The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories
that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is
long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one
Age called the Blood Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past,
a fell wind rose around a lone figure in what was once the forbidden forest.
The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings
to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was
a beginning.
The forest ground heaved occasionally as the magic in the earth still ripped wildly through the trees stripped of foliage until their limbs were as sharpened bone.
Beams of light trickled down from the overcast, peaking out between the rolling clouds that rumbled with thunder.
Scorch marks stained the bark of the trees, great gashes marring some trunks, and earth overturned where some of the mammoth towers of wood were uprooted.
The heavy stone lay embedded in bark where a nearby cottage imploded, limbs smoldering from where the fire had blazed.
Hogwarts lay in ruins, the great stone walls, buttresses, and towers reduced to rubble. The dead lay everywhere. Man, woman, and child. Faces frozen in the horror of their final moments.
Struck down by falling rocks in attempted flight, felled by enemy spellfire, bodies split down the middle from a
reducto or sunken in the earth from dirt turned quicksand.
Nowhere had been safe. The school campus had been turned into a battleground where everything became a weapon. Even the very earth one stood upon.
Harry Potter stumbled through the clearing. Black hair caked with bloodied dirt falling over his shoulders, gashes littering his body, blood soaking through his robe.
His emerald eyes once blazing, now dull and unseeing. Limbs trembling from the after-effects of the
crutacias.
Feet sinking into the blood-drenched muddied dirt as he passed over a body without notice. Brown bushy hair splayed around its head, brown eyes glazed over in death.
Harry took in a rattling breath that was thick and wet. Coughing out as blood dribbled down his chin. He continued in his aimless wanderings of the castle ruins.
"Hermione! Ron! Where are you?!" He yelled out hoarsely, the edges of his soiled cloak trailing over a freckled face with red hair.
Blue eyes wide in his demise, gazing at the black cloud-covered sky. Limbs trembling, he sauntered on. Passing humanoid horse figures, limbs distorted in awkward angles. Bows broken at their feet.
"Ginny! Luna?! Where is everyone?! Neville?" He cried out. His head turning back and forth frantically as he searched for those he called family.
"Come out you guys! This isn't funny! It's over! Can't you see? He's gone! Gone!" He laughed out, voice tinged in insanity as he swept his arms in a wide circle.
Silence sat heavily in the air as he waited for the voices that would not come.
That would never come again. A man cloaked in darkness stood in the shade of the toppled over whopping willow. Red eyes shown in amusement as he watched the chosen one of the wizarding world fall to madness.
Lipless mouth curled up in a smirk, long fingers came up to rub over a scaled bald head as the man walked leisurely toward the mad savior.
Absently he smoothed down the black cloak that he was robed in, idly twirling a slender piece of yew wood that shown a pale white in the limited light.
Feet deftly keeping his balance as the ground heaved every couple of feet. Dirt showering the red-eyed man, yet vanishing before it even touched his skin in a nonexistent wind.
"Harry Potter." Voldemort hissed out in satisfaction as the one called whipped his head in his direction. "I have come for you." Rasped the Dark Lord.
The laughter stopped, cut off as green eyes locked onto red. For a moment there was a lucidness to the gaze that had He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named smirking in satisfaction. Then it was lost as Potter's eyes glazed over in madness.
"Ah. A guest? Have you seen the Headmaster stranger? No? Well no matter, no matter. My friends and I will show you the way. Headmaster Dumbledore is a strange one, I must warn you. Loves his lemon drops, that one. Rumor has it he's laced it with something. So be wary of that, mind." The green-eyed young man chuckled.
"Hold on a moment, while I gather my friends would you? Ron! Hermione! Come quickly! There's a guest! We must bring him to Dumbledore! Where are you?!"
Voldemort became even more amused as his red eyes flickered over the still bodies that lay in the courtyard. Humming in amusement, he waited until the mad male refocused on him.
"Playing a prank, they are. They do so love their pranks. Just you wait while I find them." Potter smiled at him. Chapped lips splitting open, blood dripping down his chin.
Beginning to stumble away, Voldemort chuckled under his breath as he raked his eyes over the savior's battered form.
