Destiny
She watched as Harry fought off the dead, dismembering limbs with his sword and using fire to keep them at bay.
Morgana could not profess to be so gifted with a blade, but what she could do was dampen the magic of the onlooking witches, mitigating the impact the dead were having.
Instead of being feral, and savage, they mostly lumbered around as though in a drunken state, and their flailing limbs were as inaccurate as their footsteps.
Still, they were dangerous, and yet, Harry fought alongside the golems tirelessly in a bid to see Cnut put enough distance between his people and Guthrum's forces.
For how long they fought and resisted the advance. Morgana couldn't be certain, but by the time the sun began to rise, Guthrum had been kept at bay, across from the flowing river Harry had created, with little to show for his efforts.
At best, however, Morgana knew they were only delaying the inevitable.
Sooner or later, the man, his witches, and the dead would find themselves on an open battlefield, where such advantageous could not be taken.
By then, she and Harry would be ready to eradicate the dead and the witches, for whom Guthrum would merely be another king staking a claim on land that would never be his.
Perhaps he was a competent warrior, and maybe even his men might make some ground, but he'd shown his weakness already.
Guthrum was buckling under the pressure, and only grew angrier as he hurled insults towards them and commanded his confused witches to be rid of the obstacles in his path.
With Morgana preventing them from doing so, their efforts were to no avail.
They'd not expected to face such resistance, nor had they ever come across a witch like her.
They were all but helpless, only able to command the dead in a way that was most ineffective.
"Time to go," Harry said tiredly as he retreated.
By now, the sun had risen, and Cnut would be far enough away now that he would be unreachable by Guthrum, even if the man did give chase.
He would not.
Having experienced such a setback in such a way that had rendered his most powerful weapon all but useless, he too would retreat to decide his next move.
Morgana followed Harry as he shifted into his crow form, and the two of them flew away into the nearby woods, using the lingering fog and smoke from the burning fires as cover.
By the time Guthrum even realised they were no longer there, they would be safely back home, planning the own next moves in the elaborate game they found themselves caught up in.
"You know, if you're going to do that, we need to fight more often," Harry chuckled. "I had intended to sleep."
"I had other ideas," Morgana said dismissively as she sat up in bed and pressed her lips against his. "I find I quite like seeing you fight. It does things to me."
Harry shook his head amusedly.
"Most wives would fer for their husband."
"I fear for the men my husband sees as his enemies," Morgana replied. "You are a warrior, Harry. It is who and what you are, for now."
"For now?"
Morgana nodded.
"You fight because you must, but one day, you will be a man of peace. You may wish only to farm or fish."
"Then I fear you will not see me the same way."
"No matter what you do, you will always be a warrior at heart. A day will come when you no longer swing a sword, or duel with your wand, but it will always be inside you. You've spent so much of your life fighting, even before you knew how to do it well. I do not think you could be anything else."
"I like the idea of something so peaceful."
"But you would become bored of it."
"Maybe," Harry sighed.
"Well, I hear that having children is not so peaceful."
"Especially if they're anything like Dudley," Harry said with a grimace. "The fat shit was only quiet when he was stuffing his face. Still, maybe fishing or farming won't be for me. I will find something else."
Morgana quirked an eyebrow at him.
Harry would never be content with such a life.
At the very least, he was an adventurer, and perhaps Morgana would like to see more of the world.
For the most part, she had drifted from place to place having been locked away as a child, and until recently, she had kept herself to the forest, where she felt she belonged.
She still felt that way, even now.
Each day she would crave the solitude of her home, and she expected that was where she and Harry would eventually settle.
Until then, their lives were full of enough to keep them occupied, a little more than enough if truth be told.
"So, what comes next?" she asked curiously.
Harry shook his head.
"Right now, I don't care," he grumbled. "I just want to enjoy this moment before I have to think of the next. It will bloody come along sooner than I'd like."
Morgana nodded before resting her head on his chest.
"It will," she murmured, but until then, let's take what we have."
"With both hands," harry replied before he fell into a deep sleep.
Morgana did not follow suit right away.
