Title: The End of the Beginning
Chapter Number: Three
Date: Original: 2001, Revised: 2004, Posted: 2004
Author: Saitaina
Email: saitaina@ frontiernet.net
Pairing(s): (Full List) Harry/Draco *past*, Seamus/Lucius, Draco/Neville, Percy/Neville, Seamus/Dean, Hermione/Susan Bones, Justin FF/Hanna Abbot with hints of: Seamus/Percy, Neville/Tom (among others)
Category: Slash, Angst, Dark
Feedback: Please, please, please
Rating: HARD R (just slightly under NC-17 in most cases)
Archive: Schnoogle, FF.N, anywhere who asks
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark
infringement is intended.
Summary: Neville is the wizarding world's new hero, but is he ready to face those that betrayed him?
Chapter Summary: Whispers of what's to come, a bit of pain and healing, and the future of Hogwarts.
Author's Notes:
The End of the Beginning 3: Life Goes On...
By Saitaina
Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a mater of opportunity.
-Hippocrates
Neville ran a hand through his hair, staring down at the parchment in front of him. He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes, looking out across the Gryffindor common room. Collin Creevey was curled up in a chair, the pearly shine of his hastily wiped tears glinting slightly in the firelight. Neville let out a deep sight again, wishing he could take the boy's pain from him but he couldn't, anymore then he could figure out what to do with his own. As he watched, Draco placed a hand on the younger boy's shoulder and silently lead Collin upstairs to talk.
Neville smiled in spite of himself. Draco had taken a while to come to terms with the fact that others had loved Harry as much as he did, but when the realization had finally struck, he had taken to comforting the Creevy brothers in their pain, forming a friendship out of their mutual sadness. It was something they all needed, bonds that helped heal, lest the survivors perish in their grief.
Neville turned back to his letter, grasping for the words to form his request. It was questionable that the current Minister of Magic would grant what he asked in the first place, but he would just throw it away if it sounded like it came from a five year old instead of the seasoned warrior and soon to
be Hogwarts graduate that he was.
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Percy stared out the little window that allowed light into his cell, stairing over St. Mungo's grounds. Doctors and nurses worked with those patients not locked in the criminally insane ward, struggling to help them regain their magic, come to terms with their grief over those lost in the war, or just to regain their minds. Often Percy watched them, strolling across the gardens, attempting to heal and save some of those he helped destroy.
He was shocked at how..different...the grounds seemed from this side of the walls. How brighter the sun shone, how greener the grass was, how more beautiful the flowers were. It seemed impossible that such a change could happen in four months, but there it was. Four months ago he had been here, masked in white, with a fellow group of trusted Death Eaters, to perform one of the most glorious acts of the Dark Lord, the death of
four original Order of Phoenix members.
Flashback
It was a beautiful battle, bodies falling at his feet, nurses and doctors alike taking their last breath cursing his lord's name. Then the moment, when he faced those he love held dear. They stared at him, their once vacant eyes bright with realization, and their insane babbling reaching a fevered pitch. Percy had raised his wand, and with one breath, with two words, all the knowledge, insane or no, all the life in Frank Longbottom's eyes had faded away, leaving a shell for Neville to find. And Neville did find his father, not five minutes after the Death Eaters had disapperated. Neville had knelt next to his father's body, holding the older man's head in his lap as he broke down, one hand stroking the deep brown, blonde hair that had been so like his own, the other touching Percy's prefect badge, that had been pinned to his father's robes.
Down the hall, screams of untold anguish rent the air. Harry's screams, Harry's sobs, and tears carried thick on the air. Neville kissed his father's cheek for the last time and ripped the badge off, before standing and taking one last look at his parents. He hurried from the room to find Harry, his wand in his hand.
Harry was curled in the hallway, his entire body curled around another. Red hair, stained with blood, covered the distraught boy. A once smiling, freckled face, now slack with death. Harry was sobbing, tears streaking down his dirty face at sucha rate, Neville was sure they would never stop. Neville knelt next to him, placing a shaking hand on Harry's shoulder. There were no words to express what had happened this day, no flowery sentences that could make the death, destruction and pain bearable. No communication to ease the pain and death that ravaged the two Gryffindor's hearts.
The next discovery of the day sent their worlds crashing down around them and destroyed any hope of recovery for the once hero of the wizarding world. Sirius Black was found among the bodies of those that had protected the Longbottoms. Harry had stared at his godfather for a long moment before running from the sight, running from the memories, from the calls of Dumbledore and Neville, and straight into the battle at Hogwarts. He had run from the death of those he loved most, only to run straight into death itself. Voldemort turned as Harry slammed into him, a twisted smile crossing his face as recognition came to him. "Peter!" he called.
