his own, barely seventeen and having to shoulder the burden of war passed down to him from wizards who had been fighting against the Dark Lord for far longer than they. His prowess on the battlefield was a sight to behold, as he caused carnage to the growing tide of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. But with Harry out of the way, their efforts were just not enough.

Voldemort moved with a swift and devastating brutality, striking deep into the heart of the Ministry and bringing it to its knees. Wizarding Britain did not stand a chance. Confusion, terror, panic and sheer desperation worked its way through the veins of the country, acting like a blood agent as it corroded and corrupted. Voldemort only had to eliminate a few, choice individuals who stood in his path towards absolute power before he shadow-ruled with an iron fist.

Within three weeks of Harry Potter being removed from the chessboard of war, Britain was securely under Voldemort's control.

The Order of the Phoenix had long fled underground. Now, what remained after Voldemort's purge scrambled for their lives. The Weasley brood, Professors McGonagall, Snape and Flitwick, Padma and Parvati, Kingsley, Hermione and a few members of Dumbledore's Army managed to escape to a forgotten Auror safehouse. The welcome respite did not last long, as the Death Eaters found them from poring over the Ministry records, having guessed they would take to ground.

The rag-tag resistance dwindled further when they lost Fred, George, Ginny, Mrs Weasley, Charlie, Flitwick, Snape, Hermione and countless others in the raids that followed. The survivors barely managed to escape, leaving most of their worldly possessions behind as they evaded the Dark Lord once more.

They took to cave-hopping, never staying in one for more than a few days. This lasted for another couple of weeks until it was clear the Death Eaters could not track them. Harry, still comatose and vulnerable, was carefully transported during this time. A necessary burden, they could not afford for Harry to get caught and his survival was the unspoken rule of law amongst the group.

Parvati had been a true blessing, trying to keep morale afloat. She spoke of Harry waking from his coma and the world being set to rights. Padma wanted to believe her, wanted to cling to that sliver of hope. But the truth was, she was tired. Tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of losing. She wanted to scream, but the thought of doing so left her numb and empty.

She closed her eyes, the image of Harry's face, his bright green eyes filled with love and laughter, flashing before her. It was a memory from what felt like a lifetime ago, a fleeting moment of happiness in a world that had since turned to ash.

A sob caught in her throat, threatening to shatter the fragile composure she had clung to for so long. She opened her eyes, the firelight casting a flickering glow on the tears that streamed down her face. She was Padma Patil, a warrior, a survivor. She had faced death and loss, had endured pain and heartbreak. And she would continue to fight, for as long as she had breath in her body. She wanted him back, wanted to feel the warmth of his embrace, the gentle touch of his hand. A foolish, impossible dream.

Deep down, in the hidden corners of her heart, a small, desperate voice whispered a silent prayer. 'Please, Harry, come back. Come back to me.'

Her eyes fell to the back of the cave. Everyone knew there was no change to Harry and there had been none for a few weeks now. Harry lay unnaturally still, his breaths shallow and ragged. The once vibrant green eyes were dimmed, a reminder that their beacon of hope was on the brink of being extinguished.

Kingsley, who had been monitoring their surroundings, suddenly went stock still. Ice ran down Padma's spine. Kingsley's wand twitched as he turned to face the entrance of the cave, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Something's wrong," he said, his voice low and urgent. "The alarm has been tripped."

Panic blazed like an open flame within Padma, and she saw it on the others as they looked to Kingsley, their faces pale with fear. After what seemed like a lifetime of living in constant fear, it seemed that their worst nightmare was about to become a reality.

The Death Eaters had found them. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. They were out of time.

They were trapped.

Bill rallied first. "We need to fight," he said, his voice hard. "We can't let them take us without a fight."

There were nods and mumbles of agreements, wands drawn and faces set into grim resolve. Padma knew they were outnumbered and outgunned, but they were not going to go down without a fight.

Padma followed and stood, smoothing the flyaway strands of her hair as she did. McGonagall and Kingsley were leading the group towards the cave entrance, and Padma snagged Ron's sleeve before he could move with them.

He turned to her, confused, but recognition of what was to come crossed his face.