For some time, she simply listened to the beat of his heart, and felt the rise and fall of his chest, reminding her that, although Harry was indeed something more than she could've imagined, that he was still a man, and one who carried quite the burden.
They carried quite the burden.
She had meant all she'd said to him.
Wherever he would find himself from here on out, she would be by his side, whether it was to fight, to love, or simply to live, this was where she belonged.
(Break)
He could not quite comprehend how he found himself here.
Only a few days prior, Cnut was contemplating making his last stand, preparing himself to take his place at Odin's table as he was inevitably overrun by Guthrum's men, and the dead his witches had risen.
Now, he was leading his people across the Northumbrian landscape, to join Arthur Pendragon, the king that had seen to Cnut's defeat at Camelot.
Well, that was what History would declare, but the Danish king, and all others on the battlefield knew better.
Arthur may have the crown perched atop his head, but it had been the actions of Harry Potter that had claimed the victory for the Britons.
Cnut still did not understand how the man had managed to climb atop the airborne dragon, nor how he had brought it crashing to the ground below.
More confusing, however, was the Crow's arrival in Daneland to assist Cnut and his people in escaping the clutches of Guthrum.
Why?
It had been the question the Dane had been pondering since Potter had intruded upon them by the shore of the lake.
Why would the man go out of his way to offer his assistance with Guthrum when it would be in his best interest for Cnut to perish?
Was he truly so noble that he merely wished to help?
Cnut would not pretend to know the man well enough to say for certain, but Potter seemed to have kept his word. He and his people had managed to cross into Northumbria without incident, which meant that the Crow and his wife had somehow managed to fend off the attacking Guthrum.
"Are we truly to join with Arthur?"
Sven, one of Cnut's most trusted men seemed to disbelieve the very notion, and the king frowned thoughtfully.
It would be just as easy to join Erik.
He did not know his fellow Dane on personal terms, but he'd heard of him.
He was a brutish, cruel, and violent as any other Dane, and he would accept the additional two thousand men Cnut had left in his service.
Cnut, however, could not bring himself to be placed at the mercy of such a man.
Erik would not kill him, but he would take every last shred of dignity Cnut had left, at the very least.
From there, he would lay claim to Cnut's lands, and his people; something that could not be allowed.
Oh, Arthur or Guthrum would likely defeat Erik eventually, but that would only mean Cnut had given it all away for nothing.
The other option was to continue through Northumbria until he reached Eadwulf's keep, and the result would be the same.
Cnut would be humiliated mocked, and the subject of ridicule amongst all men of Britain.
If he could be certain that his people would be cared for as he had cared for them, such a thing would be of little consequence, but neither Erik nor Eadwulf would do so.
Cnut's people would be looked down on, treated poorly, and not be allowed to prosper as they had under his rule.
No, neither man would be exceptional, and though the last thing Cnut wanted to do as trust a Briton, Arthur had comported himself as an honourable man.
It helped that he would be indebted to Cnut should he choose to help him, and Arthur might even be able to show mercy in allowing his people to remain in their homes, to continue working the land, and living in the peace they'd been granted since he became king.
Still, to give it all to a Briton was something Cnut was not certain he could do.
He could see Arthur dead and take Camelot for himself from the paltry force left behind, but then, there was no doubt that the Crow would make his people suffer.
Cnut cared not for himself.
He and potter would inevitably meet again on less friendly terms to settle the grudge between them, but his people should not suffer for the spite of two men, and Cnut somehow believed Potter would not see it so, no matter what happened between them.
Cnut hummed to himself as he continued pondering the dilemma.
Could he turn his back on his fellow Danes in favour of assisting Arthur?
He wasn't so sure but given the outcomes he reached upon pondering each man involved, he knew that he possibly could, for his people.
"We will reach the river by daybreak," he responded to Sven.
"And then what?"
"I do not know," Cnut answered honestly.
(Break)
He flared his nostrils as he peered around the room and drummed his fingers on the arm of the broken throne left behind.
Cnut had left nothing of value and had even managed to see his fields cleared before Guthrum could arrive.
