FIC: The Eternal Day
Disclaimer: It's obvious I'm not Rowling ... she writes het.
Title: The Eternal Day
Pairing: Drarry
Rating: PG-13ish
Betaed By: berrynia (But I'm not entirely sure if this was the copy she sent back ... so there could still be some errors. We'll blame her for those anyway.)
Warnings: Mild Blasphemy (I kinda rewrote Genesis 1:1 to 1:8). Implied and non-graphic violence. Implied Character Death.
Summary: The winds of change are born from the beatings of newly-Birthed wings.
Notes: Written for the adorable angelgazing to celebrate her being an old fart birthday. Yes, I know that was months ago. And truth be told I actually sent her a copy of this back in November when I finished it. It just hasn't been posted 'til now due to some delays.
The Eternal Day
In the beginning God created the Everfields. And the Everfields was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the dark fires. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was bad: and God divided the light from the darkness to keep them pure. And God called the light Light, and the darkness God called Dark. And the evening and the morning were joined together over the Everfields, the eternal day. And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the fires, and let it divide the fires from the fires. And God made the firmament, and divided the fires which were under the firmament from the fires which were above the firmament: and it was so. And God called the firmament Universe. And the evening and the morning shone on the Everfields while the newborn shuddered and twitched.
And time meant nothing in the Everfields but God watched it flow in the Universe. It saw life begin, civilisations rise and fall. A true testament to the magnitude of Its power as Its people grew and learned and died to stand beside God as It watched from the Everfields. And in Its wisdom God created Heaven and Hell to house Its people in their death and they went with thanks and knowledge that God was all powerful and true. But in a small part of the Universe a new people were born and they did bring something to existence that none had yet. And God called these people Human and named the gift they brought as Bloodlust. And It waited, knowing the Time of Peace in the Everfields was at an end, never to return.
The first Humans to not move on to Heaven and Hell arrived and bowed before God. And It looked into them and in them It saw their warrior life, whether by action or by thought, and knew their course. Plucking darkness from its resting place, God fashioned wings and did touch those who were deserving with the black nothing that once filled all that there is. And the Darklings praised God for his blessing and took their place amongst the sky. God pulled forth Light that was twisted and angry and with it It fashioned wings and did touch those who were deserving with the bright beams that had invaded and challenged Creation's placenta. And the Lightlings were humbled as they accepted the punishment for their sins, whispered thanks of their path to atonement filled Its ears as they took their place amongst the fires.
And the Eternalings were born anew, knowing their purpose as their old lives fell behind, forgotten and as dead as their mortal bodies.
The Everwar had begun.
**********
Ishla quietly surveyed the broken bodies that lay on the field. The battle had been brutal and the bloods of both enemy and comrade pooled all around him. But he mourned for no-one. Those that died were meant to and had paid their due, moving on to one of the welcoming homes that lay beyond the Everfields. Instead he felt disheartened that he had not earned a place there and this strengthened his resolve to do better.
Movement caught his eye and his face hardened as a Lightling slowly sat up amongst the corpses. Ishla strode towards the trembling body, red blade in readiness for the kill. It sometimes pained him that he should send so many to the place he longed to be, but he knew his course and would fulfill his duty.
The Lightling's left wing was broken, hanging limply from its stem. Its white hair was stained in places, the drying blood of the fallen making it clump together. It raised its face to see its attacker and that is what stayed Ishla's blade.
Looking down at the pale creature, Ishla felt something, almost like a memory, as grey eyes met his. It was gone in an instant but an uneasy feeling replaced it and still he did not swing. The Lightling in front of him looked almost beautiful in its broken state and Ishla could not name the emotion that overwhelmed him, for Eternalings knew nothing of pity.
He watched the vein of light streak across his enemy's face, in awe of how it was barely acknowledged. His own dark mark was moving across his chest at that moment, soothing his weary skin. He could not imagine having to live with the pain and torment that the other side received on their Birthing. He crouched down to be level, ignoring the inner part of him that warned of the blue blade, gleaming in the halfdark and just within his enemy's reach. He stretched his fingers out to touch the pale face, keeping his eyes on the shaft of light. It passed close to his hand, burning him from even there and he flinched, snatching his hand back with a yelp.