"It's time," Padma whispered, tears welling in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. Ron nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed back tears.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

Hermione's lectures lived on as Ron's wand moved with a steady swish and flick, and Harry was levitated from the cot he was in. Ron twitched his wand, guiding his best friend towards the capsule that had been built as Wizarding Britain's last hope.

Precise runes and glowing stones decorated the sides of the capsule. Soft light emanated from them, as they glowed and swirled, designed for both holding Harry in a secure stasis and enacting the plan to come.

The brainchild of Professor McGonagall, Bill and Padma, the box was named the Cradle. It was Bill's off-the-cuff remark which bore the seed of this, of wanting to reset the clock and start again. It was Minerva's poring over what they had scavenged of Professor Dumbledore's old tomes and guides, working out the necessary formulae to craft it. It was Padma's unparalleled creative genius, taking ideas of Hermione's to unthought of heights, warping and twisting them into an insane but working idea.

Because the Cradle was more than just a tool to win the war. It was their last hope, the only thing the meagre resistance had left, the ace in the hole against Lord Voldemort. The Cradle was a complex creation of theoretical arithmancy, advanced transfiguration conjecture and borderline illegal potion-making. Snape's last act before he had been felled had been to ensure he copied his life's work into a diary, painstakingly recording all and every idea he had ever had, every potion he thought to make or bind. A testament to desperation, fueled by scavenged knowledge and a dash of reckless brilliance. It wasn't a coffin to them, but a lifeline, a twisted mockery of a Time-Turner, fueled by arithmancy and potions that bordered on the unforgivable. All of it gambled on one stark reality: Harry was their only chance.

Working in tandem, Ron and Padma lifted Harry with agonising care. Ron stumbled and Padma instantly moved to cover him if Harry were to fall. She needn't have - Ron's face was taut, his teeth bared as he fought against the pain lancing through him for his best friend. They settled Harry into the Cradle, the stark white of the cushioned interior a painful contrast against his too-pale skin.

Water dripped from the stalactites with a maddening rhythm, echoing the frantic beat of Padma's heart.

McGonagall, her robes smudged with soot, stood with her gaze fixed on the cave entrance. Each crackle of a spell outside, each scream of a Death Eater caught by their defences ripped through the silence like a portkey malfunction. Kingsley leaned against the damp wall, eyes closed but brow furrowed in concentration, stretching his tired mind to feel for approaching threats.

Beside Ron, Padma knelt, her fingers resting on the smooth edge of the Cradle. Inside, Harry lay unnaturally still, his face pale against the white cushion. His chest rose and fell with shallow, ragged breaths. She brushed a few errant strands of hair from his face. She hoped he would last.

"Anything, Kingsley?" Ron rasped, his throat dry.

Kingsley's eyes snapped open. "More of them, Ron. Many more. And… something else." His voice trailed off, a tremor running through his powerful frame.

Ron swallowed, and Padma unconsciously mirrored, trying to quell the rising panic in her gut. "Something else?" Ron echoed, his voice barely a whisper.

"I can't quite grasp it," Kingsley admitted, his brow furrowed. "There's a presence, a dark energy unlike anything I've ever felt before. It's twisted… hungry."

A low growl echoed from the cave entrance. Padma shuddered. The cave floor trembled faintly.

"They're breaching the perimeter," Kingsley choked out. "They've brought reinforcements."

McGonagall whirled around, her voice surprisingly steady. "Hold!" she barked, with fire in her eyes. "We knew this day would come. We fight until our last breath!"

Before they could do anything else, dust rained down, choking the air. A guttural roar filled the space, strong enough to collapse some of the cave.

"What the-" Bill breathed, his knuckles white from clenching his wand.

Before he could finish, a blinding flash and a deafening crack split the air. Above them, a swirling vortex had appeared, swirling with hues of purple and green. Something was emerging, some terrible, monstrous thing, summoned by Dark magic.

An acrid stench of decay and graverot filled the air. Padma's hand tightened on her wand as she tensed, her body shielding Harry from whatever horror was coming.

"Hold!" cried Minerva, her voice cutting through the shocked silence. A shimmering blue shield erupted from her wand, the first line of defence against the encroaching darkness.