All that remained of the wealth of Daneland was a damned chair the former king would sit upon.
There was no gold nor silver, no food, no ore, and no cattle or crops, but it was not Cnut who occupied Guthrum's thoughts.
No, he had heard of the Crow, as all others had, heard of his deeds across Britain, and had now witnessed the man for himself.
He was impressive to say the least, an exceedingly gifted swordsman, and a druid to boot.
The woman with him too had more than played her part in delaying the advance, and she in particular unsettled his own witches.
"Her magic is like nothing else."
"It is."
"Her mind is like no other."
"It is."
"She is at one with the world, a servant to it, and yet, it serves her equally. The wind in the leaves, the earth on the ground, and even the rivers beyond the banks. They call to her and answer hers in return."
"They do."
"Death."
"Death?" Guthrum asked with a frown. "Did your ancestor not cheat and master it?"
"He did, but Death still claimed him in the end. No man can escape Death, but the Crow, he is born of it. He carries it with him."
Guthrum's frown deepened.
"He is born of it."
The older of the witches nodded as she threw a handful of knucklebones on the floor and stared at them for several moments.
"He is of Death as she is of the world. She can give life, fend off and even null the most unpleasant of things whilst using them for herself, but the Crow knows only Death, knows how to feast upon the soul of his enemies, and claims them for his master. The Crow does not master Death, nor does he wish to, but he serves him so willingly."
"He is dangerous," Guthrum murmured.
"More than you can imagine, my king, but the product of your seed that grows within me shall be the master of it. The Crow will die."
"You are certain?"
The woman who'd spoken watched as the elder threw the bones once more.
"Nothing is certain, my king, but you have felt our magic. You must have faith in all you know. The Crow will be your greatest enemy."
"And his wife?"
"Both his strength and weakness in battle."
"Can I defeat them?" Guthrum snapped angrily.
The older witch nodded.
"You can."
"Will I?"
"The future is not certain, my king."
Guthrum released a deep breath.
"Then what can you tell me?"
"That the Crow will be your greatest enemy," she answered with a smile.
(Break)
Arthur paused as he spotted the mist creeping across the length and breadth of the field before them. It was not so thick that he could not see beyond it, but there was an undeniable chill in the air.
"It is not the dead, my king," Myrddin whispered.
Arthur nodded and continued to watch the fires burning in the distance.
Erik was but the length of a fired arrow away, so close that the smell of stale ale wafted all the way to Arthur and his men.
"They are many," Bors murmured.
He was not fearful.
If anything, he seemed curious about the challenge ahead.
"And Harry assures us that help will come."
"Then it will," Lancelot said confidently.
"But from whom" Myrddin asked.
Arthur had been pondering the very same thing, and though he was not certain what his friend had referred to in his rather cryptic message, he'd never had reason to do doubt Harry, and he would not do so now.
"So, do we wait?" Lancelot asked.
Arthur looked towards the sky as though for guidance.
"If god wills our victory, the help will come in time to prevent us losing," he mused aloud. "We will not wait. It will only serve to make the men nervous."
"Then let's bloody well get on with it. My axe is itchy."
"See, even his axe has caught a case of cock-rot by now. That is what you get from lying with the filthiest whores," Gawain chided.
"Aye, but they're the best," Bors chuckled amusedly.
The others laughed, and even Arthur allowed himself to join in the brief moment of merriment.
"Lancelot, I would have you by my side."
"Of course."
"What about me, my king?" Gawain asked.
"I would have you at least a dozen paces away. It is the closest I would feel safe with how you swing that great sword of yours."
Gawain grinned and slapped Bors on the shoulder.
"You and me then."
"Aye," Bors agreed. "You and me."
The two of them were the fiercest of rivals in the training ground, and even when it came to outdrinking one another, but such rivalry had born a brotherhood between them, and Bors and Gawain entrusted their lives into the hand of the other.
"May God be with us," Gaheris snorted, clapping Tristan smartly on the shoulder.
"He needs to be today," the man said darkly, climbing atop his mount. "Oh, he needs to be today."
