All there was truly was complete, total nothingness, void, darkness. The one that was banished here could do nothing but fume and rage at the absurdity of their foolishness and lack of foresight that had led them into this debacle.
So much intricate planning and care went into the formation and creation of their greatest artifact. To increase their power and to permanently allow their corporeal existence to exist until the stars would burn out, then the Father of All and his many, many children would either depart and sail through the endless void or remake the world anew. All of it was now pointless to contemplate anymore, all because they did not foresee that the smallest of creatures would toss that artifact into the heart where they had first forged it to bind all those who were crafted of the same form of magic.
Their spirit was dispersed throughout its domain, unable to speak, think, or take in any new information, only until the Valar came for them. Every fragment, every piece of darkness and corrupted essence was made into a spiritual form to receive judgment by the All High. They had done what most spineless, cowardly worms would have done and begged for parlay. It was pointless, just as much as it was pointless to try to squeeze water from molten rock, painful yet pointless.
They were dragged through the gate of Eternal Night, the same gate that the first and most powerful dark lord was banished for his transgressions in Middle Earth.
While being in the void, one could never tell from what are seconds to centuries. There was neither hot nor cold, even in a spiritual form. There was never hunger or thirst or vague phantom yearnings, the true absence of all things.
They had even forgotten what they were before. Were they male or were they female when they still had a physical form? If one could say that their form was anything but physical, given their nature when they had shape-shifted into many things just to see their ends met.
What was worse, besides the absence of stimuli, was the other total silence. Not the absence of sound, something that they were used to while plotting the immediate takeover of Middle Earth. Silence from the song, the true song of creation. Even after betraying the host of the Valar and gleefully submitting themselves before the power and might of Morgoth, they could still feel the song within their very being, which gave them their power, their consciousness, and their existence. Despite working against it, they could still feel it. But here, that song was absent, nothing but true silence within their being.
This punishment was the worst possible punishment they could ever imagine. While listening to the conversation between Istari and his most loyal and powerful servant/creation.
"Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your master." The white-robed clad Maiar had spoken to their servant and seen through their eyes and hearing through their ears. The Maiar word spoke true for there was nothing around them.
Despite the absence of sound, my sound of mine remains. It was the only comfort they could have while being in prison, but how long will it last? Living in memory, hearing voices that may lose all meaning or remembrance, just as their self-identity was slowly being chipped away.
*... Beat Beat...*
'What is that?'
*...Beat Beat...*
'There it is again, what in the void is that?'
*...Beat Beat...*
'Again?... It almost sounds like drums, but it cannot be. Do I even know what a drum sounds like anymore?'
*...Beat Beat...*
'It must be the song of creation!? It cannot be...'
*...Beat Beat...*
From the memory and many lessons that they had received before their fall, there was one sound that was hammered in their head, or rather in their ears, when overexerting their own physical body. The drums of life, or as the mortals would say, the beating of one's heart.
*...Beat Beat...*
'Do I yet live, or is this just trickery of my mind to keep myself from losing it completely, just as I have lost some memories of my identity before my fall?'
*...Beat Beat...*
The beating of the drums of life continued. They had determined that there was more than just one drum, but three. Their own and one that was close, and the other far stronger and far louder, and starting to sound more labored. It was then that the lack of sensation slowly crept back into their form, which was less non-existent and more existent. Warmth, weightlessness, comfort, and many other sensations that they had never felt, not even before their fall if they had felt anything similar.
'What has become of me? I can feel... I can hear... but I cannot see and I cannot taste... Lastly, I cannot smell...'
The feeling of uncertainty and fear was drowned out by the constant rhythmic beating of those sweet, beautiful drum sounds of life that came from their chest and the two others that were contained here. There was one sound they began to hear that they thought they would never hear again, the sweet sound of a sharp flute. 'The song of magic!' That was one thing that they were concerned with. If they somehow obtained a new physical form, lacking a sense of sight and other senses, the one thing they would have been wary of not having was their magic and its form of defense against those who would try to cause harm to them.
They had remained content while being trapped in this unknown place with the two instruments of creation. It was only sometime later before a connection within their mind revealed what state of being they were in. They were being reborn. The primitive mind that had connected with theirs was that of a sibling, a messy storm of thoughts that had no order to it or cohesion, or could even manifest in a sense of mental form. It was just another place for them to explore, a vastness that wasn't limited to their mind, a blank canvas to easily mold, or something to connect with or store.
This type of phenomenon only happened with twin-birth elves. It was called the splitting of one soul into two, where one would contain one half and the other half, despite being separate, they could communicate their thoughts and ideas, including knowledge. Seeing the benefits of such a thing, they had extended their mind. They imparted some knowledge within the empty blank canvas and created a door where there would be a continuous connection, yet with the option of closing said door when needed.
No sooner had they imparted their knowledge, such as the many languages that they had learned throughout their time as primordial spirits, Mairon to the Dark Lord that would reign over all, just a taste, nothing more. Like a tree, it began to grow and manifest a consciousness, still primitive and still free-forming, turning into whatever the fates would permit.
