Flowerpot

Somthing I wrote based on the idea of lucifer raising Harry. A bit long

If there's one thing Lucifer hated, it was people using him. Be it in name or action, everyone always blamed the devil.

*the devil made me do it! * as if he had any desire to make them do anything.

Desire, that was the key to everything. Good and bad. The problem was, he only got the credit when they acted on the bad ones. Oh yes, whenever someone got caught in some vile act it was his fault. But any other time they ended up praising his father instead.

thank god, they'd say. Please, as if his father cared. It was all him. But they'd never give thanks to the devil when, after that one night of kinky debauchery resulted in a little bundle of joy. oh no, little Billy got called an angel. Or a little miracle.

He, lucifer, did more for humanity than they would ever know. And what was his reward? To be stuck lording over hell, vilified by those he helped and worshipped by cultists and those most vile, the dregs of humanity that he despises.

And don't even start on the goat thing.. Whomever was responsible for that travesty held a special reservation in hell..

Still, he had his fun. The occasional jaunt here and there to earth. A few favours, the odd deal, just to keep the spirits up. Humans were fun to mess with, and magical humans even more so.

"oh hello. Another one of you is it? Charming, the robes are still a bit much, I always say you can't go wrong with Armani, I mean, just look at me"

His words were met with silence. This happened every now and then, some magical, or a group of them, would find some dusty book on demonology and then one baffoon would inevitably try and cast the ritual to summon a demon. So of course lucifer would go instead, so the idiots didn't get themselves torn asunder, along with earth itself.

The motley crew in front of him gradually got themselves together. The leader coming forward to give the usual spiel.

"let me stop you there old chap. I'm sure you had a lovely speech planned, no doubt somthing about global conquest, my bowing down to your might, helping to rub your feet, blah, blah demonic servant, and so on. Unfortunately I'm quite busy with hell at the moment, just popped in to take this back," lucifer stepped forward, taking the book the old man was holding..

"for your own safety really. You'll thank me later." giving a wave to the dumbstruck group, he unfurled his mings and disappeared..

It was a while before anything like that happened again, in fact it'd been so long lucifer began to hope he had confiscated the last of those infernal books.

So, the Lord of hell was understandably irritated when he was suddenly forced to abandon his current.. Activities with Maze, to answer the call.

"for dad's sake. This better be more important than the last one. I was in the middle of some positively sinful sex."

His irritation faded, when he finally got a look at the woman who had dared summon him.

A gorgeous mane of red hair, a pair of mesmerising green eyes. And a figure lucifer suddenly wished he could die for.

" I want to make a deal "....

Later..

"Mazikeen!" lucifer called

"you're back, you want to pick up where we left off?" the demoness sauntered up to him, pausing, dumbfounded when he held somthing out to her..

"what the hell lucifer! Why do you have a baby!?"

"I don't" the devil grinned, pushing the infant into his lieutenants unwilling arms. "you do, I made a deal. That this boy would be protected and cared for. His mother was.. Quite insistent he have a mother figure, so, congratulations Maze, you're a mum"

"I'm a what?" she growled..

The baby. Harry, giggled

Griphook looked at the trio, a sharp grin on his lips. “Those of us with any vision understand well that that Lord Gaunt-Slytherin does not hold Gringotts nor its holders in particularly high esteem. Oh, he delights his manager, and the fortune he has amassed does provide Gringotts with a not-insignificant amount of income from the share we take from his investments. But it is the fool who looks solely at what is there now and pays no mind to what is to come in the future. I have little doubt that Lord Gaunt-Slytherin would see his own people in our place in an instant.”

He spread his hands. “But make no mistake, Mister Potter, Mister and Missus Weasley. Gringotts guards her treasures jealously. Just because I and my allies agree that Tom Riddle needs to be taken care of does not mean that we will stand idly by as you attempt to ransack his vaults. We have our pride, after all, and it would not do to be accused of favoritism.”

The goblin rose, and that was signal enough for the three humans to follow suit. They made their way to the door, where the Chain sat, waiting for Griphook to take it up and begin the process of wiping any record of this visit or conversation from Gringotts history. “That being said, if you three are able to accomplish it, know that we will never forget what you’ve done for us.”

“Of course, Griphook.” Harry paused. “You know, I never know how to say goodbye. You and Sirius never say the same thing.”

Griphook laughed, a harsh and violent sound. “You’ll learn one day, Mister Potter.”

Harry exchanged a look with Ron, and then looked back at Griphook. “I suppose so. Until we meet again, then.”

The door shut in his face instantly. He heard a feminine snort behind him. “I don’t think that was it, Harry.”

“Shut up, ‘mione.” He said, and turned. “Well, we got some good information, at least. We know some of what we’re up against. Now we just need to find out who we’re up against.”

“Shouldn’t be that hard. Gringotts Personnel is a matter of public record. It’ll probably take a week for that information to get to us if we don’t want Riddle knowing that we’re looking at it.” Ron supplied.

“Which we obviously don’t.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “You know who to talk to?”

“Yeah. I’ll get the palms greased. Gives us time to do some basic reconnaissance anyways.” The trio continued back up to the main level in silence for a few moments, before Ron broke it with a chuckle. Harry stopped, turning to look at him, as did Hermione. “Sorry, I just realized something.”

“What?” Hermione asked.

“Griphook said that Gringotts would never forget what we’re doing for them. But the whole purpose of the Chain is that nobody’s going to remember that we were here and had that conversation, right?”

It took Harry a moment to cotton on, but he snorted in amusement when he realized what Ron was saying. He gestured, and they started moving again. “That’s goblin gratitude for you.”

Part 1

His heart pounded in his ears, as he threw himself to the left, his torso, barely covered by what remained of his tunic, scraped against the rough tiling of the chamber.

Scintillating, razor sharp claws speared the air where his heart had been.

He rolled to a crouch, green eyes narrowing, his grip on the glimmering sword in his hand tightening as he exploded into motion.

His blade swung in a graceful arc, slicing the skin of his assailant.

She winced, a grunt slipping from her lips.

Her foot met his chest with the force of a hundred horses.

Or, more accurately, the strength of one veela.

The air was forced from his lungs as he exhaled explosively, the power behind the kick sending him slamming into one of the pillars holding up the roof of the chamber.

“Gah!” He gasped as he slumped to the floor.

Click. Clack.

He blinked away stars as he heard her approach, her boots clicking on the stone, ignoring the black spots on the edge of his vision.

Groaning, he forced his tired, battered body to its feet, his sword held firmly as he beheld the ethereally perfect visage of the Veela approaching him.

Fleur Delacour stared at him, her gorgeous face warped in an irritated frown, her perfect figure, adorned in the form fitting armor of the protectors of Death’s realm, marred by a dozen cuts and injuries.

Injuries he’d inflicted.

He stared defiantly, green glimmering on blackened sclerae, as he forced a smile to his face, “I don't suppose you’d just let me pass, huh, Fleur?”

The veela scoffed, flipping her silvery blonde ponytail back, “Not a chance Harry. You’re not getting a single step further.”

Her fingers flexed, the claws adorning them glinting malevolently in the ethereal glow.

Harry pursed his lips, “We’ll just have to see.”

She shook her head sadly, “No, we won't. You’re in no condition to go on.”

He wasn't. He truly wasn't. He had blundered a few chambers past, and had been in nowhere near good condition when she had appeared to bar his way.

“Why do you keep insisting on going on, Harry?” Fleur asked, her voice belying a hint of concern, “Why wont you just see?. Your place is here.”Harry shook his head grimly, his messy black locks splattering the blood that matted them.“You wouldn't get it.”

“Fine,” She snapped, dropping into a combat stance, “Come, if you’re so insistent on fighting, you gods damned fool.”

He smiled, a tired, weak smile, as he tensed, his sword coming up.

They stood like that for a moment.

Two.

Fleur exploded from her stance, dashing forward. Grunting, he sidestepped her charge, his blade already in motion…

A clawed hand caught his sword, razor edges skittering against its blade.

The other hand buried itself, claws deep, in his chest.

His fingers slackened on his sword’s hilt, his body losing strength.

As he collapsed to his knees, a dark, bloody mist began to seep from the floor of the chamber.

It pooled at his feet, tendrils reaching up to wrap around his form, as Fleur freed her hand from his body. She tsked, staring down at him as the mist began to cover his form, her blue eyes betraying a storm of emotions, as she spoke. “I’ve told you before, Harry, and I’ll tell you again. There Is No Escape.”

He wheezed, raggedy breaths escaping him as he locked eyes with her, already beginning to sink into the pool of bloody mist.

She dropped to her knees, her expression softening, hand reaching out to tenderly stroke its cheek as the mist pulled him into itself, back to its source.

“For what it's worth, Harry, I’m sorry.”

Her sad smile was the last thing he saw, before he was swallowed by the mist.

Part 2

As Harry climbed the steps out of the pool of the bloody mist, into the hall of Death’s office proper, he was once again struck by the jarring dissonance of the transition.

He stood on a threshold of ornate tiles, carved in stone, engraved in gold, and layered with red carpet. Barely inches behind him, the cavern that housed the source of the bloody mist stretched upwards into darkness, the pool ringed by stalagmites and stalactites, the rough, natural walls of the cavern a stark contrast to the decorated walls of the office.

It was… disconcerting, leaving the cavern. It felt like he was leaving one world and entering the next, so sudden was the transition. By Merlin, a few of the murals of the hallway were cut off halfway, as if a great blade had shorn the rest of the hallway short and slapped on the cavern instead.

As the last of the bloody mist receded from his clothes, the final tendrils slithering back into the larger source, he made his way down the hallway, into the larger atrium of the office. He passed the dead, some looking incredibly human, their forms almost entirely untouched by the grasp of the dead realm, while others were little more than shades, so entrenched in death that their forms were as indistinct as their memories of their lives.

Harry shuddered. To not remember who you were… what a terrifying existence that had to be. He was thankful that he had been left mostly whole, the only evidence of his existence in, and attunement to the underworld visible in the darkening of his sclerae.

His resistance to the grasp of death was what had buoyed him, through his last attempt at escaping Death, and the one before, and the one before still.

Twenty times, he had tried. Twenty times, he had failed. Yet, as long as the realm’s grasp on him remained as weak as it had, he was always free to try again.

Or, so he told himself.

Green eyes caught sight of a grand figure, wrapped in multi-colored robes, standing beside one of the tables in the atrium.

Harry’s face split in a smile.

“Professor!”

Albus Dumbledore turned to face the boy he had come to know well in his time in Death’s realm, his kindly old face writ with shock, before it broke into a smile, ancient, wise eyes twinkling, “Harry, my boy! You’re back, and… earlier.”

He turned, one hand clutching a majestic, carved staff, the other spread as if held out for an embrace, as Harry jogged close.

“It's been so long,” Dumbledore said, “but it's always good to see your face. Still no success?” Harry shook his head ruefully, “Not quite yet, sir. But there’s always next time.”

“Y… yes,” Dumbledore nodded, his smile dimming for a moment, “of course.”

“I do wish you could come with me though, professor.” the young man said, his smile turning sad,

“It… would be wonderful to see the sunrise with you.”

“If only that were possible, my boy,” Dumbledore’s smile dropped, as the ancient wizard shook his head, free hand patting at the chest of his flamboyant robe, below which, Harry knew, lay only mist and ghostly matter, “I’m afraid that the underworld is the only place for me now.” Harry could only nod.

“Those matters aside, I’m afraid congratulations are due, my boy,” Dumbledore said, smiling proudly, “I’ve been told you put up a valiant fight.”

“Not valiant enough, apparently,” the green eyed young man grumbled, “I’m probably going to have to put in a lot more work at the courtyard with the other warriors. Ugh, Draco will be insufferable.”

“I’m sure he will be,” Albus chuckled, as he put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, “But… I’m afraid there is someone you have to talk to first, Harry.”