"You only worry because you yet have a son to carry your name," Bors mocked.
"Not all of us choose to breed with all manner of filth," Tristan returned. "I've seen at least a dozen urchins milling about Camelot, all sporting your unpleasant face."
"I'll have my own bloody army in years to come," Bors boasted.
"If you live long enough. You may not make it through today yet."
Bors nodded.
"Aye, if god takes me, I've no regrets, but the Danish gods had better send their very best. I will not die so easily. Do they know we are coming?"
Arthur nodded towards the fires where he could see the Danes already marching forward.
"They know."
The men fell silent now.
There were no more jokes to be made, and Arthur said a silent prayer to his god, asking that his men are fortunate, and that only the blood of the enemy need be spilled this day.
Whether or not his pleas was heard, he didn't know, but as he drew Excalibur from its scabbard, he felt himself emboldened and ready to fight, whether or not the promised help would indeed arrive.
"CHARGE!" he roared, urging his horse onwards.
It galloped, carrying him towards the waiting Danes, and Arthur unleashed a battle cry that left his throat pained, but it was quickly forgotten as he brought his blade crashing down upon the first man he reached, he did so with such force that it cleaved his skull in two.
From then on, Arthur allowed himself to be consumed by the heat of the battle. As he fought, he could hear the sound of steel clashing, of the screams of dying men, and he felt the pooling blood beneath his boots when he dismounted his horse.
Axes and swords were swung at him, and Arthur dodged and blocked them deftly, driving his own blade through the hearts of many, relieving others of their limbs, and even the occasional head.
Still, he balked as an enormous charged towards him, the axe he wielded almost as large as Arthur himself.
As their weapons came together, the king felt the force of it in his very toes, and it was only because the Dane was off balance that the next attack that came glanced off his chest plate, leaving behind a deep scar.
Before his foe could right his footing, Arthur charged forward once more and drove his shoulder into the Dane's sternum.
He fell, and Arthur quickly set upon him, smashing the pommel of his sword into the man's face until it was a pulpy mess, but before he could even stand to find another fight, something collided with his helm and Arthur felt a sharp in his cheek.
"ARTHUR!"
His ears were ringing, and the voice was barely discernible, as though it sounded from so far away, and yet, only a moment later, the king felt himself being pulled to his feet and away from the battle.
"Lancelot, no!" he protested.
The man breathed a sigh of relief as he laid Arthur down, and another pain followed, this one much duller than the first as something was pulled from the side of his face.
"You lucky bastard," Lancelot scoffed, pulling the helm from his head. "It only caught your cheek.
"I wouldn't say it was so lucky," Arthur grumbled, wincing as he felt the blood running down his neck. "Come on, there is much more fighting to do yet.
There was.
It was as though there were Danes as far as the eye could see, but Arthur's men were indeed fighting with all they had. It was hard to even who might be getting the better of the exchange, but it seemed to be even thus far.
With that in mind, Arthur threw himself into the fray once more, and quickly found himself facing off with a Dane carrying two smaller axes that were already dripping with the blood of the Britons.
"I'll cut your bastard head off!" the man growled, hurling himself towards Arthur, who stood his ground, and swung his own sword in response.
Excalibur seemed to sing through the air before being suddenly stopped by the sound of loud thud.
The dying Dane look up at Arthur in a mixture of surprise and disdain, but he smiled, barring his reddened teeth from the blood spilling from his throat.
"My other axe," he requested, nodding to the weapon only a short distance away. "I must go to Odin with both."
Arthur nodded and kicked the axe towards the Dane, who offered the same gesture in return before closing his eyes.
It was a strange custom, and one that Arthur had little understanding of, but he knew it was important to the Danish warriors that they perish in battle whilst holding their weapons.
They believed they would not be admitted to their heaven without them.
With a shake of his head, Excalibur sent the man on his way, and Arthur turned to face the battlefield once more, though he paused as he caught sight of something quite disturbing.