In the meantime, in this strange state of being, they couldn't help but try to reach out to see or at least sense the thoughts and emotions of their mother. Yet, it was a fruitless venture. Even with the knowledge and power that came from being the former Dark Lord, it did not transfer their abilities to send their spirit off from their vessel. From their failed attempt to free themselves from their physical form, they couldn't help but think about what their physical form would be. Were they a man or an elf? Those were the two possibilities that they desired the most. Even as a man, they gained powerful magics, though limited due to their mortality. This limitation could be easily remedied by creating an artifact to anchor one's life into the physical world, just as they had done when they forged the One Ring. If they were an elf, the possibilities would be even grander, granting unimaginable power, immortality, and divine wisdom from the father of all gods, no less. but the least desired of possibilities would be born that's of a dwarf or even the lowest of all creatures, being born as a halfling.
For a brief moment, they couldn't help but fume at the thought of such a small thing carrying the most important thing in all of Middle Earth to its destruction. It was unfortunate that they couldn't even remember the names or faces of those who had carried their ring into oblivion.
After their internal emotions had settled down from the fragmented memories they had in the past, some remained strong as ever, such as the creation process of their many works, their nine servants, and the various secret works that they couldn't help but spy on their former master to learn how to do the same process of corruption/creation. Suddenly, during their musings, they couldn't help but feel a sudden change in the environment. It almost seemed as if there was a drainage of fluids, as the warm sensation of fluid seemed to be evacuated along with intense pressure squeezing around their fragile form. And not just that, there were sounds of increased heartbeats, heavy breathing, and screams.
'Is it time? Am I going to leave this womb?' they questioned themselves as they felt a sudden void and a sudden absence of their twin in the shared space that they had occupied together. But it would not be long before they could truly see their twin.
Lily Potter was breathing heavily and had endured the most excruciating amount of time giving birth to her twins. During that time, she couldn't help but curse, yell, and scream at the man who had done this to her, threatening to either castrate him, disembowel him, or hex him bald for the rest of his life. But all of that had come to an end as she held two bundles close to her breast. On her right, was a beautiful boy with raven black hair, and on her left, was a beautiful girl with fiery red hair like her own. Her eyes were filled with tears of joy as she softly kissed both of her beautiful children on their soft heads.
To the side, a roguish James Potter couldn't help but have a lopsided smile at the sight of his two beautiful children. "Still want to disembowel me, huh love?" he joked, but all he got was a small, exhausted smile with tear-filled emerald eyes that conveyed nothing but love from the woman he had fallen in love with from the moment he laid eyes upon her.
"I may be sticking with castration. These two were a lot more painful coming out compared to having them come in," she said, still breathing heavily as she recovered from the loss of strength she felt after birthing two healthy infants.
Stepping closer, James couldn't help but softly stroke the back of his firstborn son and think about his great uncle, with whom he had spent a lot of time before his schooling at Hogwarts. "Harrison James Potter," he said, keeping his hand on the back of his son.
She nodded her head in approval of the name for her son. As it was her husband's right to name their son, it was her duty to fulfill an Evans tradition of naming girls. "Rose Lily Potter," she whispered to her daughter, kissing her on the reddish patch of hair that was nearly identical to her own.
This was not a situation that Rose had ever thought she would end up in. She was human, or as the Orcs often referred to it, "man-flesh." In her current form, she couldn't help but feel rather useless. She couldn't move around on her own, and even crawling was considered an exercise in futility. Worst of all was the garment she was forced to wear simply because she had no control over her bodily waste, which her body seemed to produce every few hours on average. Despite all the annoyance of her infant body, she couldn't help but see the magic that was on display and feel just as much fascination as it appeared on her sibling's face.
Sirius Black had come and begun levitating and animating a few stuffed animals for his two godchildren, who seemed to giggle at the display. Little Rose, however, wasn't giggling as much as she was entranced by the magic that was going on, even going as far as trying to reach for the flying dragon that let out a bellowing roar and spewed out fake illusionary fire.
"Sirius, I do believe it's time for the two of them to go to bed," a stern-sounding Lily said, standing in the door frame with her arms crossed while staring at the man-child who seemed to blow her a raspberry as he continued the fun a little longer before canceling the magic and helping little Harry into the crib. Lily did much of the same with her daughter.
With both children firmly secured in their crib, Sirius gave Lily a wolfish grin. "I still stand by what I said. Little Tiger Lily will take on the Blackhouse name and fortune, while little Prongs takes the Potter headship," he repeated his words from the last time he had spoken with James. He believed it would truly ruin the reputation of the Blacks to have a half-blood redhead running it, not only because of the blood status of his goddaughter but also the fact that her hair was red, which would spice up the Black genealogy just a bit.
She let out a huff, hearing this for the thousandth time, as she nodded her head. "Yes, Padfoot, I agree with you and my husband. You take too much amusement in the idea of annoying your mother, even if she is now just a portrait. But I doubt the older generation of Blacks would care as much, as long as the bloodline has strong, capable witches and wizards that will carry the name, Black," she said rather sternly, only to see a continued amused grin on Sirius's face, no matter how sternly she spoke to him. This caused her to want to hex the man with polka dots and itchy polka dots.
"Padfoot, Padfoot, Padfoot," little Harrison spoke as he stood up in his crib with a wide, toothless smile and emerald amusement in his eyes, wanting to play with the man who would often change into a dog or make his toys fly around or do silly things.
