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Author: Myth & Legend Story: Eternity Lost Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 8 Words: 109,971
"Hear the hounds of Hades bay, "Ruthless Hierarchy" ~ Morgan Le Fay The smell of mud and grass filled his nostrils and he breathed it in, grateful for its fresh, earthy scent in comparison to the cloying, sickly stench of the anaesthetic. Though fully awake now, he had remained motionless despite the pain and fear, listening to the people around him. He opened his eye a crack and watched the dancing shadows. More than once he had wondered why the Death Eaters always lit bonfires – surely the flames would give away their location? But this time as he looked at the flickering tongues of fire, he could see a faint blue haze writhing around it, a concealment spell. So they weren't all stupid then. He shut his eye again as someone moved a lock of hair away from his face. It started as a tender touch, but a sharp fingernail raked across the cut on his cheek, drawing blood and making him wince involuntarily. 'Pretending to be asleep will do you no good, Potter,' Lestrange whispered, 'the Master will know. You can't hide anything from him.' 'Yes I can.' He opened his eyes and stared straight at her, defiantly hiding his fear as she smiled. It was sweet, a misplaced innocence on a face he had come to associate with everything evil and painful. Her eyes were wealthy with power, emotion, and a sickening passion, but in the space of a second it was gone, withdrawn, and he was left looking at a façade of contempt. 'Where's Ron?' 'The other boy was useless to us. I would have killed him, but I didn't have the time, and I didn't want you kicking up a fuss when you got there. His family probably found him in the end. What?' She laughed, a rich, deep sound. 'You look at me like I'm a monster. What's wrong, Mr Potter, have you never hated someone so much that you wanted to kill them? Surely you want revenge on those who have caused you so much pain!' The blow was excruciating, her nails becoming claws as she raked at the tender skin of his neck, but he drew in a breath and smiled sweetly. 'You've done someone else more injustice than you have me. He'll be the one to kill you.' Lestrange looked confused, and she sat back on her heels, picking his skin from under her fingernails absently before shaking her head. 'It's of no matter. Once the Master arrives, you are over, and we will have won.' She rose to her feet and stalked away, leaving Harry to struggle against the magical ropes that bound his arms to his sides. There were three Death Eaters around him, their wands trained on his every movement. He watched their masks for a while, trying to imagine the faces beneath them, and the thoughts within their petty minds. The supreme emotion coming from the gathered brethren was excitement. They were looking forward to the achievement of their goal. They craved the power that they had been promised and denied for all these years, and now, on this star-filled night, they were close to their victory. Rolling onto his back, Harry stared at the black sky, his mind racing. If he was here when Voldemort arrived, he would be murdered in minutes. Dumbledore had said that the Dark Lord was afraid of something, and wouldn't waste a second in eliminating the threat that Harry had become. He wondered how much Riddle was aware of. Did he know about the wandless magic; did he even suspect that although Harry's wand was in Bellatrix's pocket, the boy could still perform almost any spell he wished? Wearily, Harry opened his mind and let the muted, distilled emotions from around him become stronger. He knew all their names, the names of their children and their spouses. He knew where they lived; he could say what their favourite food was and who they were having an affair with. The facts were all there, and with them were the pliant, highly charged forces of their feelings. Gently, like a child taking its first steps, Harry reached out with his own mind and manipulated the emotions of the Death Eater nearest to him, twisting the anger at his low rank around until it became a tight knot of hate, all aimed at Lucius Malfoy. He could feel his own sentiments warping as the Death Eater succumbed, his resolve wavering until he stalked towards the fireside and spun another hooded figure around, swearing and yelling at the top of his voice. For a moment the other Death Eaters stood in shock, unable to understand the motives of their Brother; it was then that Harry took his chance. His magic was a white-hot blast, and the ropes fell away as a shield swirled around him, clinging like a second skin. Someone tried to tackle him to the ground, but they fell right through him, collapsing to the