"Oh how the mighty have fallen, Harry Potter. Shadow take you, Madness has devoured you. You are no longer a threat to the great Lord Voldemort, my pet." Potter turned towards him so fast his limbs popped.
Blood splashing on the ground as his wounds protested. Though he took no notice of it. Walking swiftly toward the Dark Lord he grabbed hold of his shoulders almost desperately.
"No. You mustn't say his name! It's dangerous!" He cried. His eyes burning into red as he tried to get the severity of the situation across. The Dark Lord threw his head back and laughed.
His hilarity so encompassing it shook his whole body. Crimson eyes shining in mirth, Voldemort traced the edges of Harry's cheek with the tip of his wand almost sensuously.
"Dear, dear Harry. So you remember that much at least. Truly you are something else, my pet. Dangerous for you, dear boy. Not for me. Never for me." He barred his teeth in a parody of a grin.
For but a moment Harry stared as if fascinated by the texture of his mouth, the shine of his teeth, then the moment passed and his eyes locked onto crimson red.
"Who are you then? What do you want? Are you a death eater?" Another bark of laughter escaped the Dark Lord at that. He smirked as he dragged the tip of his wand down the side of Potter's face to his neck beneath his chin. He tilted Harry's face up until only a few inches were separating them.
"I have been called many things, many names, and titles. Once I was Tom Marvelo Riddle, but now…" He grinned as his breath washed over Harry's face. His breath smelt of burning embers, dirt, and decay.
"VOLDEMORT!" Harry shouted as he tore himself out of the Dark Lord's grip. His body collapsing backward in his haste to get away. He cried out as he landed hard on his side. His body sinking into the blood-soaked ground. The Dark Lord grinned.
"So you remember some things. Yes, Voldemort. So is the name I have taken. The name that is so feared that none dare speak it. They revile and fear me, but I will make them kneel and worship it. After this day, you will be known as manslayer, while I will be the monster that became their savior. History is written by the victors you see and today you will forevermore be written down as the faceless foe that Lord Voldemort conquered to bring about his rule." He chuckled out.
Potter shook his head, black hair swishing back and forth in denial. Voldemort sighed as he saw madness fill those emerald gems once again.
"Ron! Hermione! Where are you?" The ground shook, Voldemort keeping his feet only just.
A young woman and man's body shifting on the grounds toward them as if in answer to Potter's call. Potter did not see them as crimson eyes flickered to them and back to the fallen chosen one.
"Look at you, Potter. Once you stood tall, fighting proudly against me, denying me a body in your first year as I attempted to take the philosopher's stone. Once you stood mightily against a shade of myself and a basilisk."
"Further still, you dueled me and came to a draw in the tri-wizard tournament. Now, look at you! A pathetic spent wretch. Your mind too shattered to recognize your foe."
"No. It is not enough for me. You humbled me when you were barely into your life on the night I first raised my wand against you. You defeated me, in front of the Mirror of Erised."
"You defeated me once again in your second year with only a sword and a Phoenix. But I am more now. Better. Greater. More than you will ever be. When you perish, it will be in the full knowledge that it was I that took the life from your lungs."
"I who took your body, I who took your strength and I who took your very heart from your chest. You will know that you are irrefutably mine and mine alone. If I let you die at all." Came the sibilant hiss of the Dark Lord as he stalked toward Harry Potter.
"I can't fathom what is keeping Ron and Hermione. They don't normally play pranks this long. They will give me quite the tongue lashing if they think I was keeping things from them again."
"I hope you are well-read. Hermione is constantly going on about some book or another. You'll like her. She is clever, that one. Ron is more into chess and exploding snap."
"He's not much in the way of commonsense but has a good head on his shoulders when it comes to strategy. I hope you are a good conversationalist for you will be peppered with so many questions your brain will surely pop."
Muttered Harry as he attempted to stand, limbs straining in the effort. Green eyes tinged in madness sweeping unseeingly across the castle grounds.
"A pity for you," Lord Voldemort mused, "that a medi-witch is not here. I was never fond of the light healing arts. Light magic, I'm afraid, does not come as easily to me as with dark. Light magic tends to be too fine-tuned and soft for me."