Standing right next to him was his sister, who also looked at Padfoot with a curious expression. Like her twin, she spoke, saying, "Doggy, doggy." Her vocal cords were still developing, so her ability to speak was limited. However, she managed to speak at the same time, which was considered much earlier than what was expected for young human children. This was thanks to the little insight she had picked up when her mother mentioned that both she and her twin spoke sooner than expected.
Lily let out an exhausted sigh. She didn't know whether to be angry or proud. Angry that the first thing her children spoke of was their godfather, and proud that these two little munchkins, created with her love, were so advanced. Within just five months, they had already begun speaking and even attempted to crawl around, albeit with some difficulty, especially for her daughter, who seemed eager to become mobile as soon as possible.
"No, little ones, the silly dog man has to go outside and do what dog men do," she said, leaning down to kiss her son and daughter's foreheads. Then, she grabbed Sirius's arm and dragged the man-child out of the room, making sure he didn't get any ideas about stealing the twins out of their cribs to play with them.
A disappointing whining could be heard from the two children as they both began to settle down as their mother requested, and soon enough, the two were lying on their sides, falling asleep. all except for Rose, in the non-physical sense, as she started to project her spirit to follow after her mother and Godfather. This was an ability that she had only recently regained when she was once a non-physical being that could change any form, and she so wished in the passing eras of Middle Earth. a useful ability, but limited to her current amount of magic that she had access to, but still useful.
As the two adult magicals went into the living room, Lily sat on a comfortable armchair and let out a frustrated sigh. something that Padfoot immediately noticed: "Trouble in Paradise, eh?" He asked only to get a snort and the role of Lily's eyes.
"I can understand the reasoning to stay under the Fidelius, but what would it have been better to be under the Fidelius outside of Britain, maybe America or the continent, than just simply staying around here?" she complained as she remembered vividly when she had argued with her husband and that of Dumbledore about using such esoteric magic to protect herself and her family.
He walked over and placed a hand on Lily's shoulder. "I know Tiger Lily, but you know James is stubborn, and Dumbledore assures that all of you should be protected, and this is the only form of magic that could provide the most protection. Plus, anything magical leaving Britain would be immediately noticed even by non-magical means." He wished he had something better to say to her, something that could reassure her, but there was nothing.
"Now I know that I'm truly losing my mind if you are starting to make sense with just your words alone pads," she says as she places both hands on the side of her temples and starts rubbing her face a bit before leaning back on her chair. " I just wish Dumbledore would have conducted that interview with that sear in his office rather than some dingy Pub especially if she claimed to be a seer of some kind that was about to perform some sort of ritual to Divine the future or speak a prophecy such as the one in relations to the twins," she complains and then muttered the prophecy word for word in front of serious who had already listened to the prophecy and had sworn his oath of secrecy that he wouldn't speak of it without Lily or James's permission.
Little did they know that Rose was listening in and hearing the prophecy, and they found it disturbing to a great extent. "The power to vanquish the Dark Lord knows not," she had repeated in her spectral mind as she continued to watch and listen to their conversation. However, the conversation didn't last long as it turned away from her family's captivity in this magically created voluntary prison to Sirius's failed love attempts with a woman named Amelia Bones. With that, she returned to her physical body and slept, if sleep involved opening her mental door to allow her twin into her mind. Her mind was much more developed than her sibling's, mostly recreating Valinor with all its magical splendors and beauty, except for its creative residents that would have filled the city of bells. It was a perfect place for her brother to adventure and explore to his heart's content, and for herself to reach out and seek old servants whose echoes she could still hear, if only slightly.
Dumbledore paced back and forth in his office, his worries and mood unaffected by the soothing song of his phoenix. The situation regarding the prophecy weighed heavily on his mind. He had shared the prophecy in its entirety, except for the additional part that followed the initial revelation about the defeat of the dark lord. Though Severus, in his misguided state, had heard a partial portion of the prophecy that he couldn't obliviate from the boy's mind, Dumbledore was relieved that the boy was now gone. This allowed him to be the sole listener of the second prophecy that Sybill had given that day.
Being witness to one prophecy was already a great feat, but to have two prophecies in such close succession meant that they were either connected or the second one served as a backup in case the first one was nullified. Dumbledore was determined to prevent the second prophecy from coming true at all costs, with every fiber of his being.
The wise wizard approached the Pensieve, which he had obtained from James's family vault, to organize his memories and delve into the recollections of former professors. He hoped to gain insight into what Tom had learned during his time at Hogwarts. Placing the tip of the Elder wand against his temple, he extracted a memory and guided it into the swirling liquid of the Pensieve, known as the Magic Waters. As soon as the memory made contact with the misty liquid, the whispers of the second prophecy echoed as clearly and loudly as when he had first heard it during his conversation with Sybill.
Hailing the one emerging from darkness, untold.
Commanding the nine Nazgûl, their power untamed,
They shall rise, marking a new era, untamed.
Within the shadows, a war waged in their name,
To protect their kin, a Kendrick soul, the same.
Opposite in nature, yet bound by fate,
Light and dark, destined to integrate.
Unity shall rise, a force unbreakable,
Igniting a new reign, unshakeable.
Their combined might, a blazing fire,
Consuming the old era, with fierce desire.
From the ashes, a world reborn anew,
Rulers of light and dark, their power true.
As it was, so shall it be,
For now and all eternity.