“Who?”

“One of the Veela, I believe. Someone you know quite well. Or, I’d hope so, seeing as she put her hand through your chest not that long ago.” Harry cursed, “I… fuck. Has she been asking?”

“You know she has, my boy. Apparently, you said some interesting words to her when you last fought, words that piqued her interest, for better or for worse. Something about a reason to try and leave?”

The younger man sagged, “Me and my Merlin damned big mouth.”

“She cares for you, you know. Even though she shouldn't, she cares. ” Dumbledore said solemnly, “And… I believe she just wishes to understand. With the... relationship, between the two of you, I think she deserves the truth, Harry.”

“Y… you’re probably right sir,” Harry acquiescenced, “I’ll… I’ll tell her.”

“Good,” Dumbledore smiled, patting his shoulder proudly, “I believe she is in the lounge at the moment. Off you trot.”

“Oh, Harry, you think of me as a parental figure? I thought you smarter than this, Apprentice.”

Harry did his best to school his features, to show no weakness, but his teacher, his Master of many years, the closest thing- as always, read his emotions as if he was screaming them.

The Wizard Marshall frowned disapprovingly, “I tolerated your...emotional weakness before due to your youth, Harry, but now you are of age, if you truly want to become a Magus of power, then you must divest yourself of these, they will only bring you down, make you weaker, and no Apprentice of mine will be weak, are we clear?”

His Master’s tone was absolute, the same one he used in his authority over the Association, especially with unruly Magi.

Harry merely nodded, his expression blank, even his eyes, normally bright green, were dull.

“Good, it won’t do to let such emotional attachments get in the way of your training, you have the potential to be an exceptional Magus, to unlock the secrets of True Magic, you’ve let those dalliances with the Edelfelt girl make you fall behind, letting her use you,” he snorted,” and don’t rest on your laurels winning that little war of the Wizards, they won’t carry you through your stay here in the Clock Tower. Neither will your ancestor’s Noble Phantasms.”

The man who raised him from when he was seven fixed him with a disappointed gaze, “At your age, I expected more of you.”

There was a moment of silence, another test, Harry was sure, to see if he would let his emotions get the better of him, he didn’t, hadn’t in many years, but his Master still tested him.

“Remember our ways, Dismissed.”

Harry bowed stiffly, turned on his heel, his Cloak billowing behind him, and left the room, the door opening and closing without him touching it.

He never saw the quickly suppressed flash of emotion in his mentor’s eyes, nor the way he glanced at his jeweled sword.

Fleur Delacour, of the Delacour Magus family, saw her friend Harry leaving the Wizard Marshal’s room in a dark mood, she could tell from his gait alone.

She pursed her lips, missing the carefree and gentle boy that had helped her long ago, always with a smile and kind words, now, he was...different, had been ever since officially joining the Clock Tower.

She blamed the Marshall, the man was never satisfied with what Harry did, the fact he was considered a genius didn’t seem to satisfy the man, nor even Harry being the closest thing to a Third Magician in millennia.

She closed her fists, she wished she could help him, be closer to him, but she was too reluctant, too timid, she lost her opportunity before Luvia got her claws on him.

She closed her eyes, not seeing Harry raise the hood of his Cloak and disappear, how she regretted not being more forward, not having the courage to confess, and now he was distant, and alone, his breakup with that girl having destroyed half their dormitory before he scared her(and the students there) into submission with a glare and magic pressure alone.

“Oh, ‘Arry”, she would talk to him, help him no matter what.

Harry closed the door to his room with a bang, spells activating to muffle any sound.

He sat down in his bed, hating the tip-tap sound of his tears hitting the ground.

Ever since he joined this stupid Clock Tower, no matter what he did, his Mentor was never satisfied, his greatest achievements, far more than any student in the last few centuries, earned him mere nods, as if it was expected of him, to rediscover and adapt mysteries from the Age of the Gods, to adapt Wizard magic to Magi, to defeat every other student.

What more could he do? At 17, he had gone through education at Hogwarts, finishing before most, he defeated the Lich that had murdered his parents when he was 14, the man being dumb enough to start a necromantic ritual while Harry was conscious and able to speak, his followers took some months, but they fell too, Wizards too focused on their narrow ideas of magic, most of them never wanting to delve deep.

But not Harry, he had tamed a Phantasmal Beast, killed Demons, and even killed government officials without being discovered, all this before reaching 15.

His Master had recognized him then, laughed at his adventures, nudged him here and there, he was that old man that had rescued that lonely, mistreated seven-year-old boy from an abusive home to show him a world of magic and wonder.

A boy that had, stupidly, believed he was thought of as something more than another Apprentice, another source of entertainment, another experiment.

Harry hated himself at that moment, hated his weakness, his tears, and even hated his cold Master.

But hatred rarely helped him, nor did getting angry, he had learned that young.

Yet, despite all his training, it was hard not to.

He took deep breaths, his left hand going to rub a ring on his right one, with a black stone, marked with the crest of his ancestors, the Peverells.

The cold stone brought some comfort to him as he calmed himself.

He smiled wryly, all these years and his temper still got the better of him, even if he was able to hide it.

How could he show his Master that he deserved to be there, that he deserved recognition, even praise, and maybe even…

He closed his eyes again and cursed lowly.

What a stupid dream, Potter, your parents are gone, have been for sixteen years and there is nothing you could…

Harry would never know why, but his gaze went to the report on his table, one he had gotten more out of curiosity, using his position as Zelretchs’ Apprentice to circumvent standard clearance.

The Disaster of the Fourth Fuyuki Grail War, and the approach of the Fifth

A dry read, the man’s text made what should be an interesting event, boring.

But the preface about the Grail System, and how the Wars worked, was interesting.

Yes, Harry knew his Master had worked on it, for curiosity and fun, he suspected.

A massive reservoir of prana, that under the right conditions and ritual could grant any wish, using the knowledge of the user, but still…

Harry glanced at his ring, and then at a moving picture on his desk, showing a beautiful redheaded woman and a hazel-haired man, smiling and waving with a baby boy between them.

Harry smiled, he knew what he would do, he knew enough of the Third Magic, and others, to do it, he only needed the right instrument.

Well, at least this time, he would be entering into a Magic Competition involving a Cup(figuratively), willingly, and he had always wanted to go to Japan.

The cave that housed the Greater Grail, or at least, access to it, was heavily shielded, it’s protections designed to prevent any tempering of it.

A green magic circle appeared on the ground, a small tornado of wind blowing around it, in a flash of light, a young man appeared on the center of it, a silver cloak on his shoulders and a satisfied smile on his face.

Harry stepped out of the circle, a gesture of his hand making it disappear as if it had never been there, he approached the walls, another gesture and a sphere of light materialized above his head, illuminating the cave.

“Of course you would have an entrance just for you, Old Man.”

Harry raised his arms, as if he was about to conduct an orchestra, magic circuits covered his hands and face when he fully extended his fingers, and the cave’s walls lit up in front of him, runes, sygils, and formalcraft glowing in various colors, their light making his sphere redundant.

Harry glanced at it, eyes glowing as he used his skills to analyze the magical configurations and patterns of the Grail system.

It was marvelous, among the most complex works of magic, probably since the Age of the Gods.

The Einzbern didn’t have the full dominion of the Third Magic, at least not when making this, but they adapted and organized things in such a way that it fit, like pieces of a puzzle, he wondered how many times they had to try and redo things, until it worked.

With a gesture of his right hand a formalcraft circle appeared in front of him, runes and script scrolling inside it, Harry managed to access what he could call the Grails’ logs. He frowned, he couldn’t read too much, but he could get that the Masters of this War had already been chosen, and he doubted he would be lucky that this one would be inconclusive, and thus that the next one would start in only a decade, instead of six as was the norm.

No, he wouldn’t let himself be stopped here, he had risked too much already by coming here.

Obviously, even with the access he had now, he couldn’t make himself the winner, not only would the ritual be incomplete, but he wasn’t even a Master, but he had other ideas.

Harry glanced at the walls again, he stayed there for hours looking at them, reading, thinking before a smile spread on his face, and he snorted.

“I never thought I would thank Barty Jr. for an idea.”

It would be tricky, and risky, but he could do it.

With a movement of his wrist, a notched Wand came to his hand, Harry closed his eyes and focused his magic, the crescendo of it generating a small breeze in the cave, and his eyes glowed, even his Cloak changed from silver-grey, to look as if it was made of Starlight.

“Elder Wand, Wand of Destiny” he chanted.

Harry waved his wand and hand around, magic script and formalcraft coming to life around him, and sections of the script on the wall began flashing quickly, before they began to glow in various intervals, the colors of the rainbow illuminating the cave.

Harry had a slight sheen of sweat on him when he finished, having to almost hold himself to the wall so he would not fall.

Not wanting to waste any time, the War had already started, for all he knew, Harry stored his wand and with a few gestures, a Servant summoning circle appeared on the ground.

Harry began chanting, not being able to contain his desire to impress his Master while he did so.

“Let silver and steel be the essence…”

Harry could feel the crescendo of Magic coming from it, the forces beyond his ken, why, even the Grail, working to make it work.

And thus, as he ended the chant, the circle shone brightly, the red light enough to make him close his eyes.

And a figure began forming, along with the smile on Harry’s face.

Silver armor took form, kind of bulky, a large sword, point down on the ground, good, a Saber.

As the light dimmed, Harry could see teal eyes, and blond hair in a ponytail, with a cocky smile that already endeared the Servant, her, to him. The summoning was complete, and the figure became clear.

‘Pretty’ he thought, but in a more wild way, the young woman spoke then, and Harry found her accent interesting.

“I am Mordred, the one and true heir of Arthur Pendragon” What? Mordred was a girl? Had he done something wrong? “So I ask of you” the corner of her mouth raised and her teal eyes shone, “Are you, my Master?”

He was very, very lucky, his Master had let him look into his notes on the Eizbern methods all those years ago.

But it was done, Harry laughed as he felt the Command Seals burn into his skin, he felt excited, even.

Fleur Delacour walked into Fuyuki, her extremely developed magical senses already pinpointing several discrepancies, beyond the presence of Heroic Spirits. Something was terribly wrong here.

“‘Arry, what have you gotten yourself into, mon ami?”

Harry was reassured by the presence of his long-time companion, Fleur Delacour, at his side. Even time couldn’t dull his reaction to her, his breath quickened, his blood sang. He knew she was the one for him. And more unbelievably, she chose him, to be with him.

“I bind my life to yours.” Her words still echoed in his mind, he heard them every night in his dreams.

And just as reliably as Fleur’s presence caused his heart to flutter, made him want to burst into song… so did it cause his scourge-mark to burn.

It took much effort, meditation and studying his own mind for him to recall the deal he had made in desperation. Of course he told Fleur whose eyes burned with passion, declaring for all the world to see her intentions, before she kissed him senseless.

After she calmed down, she fiercely assured him that no matter what deals a devil forced on him under duress, they would stay together and live their lives in full.

As Fleur’s wise grandmother reminded them, when they told her of their woes, where there are devils, there are those who fight them.

And so they ventured forth and after many adventures that would make lesser men and women quail, they now stood in an old temple, a Spartan looking building with little decoration.

In front of them, a giant statue of a handsome man in maille stood holding a sword, five wings splayed behind him, his visage fierce.

Together they knelt, holding hands and offering their prayers, two souls scarred by devious evil, begging for the wrong visited upon them to be righted.

Though nobody seemed to be in the temple, the braziers now lit up, providing warmth to the chilly building.

The world, for lack of a better word, blinked, and instead of the statue, a living figure stood before them. Were they not frozen, they’d avert their eyes from that awesome sight. Standing 20 feet tall, clad in golden maille and wielding a flaming sword, the figure commanded respect. And the five flaming wings moving behind his back made the figure fearsome indeed.

Instead of the fierce visage of the statue, there appeared to be concern in his flaming eyes.