"It requires one with far less power than I. Now, Dark magic. It is destructive, powerful, and wild. The healing arts of Dark magic are vastly different. Still, even the most powerful of medi-wizards or witches could only give you a few lucid moments. Whilst I. I could do more, at least what I can do will be enough for my purposes."
The grin that stretched across his lipless mouth was cruel, as he walked swiftly to the chosen one. Crouching, he cupped Harry's face in a mockery of a lover's embrace.
Green eyes shot towards crimson at the action. Harry's breathe catching in his throat as Voldemort's stale breath ghosted over his lips.
"I fear dark healing is vastly different from the kind that you know. Now. Be healed, Harry Potter!"
Pain blazed across Harry's body. A scream wrenched its way from his throat. The sound echoing through the fallen rubble of the castle, seemingly going on for eternity. Fire seared through his bones, acid filling his veins as wounds bubbled closed.
Almost as if they had never been.
He screamed until his eyes rolled to the back of his head, mouth open as his voice failed him. The circuits in his brain being restarted, memories being forcibly brought to the forefront of his mind in a jumbled mess.
Tears streamed down from his eyes in endless streams in his agony. The taste of brimstone and death on his tongue. His mouth filled with fire as something wet and scaly was forced down his throat swallowing his silent screams.
Lungs constricted, black spots overtaking his vision, suffocating as something sucked on his tongue. Teeth scraped along his mouth's muscle as he fell backward, head colliding with a stone on the ground and rebounding.
Colored lights swirled about his sight as he took in great gasps of air. His lungs were desperate for oxygen. Cruel laughter filled his ears as slowly, ever so slowly, the pain faded leaving Harry in a daze.
Blinking his eyes to clear his vision, seemed to take years. Harry's body twitching weakly in remembered pain. An age passed before enough strength returned to him so that he could push himself into a sitting position. His eyes falling on the bodies that surrounded him.
A horrified scream tore itself from his throat. Standing shakily, he stumbled toward the familiar faces that stared unseeingly at the sky.
"No. Merlin, save me. No. Ron! Hermione!" He cried. It took every bit of his strength to make it to them. But he pushed himself. He was everything, if not stubborn. He dragged himself to the bodies of his departed friends. Cradling the bushy-haired head of his female friend he curled around her protectively as he cried.
"'Mione. Ron. Come back. Please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Sobs wracked his body as he shuttered in sorrow and phantom pain.
"You can have them back, Potter. The Dark Lord is merciful. You can have them back. If you serve Lord Voldemort. If you will serve me." He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named rasped. Harry Potter raised his head to look at the one who spoke. The red-eyed man took a step back at the intensity of his gaze.
"Twenty-eight years, Voldemort." Harry Potter spoke softly. "For twenty-eight years the Dark has wreaked havoc upon our world. And now this. I will…" He started in a menacing voice. Voldemort laughed. The sound surprising Harry to silence.
"Twenty-eight years! Foolish boy! This war has not lasted a mere twenty-eight years but since the dawn of time. You and I have fought a thousand battles throughout the ages, a thousand times a thousand, and we will continue to fight until time itself collapses and the Dark is triumphant!"
The Dark Lord finished with a shout, his fist raised in promise to the sky, a grin stretched across his reptilian face. Harry Potter's breath caught, as the Dark Lord's sinister gaze speared him with lustful malice.
Slowly, Harry uncurled himself from his still friend, and shakily stood. Each movement, an effort that took more time than he thought it should. Limbs trembling he faced his foe, forcing his back ramrod straight. His gaze turned to steel as he spoke. His voice was hoarse from his screaming.
"For everything you have done, you will burn in hell, but for taking the lives of my friends I will destroy you. Everything you are, everything you will ever be. I will make you like ash upon the wind in the face of my rage. Prepare yourse…." The Dark Lord laughed again.
"Remember, boy! Remember your foolish stand against me at Malfoy manor! Remember my counterstroke! Remember the
crutacias as it overtook you! Remember how you broke! What hand was it that slew Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley?"