In the chaos, Padma barely noticed Arthur rise from his makeshift cot by the fire. His face was etched with grief and exhaustion. With a ragged cough, he limped towards the fray, his wand also held high.

"Molly would have wanted me to fight," Arthur said, his voice hoarse. It broke Padma's heart to see the once jovial patriarch of the Weasley family as a shadow of his former self, his spirit broken by the loss of his wife. But she knew Arthur wouldn't give up, not while there was still a chance of changing the path they were on.

The remaining members of the Order followed McGonagall's example, spells flashing like angry fireflies in the cavern's gloom. The cavern shuddered, the stalactites above groaning in protest. A thunderous boom echoed through the chamber. More dust rained down in a choking cloud, momentarily blinding them. Padma coughed, her eyes stinging, her wand held aloft with light in the chaos.

"They're through!" roared Kingsley. Ron saw them first – a wave of Death Eaters, their masks twisted in cruel grins, spells crackling at their fingertips.

"Protect Harry!" McGonagall's voice cut through the shocked silence, her wand spitting a jet of crimson light that struck true.

The battle erupted. Spells flew like angry hornets, curses illuminated the cavern in a ghastly light. Padma fought with a desperation she hadn't known she possessed, her every instinct screaming at her to protect the Cradle, to protect Harry.

But it wasn't enough. The Death Eaters pressed forward, their ranks bolstered by the monstrous brute. Kingsley blasted one back with a well-placed curse, but two more took his place.

A volley of spells erupted from the Death Eaters' ranks, a barrage of emerald green curses aimed at the weakened resistance. Arthur, fueled by a grief that had hardened into a steely resolve, deflected a jet of Stunning Spell with a flick of his wand. The incantation for a Blasting Curse flew from his lips, knocking a Death Eater back into the crumbling doorway.

The battle raged on. Curses flew with deadly accuracy, spells collided in blinding flashes of light. But the Death Eaters were relentless. They swarmed the Order, and Padma dispatched another with a Cutting Curse to the neck as she saw Kingsley blast a Death Eater off his feet, the sickening crack of bone lost in the cacophony of battle. Ron roared and launched a Stunning Spell at a Death Eater aiming for Padma, the red blur of the curse connecting with a sickening thud.

The cave crackled with raw magic, the stench of ozone and burning flesh heavy in the air. McGonagall, a whirlwind of spells and fierce Scottish curses, held her ground, her Transfiguration prowess momentarily stemming the tide of attackers.

Padma dived behind a large rock, narrowly avoiding a curse. She saw Arthur move from his cover, his chest heaving with exertion as he deflected another curse. A stray hex clipped his shoulder as he moved to cover Ron. He stumbled, his wand clattering to the ground. A Death Eater, his face twisted with sadistic glee, lunged at him.

"For the Dark Lord!" he shrieked, his wand aimed squarely at Arthur's chest.

Padma winced as a crack echoed through the chamber. Arthur stumbled back, a look of disbelief etched on his face. Crimson bloomed on his robes, spreading rapidly.

"Dad!" Ron's scream was one of terror. He lunged towards his father, but another Death Eater with a cruel smile intercepted him, a jet of sickly green light aimed straight for Arthur's chest.

Time seemed to slow down. Padma saw the look of horror on Arthur's face, the way his eyes flickered to the Cradle, a silent plea for Harry's survival. She saw Ron's silent scream as he futilely leapt towards his father. Then, with a choked gasp, Arthur Weasley crumpled to the ground, his lifeless eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, his body a broken puppet discarded by an unseen hand.

A primal roar tore itself from Ron's throat. He lashed out with a vicious curse, fueled by a grief so raw it looked as if to consume him. But the Death Eater merely laughed and shielded it, a chilling sound that echoed through the chamber.

"Pathetic," he sneered. "You're all going to die here. Just like the rest of your precious Order and the boy wonder."

Padma's vision blurred with tears of rage and despair. Arthur was gone, another casualty in this endless war. But they wouldn't give up. They couldn't. Not while Harry still had a chance.

The Death Eater's head suddenly spun around, twisting around his neck before it came off with a pop. Padma looked on, speechless, as she saw her sister Parvati move onto the next foe, barely sparing her a glance as she barrelled on by.