“Upon your heartfelt call I have come,” though 20 feet tall, his voice sounded gentle. “How have you been wronged?” And so they told him the tale of Harry’s desperate struggle, of his Pyrrhic victory and of the “deal” forced upon a 12 year old boy by a devil. They told him of Fleur being haunted by a red figure in her dreams, of a horned fiend who dared call her his bride, who boasted of besting fate’s chosen one.

The figure’s flaming eyes narrowed with each word spoken, a heavy frown marring his brow. When they finished, it took a few seconds for the deity to address them.

“Wronged you have been, truly and gruesomely, by a fiend most foul. Your hearts beat for justice.”

At this moment, their hearts were pounding in their chests. “I offer you a chance. I shall purge you of that infernal mark and of the stain you carry, young wizard. However, there is much evil in this world. And oppose it we must.”

Harry and Fleur, both elated so far, nodded reverently.

“Walk out of this temple with my name on your lips and with my cause in your hearts. And I shall stand beside you, though you shall walk through shade and darkness, never shall you be alone. Do you accept?”

Fleur squeezed Harry’s hand, which she’d never let go during the entire encounter, and both nodded.

“Very well. Here, in this temple, kneeling in front of me, repeat these solemn vows: I will avenge evil wrought upon the innocent. I will not give my word lightly, but once it is given, I will uphold a promise until my last breath.

Those proven guilty must be punished for their crimes. I will not turn a blind eye to wrongdoing.

Rage is a virtue and a strength only when focused against the deserving. I will never seek disproportionate retribution.

Redemption finds hearts from even the cruelest origins. I will strive not to act upon prejudice against fellow mortals based on race or origin.”

With each vow sworn, Harry and Fleur felt their hearts beat faster, their eyes lit up with a flame not dissimilar to the one burning in the figure’s eyes.

Finally, the vows were done and the figure bestowed them with a weighty gaze.

“Stand now, my Oathsworn and present yourself to me. As you swore yourself to me, it is time to do my duty to you.” They stood tall, their spines straight. The tip of the figure’s flaming sword touched Harry’s arm, directly piercing the scourge-mark. The smell of sulphur arose, but no burning flesh. At Harry’s surprised look, the figure nodded and replied, “The righteous flame shall not burn an innocent.” Then the sword’s tip touched Harry’s forehead and in righteous flame he was cleansed.

Bellatrix Lestrange rightfully considered herself a true master of the Cruciatus. She understood that curse better than any other mortal, whether its casting principles or the effects on the victim’s body. Many a time she had laughed at a foe she’d provoked into casting it at her, replying that righteous anger wasn’t enough. That they needed to mean for her to suffer, to relish in the act of causing suffering.

She had cut a bloody swathe in the forces arrayed against her Lord, her True Love.

All that was in pursuit of Harry Potter, her Lord’s stubborn foe. He and his lover had vanished, even the vilest divination rituals couldn’t find them. The only sign she got were the entrails of the mudblood she used for the divination going up in flames.

So she busied herself with hunting down Potter’s friends. And it worked, Potter and Delacour stood against her, strangely dressed. She noticed that both had a necklace in the form of a crimson wing.

The battle was surprisingly short and one-sided.

And as her skin blistered and eyes bubbled, Bellatrix Lestrange finally admitted that the flames of righteous fury were enough.

The devil Ahpuch was looking forward to the culmination of his long-term plan. It was laughably easy, with the resources available to him. Finding out the fated connection between the so-called Boy-Who-Lived and the person who was of real interest to him. A girl of Veela lineage, descended from divine blood. Though mixed with humans, her connection to the divine was still close.

And thanks to a little flexibility and forcing a child into a deal, she would be delivered to him, by her supposed love to boot. It was all worth the effort he put into sabotaging the phoenix’s little scuffle with the basilisk.

And when the Veela girl gets delivered to him, broken and shattered by the betrayal of her fated, he would remake her, reshape her into his queen, one who would bear him children and elevate his station in Hell.

It was now time for the boy to fulfil his part of the bargain, so Ahpuch went to the pre-arranged meeting place, an out of the way plain with nobody present who could interrupt his dealings.

Potter and Delacour appeared promptly, but instead of the young man broken by his inner struggle or the innocent woman lured into his trap, both had the assured gait of warriors, their demeanor screaming their contempt. At their waists he beheld swords and around their necks, talismans of the crimson wing. That meddler.

“I see, young Potter that you have brought me my bride.” “Wrong, Ahpuch.” Potter put his fist on the pommel of his sword.

Delacour continued when Potter fell silent, “This little meeting has a different purpose.” And she too readied herself to draw her blade.

“Is that how wizards honour their words? No matter, you are bound by our pact, Potter, and shall honour it whether you like it or not.” Ahpuch was hissing silently, his voice gaining a hypnotic quality.

“Devils deserve no honour.” Potter spat on the ground. “As for our pact, look for yourself.” He lifted the sleeve on his arm, instead of the scourge-mark, a burn scar in the shape of a wing greeted the devil’s unbelieving eyes.

“Then I will take what is mine by force!” The devil roared, splaying his wings, getting ready to fight.

“Our Lord’s flames were enough to maim an infernal duke and melt his palace to slag!” Delacour answered his challenge as her and Potter’s eyes changed to resemble burning embers. “Our flame will be enough for scum like you!” Potter finished and they both drew their swords. Their milky white blades bore runic inscriptions and the air around the edges shimmered before both blades were engulfed by flames. A pair of flaming wings was now splayed behind both Harry and Fleur as, with a war cry, they charged the fiend.

Live for me

Harry James Potter, the pride of James Potter and the heart of Lily Potter was the most cheerful and fun-loving person in the world.

James and Lily chose to not fight in the war, Sirius never went to any prison but as a result, Neville is an orphan and is the boy who lived but that doesn't matter tho. Neville isn't the protagonist of this one, Harry is.

Harry wanted to live life to the fullest, he couldn't bear to see anything sad. People who saw him used to say- " this boy could cheer up a mourning widow and convince her to live for something she believed in. His smile shone brighter than any summery day in France and his nights were equally fun-loving."

One day his parents returned to Britain and sent him to Hogwarts at his insistence, there was nothing they could deny to their boy once he had his mind on it. His requests were always genuine and reasonable. It did not help much that his godfather was always on his side.

He was at first scorned for fleeing the war, insults flew his way like arrows at an archery range but his demeanor towards his life did not change, he accepted it, all of it.

Slowly all the students came around, something about Harry was so irresistible and he was always so cheerful, it was impossible to hate him. Always the fun-loving boy helped everyone without any care for houses or any prejudices. Snape shortly left after his second year leaving everyone baffled as to what caused it and Lily took his place.

After this point till his fourth year, he lived the most beautiful and amazing moments of his life. That was until the Triwizard tournament happened and the boy who was as playful as summer met a veela who was as cold as winter.

Die for you

Why was it that people always want you to be happy? Can't they enjoy the sadness once in a while. There is not always a need to be happy, they've got an entire lifetime to be happy!

It baffled her how every time someone took a picture of her, they expected her to smile. Why should she smile? What is so auspicious about someone taking her photo that she should smile without any reason. What absolute morons.

The drooling of males and sometimes females alike did not help her mood either. Must they drool? Was she a last piece of croissant that they had to have her? people are so stupid sometimes, mindless too.

That was all she thought of others until she met Harry Potter.

He. Was. Not. Drooling.

How dare he do something out of normalcy in her life, it wasn't supposed to be like this. He had no right to carry on as if nothing was happening. Why was he so... lively?

Days passed as Harry held her curiosity for most of the event, yes she wanted to be a champion but her reasons were her own.

She wanted to die, it would be an honourable death to a miserable life but at least she could say she tried but that wasn't the point here. Her attention was captured by Harry Potter.

They met one day, pure accident in the owlery but it was enough for Fleur Delacour to be stuck now with Harry Potter

Enigma wasn't the word she'd use. It wouldn't do justice to how much he annoyed her with his bright smile and light-hearted jokes.

How can someone so annoying and relentless be so charming at the same time?!

An annoying life

He made it his mission to make her smile at least once a day, he'd come down to her carriage, wait for her to get up and she would reluctantly join him for his tours.

They kept repeating, she did not care much. She was secretly enjoying it too much to complain about it.

The champion selection happened. Neville got selected along with the original champions and once again she couldn't get over the stupidity of People in Britain in general.

Dumbledore had one job. One. Single. Job.

and he failed.

But she found out later that she couldn't care less, it was their blunder. If there was anything she did care about was her time with Harry and how annoyingly enough, he was changing her.

It was too subtle to notice before but after the first task when he took her in a very tight hug even before she got to the hospital wing, it was apparent.

She had smiled and returned his affections without any of his silly jokes. She was changing and she wasn't sure if she liked it or not.

Her desire for an honourable death was also wavering second by second, every moment she spent with Harry. If nothing else it'd be worth it to live just because she knew Harry would be there next morning, waiting for her and making her day brighter.

Yule Ball was not supposed to be a fun event. It was supposed to be terrible with people with fake smiles and drooling male population but alas Harry never gave up.

He wasn't supposed to ask her to the ball.

She wasn't supposed to say yes.

She wasn't supposed to have the time of her life in the arms of Harry Potter of all people.

She wasn't supposed to kiss him.

But that didn't change the fact that it did.

A peaceful death

She tried to avoid him for some time after the yule ball, purely on the principle that it was too much change in too little time but even as she avoided him, she couldn't help but ask herself...

Was this change really so bad? She was enjoying it, she might not admit to it but deep down she knew she had feelings for Harry.

So she acted on them, after almost a week of avoiding Harry, she acted on them.

Surprisingly, Harry did not seem to mind in the slightest that she had avoided him, in fact, he was more worried that he had done something to upset her. She did not need any other confirmation.

She asked him out, one floo trip to anywhere he might take her. He did not disappoint.

She had never been more thankful for a friendship than she was for this one and as Harry rightfully said after the amazing date, she couldn't agree more-

'I just had a sketch of our friendship you described it as a writer, I just drew the beginnings of our world but your thoughts Fleur. Your thoughts made it brighter.'

As cheesy as it may sound, it was the most heartfelt thing she had ever heard.

She wanted to live now, the tournament didn't matter, the stupid Britishers didn't matter. She had Harry and she wanted to be annoyed the rest of her life with his cheerfulness.

But alas it was after all too good to be true.

She had saved Harry in her second task and things were looking up when it all started to go downhill.

Barty Crouch went missing and Weatherby was put in his place instead, the tournament was at its most ominous point now with a judge missing and no clue of where he might be.

She was leading the tournament in the last task, her desire for death changed to a drive to win safely. To return back to an annoying boy whose smile was enough to make her reluctantly smile .

It did not go as planned.

She was attacked as she was dealing with the boggart. A cruciatus curse of all the evil things. She wanted to live not to die of pain!!

Her screams rang out in the dark of night, pleading for letting her live. suddenly bright flames of inferno came down crashing from her left. Harry Potter had come to rescue her with a vow of vengence on his face. His beautiful face conorted in rage as he let loose the brightest stupefy he could muster and her attcker and her fellow champion- Viktor Krum went crashing down.

He took her and hand healed the minor injuries and carried her back to the cup. All the other champions were already eliminated, the fate of the tournament was inevitable.

Just as they were about to touch the cup, a familiar, red curse tore through Harry's arm and he was forced to drop Fleur.

Fleur could only watch as a loud scream escaped his throat as they turned to see the now snarling face of Barty Crouch Jr. Fleur was terrified, how had it come to this?

Harry got his wits back but another red curse simply broke his knees and he was forced to fall again.

She had to do something, it couldn't end like this, It wouldn't dare end like this!!

She tried to reach the wand behind them but as soon as she tried, another curse came sailing their way.