Wormtail turned and looked to his master, then to the young boy struggling in his master's grasp. Sorrow and pain came upon Wormtail in untold measure as he knew what was coming.
"Kill him," Voldemort said simply, pushing Harry towards Wormtail and turning away. Peter Pettigrew stared at the offspring of his idol, his best friend, and with a shaking hand, raised his wand. Harry stared into Peter's eyes and saw the horror, the anguish, the sadness that encompassed those brown orbs. He closed his eyes and with his final breath, Harry forgave peter. Forgave him for all that he had done to him and his family. In this long war, he had learned that not everyone could stand for right, not everyone had the strength. With his final breath, he gave peace to Pettigrew's soul, something his father never had the chance to do.
As Peter said the last of the Killing Curse, as he watched Harry's lifeless body fall, the darkness that had surrounded him for eighteen years had lifted. He was no longer the weak servant of an insane man, he was a Gryffindor again. He was a Marauder. As Voldemort turned to see that what he had requested was done, he found Peter's mask on Harry's chest.
But that had not been what concerned Voldemort that night, as he gathered with his remaining Death Eaters. No, what concerned him, was that when Peter had been found and stripped, the parchment containing the only copy of a long forgotten spell, that, when read, could contain the Dark Lord, was missing. It had to be found of course, for it was the only key to containing Voldemort forever. And it had been found, but it had been too late. Percy had found it, in the hands of his lover, as he called Voldemort's essence to the box that would hold him, and keep the world safe. In that moment, Percy had wished for death. Even as Fred had raised a trembling wand, even as Fred's lips formed the beginning of the Avada Kedavra, Percy had welcomed death. When he fell back from the stunning spell Fred had suddenly switched to, the last conscious thought of Percy's was to
damn his brother for not ending it like he should have.
Present
Percy was startled from his thoughts as the door behind him opened. Turning, he stared into Dumbledore's kind, yet still haunted eyes. Dumbledore stared back at him for a long moment before raising his wand.
Percy closed his eyes, body tense, but ready. Of course Dumbledore was here. Neville had never really granted his freedom, and even if he did, Dumbledore, as the leader of the resistance, had the power to overthrow him. Percy awaited the death he knew he deserved, awaited the escape from what he had become. The long silence stretched between them for eternity until..
"You're release into my custody has been granted,"
Percy opened one eye, looking at Dumbledore. "What the fuck?"
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Dumbledore stared down at the students eating before him. Normalcy. That's what they were trying to recapture. A bit of normalcy in the long road of healing. It was a hard thing to do of course, you couldn't just snap your fingers and make everything perfect again..things would change, things always changed, but life did move on, dragging you kicking and screaming if you forced it to. The sun would always rise, and it would always set, moving time forward, past the tragic events of your life and on towards the future. His gaze moved over his students, his children and he saw the horrors still etched on their faces. Family and friends were gone now, and all they had was each other. However, that was enough. They had stood together, not even fully grown yet, for something better then they were, for the faiths and ideals they held dear. They had stood against enemy and friend alike, declaring their alliance to the Light, and god help them if they had been children of the Dark before doing so.
Dumbledore allowed a small smile to creep across his face. They had won, not on the bodies of their foes or friends, though there were a lot of those. They had won long before the battle ever came to Hogwarts. They won by simply standing up and saying "No" and "This is wrong." They had won by believing they could, and choosing to fight for the only battle worth fighting for, the battle they believed in.
Dumbledore's gaze slid across the head table and rested on a young man, hunched over his food, his cloak drawn over his head to hide his flaming red hair. No one looked at him, but everyone wondered. It was rare for a teacher, or any adult member of Hogwarts to be so hidden away. In these times, most of the walls were broken down and the teachers and students related on a more personal level. So who was this person, that wished to hide?
Percy stared out from under his lashes, his vision partially obscured by the heavy cloak. There. Sitting between a blond and two brunettes was his vision, the applet of his eyes, and all that other mush. Percy sighed softly, still stairing. The back of Neville's head had always been sexy, as was the front, and the sides.
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Colin played with his mashed potatoes, slowly stirring them around until they mixed with the peas, and made a kaleidoscope of ickyness. He sighed softly, stood, saying something in ways of excuse to Neville, and hurried from the room. He closed his eyes once in the Entrance Hall, wondering,
waiting. When no one came after him, he allowed a small smile as he raced up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. He had..things to do, people to meet, letters to leave. It was time.