Already, it was an even bout, and the outcome all but rested on who wanted victory more, but seeing the charging the Cnut sprinting towards the fight with hundreds upon hundreds of men was the last thing Arthur and his own needed to be faced with.
All the more surprising, however, was that Cnut did not attack Artur's forces, but chose to fight against their own kind, and in only a matter of moments, the tide had turned considerably in Arthur's favour.
Still, the king remained rooted to the spot as he watched the conclusion of the fighting unfold around him, and by the time Erik's forces had surrendered, Arthur had yet come to believe what he had seen.
An odd silence fell over the battlefield as the men belonging to Cnut, and Arthur's own simply stared at one another for several moments with none moving.
"Lower your weapons," Cnut ordered. "There is to beno more fighting here today."
The men did as they were bid, and even stepped behind their leader, who scanned the opposing crowd until they fell upon Arthur.
"I would speak you," he requested.
Myrddin appeared to be displeased by the idea, but Arthur nodded and gestured for the man to join him, along with Lancelot, Bors, and Gawain, all of whom bloodied and even sporting various wounds.
"Why are you here, Cnut?" Arthur asked curiously as he approached.
"I do not know myself," the large Dane sighed. "Only days past, I was readying myself to dine with Odin after giving my life to protecting my people from the dead, and now I am here because of the Crow."
"Harry?"
Cnut nodded.
"He urged me to come, to assist you and seek peace between us so that my people be safe. If you see fit to execute me, that is your judgement, but I only ask that my men and the women and children are spared such a fate. They have walked for days to safety, and I would see them cared for."
"How did you escape the dead?" Myrddin asked.
Cnut chuckled humourlessly.
"The Crow and his wife stayed behind to fight them off. All we saw as we left were many fires and men made of stone and dirt. All I know now is that we made it hear safely and were not pursued. I gave you aide, Arthur Pendragon, despite all that happened between us, because I believe you to be an honourable man who will keep his word that my people may return to their homes when it safe, and that you will watch over them as you do your own."
"You are handing Arthur your crown and claim to Daneland?"
Cnut nodded.
"If that will gain his promise, then yes, my crown is now your crown."
Arthur met the man's gaze once more and did his utmost to see if there was any sign of deception within them. He saw none, and although he'd respected Cnut as a warrior, in the last moments, he'd earned his respect as a king.
"You have my word, Cnut," he offered sincerely, "and to kill you would only be a punishment to your people. I will be their king, but I would have it that you be my representative, that you uphold my laws in Daneland."
Cnut was taken aback by the declaration, and he chuckled as he shook his head.
"You truly care for the people. Perhaps the Crow knew what he was doing."
"Did he say anything else?"
"Little," Cnut sighed. "He is a man of fewer words than one would expect of someone so accomplished, is he not? He said his piece, convinced me that I should side with you instead of my own, and here we are."
"He we are," Arthur murmured. "Now, we must shift our attention north. Eadwulf will learn of what happened here soon enough, and I would not see him gain an advantage. For now, I urge you to send your people, those unable to fight into Wales. I will have them escorted by some of my own men."
Cnut nodded appreciatively.
"Then let us head north," he agreed.
(Break)
He looked on as the spellfire was exchanged between his own followers, and the paltry forces that had been stationed on the island to watch over the prisoners, along with the dementors, who did nothing but continue to float lazily high above them.
Men and women screamed as they suffered, and such a sound brought a smile to the Dark Lord's lips.
There was nothing quite like the sounds of misery and pain. Only being the cause of it made them that much better.
Tonight, however, he was not here to personally see to the suffering of those who foolishly resisted him.
No, he'd come to this vile place for one reason only, and as he drifted towards the walls of the prison, he drew his wand.
Rubble and other debris fell into the sea below as he tore a large hole into the building, and upon landing in the dank, musty fortress of Azkaban, he began making his way through the halls.
One foolish man attempted to curse him, but he fell limply down a flight of stair having had his throat torn away from his neck, and the Dark lord continued on his way, pausing in the lower levels as he sensed his most devoted followers nearby.
"Bellatrix," he greeted the woman fondly as he came upon her cell.