The Lightling did not take this opportunity to seize its weapon and attack. It merely frowned and spoke. "Do I know you, Dark One?"
But Ishla did not understand Luxan and could not think of what to say. The Lightling looked to the sky and Ishla followed his gaze. In the distance Darklings soared towards them, to examine the battle no doubt, and Ishla looked back to his enemy who already knew his situation. The broken wing meant escape was impossible and he knew very well what happened to the captured. The pity he could not name flared up again. The grey eyes turned back to him and the fleeting jolt of an almost-memory returned as he leant in and did something that bewildered even himself. He pressed his lips against those of the pale demon, the burn of the light barely noticed as his own dark moved to his face.
Tumbling back, his weapon fell to the ground and he seized his head as pain flooded his mind. It began to ease and he glanced around himself, momentarily confused. The Darkling sitting in front of him flinched as his broken wing twitched and he looked at it warily, half remembering something before it slipped away.
"Do I know you, Bright One?" It whispered.
But Ishla did not understand Noxan and could not think of what to say. His senses alerted him to the Darkling's comrades approaching and he hurriedly snatched up his blade. One last look to his injured enemy, unsure as to why he didn't finish it off, and he spread his white wings to rise up into the air and begin his return to the encampment.
Horadian landed smoothly, her murky grey wings stirring up the top layer of dust. She took in her warrior's broken wing and motioned for the others to help their friend stand. "Are you well, Ishla?"
Ishla nodded his reply, brushing his blonde hair away from his face.
"We should return. It will soon be the Birthing."
He allowed himself to be lifted up and concentrated on staying as still as possible to not aggravate his injury. Horadian picked up Ishla's red blade and led her people back to their city.
**********
The enormous hall was filled with noise as the Eternalings spoke amongst their comrades and spat words at their enemies. The Lightlings stood far down below in their trench of fire and smoke. The Darklings stood high up above on their platform of water and mist. Horadian, the leader of the Darklings stood on her ledge, halfway between the throne and her kind. Just as the leader of the Lightings stood on his ledge, half way between the throne and his own kind.
And of course there was the throne. Glorious to even look upon, it floated without moving on its floor of mist and smoke. It sat before the long walkway that the Judged would soon make their way down to receive their orders. Half way between both platform and trench it was a sign that for a brief moment the Humans in this place were both and neither Darkling and Lightling, and would remain as such until their judgment was over.
The noise trickled away as the halfdark brightened and the halflight darkened and then It was among them and they were awed. It sat in Its throne and the doors opened, the Judged were to begin their walk. And walk they did, in their hundreds. No sound was made save but for the beating of wings as Darklings swooped down and Lightlings rose up to collect their new numbers and take them to where they belonged as the Birthing took effect.
Then but a few remained and Eternalings alike watched with interest. There were always some judgments that were harder to make than others and God weighed each person in Its thoughts and their own.
Ishla for once looked away from the Judged and ran his eyes down across the Lightlings, searching for something he did not know. And he found it, already looking at him. Distress ran through his body and mind though he did not understand what it was. He looked away from the black-haired Lightling and tentatively flicked his healing wing, distracting himself from his uneasiness.
Then the Birthing was at an end and all turned to leave, ready to begin fighting once the Truce Time was complete. Ishla turned his thoughts away from his confusing encounter and slowly glided back to the City of Darkness. He had new blood to train and no time to waste on trivial Lightlings who caused him to feel ... something.
But he saw the Eternaling fly out from the trench entrance and follow its people towards the lighter side of the Everfields and a word came to his thoughts as if on command, one he did not even understand. Potter. But it did not matter, for he forgot it a few moments later. He flew on, carefully minding his damaged wing and planned how he would act in the next battle.
**********
Ishla felt uneasy as he swung his blue blade and sent yet another Darkling to their reward. He looked around, knowing that it must be there somewhere. But the battle was all just a blur of black and white and red and blue. All around him Eternalings fell and rose and attacked and defended. It was impossible to find one Darkling out of thousands. He blocked an attack and sent that Darkling on its way too, knowing that surely his time would be soon. He spotted a group of Darklings retreating, probably a couple of the newly Birthed, and gave chase, blades clashing as they returned his attacks while flying away from the mass.