"Move!" Parvati hissed, her eyes wide. Padma saw her sister's Gryffindor spirit shine through as she engaged another Death Eater, determination writ on her face. She nodded frantically, her heading bobbing as she made to move, before she stopped. Something that Padma couldn't even begin to describe pressed closer. It suffocated her, a tangible weight that made her breath catch in her throat.

An inhuman roar suddenly split the air, and the vortex shuddered hard enough for the cave to shake violently. All eyes turned to the crackling, unnatural split between worlds. A clawed hand, skeletal and inhumanely pale, left the vortex. It tore at the edges, elongated, sickly-coloured nails enlarging the opening. Padma felt bile rise in her throat.

Another hand joined the first, gripping the rip in the fabric of reality. Then, with a horrifying lurch, a monstrous head emerged. It was reptilian, covered in thick, leathery scales, with multiple lidless eyes gleaming crimson red. A forked tongue darted out, tasting the air. Padma retched; it reeked of something alien and corrupt. It pulsed with a rhythm that echoed the beat of her own frantic heart.

The beast screeched, a high-pitched, ear-splitting sound. Padma quivered in terror before it. Grotesquely warped, its obsidian skin was stretched taut over gnarled muscles. Multiple glowing red eyes scanned the chamber, settling on the Cradle with ravenous hunger. The creature's bulbous head turned in her direction, locking on with a chilling focus. Padma felt a wave of malevolent intent wash over her. It was no mere predator; this thing thrummed with intelligence twisted into monstrous cruelty.

Kingsley's guttural cry mingled with a Death Eater's cackle, punctuated by the sickening thud of bodies hitting stone. Above it all, the monster's shriek pierced the air, a sound that promised not death, but torment far worse.

The creature was nearly free of the vortex, its full form a ghastly, segmented thing, as large as a dragon. Padma gagged with terror. There was something unnatural in its movements, the joints bending in impossible ways as it pulled itself into their world. In its wake, the vortex crackled and widened, the edges threatening to collapse.

She ran from it.

Padma shook with unrestrained fear as the monster stretched and shook itself. The creature was more than just claws and teeth. There was a perverse cunning in those red eyes, a hunger not just for flesh, but for something more. It was a nightmare given form.

"Oh Merlin," she cried, the words catching in her dry throat. The creature was unlike anything she had ever encountered, a dark reflection of magic pushed to its most obscene limits.

"Hurry!"

Ron's panicked roar of desperation spurred Padma into faster action. Her breathing quickened, her pupils large and scared as her fingers flew over the Cradle, ensuring all was well.

"Protego Totalum!" Bill's shout cracked like a whip, and a shimmering dome of protective magic sprang up, encompassing them. Ron's wand flashed and sparked; a bolt of red shot past his shoulder, searing his skin. Ron flinched, then snarled. Padma saw he wasn't just fighting for survival now - he was fighting for every damn person in this cave.

She turned back to Harry, focusing on the task at hand. The others would protect her; she needed to sort Harry. A strap here, a binding there - piece by piece she secured her love in the Cradle.

"It's OK, Harry, it's OK," she cooed, rapidly tightening the straps holding him into place. Padma's movements were a blur, fingers now over intricate runes, eyes wide with a frantic determination that bordered on madness. "It's OK, Harry, it's OK," she chanted, more to herself than him. Her words were a lie. None of this was OK. Harry's head lolled side-to-side as she moved around him, his too-long hair over his face, eyes unfocused. Padma felt her chest tighten at the sight of him, as if heart would break as she looked at the man she loved, a man who she had not been able to embrace or speak with for months now.

"Wha-" Harry slurred, his lips dry and parted.

Padma's work faltered. Dear Merlin, he was lucid for a fleeting second. His eyes fluttered open, and for a single, impossibly long second, she saw him in there. Saw Harry. For one desperate moment, she looked into those familiar eyes and saw the confusion, the flicker of recognition. He saw her, saw them all, saw the desperation painted across their faces. And maybe, just maybe, a flash of understanding.

Then, a gasp – 'Padma?' – before the light faded, like a candle snuffed out in a storm.