The emaciated woman's eyes lit up in recognition, and she bared her browning teeth in response, shuddering as the Dark Lord took her hand.
"Are you ready to once again serve me?"
"Yes, master," Bellatrix whispered.
Her voice was hoarse, and the woman looked to be close to death's door, but it was something that Severus could easily remedy.
The others, it seemed, were in no better condition.
Dolohov, the Carrows, the Lestrange brothers, Rowle, and even Rookwood had fared terribly over the past decade-and-a-half, each appearing little more than a shadow of their former selves.
Severus would indeed have his work cut out for him, but the man was perhaps the most gifted potioneer Lord Voldemort had met.
If anyone could undo the damage of such an imprisonment, it was Snape.
"Come, let us leave this place," the Dark Lord urged. "There is much for us to do."
For now, he needed Rookwood especially to be at his very best.
The man used to work in the Department of Mysteries, after all, and what he needed more than anything else, currently resided within the Ministry of Magic; a place he could not be seen, not yet, at least.
Harry woke with a start.
His breathing was laboured, and he could feel the cold sweat on his brow.
"It's okay, Harry," Morgana comforted, taking him by the hand. "You're here with me."
He nodded as he reached for a cup of water and drained it in only a few gulps.
Once more, he'd dreamt that he was Voldemort.
As ever, it lacked coherence, but Harry could remember all this time, much clearer than he could any other thus far.
Voldemort had been excited, and the heightened emotions of what he was doing had left his mind a little more open than usual, giving Harry access the man would never consciously do.
"You saw him again."
"I was him," Harry sighed. "'m always him. I can see what he sees, fell what he feels, and even know what he is thinking."
"You remember it?"
Harry swallowed deeply as he nodded.
He did not wish to remember the enjoyment Voldemort experienced whilst witnessing others suffer, but he could not ignore much else of what he'd seen.
"Snape," he whispered.
"Snape?"
"He was my Potions professor when I first started Hogwarts. I thought that it had been him trying to help Riddle steal the philosopher's stone, and that he'd been the one who'd attempted to kill me. It wasn't him, but Tom was thinking of him as an ally, as a man who would help him heal the followers he was taking from prison."
"So, he is one of Riddle's allies?"
"He must be," Harry whispered confusedly. "I do not know how or why, but Tom thinks of him in that way."
Morgana frowned at the revelation.
"Well, there isn't much we can do about it, Harry," she reminded him.
"I know," Harry huffed irritably. "If only I could get a message to someone there. Do you think the Lady of the Lake would allow it?"
"I don't," Morgana answered apologetically, "but you could always ask her. Will she come to you if you call her?"
Harry shrugged.
"Maybe," he said uncertainly. "I have to try. Something is wrong."
"Wrong?"
Harry nodded.
"Riddle is looking for something, and he needs one of his followers who used to work for the Ministry of Magic to help him get it."
"The Wizard's Council?"
"What it will one day become," Harry confirmed. "I don't know what he is after, but if he is desperate enough to break people out of Azkaban to have it, it must be important to him."
"Then we must go to her, or try to, at least," Morgana urged. "If there is anything she can do…"
She broke off and offered Harry a sad smile.
The dreams did not come every night, nor even weekly, but for the past year or so now, they had become a more regular occurrence, and they only became more alarming.
With no one to stop Voldemort, he would inevitably turn Britain into what it had once been during his rise to power, and although Harry had not lived it, he vividly remembered the fear in the eyes of those that had.
Fear had gripped the magical community when they'd learned of Sirius's escape, and Harry could only imagine how much worse it would be when they inevitably learned of Riddle's return.
"We must go to her," he murmured as he summoned his clothing. "She must give me answers."
(Break)
"I don't like this," Bors grumbled. "It wasn't so long ago that he set a dragon on us at Camelot."
Some of the others murmured their agreement, and Arthur could not blame them.
He too had his reservations about Cnut's sudden allegiance to him, and yet, the man seemed so sincere in his pledge.