Some broke away, leaving one to fend for itself against the more experienced Lightling and it took little time for Ishla to cut it down out of the air, making it land on the ground with a sickening crack. He touched down and raised his blade to finish it off as it flinched from the anticipation.
A red blade cracked against his own halfway down and it was the Darkling he had been looking for, defending its fallen comrade. A word from it had the injured Darkling in the air, off in search of safety and they were alone together.
"Potter." It murmured.
And that sparked something in Ishla's mind and he nodded, though he didn't know at what.
Ishla the Dark brushed his hand over Ishla the Light's face, feeling the pain that would lie under the tanned skin for all Everfields time. "You did not deserve this." A distant memory of a time forgotten, a time when it had been him with the white wings and torment and suffering came to his mind. "You did not deserve it." He leaned forward and kissed the Lightling, feeling his soothing dark leaving him to be replaced with the coarse light. Pain swelled in his mind, almost too much to bear before it eased and he opened his eyes and looked at the Darkling in front of him. Part of his mind throbbed and he frowned. "Do I know you, Dark One?"
A horn sounded loudly, startling them from their confrontation. Ishla the Light looked in confusion at the blue blade in his hand, then to the red one that was held by his enemy. In a silent gesture of good will, he offered it to the other, holding his hand out for his own. They traded weapons and gazed at each other in uncertainty before another horn, deeper and louder than the last, sounded and the Darkling took to the air to answer the call.
Ishla watched it fly off, his mind throbbing, demanding for him to remember something. Something important that had just slipped out of his reach. Lost and confused, he turned for the one place he thought might offer him answers.
**********
Ishla glided above the walkway, wondering how he must have felt while he was being judged. He assumed he must have been, but no-one can remember their own judgment. Eternaling life only began after it was passed, all memories before were washed from their minds. But he supposed something must have gone wrong with his, he hadn't been inducted properly, for he felt things and this had given a sort of twist inside when he had looked upon those grey eyes.
A moment of hesitation and he flew the gap between the walkway and the throne, knowing the horrific consequences he would face if another Eternaling or even It Itself caught him there. Drifting down to stand on the misty, smoky platform he gazed at the throne and wondered at its power. It was the Throne of Next, said to record all that happened in the hall and he reasoned if he could work out how to get it to tell him of his Birthing it might show how whatever it was went wrong and then he could appeal to It to fix him and make him right.
Timidly he rested his hand on the arm and gasped at the feeling. His mind rushed with words and pictures that he couldn't comprehend and he had to draw back his hand or be overwhelmed. Shivering he rubbed his fingers together but the itching feeling remained. He chastised himself for being foolish enough to come here and turned to leave. But one final word drifted through his mind and it caused him to stop. It was gone before he could repeat it but that had been enough.
Straightening his back in a bold action he stretched his wings out, until they curved above his head proudly. Without letting himself think about what he was doing, he sat down on the throne and was held in place by a power he could not see.
Images poured into his mind, a dark cupboard, a fat boy, sadness and loneliness. Overwhelmed, he had no choice but to sit through it. There were voices pouring into his ears, telling him he was worthless, laughing at him, chasing him, and then there were praises and well wishes and it was all very confusing. A girl with brown hair, a whole family of redheads, an old man with a long beard, a home, happiness, pain, fear, green light all around him, an evil laugh, a boy with white blonde hair, the boy, the boy, the older boy, the man who looked so young, all with the same hair and eyes.
And the voices rose, pushing in on his mind and the images came quicker, blonde, red, blonde, brown, white, black, green, until he couldn't even see anything of them to know what they were. The pain built and built and then suddenly it was gone.
And in his mind he was walking down the walkway, hundreds of others around him as he headed towards the ... being on the large throne. All around him people were being collected by what looked like angels and demons but he was confused because the angels returned to a pit of fire and ash while the demons gracefully glided up to a cloud of mist. He frowned a little, trying to remember if black was bad and white was good but his life seemed so long ago now.
He gazed around as more and more people were taken away, wondering how long he would have to walk before he was grabbed. High up above among the black wings he spotted something that made him stop walking all together. The 'demon' looking down at him was as he remembered, though with the addition of jet black wings sprouting from his back.
"Malfoy." He whispered and the demon tilted his head slightly, he was sure of it. He looked to the being on the throne and finally noticed how utterly alone he was on the walkway. To his left a white-winged creature rose up and reached for him. A mere moment after it grabbed him, another latched unto his right arm and he jumped slightly. "Malfoy." He said again to the black-winged angel, because now he was sure that's who it was.