earth so that Harry was standing in their stomach. Horrified, Harry backed away, watching his feet emerge from the man's body as the Death Eater screamed in pain. The shield was powerful, but it shouldn't have been able to do that. He looked around, but the Death Eaters were forming a ring around him, with no visible weakness. The ones who weren't cunning were visibly tough and would stop him in his tracks if he tried to break through. He could Apparate, except that he wasn't sure how. He was only ever able to control the spell on an instinctive, subconscious level, and now as he concentrated on it, nothing happened. Swearing softly, he backed away as a few of the more powerful Death Eaters advanced, wands at the ready, prepared to subdue him whatever the cost. He looked around desperately, trying to find some method of escape. The bonfire had been built on the edge of a small, dense wood and the trees offered welcome shadows, but they were beyond the band of Death Eaters, and to get to safety, he'd have to go through them. Taking a deep breath, he tried to sort through the chaotic whirl of thoughts his mind was becoming. They all knew so many spells, and the knowledge was seeping into him, but most of the incantations he had no clue about and he wouldn't use them for fear of the consequences. One curse seemed to linger like a bruise on his thoughts, its syllables prominent in his head. He'd said it once before to little effect, but now the shield around him began to dim, flickering purple in places as the red light of Crucio mingled with the blue of his protection. In one swift movement, he pressed his hands palm outward to the air. His skin burned, and he watched the spell sail away in every direction. As the radius of the shield increased, the magic weakened, but the power of the Unforgivable remained bright crimson, the blood in a heart of darkness. It hit them simultaneously, rolling across them like a wave. Their screams were unearthly, and Harry braced himself as their pain flickered back to him. Gritting his teeth, he fought against it and broke into a sprint, leaping over the ragged barrier of kneeling bodies before breaking through the dissipating vestiges of his own spell, stumbling as Crucio stung him to his core before regaining his stride. He flew into the darkness and carried on running, determined to get away. Leaves and twigs crackled beneath his feet, the telltale sounds loud in his ears. Between the trees the light was faint and he stumbled over upturned roots, his breath ragged from exhaustion and panic. Finally he was forced to stop. He leant against a tree, pressing his sweating forehead to the bark as he heaved in one breath after another. He felt sick. The magic, for all its strength, had left him drained. It had done the job, protecting him from the Death Eaters' spells and freeing him from their captivity, but how long would it be before they recovered enough to track him down? No doubt they had already entered the forest. He could imagine them moving on silent feet like wraiths of depravity. He forced himself to stop breathing, made himself ignore his own heartbeat as he strained his ears, desperate to filter any sound of threat from the darkness. Somewhere an owl cried into the night, but there was no other noise in the still, choking gloom. His mind, as open as the sky, began to sense the faintest of intentions. There was anger and shame. They had been fooled by a child and left to lie gasping in agony as he sprinted away. They wanted vengeance. They wanted blood and screams, they wanted pleas for mercy, and Harry wasn't going to give it to them. Panic had faded and now he trod with care, watching the world with his eyes as he listened. With his mind, he sensed each individual's deliberations. Some of them were afraid of the darkness, but they had the additional benefit of a wand to light; Harry had nothing. He groped his way through the trees, twisting his ankles in the ruts that pitted the earth. They were gaining on him with every step, and finally he shook his head. Running was doing him no good … if only he could find somewhere to hide. He needed to blend into the darkness and wait until they gave up. Knowing Death Eaters, it wouldn't be too long. He found a tree that was twisted and gnarled with ivy, and clung to the ancient creepers. They groaned softly beneath his weight but remained intact as he scrabbled up the trunk and into the splayed branches at the tree's crown. The air was cold and the bark beneath him was damp, but he felt safe. From here he could see the pinpoints of lit wand tips and the group's general confusion. They were lost and hopeless, driven by anger and fear of their Master. He'd be safe here until the sun rose. He shivered quietly and hugged his