As Dumbledore absentmindedly brushed his fingers through his long, bushy beard, the prophecy continued to echo in his mind. Despite his mastery of the magical arts and his examination of memories through the Pensieve, he still couldn't discern who the prophecy was referring to. One notable aspect of the first prophecy was the mention of a specific date, the end of July, and the births of three children: Harry Potter, Rose Potter, and Neville Longbottom. Dumbledore speculated that the prophecy might pertain to all three or at least two of them, considering the blood ties between the Longbottoms and the Potters, fulfilling the requirement of protecting kin as stated in the prophecy.
Another puzzling element of the prophecy was the mention of the Nazgûl, a term that eluded Dumbledore's understanding despite his extensive research on various creatures and legendary dark lords. His searches proved futile, and he contemplated seeking insight from his teacher, Nicholas Flamel. However, he anticipated that the ancient alchemist, being nearly 700 years old, would dismiss prophecies and advise him not to pay them much attention, just as he had done with the first prophecy. Dumbledore harbored some resentment towards the Flamels for their aloof and uncaring views of the world, despite their vast knowledge and experiences.
In his desperation for assistance in dealing with Tom, Dumbledore reached out to the Flamels through his phoenix. However, their response was blunt and to the point, expressing their reluctance to involve themselves in what they considered a relatively insignificant civil matter. Nicholas even mentioned that his participation in the previous Wizarding conflict was solely due to Grindelwald's deadly Relic. The Flamels' interest in arcane relics revolved around the Deathly Hallows for research purposes, not the ongoing conflict between the magical and non-magical worlds. Their immortality had shielded them from the transient nature of conflicts throughout the ages, allowing them to disappear for centuries before reemerging.
Reflecting on his failed attempt to secure aid, Dumbledore realized that he could only rely on the spoken prophecy. He resolved to nullify the second prophecy, even if it meant personally binding the magic of the child the prophecy spoke of. He was prepared to do whatever was necessary, even delving into the depths of the Abyss, to pave the way for the forces of light.
this he vows.
'We hear your call; we are coming, our bearer of great gifts and power.' The recipe sound of nine voices echoed in Rose's head as she extended her will as far as she could into the void as a beacon. The benefits of the creation of her nine servants, the Nazgûl, are that we're giving me unique rings that are similar to the ones that she had crafted for herself and her previous life. If her rings were ever removed or disabled but not destroyed, she would still have dominion over them, even when she was reduced to a simple spirit incapable of interacting with the physical world other than to observe and communicate something that had been lost. As soon as she lost the ring, her essence was shattered before being regathered and cast into the void, only to be reborn in this new reality.
Opening her eyes, she surveyed her room and the crib that she shared with her brother, who was still asleep, and daylight had yet to even emerge. The only reason why she would be calling her servants was because of the prophecy that she had overheard in the conversation that she had been eavesdropping on for the last couple of weeks, and she understood why both her mother and sister chose to hide, not just because they wanted to protect their offspring but also to protect the one who would eventually have the power to vanquish this supposed dark lord that was running around. If she could, she would scoff at the notion of declaring the one running around killing people at random and calling them a dark lord, which would be an insult to the title. When she was a dark lord, she cared not for bloodlines or blood leniency, which sounded too much like the noble Aristocrats that, in her human disguise, often danced in between the circles between the kings and high lords to curry favor or have them carry daggers to stab in each other's backs, and that was before she had risen to become the dark lord of Mordor, the Dark Inheritor of Middle Earth.
If anything, the sorcerer was just a hopped-up magical who used profane magic that had corrupted both his mind and body according to the few descriptions that she had heard between her godfather and her sire, but this man was a danger, the reason why she was calling her servants to help aid in her protection and the one that would defeat him. Looking over her brother, who was still asleep, she did not doubt in her mind that he was the one destined to defeat the dark lord. If it were just herself, she would use her power to eventually overwhelm and dominate this sorcerer and have them bend to her will instead of defeating them.
'It was a funny transition from being a dark lord myself to now aiding my brother, who is going to vanquish a supposed dark lord. If I didn't know any better, I would assume Eru Ilvatar would have a hand in this; it would fit his style as a means to reform those who were once dark into his light.' She thought to herself, crawling over. She began to snuggle up to her brother, closed her eyes, and rested for the rest of the early hours of the morning.
Sometime later
She could finally stand on her feet, if not a little shakily, and her brother would soon mimic her, much to the joyous surprise and worry of both parents, who were clapping and taking magical photos of the occasion.
"Our two little angels are mobile now, and that's going to cause some chaos. Hopefully, their magic doesn't come in as quickly, which would make things doubly troublesome." James said with a chuckle as he could remember the few conversations he had with his mother about his long streak of accidental use of his magic, from blowing up Priceless vases to nearly setting off fires on a few animated portraits that still give him where he looks even to this day back in Potter Manor, all before it was destroyed by the Death Eaters as retaliation for The Potter's refusal to join the Death Eaters cause.
Lily let off a huff. At The Mention of Accidental Magic, "Accidental magic was more like accidental chaos according to your mother, which brought no end to Chuckles from your father and quite the amusing conversation between my mother and yours," she stated as she took another picture with the magical camera that she had in hand. She hopes that by next year she could dress up her two children in Halloween costumes and participate in the traditional fashion of knocking on people's doors and receiving treats, not having to worry about some magical madman who was after some children for some arbitrary prophecy.