Harry took it, the foolish boy took it to his other arm as she was saved and successfully reached her wand and retaliated with whatever a cruciatus victim could. Luckily she caught Barty off guard.

But even as she subdued Barty Crouch Jr. a feeling of ice had already jammed in her chest.

No wizard survived three reductor curses, it was impossible. But hoping against hope she turned back to see Harry.

He was still breathing and the bastard was smiling! what the bloody hell was wrong with him? his shallow breaths and bloodied body suggested otherwise then why did he look so peaceful?

Her trembling hand reached his cheeks as he leant in for one last time to make her night joyful with his kiss and whispered 3 words-

'Live for me.'

Harry wanted to live Fleur wanted to die But.. Harry died for Fleur and Fleur lived for Harry

12/31/2007

20:07

LOCATION: Côte-d'Or, Bourgogne-Franche-Comté, France

It had been eleven years ago and, yet she can still hear their screams. Their laughter. His black eyes. She had dreamt, prayed, even tortured herself for this moment. To have him on his knees, his throat displayed as bare as she was, a knife piercing the surface of his skin. She should have felt… ecstatic, absolved, the nightmares of those days should be burning away. But, they did not.

“Look at you… you can’t do it, can you? My flower.” He was bound, at her mercy, and still he smiles. The same inhuman smile that has haunted her for eleven years.

Her feet lashed out, whipping against the torn flesh of his stomach. He crashed against the wooden floors, with a quake. His smile never broke, as his laugh poisoning the silent room.

Rage and shame cascading through her body, she lunged at him and stabbed the knife beside his head “You don’ think I can? You. Don’t. Think. I. Can!”

Her raw and bleeding fists pummeled down against his face, against his fucking smile. All she could see was that smile as her face warped in agonizing rage. Her roar tore at her throat until she could no longer breathe, and yet… he laughs. Yet, he smiles… broken and bloody.

Her fists stopped, but her hands ripped out to grip his throat, and she squeezed. His black eyes never wavering, she watched him gag and choke; blood spitting out from his shattered mouth. Her teeth grinded and her arms trembled, but the blood on her skinned palms betrayed her strength. She let go with a final push against his throat and reached for the knife.

Straddling his lap, she gripped it and tore it from the wooden floor. Twisting it around in her trembling hand, she brought the sharp edge to his throat. She heaved and gasped, their screams bellowing her ears, she was about to rend his flesh, but then he spoke.

“You won’t… You. Can’t.” Tom rasped; his words slurred from the broken teeth. His black eyes glistened in the dim light of the room “Do you know why? Because I tended to you… I cared for you… made sure you grew… to become the most beautiful flower in the garden.”

She stilled… doubt infecting her body. His words were true… his touch… her moans. Yet, their screams… Gabrielle begging for her to stop them... her sister’s tears. Her blue eyes ignited. The doubt cindering away by her blazing wrath. Perverse pleasure filling her heart, she saw fear seep into his black eyes. Her bare and bloody arm rising high above her.

Her voice lacing with hate, “Good bye, daddy.” “Drop the knife, Fleur.”

His voice. Fleur froze. Her rage thawed away, she looked up and saw him standing in the doorway. Saw the green eyes that had allowed her to forget all the pain, just for a few days.

“H-Ha-Harry?”

“Drop the knife, Fleur… please.”

Harry stood with a calm conviction, in spite of his ragged form. His clothes were battered and grimed, no doubt from the firefight at the vineyard. Small thin scratches trickled blood down his dirtied face, whilst in his right hand was a Glock; laying still at the side of his thigh.

“Why… why! “

For Fleur, the rage that thawed so quickly, came roaring back just as fast.

“So, he can go back to England and not pay for what he has done to all those people?! To my family?!”

Her wrath was fearsome, like wild fire. Her blue eyes burned Harry, even from across the room. “The fuck are you waiting for, Potter! Shoot the cunt!”

“I suggest you shut up, Sir Tom. I don’t think a bullet in the knee won’t go unnoticed, what with all the other wounds that this cunt did to you.” Despite his calm appearance, Harry’s finger twitched closer to the Glock’s trigger. Her eyes, ever penetrating and vigilant, noticed the small movement.

“Oh, are you going to kill me?” Fleur mocked him, her words spitting with venom and the pain of betrayal. “Will you kill me, if I don’t let him go?!”

“You dumb slut. Of course, he’s going to kill you. You’re just a cheap dried up whore! He’s Her Majesty’s Most Loyal Terrier sent to lap up the fucking mess that you ma-! “

Tom screeched in pain. The knife’s edge slit deeper into the flesh of his throat, at the same time Harry bolted the Glock up in a two-handed grip and lined up the sights with his target. His finger, now, on the trigger.

“Fleur, please… Drop the knife.” His green eyes unwavering, yet he spoke with a soft voice. “I promise you that he will never see the outside world, ever again.”

“No! Prison is a fucking luxury for him!” The muscles in her arm, strained taut, pressed and the knife dug deeper. “He needs to die! Slowly. Helplessly… like I did.”

“Like you? So, fucking selfish… You don’t remember your sweet little Gabrielle? How she fucked me, crying!”

“Shut the fuck up, Tom!” Harry roared. He stilled. Watching Fleur, Harry seethed with anger. Even now, Tom’s cruelty knew no limits… even now, he slowly twisted the knife in Fleur’s heart. His aim has never faltered, but tonight it just might.

“Fleur? Don’t do this… remember the bikes. Remember? How we’re going to fly across the world… together.”

His plead did not reach Fleur. She was gone. Her pain had swallowed her in its fanged maw. Tears began to fall from her eyes, her nightmares had corrupted her face into a horrifying rage. Everything seemingly stopped in time for Harry, his heat stilled. His breathing froze. He could see the slow pull of the muscles in Fleur’s arm.

The room exploded with the roar of a nine-millimeter Glock.

Can I trust you?

Can I trust you to watch my back?

Can I trust you to catch me should I fall?

Can I trust you to hold me should I cry?

Can I trust you to bury me should I die?

Can I trust you to lead me in the dark?

Can I trust you to tell me the truth?

Can I trust you to be my friend?

Can I trust you to keep a secret?

Can I trust you to die for me?

Can I trust you to love me?

Can I trust you?

They say some stories are as old as time.

They say these stories are already over, that they cannot be changed, that these conclusions are written before we are born. They say there is no use attempting to rewrite history already lived, no use in trying to tear out the pages.

But they are wrong.

This is Fleur Delacour as he’s always known her: she’s intelligent, a cursebreaker of no small renown and ability that's traversed the world in such a short span of time. She’s beautiful, her features set upon her as if some sculptor had laboured an entire life to replicate it. She’s strong, a now single mother that, despite it all, is determined enough to hold her head high enough so her daughter can’t see the making of tears hiding in her ocean-coloured eyes. Brave enough to sacrifice what she feels to make the day as normal as possible for someone who can’t understand what has been lost. She’s charming, evidenced enough by the not-insignificant group of people around her sharing smiles in such a terrible time, listening with such rapt attention that she might’ve been mistaken as a teacher.

Above all, however, regardless of what she looks like, what she’s made of, there lies a single truth that cannot be left unsaid—she’s entirely undeserving of what has happened to her.

This is her story, the one they claim is already written. This was how her happily ever after had come to a close.

And this was how he would change it.

On the silent wings of winter, snow fell from the heavens, accumulating below until a field of white covered the ground, which sparkled like millions of diamonds in the morning light. Resting beneath a tree, Harry Potter watched the water crystals glide through air before ending their long journey to earth. His minds was so focused on the snow, he didn’t hear the sounds of feet walking across the snowy field.

“So zis is where you have been hiding?”

With a small smile, Harry turned back to see his wife, Fleur Delacour, walking towards him. For the umpteenth time since they first met, he lost cogent thought to her ethereal beauty. Her silver hair lay perfectly combed, falling down her back in silky tresses, while her cherry red lips curled slightly at the corners, seeing her husband dazzled by her.

“It’s quiet, you and I both know we could use some quiet,” he stated plainly when he regained the ability to think. Since the birth of their daughter, Lilienne, the couple had had little peace raising the girl,who seemed to have an infinite supply of energy and a taste for destruction. Fleur always said she was like Gabrielle in that regard, if not worse.

Graceful as always, she lowered herself beside Harry, leaning her head against his shoulder, basking in their shared warmth. His arm wrapped around her waist pulling her closer.

“So any plans for today?”

“Non. I was zinking we drop Lilienne at mes parents. Enjoy a nice date. Maybe more.”

Harry let out a sigh of contentment as she began tracing indistinct patterns on his hand which sent tingling sensations all up his arm.

“I think…” he paused to kiss her hand, inspiring a small purr, “that’s a great idea.”

“Great minds zink alike Monsieur Potter.”

“Indeed they do Mrs. Potter.”

Saying nothing else, the two got up and prepared for the day ahead. Breakfast required making as well as the waking up of their daughter who, if given the chance, would sleep all day. Harry guessed she got that trait from her mother’s side.

Once inside, he began the trek to his daughter’s room, up a flight of stairs, and down a hallon the second story of his home. The whole house had a distinctly French feeling with the wallpaper and some of the furniture, which Fleur had picked out. Decorating wasn’t really Harry’s things, but he did help with some of the selections.

Knocking on his daughter’s door he began, “Lilienne. Wake up, darling. It’s time to get up.”

Silence.

With a sigh, Harry opened the door to see his daughter wrapped in her blankets like an oversized burrito. Only small portions of her silver hair stuck out of the wrap; every other part of her was hidden beneath her covers.

Chuckling at his daughter’s antics, he walked over to her and tried to remove part of her sheets, only to be met with a growl.

“No. Zey stay!” she replied, her English accent disappearing. Much like Fleur, she had a tendency to revert back to a French accent when angry. Of course, his wife also tended to do that when in the throes of pleasure.

“Come on Lily. It’s time to wake up.”

“No! Eet’s too cold!”

He paused briefly to think over what to do next. He smirked with what he came up with.

“Shame, I guess your mother and I will have to eat all the chocolate croissants we made,” Harry stated, hoping the possible loss his daughter’s favorite food would get her out of bed.

There was a sudden disruption in the mass of sheets. Harry had chosen the perfect words. Within seconds she was out of her wrap, only a blur of silver and baby blue.

The rest of the morning passed in relative peace, the only disruption coming when Lilienne tried to warm up by setting her pajamas on fire.

Following the usual morning routines and the subsequent dropping off of Lilienne with Fleur’s parents, the two decided for their first date in over a year they would try to go skating at the local park. For the holidays, a skating rink had been set up on the usually tranquil and peaceful meadows. The lamps which lay along paths were festooned with holly and wreaths, as well as some Christmas lights hanging in the trees. The rink itself, nothing more than an opened air box with glass walls, lay in the middle of the park, serving as the convergence point of all the festive decor. A small shack stood next to it, with the words “Les Patins à Glace de Location” painted on a sign atop it. After paying for their skates, the two entered the rink arm in arm, until Harry’s sense of balance gave way.

He rose up. And fell again. And again.

“Come on mon amour, eet is not so hard.”

“Easy for you to say...aah!” Harry yelped.

“Mon dieu, do you need my help?”

She didn’t hear much other than some mumbling from her frustrated husband. She couldn’t help but giggle at watching him stumble and fall once more. More mumbling followed.

“I’ll take zat as oui,” she said offering him her hand, which he reluctantly took.

“Place your hands here,” Harry’s arms wrapped around her waist as if they were dancing “et follow mon lead.”

Gently, she placed her arms around his neck, and they started to move across the ice. They were slow, barely floating across the ice beneath as a random Christmas song played from the speakers above. For them, the world seemed to fall away as they got lost in each other and the sensations of being so close.

They never got tired of the feeling despite being together for so long.

“You learn fast mon amour.”

“Nice of you to notice.”

“Don’t get too full of yourself. I wonder wat would happen eef I were to…” she slowly disentangled herself from him, watching as his balance once again began to fade. His face paled before latching on to Fleur and whispering in her ear.