A flash of red swept passed his face and the one with white wings screamed as its arm was severed at the elbow. There were deafening howls coming from everywhere and Harry instinctively knew that Malfoy had done something very wrong. The being rose from his throne as Malfoy yelled something over the commotion at it, but Harry didn't recognise the language and his head was starting to feel very sore.
He clutched at his forehead, a hazy memory from his life whispering that this was familiar before it died and pain shot through his spine as his wings started to push outwards. Malfoy yelled whatever it was again and forced Harry to look at him before leaning in and kissing him. The last thought he had was of pain and comfort all at the same time and a beautiful, unfamiliar voice whispering into his mind that none would remember.
Gasping, Ishla opened his eyes and said the word again. "Malfoy."
"Potter." Was the reply from his right.
Rising hurriedly he was oddly relieved to only see Malfoy, the original Ishla, and he relaxed.
"I see you're just as indecisive in death as you were in life." And it was spoken in English, a familiar and comforting sound to both of their ears.
"Why?" He looked the new Malfoy up and down, remembering a life from a lifetime ago. "Why did you take my punishment?"
Ishla the Light hovered a little closer. "You didn't deserve this."
"Who are you to judge?"
And they smiled weakly as if they were human.
"You shouldn't have done it. I did deserve it. I killed him in anger and bloodlust."
Ishla the Light shrugged and flexed his wings. "I don't care. This wasn't meant for you." He lifted his hand as the burning shaft of light twined up and back down his arm. Constantly moving so that there was no hope of becoming accustomed to the pain. "You shouldn't be punished for what you did."
"And you should?"
"In freeing you I broke the Truce Time. In the past, Eternalings have been denied entrance to both Heaven and Hell for that alone. I think I was let off lightly."
Harry smiled at the joke and then lowered his head. "I can't let you serve my sentence for me." He caught the other's eye. "You know I won't let you."
Draco nodded and stepped closer. "I was only trying to repay my debt to you."
Harry smiled and shook his head. "Liar." But he didn't press the issue. "We'll forget when we switch again."
"Yes."
"Any regrets?"
"Well, I’m disappointed that we're not anatomically correct."
Harry laughed softly as Draco leaned in to kiss him one last time. And it was different this time. There was no pain or feeling of loss and when he opened his eyes he still knew the person that stood before him.
"Welcome, my Ishlas."
They slowly turned their heads to look at It and then dropped their eyes in horror.
"Do not worry for breaking the rules." It spoke to them in English, perhaps as if to ease them. "The Birthing is to begin soon, you must take your new places." It gestured to the two podiums on which the leaders stood.
Ishla the Dark nervously brushed his blonde hair back from his face. "Where is Horadian?"
It smiled at them gently and lovingly. "The Horadians have moved on. Just as you will, in time."
It was starting to make a strange sort of sense in their minds. Ishla the Dark, remembering how he used to be in his life, dared to look It in the face. "I don't suppose you have a timeframe on that?"
It just smiled and faded out to await the ceremony.
They glanced at each other and then took to their new posts.
It felt right, standing there, their murky-grey wings curving into the leader's stance as the Eternalings arrived to take their places. It was a new eternal day in the Everfields.
Title: The Eternal Day
Pairing: Drarry
Rating: PG-13ish
Betaed By: berrynia (But I'm not entirely sure if this was the copy she sent back ... so there could still be some errors. We'll blame her for those anyway.)
Warnings: Mild Blasphemy (I kinda rewrote Genesis 1:1 to 1:8). Implied and non-graphic violence. Implied Character Death.
Summary: The winds of change are born from the beatings of newly-Birthed wings.
Notes: Written for the adorable angelgazing to celebrate her being an old fart birthday. Yes, I know that was months ago. And truth be told I actually sent her a copy of this back in November when I finished it. It just hasn't been posted 'til now due to some delays.
The Eternal Day
In the beginning God created the Everfields. And the Everfields was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the dark fires. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was bad: and God divided the light from the darkness to keep them pure. And God called the light Light, and the darkness God called Dark. And the evening and the morning were joined together over the Everfields, the eternal day. And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the fires, and let it divide the fires from the fires. And God made the firmament, and divided the fires which were under the firmament from the fires which were above the firmament: and it was so. And God called the firmament Universe. And the evening and the morning shone on the Everfields while the newborn shuddered and twitched.