"Well, we can only hope whatever accidental bouts of magic from them won't be too severe and not too permanent that we may need to renovate our little cabin here."James trademarked Potter's smirk and a spark of Pride at two of his children and for the briefest of moments he considered that the Potter lock finally switched giving him the Good Fortune of having twins a rarity in itself in The Wizarding World but just as equally as precious.
Lily was about to say something before she and her husband felt something—a disturbance within the wards themselves—before both looked at each other as their faces began to turn ashen and their breath ceased within their lungs.
"He's here!" both parents said out of fear, and without hesitation, Lily scooped up both of her children to their sudden surprise as both parents hugged each other with their children in their arms and tried to flee with Apparition. Unfortunately, both parents felt the scratching, gnawing sensation of the anti-apparition repel their efforts, to the discomfort of both parents and their two little ones, who were already beginning to cry at the unusual sensation of being partially squeezed, more so than when their parents had scooped them up and held them close.
"Take Harry and Rose; I will hold him back as long as I can," James said to his wife as he whipped out his wand when he heard the back door blasted open.
Lily didn't argue with James, and she ran upstairs with her daughter and son in both arms. She briefly looked down at where her husband was standing and had a single tear run down her eye, knowing that she would most likely not see him again.
James could hear the door to the nursery of his children being slammed, as well as feel the tingling sensation of Potter's magic being layered amongst some wards over the nursery along with other old magics. But he paid no mind to what his wife was doing, as his wand was trained and pointed into the only entrance in the living room area that would lead to the stairs.
Voldemort stepped into the living room leisurely, almost like he was a guest who had just been invited in, with his bony white wand twirling in his fingers. "Well, are you not going to greet me, Lord Potter, as a lord should be greeted when coming into the home of one who is most ancient and noble?" If he had an eyebrow, he would raise it, but his lips, despite how serpentine, were curved up into a grin.
"You are no Lord, a bastard child of the Gaunt family. I know of you. Tom, Dumbledore has said much, though he kept the rest to himself, but I am smart enough to use the Muggle system." He sneered at the magical abomination he was looking upon, the same one that had destroyed his ancestral manor, his parents, and centuries'' worth of Potter history.
This impressed the Dark Lord. Very few bothered to try and find his past, and even fewer knew his true name. Either the old man was coerced, or he was now beginning to treat his pawns with a little more care than he normally would when throwing them at himself or his pet witches and wizards. "Surprisingly, you know of me, at least the parts that probably remain somewhat intact, and here I thought I had burned down that orphanage and hopefully all the records of my Muggle upbringing. Of course, I took pleasure in dealing with the staff there before burning it down, along with killing the Riddle family. But enough about me. I'm here for the children. Give them to me, and I'll spare you and your wife of a pet," the Dark Lord offered to the sneering wizard.
Just the idea of offering his children to spare his own life and that of his wife unleashed a fiery fury within James, causing his wand tip to glow a sickly green. "I would rather die than sacrifice my children for a few extra moments in your twisted world," James vehemently rejected the offer. In that same moment, he uttered the one curse he never thought he would speak. "Avada Kedavra!" he yelled as the sickly green spell shot out, while the dark lord cast his killing curse to counter it.
The two wizards engaged in a fierce duel within the small, confined space. Their sickly green spells clashed, creating roaring lightning arcs that struck the walls, items in the living room, and shattered windows. The power of the dark lord far surpassed James', and his hatred began to wane, causing his killing curse to weaken. Desperate, James summoned a small bit of magic and forcefully sent his favorite leather chair hurtling toward the dark lord, who quickly blasted it apart. Seizing the opportunity, James followed up with a blasting hex that sent the serpentine wizard crashing through a wall into the kitchen. However, to his surprise, no one was there.
Suddenly, a snake wrapped around James' legs, slithering up his body until its head coiled around his arm. In an instant, he felt his arm snap like a twig, causing him to drop his wand. The snake then transformed, revealing Voldemort once more. "Wormtail was fortunate to provide me with the secret method the Marauders used to obtain their animal forms. I couldn't resist taking the form of a snake," Voldemort smirked, relishing his victory over James as he pointed his wand at the fallen man.
"You're a fool for coming here. If you had left things be, you might have succeeded. But what can I expect from a descended, inbred idiot?" Despite the immense pain, James grinned defiantly, knowing that every second Voldemort wasted on him increased the chances of survival for his children and wife.
Voldemort grew furious with James' mocking taunts and decided to make him pay. "Crucio!" he cast the torture curse, pouring all his power onto James' broken form. Despite the excruciating pain, James refused to scream, clenching his teeth and maintaining his defiant gaze. This only further angered Voldemort, who poured even more power into the curse, but James remained resolute.
Finally, Voldemort grew tired of trying to break a man who refused to be broken. "Avada Kedavra," he uttered, determined to end James' life. He had a victory celebration to commence after he had slain the one prophesied to destroy him.
Lily felt overwhelming sorrow as she sensed the wedding band, enchanted by James, grow cold. Their rings were magically linked to their love and magic, just as her ring was linked to James. The warmth of his ring signified his presence, but now it had gone cold, indicating his distress before his death. Lily fought back tears, refusing to let them distract her.