Gathering his things, Colin's eyes rested on a picture frame on his night table. He picked it up carefully, running a finger over the face that was giving him an exasperated smile. With a gentle smile of his own, he pulled the picture from the frame, tucking it into his pocket, right over his heart, and placed a small scroll where the frame sat. Turning around for one last look at his dorm room, he blew a small kiss good-bye to the four empty poster bed and headed out of the room.
Hours later, Percy stumbled and fell over something small, and crumbled. He looked back at the body, for that's the only thing it could be and slowly rolled it over. Colin's happy, tearstained, life-less face looked back at him. Percy, with a shaking hand, slowly closed Colin's eyes and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.
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Monica stared out her window, one hand clutching her forearm. It had been two weeks since the ugly tattoo of the Dark mark had been burned into her arm, but it still hurt, a reminder that it was still there..always there.
She turned away from the window and finished packing her last bag. Soon, thankfully, soon she would be away from all this. She would be back at school and could forget at least for a little bit, that she was being targeted by what was left of Voldemort's minions. That she was marked as one of them. She could go back to gossiping with her friends and eating out by the river. Go back to enjoying life, her boyfriend, her teachers and get as far away from England and her Uncle Peter as she could. She glanced over at the piles of letters received from Fleur Delacour, once friend and now teacher and confidant.
Even she didn't know what had happened to Monica, and probably would never know if Monica had her wish, no one would.
Monica turned back to the window, picturing she was looking out over the grounds of Beauxbatons instead of this horrible, ugly, war torn countryside. The Dark Mark burned horribly upon her arm and Monica clenched it in pain, a scream trying to tear it's way from her throat. "I DON'T WANT THIS!" she screamed, her anger and pain boiling over into a shout, tears streaming down her face at a fast clip. She swung her arm out and everything upon her corner table, pictures, scrolls, vases, fell and shattered to the floor, but the damage did not abate her anger. She seized the table and threw it up against the wall, feeling the smooth wood shutter, then splinter apart under her hands. She soon moved onto the other breakables, other valuable items that Peter had trusted in her room. She sunk to her knees, surrounded by glass, metal and wooden shards, crying heavily into her hands. "I don't want this.."
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"The Dark Children, so named as the last survivor's of a forgotten war, are a race of vampires and wizards that have separated themselves from our world." Dumbledore said, watching the bored students in front of him, a small smile on his face.
Dennis smirked at Seamus, using the feather end of his quill to draw an invisible line slowly up the other boy's thigh. Seamus raised an eyebrow and smirked back, grabbing the quill from Dennis' hand and wrote something on the back of the boy's hand.
"Their leader is selected every hundred years, choosen for bravery, strength, skill, talent. "or at least, it was until their last leader was chosen."
Neville smiled as Draco leaned back in his chair and started braiding the long locks of silver hair, making tiny little braids as he listened absently to Dumbledore. Draco closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of Neville playing with his hair, knowing the braids would be a bitch later but not really caring.
"The last, and current leader they choose was a Fallen, a cursed human whose life essence is tied to the survival of an inanimate object, rather like the Philosopher's Stone. Since their leader could not die until the object was destroyed, they have lived under the same rule for centuries."
Dean raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend writing a lewd invitation on Dennis' hand before shaking his head and returning to his sketch, kicking Seamus absently. Seamus grinned and leaned over to Dean's ear, licking it when Dumbledore wasn't looking. "Wanna join lover?"
"Link, the Dark Children's leader, was a warrior and was chosen for his history in battle. Strength and bravery being what the clan prized most. While most are warriors at heart, they do not fight in any battle or war, preferring to stay in their lands and keep apart from the world."
Neville had finished his braids in Draco's hair and reverted to simply doodling on the blond's neck, drawing an intricate pattern of knots, intertwined with words and flowers. Draco shivered every so often, the sharp tip of the quill tickling his skin.
"The clan is well known for their artistry, after all, many of them have been around for so long they have mastered many forms of the craft. For the next month we will have the privilege of viewing some of their pieces, those that reflect their history, their passions."
Dean perked up at his and smiled as Dumbledore looked at him, already picturing how he could use what he saw to work on some of his own pieces. He kicked Seamus again, smirking slightly as the other boy stuck his tounge out at him, tounge ring he wore catching the light.
END PART 3