“If I go down, you’re coming with me.”

“You wouldn’t!”

Harry grinned, pure mischief in his eyes. “Try me.”

“You win zis, but keep eet up, and you’ll sleep on zee couch.”

He chuckled lightly before nodding, knowing from experience his wife would never willingly give up her human pillow.

Regrets.

There are moments, precipices really, where your world irrevocably changes no matter your decision.

Harry was about to face one such moment. The moment where the world simultaneously bursts with color and fade to a dull gray. He's in love. With Fleur Delacour. His best friend. The most beautiful, arrogant, kind hearted, sweets loving woman he's ever known.

No moment with her can ever be the same. Every time he sees her smile. Hears her laugh. Hugs her. Feels the closeness of the gazillion ways they get along. If he says nothing those moments will be tortuous. If he speaks up, he may never experience them again.

Harry doesn't know if he could live without them. It's been many, many long years and the mere thought of not leaning on Fleur Delacour drains color from his vision, his very essence.

Graceful as ever, she appears, freed from the flames of the Floo. Harry isn't ready.

He never will be.

"Fleur, I--I need to say something."

Extension by Arnie1701

Best Friends

Fleur Delacour stepped through the floo; graceful as ever, unlike the man she was going to see. She had always found it amusing that Harry Potter could never quite get the hang of magical travel. There are moments in one's life that could change it irrevocably and this was one of them. She knew it would; the moment she realized one, inescapable truth: she was in love with her best friend.

Fleur loved everything about Harry Potter: from his messy mop of black hair, to his adorable round glasses and his amazing emerald green eyes. But mostly; Fleur realized, she loved his kindness, his courage, and that he gave of himself and expected nothing in return.

Fleur was terrified of admitting her feelings to the man she loved, afraid of everything going wrong if she told him how she felt.

The moment she saw Harry; Fleur was almost ready to turn back and floo home when she heard him speak…

"Fleur, I -- I need to say something," Harry spoke with a tremble to his voice…

"As do I," Fleur replied…

Than they spoke:

"I love you…"

"I love you…"

Extension by Manrann

“I love you...”

“I love you...”

The pair blinked in concert, both pairs of eyes, piercing emerald and vivid cerulean, widening as they finally processed what the other had said.

Harry choked on his tongue, his face burning, as Fleur hid her face in her hands, her blush atomic.

“Do… do you mean that?” Fleur muttered, peeking from between her fingers, her eyes glittering with hope.

Harry smiled warmly, reaching out to grasp her hands, gently prying them away from her face. His eyes met hers as he replied earnestly, “I… I’m pretty sure I do. I..I love you, Fleur Delacour.”

She smiled, so bright and happy, tears of joy prickling at her eyes, as she nodded, “I love you too, mon cheri.”

The world seemed to blur for the pair, as they gently approached. All each saw was the other, smiling in joy, blush still staining their cheeks.

Their lips met, and it was like lightning and wildfire, tempered by warmth, as both Harry and Fleur tried to pour all their feelings, all their love, into the simple contact.

They split, panting, their foreheads resting against each other as they blushed harder, wrapped in an aura of love and care and comfort.

Humorous Addition by Manrann

Their lips inched closer once more..

“Fucking Finally!” a loud voice interjected, startling the pair. They jerked apart, blinking, bewildered, as they took in their surroundings.

Or rather, the people surrounding them.

“Ronald!” Hermione scolded, smacking the gangly redhead on the shoulder, before smiling at the pair, “Ignore him. It was a beautiful sight, to see you two realise your feelings for each other.”

“You cant deny its about fucking time, Hermione,” Ginny exclaimed, shooting a smile at Fleur and Harry, “You two spent so long dancing around each other, unable to admit what you had.”

“Neville was considering telling you two to kiss already,” Luna said, her smile dreamy.

Neville buried his head in his hands, grumbling as the others in the room congratulated the blushing pair.

Light through hair silver

hand messes up nest of birds

green eyes indignant.

Fleur ran down the corridors of her family’s factory, technicians and security giving her a wide berth when they took one look at her face or her badge.

At least for this, she wouldn’t begrudge her family name.

At last, she reached one of the vehicle bays, her almost shoving her badge in the face of the poor security guard was enough for the blast doors to open.

And then she saw it, saw him.

The orange and white skinsuit wasn’t his style, but he wore it well. However, it was what he was going to use it for that bothered her.

“Fleur!” He called her and waved, the same way he does to call her over the throng of people at their University, with the same smile he always has for her, the one that’s fighting through his worries, his problems, all to shine through for her.

It doesn’t bring her the same comfort, not with her creation looming behind him, all black and yellow with tapes and plaques and lights. The first run of the prototype for her combat walker. One she designed, the first design of hers to be built on a real scale. By an ‘Engineer’ that hasn’t even graduated.

And the boy she was falling in love with was going to pilot it.

“‘Arry!” She tried to keep the apprehension out of her voice, but failed.

His smile didn’t change but he looked confused as she approached, panting, the crew chief waving the other technicians away.

“What-What are you doing here, ‘Arry?”

He gestured to his skinsuit, a cart with the helmet and armor pieces beside him, “What does it look like? You’re looking at the newest Test Pilot of Delacour Mechanique and Space! They even gave me a badge!” He showed said badge, the same design as her, but instead of Junior Engineer, it was Trainee Pilot.

“Harry.” She looked into his eyes, and his smile dimmed to a shy one, he averted his eyes to a passing cart of equipment.

“Remember those aptitude tests? And how I wanted to be a pilot? Well turns out I may not be a genius like you, but I can react and think fast enough they A-Rated me for Combat Piloting, they even say I can get an All-Terrain Combat certification.”

He stopped and bit his lip for a moment.

“A real job, Fleur, not flipping burgers or driving cargo mechs on the side, they are going to pay for my Uni, Fleur, all of it, and the salary is good enough I can get a real apartment.”

Fleur couldn’t believe her ears, didn’t he know what this job entailed? Why the pay was so good, why they prefer single, poor, males for it? He may be unbeatable in the Uni simulators, but those were toys, this…this was…

“And all you have to do is one of the most dangerous jobs on the planet! Piloting untested Mechs, and they may even send you into combat,’Arry!”

Harry shrugged, “I know the risks…I…this is my chance Fleur, you know how it is for people like me.” He shrugged but she could see his own apprehension behind his eyes. “I was already lucky to get good enough grades to study at Merquise with you, but, even if I get decent grades all around, I would…never amount to anything.”

This…this…fool, stupid..boy, of course, she knew that, without connections, even someone talented like Harry wouldn’t get good jobs for a long time.

But she was going to fix it, even if she had to beg her grandfather, she would get him a job as…a technician, a cargo mech pilot, anything but this.

And then, Fleur realized that Harry was aware of that, and then she remembered their first meeting.

” I will give you three hundred for that book.”

“It’s NOT for sale!”

“Hmpf!”

Harry took pride in his independence, his damn relatives made him despise relying on others…

He would never accept anything handed to him, especially by her.

She remembered when he reluctantly showed her his apartment, if it could be called that.

Remembered the shame on his face, how he became distant for a few days after it.

“I will be okay, Fleur, after all, you designed it! And I trust you!”

Fleur could only nod as a siren signaled the next test was near, she stepped away in a daze as she saw the technicians come and place Harry in the armor and helmet, as they began preparing the cockpit.

She thought about why he would do this, but she knew.

Harry didn’t come from a family of sports stars like his friend Ron or even Angelina, nor a security company like Neville, no, Fleur didn’t know what Harry’s parents did, only that he was an orphan, the extent of his relatives' 'care' for him, had been his uncle paying a decent school.

And she suspected Ron’s father had something to do with him being accepted at their University, even good grades alone won’t get you there.

And now, the sweet, caring boy that liked the same things she did, who had let her read his exclusive advanced copy of the third book of her favorite trilogy for free…

The boy who had snuck out of parties with her, and stayed on the roof watching the stars and talking about nothing for three hours because Angelina had stolen their keys.

The boy who may have next to nothing, but had earned her heart, was going to risk his life, just so he could prove he could rise by himself, she wondered if he believed himself unworthy of her…

“Miss Delacour, please, clear the area, we are going to begin testing and it isn’t safe.”

As she left and saw Harry entering the cockpit, a confident smile plastered on his face, Fleur knew she wouldn’t be able to stop him.

Even if she begged her grandfather to not let him do it, to give him another assignment, that she would do what they wanted and take over the company, it would be an empty victory, because Harry would hate her for it.

But she could help in another way.

She would design the best, most powerful, and safest mechs for him to pilot, any who stood against him would be crushed, and he would be safe.

She had only come into this area because excellence here would give her a pick of any Engineering jobs she wanted, including Aerospace, but now, she would become the best Mech Engineer in the solar system.

And Harry would be right beside her.

Harry, as he was used to, woke up in the firm embrace of the woman he loved and was going to marry in the near future. As usual, he was basking in the warmth Fleur exuded and relaxed, knowing there was no rush. Even if there was, he did not have the heart to disentangle himself from her arms, nor the strength to pry her wings open.

Her breathing changed and he noticed her brilliant blue eyes watching him fondly. He caressed her wings gently, enjoying the feel of the soft feathers, silvery and tinged with purple. They were red during the night when she triumphantly threw her head back and splayed her wings, the glorious sight filling Harry’s vision.

“Hey,” he smiled at her. She just hummed in response.

“Your feathers are showing darling,” he teased her.

“Mhm.” Fleur nodded and tightened her embrace. “Mine.”

He could only chuckle and lightly kiss the sharp tip of her nose.

=======(/)=======

Once again, Harry woke up first, though it was a close thing. It was fortunate that they had the day for themselves, since they both decided to merely languish in bed, in their marriage bed, after last night’s exertions. And nobody would blame them, for it was their wedding night. He still felt the glow of happiness at the memories and at the thought, the hopes for the future, the promise of joy.

“Good morning, Mrs Potter.” He stole a quick kiss, firmly ensconced in her arms.

“Lovely morning, Mr Potter,” his wife giggled and nuzzled him.

Harry enjoyed the embrace and the slightly ticklish sensation of her feathers, undeniable proof of the love his wife held for him and of the passion of last night. But she kept quaking a bit, a feeling Harry recognized easily.

“What is so funny, my wife?” He asked her with a grin.

“Nothing, just…” She caressed his messy hair and removed a silvery-reddish feather from his head. “Your feathers are showing, ‘usband.”

“Mine?” He asked her in a mock offended tone. “You mean yours, no?” He accompanied his accusation by a poke to her ticklish side.

“Ha ha, no, you see, all that I am, is yours.” She captured his lips again. “So it is your feather, mhm?”

Chapter 1

How Sir Harry slew a Gryphon and made a burrow free

When one moon had passed his since dancing with the woman of the falcon, it so happened that Sir Harry was travelling in search of quests to undertake and foes to overcome. And sore weary was he, burdened by armour and arms and suffering all the cruelties of sun and rain. Yet even so careworn, he rode straight in his saddle, lance at the ready, always alert. His faithful mount Hedwig stepped high, lest any passerby should she her at anything but her best; prideful horse that she was.

So Sir Harry and Hedwig passed through meadow and field, through hill and vale, until Lo! he espied the flight of a Gryphon in the distance. The gryphon swooped down out of sight behind a rise, shrieking loud enough to be heard from many leagues afar. Forthwith, the knight errant and his steed made haste to reach the dreadful creature, and put an end to its hunt, for such creatures were no friend to man or beast.

Then anon Sir Harry came upon the Gryphon. He drew upon the reigns to survey the scene; and he saw the gryphon dive down upon a family protecting their home and their animals. The cattle and the sheep and the chickens were being driven by the younger children into a clever passage in the green hill, while still the others were fighting the creature. Sundry missiles were being thrown, irritating the winged demon, while the oldest two sons, their long red locks streaming behind them, wielded long spears, which they used to fend off the aerial attacks.