With a silver dagger in hand, she cut her hand and completed the final ruins on the wooden floor surrounding the crib where their children lay. Both children cried out in distress, reaching for their mother. Using subtle magic, Lily ensured their safety within the enchanted crib, preventing them from escaping. She carved the final rune into the blood circle surrounding the crib, declaring, "I would like to see you try to break this ancient magic, you abomination." She quickly healed her cut with a wave of her wand, then summoned a carpet to conceal the runic work connected to the sacrificial magic she was about to perform. All she needed was her facilitator to execute this deadly enchantment.
She did not need to wait long, as the door to the nursery had exploded into splinters. In the wake of the destruction, at the door stood the Dark Lord with his snake-like appearance and smirking grin. "Oh yes, the mudblood, shall I recount how your husband begged for his life before I ended his pathetic existence? Shall you beg now, and I may decide to let you live?" He nonchalantly said as he took a few steps into the nursery, sneering at the various things that were filled with love and care—something that he was never shown, something he never even wanted, even as an orphan.
"You lie, I know James would never bend or break, so you killed him when you realized this fact. And like him, I will not beg." She firmly stated. She didn't bother pointing her wand at him; it would be a futile gesture.
He simply stared at the stubborn woman with a straight face before switching to a spiteful sneer. "Step aside, Mud-blood. I have no use for you. I am here to nullify a prophecy. Only one of them needs to die. You can have the one I spare. Plus, you are promised to another." He let out an angry hiss as he pointed his finger and resisted the urge to simply kill her outright. He was many things, but not heartless. He would not go against his word to another fellow half-blood, who had so much promise and was the most loyal of all of his Death Eaters.
Her eyes were ablaze with fury, to the point that the emerald color of her eyes almost resembled Eldridge fire in their intensity and the way magic was flowing through them. Sacrificing one of her children so the other could survive, and being promised to another, it didn't take her long to figure out who would want her to be spared. 'Severus'—just the name alone caused her to feel a sensation of betrayal well up in her heart for the one friend who was closest to her heart and caused the most amount of pain. "No mother in her right mind would sacrifice one child over the other or be willing to stand aside as a monster slays one of them, prophecy or no prophecy." She said with absolute conviction and defiance. She would have stepped closer just to prove her defiance, but she dared not leave the circle that she was now standing on, which connected her to the runic magic.
The dark figure couldn't help but chuckle at her realization of whom she was promised to; it was just as amusing as seeing the burning fire in her eyes. "Yes, Severus, a true Slytherin, is always willing to do what is necessary to achieve his goals. Salazar Slytherin would be proud that he is the one who delivered the prophecy and set these events in motion," he spoke cruelly, hoping his words would bring her despair. However, she remained defiant, looking at him with a cold, seething rage just beneath the surface. She pointed his wand at her and he cast the Torture Curse, hitting her chest with an orange jet. She let out a breath as she dropped to one knee, but she did not scream. Instead, she gritted her teeth and continued to stare at him with her glowing, hateful eyes. He continued to pour more power into her, but she refused to yield until his anger got the better of him. "If you still wish to defy Lord Voldemort, then join the rest of your filthy mud kind," he snarled as he shouted Avada Kedavra. The sickly green curse hit her chest. Her last expression was that of a satisfied smirk as she fell.
The wailing cries of her sibling could be heard, and she could see her brother trying to reach through the bars of their shared crib for the one they both knew. Their mother, Rose, wasn't unaffected by the death either, as tears began to roll down her face. She had long reigned as a dark lord and vowed to take control of Middle Earth and beyond its borders, just as Morgoth had vowed to destroy Middle Earth and reshape it in his twisted image. She had been a willing servant during the first Dark Lord's reign and became the inheritor of his title and dominion. She had never felt sorrow, anger, or regret. Only pride, pleasure, and accomplishment. But now, even as a creature of flesh and bone, roiling with magical power, she felt a soft emotion. Not since her creation, when she was nothing more than a Maiar of the elements, had she felt this way. She closed her eyes and reached out for her servants, the nine, crying out into the space between life and death, light and shadow. She poured all her will and might into acting as a beacon for her servants to come and slay the one who had killed her mother.
Stepping over Lily's lifeless body, the dark lord approached the crying and whimpering children. Their pitiful sounds were starting to annoy him. Peering into the crib, he saw the two children looking up at him, his bone-white yew wand in hand. 'Damn you, Severus, couldn't you have listened long enough to determine whether the prophecy was about a boy or a girl?' he thought, sneering at the two children with their emerald eyes. They reminded him of the woman who had defied him to the end, especially the girl with her fiery red hair that seemed to glow along with her eyes. "Only one of you will die, and I believe the Potter bloodline should end here. Severus can have Lily's daughter, which should satisfy the fool," he spoke to the children, whether they understood him or not. He pointed his wand at the one-year-old boy with raven hair, about to cast the killing curse when the girl immediately grabbed hold of his hand from within the crib. Before he could jerk his hand back, he felt a searing burning sensation on his pale flesh and saw sizzling smoke emanating from the spot where the girl held him. He quickly pulled his hand away, causing the girl to hit the side of the crib and cry out. He paid no mind to her whimpering as he stared at the area she had touched, leaving her handprints on his pale skin. 'Was this part of the prophecy? Was it the girl?' he pondered briefly, before making a swift decision: both would die to nullify the prophecy and end the Potter bloodline. "Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!" he roared, casting the two sickly green spells in rapid succession. One hit Harry in the forehead, and the other hit Rose in the chest. Suddenly, the runes beneath the rug began to glow in response to the violation of their ancient magic. the killing curse's lethality would return to its caster, and three times the power of the curse was used to disintegrate the Dark Lord's body, leaving only his black robes and wand behind.