The moment shattered, slipping through her fingers like sand. Panic surged through her. They were out of time. His gaze dulled and Padma couldn't fight the sob that ripped from her throat.

Padma ruthlessly quashed her emotions with a detached brutality as she desperately worked faster, checking and double-checking the holdings were firm and Harry would not move. She brushed her falling hair behind her ear with a trembling hand, her heart beating a tattoo in her chest as she cringed at the sound of battle behind her. Adrenaline coursed through her, preparing her for a fight or flight scenario as she gave Harry a final look. Emotion, longing and love, overcame her restraint and she threw herself upon Harry, clutching his face as she kissed him, lips pressed against his. Padma poured a lost lifetime of love, of companionship, of family and children, dreams and hopes, peace and safety into the kiss. After a tortuous moment, she pulled away, the dam holding back her pain cracking and the sobs began to wrack her body. A final kiss and caress of Harry's face, and she pulled away, closing the lid of the Cradle gently but firmly. It sealed with a muffled hiss.

A strangled yell from Bill cut through the air, and Padma whipped round, the hem of her robes spinning with her as she saw the one of last vanguard of the Wizarding World blasted across the cave, smashing into a jagged wall with a horrifying crack before falling. The eldest Weasley did not move and Padma knew nothing could be done for him from the pool of crimson developing beneath his broken corpse. Ron watched his brother's crumpled form, a sickening wave of nausea rising alongside the rage. Bill, the one who always got the bad haircuts, always teased too hard, was gone.

Bill's death brought renewed fury to Ron, who was casting curses with increasingly deadly accuracy and ferocity. The sea of black robes pouring in from the cave's entrance were held back, as Padma refocused on the Cradle. She inserted the potion vials filled with a turquoise liquid into their allocated slots, followed by the viridian and mustard coloured ones. Lastly, a single ruby-red potion with the consistency of custard was placed into the centre slot at the base of the Cradle, directly above the holder shaped like a Time-Turner.

Padma cut her palm.

The final piece of the puzzle, that only she knew. For the Cradle was meant to send Harry back five years, five years to give them all a head start in an attempt to beat Voldemort. But Padma wanted more; why five, when ten, fifteen, twenty, would be better.

And that sort of magic required a sacrifice.

In blood.

She slammed her bleeding wound onto the Time-Turner.

Ron and McGonagall's faces caught her pained gasp and both realised, with horror, exactly what Padma had done.

"Padma, what in Merlin's-"

"Miss Patel-"

Padma's face paled, her knees threatening to buckle as the magic drained her. Ron moved to go towards her, but she waved him off. Their protestations fell on deaf ears. Padma breathed deep, air and confidence filling her in equal measure. She knew in the core of her being that this was their last chance, and Harry their last hope. Blood dripped down, her palm weeping freely from the open wound.

She heard the monster roar with rage and Ron's swearing as he fired off curse after curse at its impenetrable hide. She squeezed her eyes shut as she saw the flash of its claws swipe across McGonagall's abdomen, the Transfiguration Professor coughing up blood with a look of shock on her face as another swipe took her head clean from her shoulders. She saw her sister's broken corpse not twenty feet away, and a wave of guilt wracked her as she realised Parvati had died alone without her there. Ron's final yell permeated her concentration, but she refocused. Nothing mattered now except ensuring the Cradle worked - the price had been paid in blood. The Time-Turner drank it greedily, the golden device taking on a ruby sheen as it spun faster and faster.

Tears leaked from her eyes as Padma looked on at the Cradle and its cargo, ignoring the wave of black robes and skulled masks, the hot stink of the nightmare creature's breath behind her. This wasn't hope anymore, this was love-fuelled, desperate insanity. And yet, as she gazed at Harry's still form, Padma knew she'd do it all again, a thousand times over.

If that was madness, then let her be gloriously insane.

"I love you, Harry," Padma sobbed, tears of regret and longing flowing freely, her body wracked with exhaustion and grief. "Please forgive me."

The final prayer left her lips as she watched the love of her life within his glass carriage to the past. Padma never saw the green light that hit her. Her eyes fluttered closed as Death claimed her, her last thought of love and hope, her last sight being the messy-haired wizard sleeping before her.

A/N: Please feel free to leave a review.