"I agree," Arthur assured his men. "I am cautious at best, but when you consider that Cnut could have just as easily joined with Erik and seen us all dead, it makes me less suspicious. He came here because Harry urged him to, and I do not doubt the decision he made was a difficult one; Cnut is a proud man, and he has put that aside for the sake of his people. Had he joined Erik, which he would've undoubtedly been tempted to do, we would've been defeated, but he did not."
The others did not seem to be convinced and continued murmuring amongst themselves as they rode north.
Although Arthur was not quite convinced himself, he believed Cnut, and more so that Harry would not have sent him here if he did not have such belief in the Dane.
What Arthur had said was only the truth.
Cnut could've joined Erik and Eadwulf, spelling the end of Arthur's forces, their campaign, and a united England under one king.
He'd made the more difficult of choices laid out before him, and that was not something Arthur could ignore, even if it didn't quite make sense to him right now.
(Break)
He peered across the surface of the lake, watching the ripples from the rain disturb the waters.
"Does it feel like home?" Morgana asked.
Harry nodded solemnly.
"Hogwarts was always the place that felt like home," he answered, "but here more than anywhere else. It is where we first met, and where I became whole."
Morgana squeezed his hand affectionately.
"And for me."
Harry released a deep breath.
Neither the wind nor rain bothered him. He had become accustomed to both over the years, the many years he'd spent here now. Almost eight, if he counted correctly.
In truth, he no longer did.
All he knew was that he'd been a boy when he'd arrived here, and now, he was indeed a man.
He was taller, much stronger, and even sported a neatly trimmed beard, and yet, the past plagued him still, just as it had since he'd been a boy. He'd never been able to let go of the anger within him, and if anything, it had only grown the more capable a man he had become.
"She's here," he murmured, sensing the magic the of the Lady who had changed his life in little more than a blink of an eye. "Come to me."
It was only a moment later that a familiar figure broke the surface of the lake, and Harry found himself looking upon the ethereal woman he had equally cursed and shown gratitude for.
"Harry Potter," she greeted him.
"Lady," Harry responded. "I have need of your guidance."
"You do, and that will continue for some years yet. You wish to know of your other life."
Harry nodded.
"I see it," he murmured. "I see it through the eyes of Tom Riddle."
"Because of your connection," the Lady of the Lake replied.
"You knew that I would."
"I did. Even before I decided to bring you here, I knew that you could not truly leave your old life behind, not until Tom Riddle is dead."
Harry snorted as he shook his head.
"I can think of none that can kill him. So, I am to be plagued by him for the rest of my days?"
The Lady of the Lake eyed him for a moment.
"Perhaps," she answered cryptically. "There is only one man that can kill him, Harry Potter, but you already know this. You can feel it within yourself."
Harry nodded.
"Me."
"You."
"But I cannot do so from here. I have tried. I cannot do anything to him from here, not even when I am inside his mind."
"You cannot."
"So, how do I kill him?"
The Lady of the Lake offered him an encouraging smile.
"The time will come," she answered. "Your destinies are tied together. Neither can live whilst the other survives."
Harry frowned.
"It is a prophecy," Morgana whispered. "There is a prophecy involving Harry and Riddle, isn't there?"
The Lady of the Lake's smile widened as she nodded.
"There is," she confirmed, "and it will be fulfilled. Fate has made that quite clear."
"But how?"
The Lady of the Lake frowned thoughtfully.
"I cannot say for certain, but when the time is right, when your moment comes, Harry Potter, it will be fulfilled."
With that, she vanished beneath the surface once more and Harry turned to look towards Morgana.
"He will either find me here…"
"Or we will find him there."
"We?"
"Together, Harry," Morgana said firmly. "You will go nowhere without me. I will turn this world to ashes if I must, but I will be by your side, no matter what."
Harry chuckled humourlessly.
"You would, wouldn't you?"
Morgana's nostrils flared in response.
"There is nothing I wouldn't do, Harry. Without you, I would be lost, and there would be nothing left for me. Not even the Lady of the Lake will be able to stop me if you're taken from my side."
"Then we will not allow it," Harry assured her.
"No, we will not."