Dismayed by the sudden disintegration of his body and tormented by pain, the dark lord was propelled out of the nearby window, shattering glass and damaging the window frame as he screamed and fled into the night. In his wake, he left behind two injured infants.
Harry clutched his forehead, blood seeping through the cut and staining his hands as he cried out for his mother. Rose, too, covered a laceration on her chest, her shirt stained with blood. However, the infants' wounds quickly healed as magic worked to seal the worst effects of the dark magic, leaving only marks on their bodies.
Rose hurriedly moved to her sibling's side, embracing Harry as he sniffled and called out for their mother. Their mother lay on her back, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Rose longed for the power she once possessed, the ability to resurrect her mother. But for now, she was weak and unable to do so. She would have to wait and find a way to restore her mother's body when she had the strength to resurrect her and, perhaps, their father if their spirits still existed in this realm.
A day later
Albus personally oversaw Harry Potter's placement with relatives after examining him and his scar. He detected traces of dark magic emanating from the scar but without any clear reference point. He decided to let things unfold naturally, gathering information as Harry grew until he reached Hogwarts. There, Albus could reassess the situation and determine if the dark magic in the scar would be expelled or absorbed by Harry's body.
His attention then turned to the crib, holding a sleeping Rose Potter. As he approached the infant, he couldn't help but grimace at the fact that two children had survived the killing curse. One was prophesied to defeat the Dark Lord, while the other was destined for something potentially worse. It was a difficult choice, one that no one should have to make. Albus had chosen Harry to be the prophesied one, the one who would bring lasting peace to the Wizarding World, whether he became its champion or its pawn. As for Rose, if she was prophesied to bring destruction, Albus could not allow it. But he refused to stoop to the lows that Tom was willing to go to nullify a prophecy.
Whipping out the Elder Wand and pointing it at Rose, who was still asleep for a brief moment before she opened up her dazzling emerald eyes, curiosity sparked. "Forgive me, but this is for the greater good," he said mournfully as he hardened his heart and focused his will to begin the binding magic process.
Rose didn't understand why she was here, nor did she understand why she was separated from her sibling. She especially didn't understand why the old man, who reminded her of Istari, was like Gandalf the Gray. The only difference was that the old man's choice of robes was a lot more colorful compared to the stark white or gray robe-wearing wizard. She did not ponder the mysteries of why she was here, and she could already feel the magic emanating from the ancient stick pointed at her. She could tell it was old, and she could hear whispers coming from the object. She couldn't help but let out a cry as she felt her magic being squeezed. 'What is this old man doing? Is he taking away my magic? No, I am nothing without my magic, less than nothing,' she thought to herself. She let out a cry and tried to wiggle out of the blankets, attempting to get away from the old man who was muttering old Latin as he continued the slow and arduous process of binding the child's magic.
Hearing her cries almost made him want to stop, but he couldn't. He had already set himself on this path, and he would not stop until he was assured that she would not pose a danger to the Wizarding World. As he continued with his enchantment, Fawkes began flying over towards him, pecking at his hand and letting out a not-so-musical squawk in an attempt to stop Albus's efforts in binding the girl's magic. This momentarily broke his concentration, ending the binding for a brief moment before the century-old wizard cast a stunner on his familiar and carefully levitated the Phoenix onto his desk. "Fawkes, I know you disapprove of this, but this must be done. I will not allow the world to be destroyed," he scolded his familiar. Then he turned to look at the child, who was looking at him with eyes that didn't belong on a child or any being for that matter. He could see emerald eyes that glowed like unearthly Eldridge fire, fiercer than even a dragon's fire. Just a glare alone caused his heart to skip a beat. In fear of the brief glimpse, he could see within his imagination a dark lady with a gathering of dark wizards threatening the utopia he wished to build, the moment of fear he had was quickly pushed aside, hardening his resolve to see that the girl's magic was bound and possibly placed somewhere far off outside of Britain if she would somehow meet up with her sibling and fulfill a part of the prophecy through Harry.
Suddenly, as he was about to continue where he left off, his fireplace began to ignite with green emerald flames. He turned in puzzlement, wondering who would be calling him at this time of day. His curiosity got the better of him as he walked over to the fireplace. Just as he was about to see who it was, an explosion of brick and flames erupted, sending the elderly wizard across his office and nearby Cobble Wall, bringing him to his knees. Raising his head, he could see a black-hooded figure strongly reminiscent of a dementor, just with the garment alone. Finding his Gryffindor courage, he stood up with his wand pointed at the intruder. "Who are you?! What reason do you have for breaking into Hogwarts, intruder?" His voice thundered, thanks to the Elder Wand amplifying his magic to make his voice sound louder.
The dark figure moved unnaturally, almost like they were floating towards the crib where the girl lay, keeping their shadowy gaze trained on the elderly wizard. They placed their hand just at the edge of the crib. "Do you not know death when you see it, old man?" Their hollow yet gruff voice spoke out with absolute malice and disdain for the one who dared question their presence.