Then Sir Harry commended himself to his Lady, touching his gauntlet to feather which adorned his helmet. And then, closing his visor, he spurred Hedwig forth. Such was the skill of the knight, such was the speed of the horse, such was the strength of the lance, such was the hardness of the lance head, that Sir Harry smote the Gryphon a great gaping wound in the wing. Yea, such was the mighty clash of knight and Gryphon that Sir Harry was thrown hard from his seat, his lance shivered, but the head still remained in the wing.

Then Sir Harry gained his feet and drew his sword which shone bright in the sun. And so he fought the gryphon in single combat. He matched his bright sword against the ragged claws of the Gryphon. They smote each other fiercely and bravely, Sir Harry giving many strong strokes to the wounded creature which could no longer fly for its torn wing. Alas, Sir Harry received as well as dealt, and with its strong wing and claws, the Gryphon struck the brave knight a fair blow on his left flank. Again, he was thrown to the ground. His armour had saved him from being mauled and torn open, but Sir Harry found he could no longer lift his left arm. And he was faint of breath, and sore wounded.

Sir Harry struggled to gain his feet as the Gryphon approached his prone form. He clenched his sword tightly, using his good arm to rise to his knees. But, the creature came upon him forthwith, and Sir Harry could make no defence against its upraised claws and the brave knight was prepared for his death when Lo! a brilliant flash of white blinded his eyes and he opened them to see a falcon dive down from above and strike the Gryphon in its eyes, blinding them with its sharp claws and beak.

And Sir Harry was amazed, for he knew this falcon and wondered at its sudden appearance. He used his sword as a crutch to stand again, and despite the pain in his breast he smote the blinded, enraged Gryphon, the steel piercing the creature’s hardened hide and feathers. Together, Sir Harry and the falcon slew the terrible Gryphon. And when the deed was done, Sir Harry swooned to the ground, and as lay stretched out there his last thoughts were on the falcon whose feather he bore.

Chapter 2

How, unlooked for, Sir Harry took on a page, and how and received another token from his beloved.

Then the family known to their neighbours as the Weasleys were amazed at the their deliverance from the dreadful Gryphon by the sudden appearance of the knight and his decisive charge. None had seen the timely contribution of the falcon, and so they wondered at the knight’s bravery and skill to slay such a creature by himself. Now, they rushed to his supine form and hurried to lend him whatever aid was in their power.

Upon opening his visor they marveled at the knight’s noble features, which were composed in the utmost expression of serenity and they worried that he was dead. But life yet remained in the breast of Sir Harry. He was carried into the ramshackle building built into the face of the hill; their burrow. They removed his helmet but feared to remove any more armour lest it cause further harm to the knight. And so they bathed his face and hair with cool, sweet water and sent their oldest son, Bill the Bold, to the herbalist. Having done all they could, the family prayed for the good knight’s recovery.

But the youngest son, a tall youth by the name of Ronald, putting little stock in prayer, returned to the site of the battle. The size of the Gryphon’s carcass stunned him, and he wished that he too could fight such monsters and perform deeds like the brave knight errant who had saved his family. He espied the knight’s horse guarding the spot where the knight had fallen, and he approached the horse, its white coat glinting bright in the sun. The steed suffered him to approach, but would not let him touch her. Instead she fixed a single large, unblinking eye on him, unnerving in its intelligent, knowing look. Then she turned her head to look at the ground.

Ronald followed the horse’s gaze and saw the knight’s sword abandoned on the ground, its blade caked with dried blood. He reached down to grab it, intending to clean the blade before it would rust, and as he did so, he saw a feather glinting in the mud right next to the sword. The feather was clean, unsullied by either mud or blood, and Ronald would not leave it behind.

Then he returned to the burrow, and moved through the crowd of his brothers and sister to reach the unconscious knight, ignoring his siblings’ cries of “What is that you have with you, brother?” And Ronald beheld the stricken knight and lo! espied the same feather on the knight’s helmet that he held in his hand.

“Why this feather must belong to the brave knight,” said Ronald, and he affixed the second feather to the helmet. Anon, the knight opened his eyes, and looked around himself in bewilderment. Ronald saw his sister Ginerva gasp and hide her face behind her hands as she took in the brilliant green eyes of the young knight. But ere anyone could question the sudden recovery of the knight, he himself spoke.

“To whom have I the honour of speaking with?” he asked, courteously, but then exclaimed in much louder voice, “What of the Gryphon?” His countenance, previously serene, now became anxious, and he moved to rise from the bed.

Ronald’s father pressed the knight gently back on to the mattress, reassuring him that the terrible Gryphon was slain by his own hand. “How can we repay you, good knight, for saving our lives and livelihoods?”

“As for payment I require none. Fortune has seen fit to direct me to your aid in a timely manner, and for that I am profoundly gratefully,” said the knight, but his hosts would not hear of such modesty and insisted that he ask for something, anything.

“If that be so,” said Sir Harry, “I beg leave to remain here until morning, for I am in great need of rest and food.” The Weasleys accepted this offer as the bare minimum of payment, and his hostess hurried off to prepare a feast for the knight-errant. The crowd around him dispersed, but Ronald remained nearby and seeing the youth, Sir Harry beckoned him closer. “What is that you carry?” he asked, seeing him with his hands behind his back.

Ronald revealed the sword, worried lest he upset the knight in any way, for such were the whims of knights-errant and their kind. He said, “Your sword, sir. I found it beside the corpse of the Gryphon. Your horse was guarding it, and I meant to clean the blood off before I brought it back to you. I didn’t mean anything by it, sir.”

The knight laughed, despite the pain in his ribs, and laughed gaily. “Why, you have the makings of a squire! I thank you. Bring me my saddlebags, and I will show you how it’s done.”

But, that is not the end of this tale, for another surprise lay in store for Sir Harry that night. The brave knight lay awake, despite his sore need for sleep, holding his helmet before him. His gaze was fixed on the two feathers, each faintly luminescent in the dark. He ran his fingers over them, thinking back to her sudden appearance in his fight against the Gryphon, without which he would be dead. How had she known of his peril?

The door creaked open, and drew his eyes away from the feathers, only to meet the eyes of the Lady of his thoughts. She was tall and fair, and seemed to glow from within, like the feathers. Sir Harry sat up, ignoring the discomfort, but she halted his words with a gentle finger on his lips.

“Hush, my brave knight. There will be no dancing under the stars tonight,” she said with a mischievous smile and a twinkle in her eye. She then looked at his helmet, and the two feathers. “I see you are collecting tokens from me,” she teased.

Sir Harry said, “As many as I can, my lady.”

She laughed. “Then I will leave you with one more ere I depart,” and so saying she bent over him, smoothing his brow with a cool hand, and pressed a soft kiss to it. She drew back slightly and said, “Rest now, Harry. I shall be watching.”

She pressed her lips against his own for a moment, and Harry felt the pain in his arm and breast lessen, before falling blissfully asleep.

Thus endeth this tale of Sir Harry Potter, who slew a Gryphon and so doing, gained a page and an unexpected visit from his beloved.

Fleur Delacour walked into the Great Hall of Hogwarts, the old castle’s architecture giving her a feeling of longing that Beauxbaton’s more Art-Noveau style lacked. Her eyes, however, were on the students themselves, her hand inside her pocket grasped the Sacred Seal she brought with her, hoping for a sign as her eyes drifted over hundreds of faces.

A shiver, a wave of warmth as she scanned the table in Red and Gold.

How fitting.

She didn’t get a better view until she had to sit down at the Blue and Black table, Ravenclaw, if she recalled, those more focused on the more…scholarly pursuits.

‘Let’s just hope they don’t start to experiment on themselves or others’

Fleur managed to sit on the bench that gave her a good view of the Gryffindor table, whose sigil was a Golden Lion, and the Seal warmed again.

’ This can’t be a coincidence.

Food was served, most of it not to the taste of her ‘compatriots’ but Fleur quite liked the variety, she had always enjoyed traveling and seeing what other cultures had to offer.

‘These English could undoubtedly use better seasoning though.’

Using her time to systematically scan the Gryffindor table, Fleur finally felt her eyes land on the middle of it, where she guessed the Fourth Years were sat, her eyes stopped on a mop of unruly black hair, a boy, with his back turned to her.

She almost jumped in her seat when the Sacred Seal became almost unbearably hot.

‘Jackpot’

She couldn’t, however, contain her smile, or the excitement bubbling within her.

’Finally, after all these years, we can go back home, we can fix what was broken, set things right.’

A home she barely remembered, one her sister had never seen, her Maman told her it must be different now, that there will be much to rebuild, but Fleur didn’t care, now it was possible.

‘With a new Lord, wielding the power of the Ring, everything can be set to rights’

He looked young, must be two or three years her junior, but had a presence to him, something familiar, but that she couldn’t pinpoint. ’ I need to see him, I need to get close.r’ She looked at her table, seeing it was missing one of her favorite dishes.

’Perfect’

Drawing herself up with a small excuse to her companions, Fleur walked around her table, and towards the young man, her skin tingled in excitement, and she hoped her face didn’t show it, she controlled her breathing the best she could.

’I can’t scare him outright, he must have no idea, I will have to explain everything, but with care. Maybe my parents can help, but whatever happens, I will be his Maiden, so we should start the right way.’

Already she saw some boys, and even a few girls, reacting to her, she contained her frown, it was expected.

’Goodness, I hope he isn’t like that, I hope his power shields him somewhat, I won’t be able to work with someone who—’

Her thoughts froze as he turned to her, and bright, almost glinting, green eyes looked into her blue ones, and narrowed minutely.

Fleur was taken aback, more so by the presence that washed over her, it was cold and familiar, foreign, and judging.

She pursed her lips and smiled, walking the last few steps and speaking with a stronger accent than she normally had.

“Excuse moi, could we have ze Bouillabaisse?”

The young man’s head tilted to the side in curiosity, his bangs uncovered a lightning shaped scar, faded, but still there.

‘Of course.’

“Boula…baiss?” He asked, completely assassinating her language, a girl with bushy hair scoffed to his side, and pushed the large bowl to him.

“This one, Harry, we really need to work on your French.”

Harry turned to the girl and smiled, picking up the rather large bowl with surprising ease and giving it to her, fully turning himself in the process.

Fleur had to hold herself back when she saw it. Harry Potter, for it could be no one else, like some others, wore something on his robe’s lapels, however, while others wore their Hogwart’s House animals, sports team crest, or even Family sigils, Harry wore something she had only seen in her family’s books.

A Royal Carian Filigreed Crest.

The Sigil of the Carian Royal Family, of the rulers of Liurnia and Raya Lucaria.

And as she saw that, the smell of ozone and glintstone reached her nostrils as if to confirm her suspicions.

Her destined Lord is a Glinststone Sorcerer, and on top of that was serving the Carians, the Royal Princess even, if she recalled correctly.

A follower of the Dark Moon.

Her smile turned brittle, but she was too well-trained to panic right there in the middle of the Great Hall, in front of her destined Lord. So she accepted the bowl of Bouillabaisse with an outwardly charming smile and a thank you, and hastily went back to her seat.

‘No. I can’t give up, I must speak to him privately, explain everything.’

Had they waited too long?

—-

Green eyes followed Fleur as she went back to her table.

’So, she is from your home?’ Harry asked in his mind, and soon the familiar warm touch of Ranni answered.

’ She is, her countenance is that of the…Royal Family of Leyndell, she must be of Marika’s kin.’ There was something in her voice as she said that, a wariness, and something that Harry would say was resentment, even if he would never voice it.

’ Do you think she’s a threat?’

A soft hum was his answer, before she spoke, ’Nay, not at this moment, Harry, but she bears watching.’

Harry nodded, thankfully she was quite noticeable.