knees to his chest, wishing that there was more that he could do than just sit here. He could attack them, but that meant picking them off one by one, which would more than likely give away his location. Looking around the horizon he sighed. The night carried all the way to its edge; there was no pink gleam of a city or settlement, nothing but rolling hills and remote woodlands. He truly was in the middle of nowhere, without anyway to get home. He picked at the creepers by his feet idly and scowled. For a moment, he had thought he'd heard something. A soft whispering, as though something were trying to climb the tree, but looking down towards the forest floor he couldn't see anything. Leaning back he felt something smooth slip across the back of his hand, its muscles bunching beneath its scales. He moved his arm quickly, shuddering as Nagini's fangs closed on empty air with a solid "snick". The white snake's eyes watched him, her mouth partly open as she reared up, ready to lunge again. Slipping and cursing, Harry jumped down from the tree, trying to slow his descent on the creepers, but the thin vines were too weak and snapped as he grabbed onto them, releasing him to gravity. He landed on top of someone, bearing them to the ground as they shrieked and their wand shot brilliant red flares into the sky. Harry leapt to his feet, ignoring the aches of new bruises, and sprinted off, laughing despite himself as he heard Lestrange swearing behind him. He thought he was safe; he thought that most of the Death Eaters had given up and returned to the fire, but as he ran he became aware that the very air around him seemed to be growing denser. It contained thought, faint whispers of purpose, and as he listened the emotions unfurled in his mind, each one like hot steel across his thoughts. Power 'Going somewhere?' Harry almost impaled himself on the length of Voldemort's wand. The leaves under his feet hissed fiercely as he slithered to a halt and stared at the red eyes, somehow lit in the darkness. The man towered over him, his thin form dressed entirely in black. It was not the drab, off-black of his followers, but true darkness, as though it had been spun from space itself. Something flickered and flared in the shadows and a small orb of light glowed like a star in slim, cupped palms. The gloom receded a little and Harry looked into Shamira's empty eyes. The despair was coming off of her in thick, noisome waves, but as she raised her eyes to his it dissipated slightly. Her gaze was a quick, calculating examination of his frame, and ever so slightly, he thought he saw the corners of her lips turn upwards, as though she knew a secret. 'No words, boy?' Voldemort snarled, his waxen face contorting and twisting around the last syllable. 'Unusual for you. You normally have something heroic to say.' The wand tip wavered and the flat nostrils flared as he picked a scent out from the darkness. 'Ahh, Lestrange, I await your explanation as to why my arrival was tainted by the news that you had allowed this scrawny, disgusting runt of a man to escape.' 'We didn't let him escape, Master. He – I – I have his wand but he did magic without it.' Voldemort regarded the offered wand with cool eyes before taking it between his forefinger and thumb. 'So the prophetic son can do magic without his wand? Is this the power I have come to fear, the simple lack of a channelling vessel? Your spells are weak and frail in comparison to mine, Potter.' He tightened his fist around the wand and it cracked, splintering beneath the force of the grip before crumbling to the floor. 'Without your wand you are easy prey.' A split second before the spell flew towards him, Harry moved to one side. The bright red light grazed through his robes but barely touched his skin, and he felt a small smirk perch on his lips as Voldemort snarled. Behind him a tree erupted into crimson flames as the spell hit its bark. He could feel the heat at his back and hear the crackle of the parched leaves. Lestrange was watching with wide eyes, her expression one of distance, but Shamira's were staring at the ground. Harry let his gaze follow hers, and for a second he thought he could see movement. Peering closely he could see the fragments of his wand rolling together, glowing softly as they recombined. Hurriedly he looked back up into Voldemort's face, less the man follow his gaze. The thoughts in the Dark Lord's mind were unchained. He was so proud of his power that he didn't bother to protect himself, and Harry reached out tentatively with his own thoughts. The pain was unsurpassed. It tore through him as it did the Dark Lord, forcing them away from one another as the transference erupted between them. Harry broke off, panting as the memories danced in front of his eyes, and hatred burned through him. Within the flames of that emotion was a tiny heart of icy fear. Its presence made Harry smile as Voldemort clutched at his temples, his red eyes rolling in his head as he fought against the invasion of his thoughts. 