Hearing the words from the shadowy stranger sent a cold chill up Albus's spine. For a brief moment, the bond he had with the Elder Wand lessened, as if a stronger successor of the Elder Wand's power had just presented itself to claim it if they defeated its current owner. "It matters not what you call yourself; you will leave this place or I will make you." Again, his voice boomed with power and authority, but the stranger remained unfazed by the magically enhanced voice.
"You think you are truly playing with power? You do not know whom you speak to. This is my power," the stranger's voice rang out loudly as he reached towards his left hip and drew out an ancient yet wicked sword. He pointed it at the ceiling, and the blade ignited, drawing in the magical energy that surrounded the immediate space. It let out a loud whistling screech, causing the Phoenix that was unconscious to wake up and immediately fly away. The sleeping headmasters and mistresses in their portrait frames also woke up and evacuated, sensing the danger. Everything else was either losing its magic or being melted. Albus immediately felt the wand in his hand beginning to burn him before dropping it. Then he was hit by a blast of energy, sending him back into the wall he had previously hit when the floo exploded, before dropping back onto his knees.
This was no ordinary dark wizard. None of his encounters during the first and second Muggle Wars, or the various dark wizards he had fought against, possessed this type of power to send someone as skilled and experienced as himself to his knees. As he raised his head, he looked towards his Elder Wand, which was just a few inches away from his right hand. As he reached out, the wand flew away and straight toward the black figure's waiting hand. Albus was horrified. It seemed the most powerful wand in existence would find a new master, a dark master. Losing the wand wasn't the only bad thing; he could already feel his magic weakening and his body feeling the strain of losing that powerful magic that had kept him as spry as he would normally be in his younger years. Now, he could feel his years making his body hurt in ways he didn't think were possible. Putting the pain aside, he witnessed the dark figure reach into the crib with one arm and grab hold of Rose, cradling her in the black cloth. "No, do not take her; she does not belong to you, evil fiend," he cried out between the moans of pain that his body was being racked with.
"Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul,
ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul."
A large plume of emerald flames surrounded the dark figure and Rose, almost like an emerald eye, with a slit pupil as the dark voice spoke with hate, malice, and rage. The elderly wizard couldn't discern the meaning of the words he was hearing, but he easily felt the intent behind them, sending new waves of pain coursing through the aged Headmaster. The pain kept him in place, witnessing as the Emerald Flames consumed both the figure and the girl and disappeared as if they had never been there from the beginning, leaving no evidence, not even the crib, just a scratch mark where they had stood.
Reaching underneath his left sleeve, Albus pulled out his backup wand, which was his original wand made of Ebony with a dragon heartstring core. The familiar magic began to flow into him, alleviating some of the pain he felt, although it was not as much as the elder wand would have done, at least it still recognized him as its master. He muttered a Patronus and sent it straight to Poppy to help him before losing consciousness from everything that had happened in the last few moments.
In a faraway land, a fireplace stood in place, only trace remnants of what was once an old cottage. Now, it was just a patch of land, with the chimney being the only indicator of a former dwelling that had stood at that spot. The chimney exploded in emerald flames, sending brick and mortar everywhere in the wake of a shadowy figure holding onto a one-year-old girl in their arms. They looked down as soon as the flames surrounding them had died.
"My Lord, or is it my lady? I have come as called, and the others will soon be here, along with a few that we were able to bring past the gate of night," spoke the witch king in a raspy voice.
She heard her most trusted servant and most valuable commander. She looked at him, her eyes becoming more cat-like within the few moments that a human wizard tried to bind her magic. She simply drew more of her power to fight it, making her stronger in the old fool's failed effort. "It is my lady. Once they are here, you will assist the force they brought. It seems that I have enemies now, one of the dark and one of the light, both of whom will pay dearly for this transgression." She telepathically spoke to her servant while nearing her eyes before closing them for a brief moment, trying to feel out for her sibling. So far, the connection remained, but it felt distant, far away, wherever her servant had taken her. It was very far. Perhaps at some point, she could gather up her magic to strengthen the connection enough so that she could still share feelings and thoughts with her sibling. Once her magic and body have grown enough to attempt it, until then she would have to leave the connection as is.
A few moments later, the other members of the nine appeared, dropping onto one knee and bowing their heads in submission before their one and only master. Along with their sudden appearance, small bands of orcs that looked to be only a few hundred were nowhere big enough to be considered an army but were more than enough to build a base. A few of the orc chieftains approached, never stepping too close to the nine. They didn't drop onto a knee but rather looked at the infant that was being carried by the witch king.
"What orders does the Great one command?" The leading chieftain of the orcs asked the nine, who directed their dead gazes towards the chieftain and back to their master.
The witch king looked at his lady and shared a brief telepathic message within that second before turning his gaze back to the chieftain. "We have a great deal of work to do for New Mordor," Ring Wraith rasped out to the orc chieftain.
The orc understood and could not wait for the anticipation of the war that was yet to come in the name of the one and new Mordor.
What do you guys think of this new story? I had just started; it was an idea that had sprung into my head and had been placed on the back burner for a long time, and I had only now decided to go ahead and see how the community would react to this story. Consider this my guilty pleasure. If you guys want more, please feed me with your reviews. I need them to keep going. You don't want me to starve.