Ranni, however, tried to hide her irritation and most of all, her fears. ’She shan’t steal Harry from me, I will not be like Mother.’

’Harry, we must hasten our plans, my new body must be ready for the Winter Solstice.’

’Sure, Ranni, we can do it.’ She felt his own excitement course through him, along with that familiar longing, one she secretly shared, she was barely older than that Maiden when she lost her original body, and the time since has made her miss it.

She hoped they could relate to one another, and most of all, that Harry would want to stay close to her, maybe she could age the body to be a year or so older than his current one, for practical reasons, of course.

’Soon, I shall have mine own Lord, and we will go to my old home and take back what is mine by right.’

Conversations

I've toyed with the idea that Voldemort was actually a demon-like entity that possessed Tom Riddle... Kinda like a periodically reappearing dark lord...

I like this idea. Maybe something that bands with the host since birth? Slowly warping the man to his views? Like a thing halfway between reincarnation into a mortal body and a symbiosis that slowly results in a single being, similar to the ones born before, but distinctly unique compared to its previous incarnations too

Maybe not at birth, it could be randomly...

Imagine Voldemort possessing Tom when Tom first ventured into the Chamber of Secrets...

A young, handsome, powerful and charismatic wizard comes to his earthly cage all on his own? How can he resist

Then a monster is born, fed with all the best parts of Tom Riddle

Every defeat merely a temporary setback...

Could go in several directions... Impossible to defeat for good, so the story emphasizes that for every time Voldemort reaches its ugly head, someone rises up to oppose it.

Could go for bleak, an ultimately unstoppable force that will ultimately achieve its goal, maybe eradicating mankind?

Could go for the "seal evil and establish a vigil over it" kind of deal.

Could even go esoteric, explore magic, create ways to destroy the indestructible. Maybe the original killing curse was created from such a research. (Would make sense, the incantation "Let that thing be destroyed." doesn't sound like it was merely meant to kill humans...)

Personally, I like the idea of the research. Ultimately, let the eternal experience existential dread for the first time, because the humans have found a magic that can end eternity, slay the immortal.

end of the conversation excerpts

Ahhhh. But the creator of the curse died before he could test it, and the spell was lost to time. Afterwards, someone found it, and equivocally renamed it the killing curse. From then on it was known as that, and used as such.

It is curious that something as simple as killing another living thing required the user to have such a high level of power to perform, or that it affected the not living too. Most people stuck to slicing the others throat. And so the killing curse became a thing to be feared, not so much for the death it caused, but for the power it revealed in someone who did not flinch against taking lives.

It took time. It took determination. It took sweat and pain and tears and a cost payed in blood, but, finally, Harry held the answer in his hands. He wanted to cry at the irony of fate.

It was by a coincidence that he learnt the truth of the beast that was at one point Tom Riddle, that had feed all that was bad in him with the best of his parts, melded into his being until neither the demon nor the man remained.

It was then that he learnt that all his life, all his suffering, was for naught. His parents sacrifice had been for naught. It did not even matter if he could cut Voldemort's anchors to the world and kill him, he would be back.

He always would.

He would come back again and again, taking different shapes and different names until he had consumed the world.

Now he held the solution to break that cycle. A solution that had cost him dearly. A solution that had been dangling in front of him all his life.

Let that thing be destroyed.

And by everything that was holy, he would.

The world was on fire.

The castle walls crumbled around them, bodies littering the floor, human, giants, monsters. Death does not discriminate. Except for the indestructible.

Except for the two standing within the ring of fire.

Harry let his boot fall into Voldemort's chest, pinning him to the ground. He did not really have the strength to do it, the blood boiling curse he had managed to inflict doing the heavy lifting. He could not loose time. The curse would fade after a minute, when the victims blood should have already be gone. But Voldemort does not need blood.

'I will just rise again, Harry,' He grunted as his veins burnt. 'Nothing can stop me.'

'I know. Voldemort.'

The eyes of the beast froze. The boi always called him Tom. He had never accepted his new name.

'You know.' it said in a whisper.

Harry's wand rose between serpentine eyes.

'Avada Kedavra'

Let that thing be destroyed. It was. It was done.

Forever.

He closed his eyes and breathed out the noises of war around him drowning into nothing.

'It is done, my little bird. It is done. I will see you again.'

A pillar crumbled under the heat and roof came down. So ended the ballad of Potter, the ender of cycles, with a castle ruined and the bodies of two men, fated enemies who looked so alike.

They were, after some time, known as the twins of Light and Darkness, and the statues they made based on the bodies they found when the survivors of the war dug amongst the ruins for their loved ones show two almost identical men, their faces peaceful and beautiful. As so they had looked in death.

------this would be what I see as the ending, but you could also do a Hollywood and milk the idea eternally, so this would follow-----

But a cycle does not really end, merely changes.

Harry potter looked around him. Clusters of clouds surrounding him.

For a moment he panicked, but then he realised. He was flying.

It was some time before he stopped careening about so freely.

'Now I know what you felt, little bird. Such freedom. No wonder you were so fond of it.'

His levity shattered when he cleared the clouds and saw where he was. he was above the ruins of Hogwarts Castle. A gaggle of strangely dressed people stood a whiles a way from the ruins, holding some kind of remembrance.

He did not recognize anyone.

He laughed at the sky, he cried, he wailed. Looks like his mother's efforts went above and beyond. They protected him from destruction even after death. He was not a ghost, as he had first thought, nor was he alive. He was something more, something less, something in between. He had become what he payed so dearly to destroy.

From the crowd a glint of silver caught his eye. A boy. He shined with a light pure as the hair of his little bird. He did not know him, but he felt familiar. The boy looked at him.

He froze not knowing if he should let himself be seen, but relaxed when he saw his eyes were not focusing on him.

The boy drifted from the remembrance group and drifted towards the ruins. As he came close he could tell- he could feel things about this person. His resolve, his honour, his love, his bravery. He felt so familiar.

He could not help it, he got closer. He lifted a hand, a magnetic pull towards this source of light. The boy hand rose as he walked, as if to touch the stone wall still standing.

They meet in the borders of the castle and their fingers graced. A Lance of fire passed through their hands. The boys eyes focused.

'You can see me.' it was not a question. Harry was sure.

'who are you?'

'I am... I am you, I suppose. Or I will be. And you me.'

'What do you mean?' The boy cocked his head to the side.

'Let me tell you the story of how I came to be here, lad. I think we have much to discuss.'

It was the middle of the day and Lily was making lunch for Harry and herself. When she turned around he was just there in the middle of her home, with a wand pointed at her infant son. She didn’t hear him enter nor feel his magical presence before she turned.

Lily forced herself to remain calm as her mind ran through the situation. “So… Peter betrayed us.”

The man scrutinized her, looking for any hint of fear, before releasing a dark chuckle. “The rat was eager to please. Your wand if you would.” He said as he held out his hand palm up.

The woman begrudgingly handed her wand over, seeing no way to defeat the man before her child was killed. “Why haven’t you killed us?”

“Thank you for not wasting either of one another’s time. I have done, and will do many things to consolidate my power but I found myself thinking what a waste it is to kill a child. One that is clearly magical at that.” He said with a grin as Harry levitated one of the cheerios on his feeding tray into his mouth. “‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches’ indeed.“ His grin stretched even wider. Lily’s face twisted into a frown. “What do you want?”

“It’s quite simple. I want to know, what are you willing to do to save the life of your child?”

“As soon as I heard the prophecy, I made a promise I would do anything to keep Harry alive.”

“Really? Even when you could simply make another with your husband?” Lily simply nodded. “A mother’s love. Well then, when your husband returns home from work you will kill him.”

Lily seemed taken aback at this request before affirming her resolve and giving a resolute nod.

“I will be taking the child for now, I’m sure you understand why.” Lily started to object before the dark lord continued, “When your task is complete, summon me.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Lily asked, clearly not happy with the situation.

Without a word Riddle stepped forward firmly grasping her left arm before touching his wand to the underside of it and whispering a spell in parseltongue. Lily felt a burn as her eyes were glued to the wand as she saw a tattoo of a black lily with a snake wrapped around it from the point of contact. Alternative: Without a word Riddle stepped forward firmly grasping her right hand before placing a ring with a black rock on it onto her ring finger.

“Simply tap it with your wand and think about getting my attention. Rest assured I will know if you attempt to summon me into a trap.”

In the blink of an eye he was back at Harry’s side. Silent apparition? Lily could only wonder as she finally breathed.

“And with that I shall take my leave. I have high hopes for you and your son. Already you prove more entertaining than young Alice was.” With surprising care and grace the dark lord picked up the small child and seemingly vanished into smoke.

“Sirius, what Pettigrew said, about me not being my parent’s son…”

“You are Harry, they took you in and became your parents in every way that matters.”

Harry closed his eyes and tried to believe that with all his strength, trying to not feel an impostor, a fake, wearing those glasses, using his father’s- James’ cloak.

Having Lily’s eyes.

“Then who, who were my real parents?”

Sirius grimaced and looked at Remus for assistance, but his old friend merely nodded somberly.

“Tell him Black, tell him of your family’s madness, of how this…boy was brought to this world.” Snape spit, while holding a tied and shaking Peter Pettigrew, said man was looking at Harry with a pale face and terrified eyes.

Sirius growled at Snape in quite an animalistic manner, “Shut up! Don’t forget you are guilty too. If you hadn’t-”

“Sirius my parents, my…birth parents, who were they?Please.”

Sirius Black closed his eyes and squeezed Harry’s shoulders, and the years seemed to pass him in moments, his face, which had become livelier and happier when Harry had accepted his innocence, took a gauntier, older appearance almost instantly.

When he opened his eyes, Harry had to stop himself from flinching from the depths of despair, regret, and even fear in them.

“Your mo-” he sighed, “the woman who gave birth to you, was a cousin of mine, Pandora Black.”

Pettigrew wailed softly when he heard that name.

“Pandora…” Harry repeated that name, his birth mother’s name.

It brought a small feeling of longing to him, and a desire to know more, but that still left…

“What about my…birth father?”

Sirius flinched, and Pettigrew started wailing with vehemence, trying to shake out of his bonds.

Remus looked downright uncomfortable and Snape waved his wand, making some of the candles in the dilapidated house lit up, their fire uncommonly bright.

“Don’t say his name, please, Padfoot! Please! Even the Dark Lord was wary of-”

Snape interrupted Pettigrew’s pleas by elbowing him in the side and then silencing him with a spell.

Sirius didn’t even blink while that happened, his face fixated on Harry’s.

“Your–” he exhaled heavily, closing his eyes for a moment before looking into Harry’s eyes again.

“Pandora was involved with a…cult, something even most of Voldemort’s followers or the man himself didn’t mess with…they…worshiped a…being…a-”

“A demon.” Snape hissed, and Pettigrew wailed in silence, his face ashen.

Harry’s eyes turned to Snape, who was gazing at him with something akin to pity.

Sirius sighed and nodded, while Remus placed his face in his hands.

“And a terrible one at that, better to not say the name, but…the night you were conceived, there was a ritual, and Pandora, well, she was part of it, one of the…main parts.”

Harry almost fell back as he sat down heavily in the bed behind him, his world realigning itself.

He was glad Ron and Hermione were safe back at Hogwarts and not here, to hear this.

He looked down at his hands, such human looking hands, but they now felt wrong, in a way he couldn’t explain.

What other lies had he been telling himself?

All those times he felt weird, that he ignored the shadows whispering to him, when his reflection didn’t look right at a glance, and then righted itself when he paid attention to the mirror.

How the dementors avoided him.

How most animals were terrified of him.

And then he remembered.

Quirrel screaming in pain and terror as shadowy flames ate at him.

And then small details.

How Aragog’s children avoided him but went after Ron.

How the Basilisk was hesitant at first to attack him.

How Dumbledore sometimes looked at him, as if expecting to see something else, and then breathed in relief when he didn’t find whatever it was.