'I can do more than you ever dream of, Voldemort,' Harry growled, stepping back towards the burning tree. The flames were spreading now, and they licked at the ground beneath his feet, but he paid them no attention as the Dark Lord pointed his wand again. 'Your powers are nothing, nothing!' he screamed, almost apoplectic in his rage. His white skin was mottling red with fury and the burst of magic came on raw and fierce. Harry wasn't able to detect it quick enough, and it slammed into his chest, sending him sprawling onto the leaves as the chill spread through him. His breath misted on the warm air and his heart laboured. He could do nothing but gasp as Voldemort stood over him, his thin lips twisted into a smile. 'Much better. This was how it should have been from the start. You lying at my feet, a helpless, worthless child, unable to defend yourself against my power. The world was foolish to think, to hope,' he spat, 'that you could be the one to save them. It is time to destroy that hope, Mr Potter. Goodbye.' 'Why?' The question was loud; it rang in the air like a bell and Voldemort paused, staring at the prone boy. 'Why are you doing this?' Harry asked. 'It's the only thing I don't understand.' Voldemort's eyes narrowing as he considered the question. For a moment, Harry thought he wouldn't bother to answer, that he would just slay him there and then, but, at length, Voldemort began to speak. 'Because I can. I am the only one who has turned against the unwritten rules, who has dared to use his magic for himself. Tell me, because I know you feel it too, do you find it hard to control the power you have, to know of the supremacy you have over people, and not use it? I spent years being looked upon as lesser because I was a half-blood, yet now I am the most powerful wizard in the world and nobody cares about my past. They see only the terror of the present. I was born to lead against those vile, disgusting Muggles, to drive them from this world by whatever means necessary, and I shall be sure to succeed.' 'And kill all the wizards and witches who oppose you in the process?' Harry demanded. 'Do that, and you'll be left with a handful of people. Your Death Eaters are already turning against one another. You'll collapse from the inside out and there will be nothing left.' 'There will always be me. Immortality is within my grasp and you, dear boy, are out of time.' The scream was sharp, splitting the air in two as Shamira grabbed Lestrange's hair and pulled, exposing the long, slim column of her neck to the crude blade she held in her hand. The metal glowed gold, a weapon of raw magic, and beneath it the soft flesh of Bellatrix's throat was already parting. It distracted Voldemort just long enough for Harry to knock the wand from his hand and stagger to his feet, clutching at the alien column of wood like a lifeline. He pointed it straight between Voldemort's eyes and stood, unmoving as the Dark Lord raised his chin in defiance. 'Is this it then, Mr Potter, is this where you kill me? Where you remove the final threat to mankind?' He drew in a deep breath, his thin lips curling into a derisive sneer. 'Do you really think it will work like that? Do you think that there will be no one to rise in my place? There will always be "evil" in this world, and you cannot fight it all. You might as well give up boy, because even if you kill me, you are outnumbered.' The night moved without any apparent bidding. One by one, the Death Eaters stepped forward. There were more here now than had been at the bonfire before. The faceless heads were chilling and demonic, and Harry fought to stop himself from looking to his left and right. He could hear Shamira's breath hissing in and out between her teeth and Lestrange's choking cries. The air had a thick, unreal quality to it, and he felt his heart stutter as all around the flames continued their journey, licking this way and that through the trees. 'Just one word, Mr Potter, one word and they will kill you both. Is that what you want, to see her die?' Harry let his eyes flicker to the Cerebral, who gave a single nod of acceptance to the apology that glowed in his gaze. 'It's better than living in a world where you are king.' 'Now!' Voldemort screamed. The night sky, bright as it was with the brilliant flames, jumped and danced with the light of a hundred spells. The woods flickered, and high above, the smoke blocked out the stars, choking the last trace of light from the world.
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