"What hand was it that rent the very earth beneath Hogwarts apart? What hand was it that slew every man, woman, child, and magical creature upon this castle grounds? Not mine. Not mine. Remember! And know the price of opposing Lord Voldemort!"
Cold sweat trickled down Harry's back as his eyes swept across the devastation before him. A fog of memory clouded his vision of flashing spellfire and madness as his magic tore through all that he knew.
Red eyes cackling in the haze of the mirage. As if a dream of a dream, bile swam up his throat as he knew it true. He wretched and then howled in denial. His screams, louder than anything previous. It was soul-wrenching, his scream, echoing and reverberating in his head.
Everywhere he looked, lifeless eyes stared at him accusingly. He could not escape from the knowledge of what he had done. Everywhere he turned lay the dead. Their bodies burnt, scorched beyond recognition, or limbs at awkward angles, or torn, or half consumed in stone.
People he knew, people he loved, his teachers, his friends, his enemies. And children. Sweet Merlin, the children. Small faces, frozen in fear in their impending doom.
All slain by his hand. The Dark Lord's laughter beat at him, drowning out his screams. He could not bear the sight. The pain was more than anything physical he had ever experienced. Tears stained his cheeks as he screamed to the sky.
"Merlin, forgive me!" He did not think it would come. Forgiveness. He did not think he deserved it. Still, he begged for it. "Forgive me!"
His magic filled him, the madness drifting tauntingly upon the edges. The taint that doomed the world because of him. In his foolish pride, he believed because of a prophecy that he, a schoolboy, would be able to match the Dark Lord and his power.
He could feel it. The taint, mocking him, seducing him to an abyss, but he ignored it. Wrapping his magic around himself, he willed it to do his bidding.
Then he turned on his heel and appeared in an atrium. The room was cold and empty save for a lone archway that stood upon a stone floor in the middle of the room.
A veil seemed to flow over the two pillars in an invisible breeze. Whispers seemed to flow out of the archway, promising peace. Oblivion. Harry hobbled toward it. Markings on the pillars capturing his gaze for a moment.
Archaic symbols decorated the pillars. Triangles on its point inside a circle, a triangle bisected inside a circle, the symbol of the deathly hallows, arrows in circles pointing different directions, small symbols in the shape of rectangles, and wavy lines crossed by odd squiggles.
The pillars held his attention for a moment. Only a moment. A pop of apparition was heard behind him.
"Where is it you think you can run Potter? You are mine!" Voldemort hissed as he appeared too late to stop him.
"Merlin, Forgive me." Harry choked as he stepped into the veil. Red eyes widened as they stared at the disappearing body of the savior. It started as a chuckle, then a bark, and then laughter exploded out of the Dark Lord. The ominous cackle echoing in the empty atrium.
"You cannot escape so easily, Potter. You are mine in life, as you are mine in death. It is not done between you and I. It will not be done until the end of time." Then he turned on his heel and vanished in a pillar of black smoke. And the atrium and the veil stood alone. Waiting.
And the Shadow fell upon the Land, and the World was riven stone from stone. The oceans fled, and the mountains were swallowed up, and the nations were scattered to the eight corners of the World. The moon was as blood, and the sun was as ashes. The seas boiled, and the living envied the dead. All was shattered, and all but memory lost, and one memory above all others, of him who brought the Shadow and the Breaking of the World. And him they named Dragon.
(from Aleth nin Taerin alta Camora
The Breaking of the World.
Author unknown, the Fourth Age)
And it came to pass in those days, as it had come before and would come again, that the Dark lay heavy on the land and weighed down the hearts of men, and the green things failed, and hope died. And men cried out to the Creator, saying, O Light of the Heavens, Light of the World, let the Promised One be born of the mountain, according to the prophecies, as he was in ages past and will be in ages to come. Let the Prince of the Morning sing to the land that green things will grow and the valleys give forth lambs. Let the arm of the Lord of the Dawn shelter us from the Dark, and the great sword of justice defend us. Let the Dragon ride again on the winds of time.
(from Charal Drianaan to Calamon,
The Cycle of the Dragon.
Author unknown, the Fourth Age)