Harry had been ignoring it, as he did most things that didn’t fit into his vision of himself, into what he would like to see.

But now he couldn’t.

“My birth father is that demon, isn’t he?”

Sirius’ eyes told him everything. Snape’s nod was unnecessary, as were Pettigrew’s tears.

The Shadows danced.

The Dementors approached Sirius, Harry tried to place himself in front of him, but they just flew around or over him.

In desperation, he grabbed one by the arm, ignoring the cold sensation in his hands, as if the Dementor itself was made of ice, Harry pulled.

The Dementor screeched, pushing him to the ground and continuing on its path towards Sirius.

Towards one of the few people who accepted him, despite all, towards the one who had offered his home to an…abomination like he knew Harry was.

No.

Harry wouldn’t accept that, he refused.

“Stop!” He shouted, but the Dementors paid him no mind.

Anger he didn’t recognize suffused him, fiery, terrible anger that filled him with feelings he had been denying himself.

“I said Stop!”

As one, the Dementors froze, before, one by one, they turned to him.

Before, Harry would have been shocked and afraid, now, he just felt a cold fury at those creatures, who dared…defy him.

“Leave.” His command reverberated in the dark forest in a double voice, one his own and the other, not.

The shadows danced and roiled like fog and water, switching between the two.

Some of the Dementors turned to one another, and began emitting wispy sounds, like cold breaths that misted in air.

Something began filling Harry, a certainty, a belonging, something that was right and wrong at the same time.

The Dementors seemed to have reached a consensus, but not one that pleased Harry, because they turned their backs on him and began floating towards Sirius again.

The Anger turned into fury, and, guided by some instinct he realized he had always had, Harry raised his hands, fingers like claws.

The Shadows obeyed him, pooling around Sirius, before, as if made from water and smoke at the same time, they formed into sharp spikes and impaled the nearest Dementors.

They shrieked terribly, and Harry smiled.

The ones near Harry turned and charged at him, and a terrible laugh that was his and not came from his mouth

He slashed his arm, fist closed as if wielding a whip.

And one formed out of thin air, looking as if it was made from liquid shadows that almost completely covered a core made of a baleful red light.

A loud snap echoed in the clearing as one Dementor was hit by it, a red flash marking where it was hit in the shoulder.

And it shrieked as its thin arm was sliced off.

Harry laughed again as he sliced at the others, the ones bisected and decapitated vanishing with a wail in explosions of dark smoke, leaving behind tattered cloth.

When a group charged him, he stomped on the ground with his right foot, tendrils of shadow came from under it and formed into spikes, impaling them and dissolving their forms.

A cloak of shadows started covering his back.

When he had destroyed nearly two dozen of them, a loud, reverberating shriek came from one, and as one, they turned and left, flying away, shrieking and wailing in the night.

Harry fell to his knees in front of the lake, and looked at his reflection.

His eyes were glowing, pupils and sclera a bloody red, his skin was pale gray and there were two shadowy horns on his forehead.

His smile of satisfaction turned into a horrified gasp.

The terrible visage turned back to the one he was familiar with, sans glasses.

And Harry wept.

He covered his face with his hands and cried for his humanity that never was, for the lie he had lived, the one that had fooled others as much as himself.

“I can’t go back, I am not human…I am…” he didn’t want to say it, but as he looked at his now normal reflection, a whisper escaped his lips, one filled with despair.

“A monster.”

“Not yet, Harry Potter.” A masculine voice spoke from behind him.

Harry rose and turned abruptly towards the voice, almost calling upon his strange abilities, but his shock was too great to do more than stare.

A man, or something that looked like a man, was floating over a sleeping Sirius.

He was covered in dark green cloak that billowed in the wind, his skin was of such a pale white it glowed under the moonlight.

The man’s face was obscured by the cowl’s shadow, but Harry could see the bare chest and one of his arms.

“Who…what?”

“My identity is not important right now, Harry Potter, yours, however, is.”

Harry fell to his knees again, too overwhelmed by the events of the night, too tired.

“I don’t understand.”

“Knowing the identity of those who sired you has started you down on a dangerous path, one that can lead to either misery or happiness.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at the strange…being, trying to turn his frayed focus to his words.

“Misery or happiness…so, I will have a choice?”

Something dangerously close to hope bloomed in him.

“You always have a choice, such is the gift of Free Will.”

“So…I can choose not to be…like this.” He raised his arms, trying to signal his current situation.

“No, you are what you are, have been since when you were born, nonetheless, you are free to choose your own path, how the abilities passed down from those who sired you will be used, to do good or evil.”

Harry didn’t know how to react to that.

“No one, not even the one who sired you on the mortal Pandora Black can force you, remember that.”

Harry breathed in relief he had secretly feared...

“Then, what…,” he bit his lip, choosing to trust this stranger, whoever he was, “what must I do, go back to Hogwarts? How do I learn to…control, this?”

“You cannot learn what you need in Hogwarts, not now.”

Harry sighed, shoulders sagging, “I am alone then.”

“You are not, there is one like you that can help, guide you, one that knows what it is to have darkness inside, with her, you might learn to control your abilities, to control yourself, and turn back the tide of Darkness that is to come.”

Harry chose to ignore the last part, and focused on the first one.

He wasn’t alone, there was someone who could help him, who was like him.

Maybe they would accept him, like Sirius and Remus and…even Snape did.

“Where can I find…her?”

“In the city of San Francisco, it’s imperative you meet her at once.”

San Francisco? In the United States? How in the bloody hell was he supposed to go there? Would Dumbledore take him? Sirius?

“And how do I get there-”

And suddenly the air got warmer, the dark night was replaced by the bright light of the afternoon sun and the stones of the Lake’s edge were replaced by soft green grass.

“Bloody Hell!” Harry almost shouted when he turned to look back at the city of San Francisco, recognizable by the Golden Gate Bridge crossing the Bay, just like he had seen on the telly.

And there, a few hundred meters to the Bridge’s side, was a large tower built on top of an island, a tower in the shape of a T.

And Harry instantly knew that’s where he must go.

He turned back to the man, who even in the light of day, had his face still obscured by the emerald cowl.

“Wait, what about Sirius? And Remus? And…and…”

The man nodded, as if in approval, “They will be taken care off, no harm will come to them.”

Harry released a breath of relief, at least they wouldn’t be hurt because of him.

“I must leave now, but I do so with a warning and advice.”

Harry braced himself.

“A great many things will be revealed to you, child, some good, some bad, pay attention and consider all of them and know that your choices can either help save this world, or turn it towards the path of utter destruction. Do you understand?”

Talk about responsibility, Harry nodded gravely, saving that information for later.

“And the advice?”

The man raised his head to look at him, and for the first time, Harry saw the man’s face, a pale visage, that looked both young and old at the same time.

An equally pale hand rose to point at him, and Harry was fixed by the man’s stare.

For the first time, he had the feeling that this being was unknowable to him, of a scale of power he couldn’t even imagine.

“Forget the name Harry Potter while here, that is no longer thy name, use the name given at your birth, only then, you will be able to reconcile who you are with who you want to be.”

Harry took a deep breath, Sirius had whispered the name to him before Pettigrew somehow managed to escape and everything went to hell, but he nodded, he didn’t know why, but he felt it was the right thing to do.

“Ok, I will do it.”

“Then this is farewell, child, may your path be one of Justice.” there was a strange melancholy as the man said those words.

Harry blinked, and the man was gone. As if he had never been there.

He was alone now, on that grassy hill overlooking the city as a light breeze blew upon it and brought the smell of the saltwater that mixed with the fresh one in the bay, the faint smell of car exhaust followed it.

Harry looked upon San Francisco, with the blue sky over the skyscraper filled skyline, and multicolored cars driving through the bridge.

And Harry felt hope.

He turned towards the lone tower in the bay, spotting what looked like a barge service that went towards it.

“I will see you again.” Harry Potter promised Sirius, Ron and Hermione, and all of those he cared for back in England.

And then Hadrian Black took his first step towards an uncertain future.

"Why is it that your family lacks anything at all?"

He floundered for an answer, the anger he felt at Tom's insults giving way to confusion and uncertainty.

"Because of people like Malfoy," he wrote back, pressing the quill as hard as he could into the page without snapping it, trying to project the confidence he wished he felt.

"Lucius, or his son?"

"Both of them. They think they're better than everyone else."

"Are they?"

He almost laughed, clearly he hadn't told Tom enough about the Malfoy's if he even needed to ask that, but just before he put quill to page more words appeared in Tom's usual tightly flowing script.

"They are worse people of course, you know this to be true, but better is not the same as good."

He paused, a single drop falling off of the worn nub and onto the page.

"Goodness is a virtue, to be sure, but what use it to those who have nothing? For the great, for the powerful, it is surely paramount. It is the virtue of goodness that drives leaders to care for their people, to provide for them, but they cannot do so if they have not the means. To be 'better' is to be better at life, at 'playing the game' as it were."

The writing stopped, then the page went blank before a moment later being filled again with five words.

"Is Arthur a good man?"

"Yes," wrote Ron, so certain of that truth at least that it required no thought at all.

"Then why do you have nothing?"

The quill trembled in his hand, and he glanced around the empty dormitory, desperately wishing that someone, preferably Harry, would walk in and take the book out of his hands. But there was no one there. Just him, him and Tom, a book full of all the things he wanted to know, all the things that would help him stand out, that would put him on a level with his brothers. Or maybe even over them, some small part of him whispered. A book full, too, with all the things he didn't want to hear.

"Your father is an accomplished wizard, your mother a skilled witch, your eldest brother unravels the most dangerous of magics as a career and all the rest have skills of their own. Surely, between the seven of them, they could use their power to change things? To end the squalor?"

The seven of them. Seven. Not nine, not six, seven. Ron and Ginny weren't counted. Of course, they were too young, but then so were Percy, Fred, and George. Not even Tom thought he could do anything.

"We're happy just as we are," he wrote bitterly.

"Of course, of course," replied Tom, "given enough time even a prisoner can grow to be happy in their chains."

Ron blanched.

"I'm sorry," wrote Tom, "I did not intend to compare your home to a prison, I misstepped."

Ron nodded, then, remembering that Tom could only see what was written on the page, replied.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it."

"Are you certain? I know you are sensitive to this sort of thing, Draco brings it up too often for it to be merely brushed aside."

"I said it's fine."

A pause, then, "Of course."

But it wasn't fine, it was never fine. It wasn't fine when he got Fred's old sock, or Percy's old rat, or Charlie's old wand. It wasn't fine when Hermione tutted at how he didn't have the proper silver plated knife for potions, or how Harry got him something straight out of the order catalogue at Quality Quidditch supplies while Ron got Harry a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. It wasn't fine that people like the Weasleys, good people, had scrounge and scrape to get by, when people like the Malfoys stepped on top of everyone else to walk lightly up the mountains Ron had climbed.

"Better isn't the same as good", he quitely recited.

"Are you still there?"

He refocused on the page, confused at first, then flushing red as he realized how long he'd been sat there without doing anything.

"Yea, I'm here," he scribbled.

"Would you like for me to leave?" wrote Tom.

An unexpected and irrational surge of panic surged through him, and he was so quick in his refusal that it came out as a barely legible scrawl.

Another pause.

"Then, what do you want?"

He froze, the quill poised over the page as Tom put voice to a question he'd never let himself ask. What did he want? What could he want? What was he allowed to want? His thoughts drifted, onto and past all the things he didn't have, beyond the places and things he'd always wondered about but never had the opportunity to experience, and onto the words that had started it all.

He was already good, he reasoned, so now, now...

"I want to be better," he wrote. Firmly, slowly, etching the words into the parchment like a mason carving stone. They didn't dissapear. The ink faded, but the impression of each letter remained, dug into the page.

Another moment, and then,

"Very well Ronald, then let us begin..."