And time meant nothing in the Everfields but God watched it flow in the Universe. It saw life begin, civilisations rise and fall. A true testament to the magnitude of Its power as Its people grew and learned and died to stand beside God as It watched from the Everfields. And in Its wisdom God created Heaven and Hell to house Its people in their death and they went with thanks and knowledge that God was all powerful and true. But in a small part of the Universe a new people were born and they did bring something to existence that none had yet. And God called these people Human and named the gift they brought as Bloodlust. And It waited, knowing the Time of Peace in the Everfields was at an end, never to return.
The first Humans to not move on to Heaven and Hell arrived and bowed before God. And It looked into them and in them It saw their warrior life, whether by action or by thought, and knew their course. Plucking darkness from its resting place, God fashioned wings and did touch those who were deserving with the black nothing that once filled all that there is. And the Darklings praised God for his blessing and took their place amongst the sky. God pulled forth Light that was twisted and angry and with it It fashioned wings and did touch those who were deserving with the bright beams that had invaded and challenged Creation's placenta. And the Lightlings were humbled as they accepted the punishment for their sins, whispered thanks of their path to atonement filled Its ears as they took their place amongst the fires.
And the Eternalings were born anew, knowing their purpose as their old lives fell behind, forgotten and as dead as their mortal bodies.
The Everwar had begun.
**********
Ishla quietly surveyed the broken bodies that lay on the field. The battle had been brutal and the bloods of both enemy and comrade pooled all around him. But he mourned for no-one. Those that died were meant to and had paid their due, moving on to one of the welcoming homes that lay beyond the Everfields. Instead he felt disheartened that he had not earned a place there and this strengthened his resolve to do better.
Movement caught his eye and his face hardened as a Lightling slowly sat up amongst the corpses. Ishla strode towards the trembling body, red blade in readiness for the kill. It sometimes pained him that he should send so many to the place he longed to be, but he knew his course and would fulfill his duty.
The Lightling's left wing was broken, hanging limply from its stem. Its white hair was stained in places, the drying blood of the fallen making it clump together. It raised its face to see its attacker and that is what stayed Ishla's blade.
Looking down at the pale creature, Ishla felt something, almost like a memory, as grey eyes met his. It was gone in an instant but an uneasy feeling replaced it and still he did not swing. The Lightling in front of him looked almost beautiful in its broken state and Ishla could not name the emotion that overwhelmed him, for Eternalings knew nothing of pity.
He watched the vein of light streak across his enemy's face, in awe of how it was barely acknowledged. His own dark mark was moving across his chest at that moment, soothing his weary skin. He could not imagine having to live with the pain and torment that the other side received on their Birthing. He crouched down to be level, ignoring the inner part of him that warned of the blue blade, gleaming in the halfdark and just within his enemy's reach. He stretched his fingers out to touch the pale face, keeping his eyes on the shaft of light. It passed close to his hand, burning him from even there and he flinched, snatching his hand back with a yelp.
The Lightling did not take this opportunity to seize its weapon and attack. It merely frowned and spoke. "Do I know you, Dark One?"
But Ishla did not understand Luxan and could not think of what to say. The Lightling looked to the sky and Ishla followed his gaze. In the distance Darklings soared towards them, to examine the battle no doubt, and Ishla looked back to his enemy who already knew his situation. The broken wing meant escape was impossible and he knew very well what happened to the captured. The pity he could not name flared up again. The grey eyes turned back to him and the fleeting jolt of an almost-memory returned as he leant in and did something that bewildered even himself. He pressed his lips against those of the pale demon, the burn of the light barely noticed as his own dark moved to his face.
Tumbling back, his weapon fell to the ground and he seized his head as pain flooded his mind. It began to ease and he glanced around himself, momentarily confused. The Darkling sitting in front of him flinched as his broken wing twitched and he looked at it warily, half remembering something before it slipped away.
"Do I know you, Bright One?" It whispered.
But Ishla did not understand Noxan and could not think of what to say. His senses alerted him to the Darkling's comrades approaching and he hurriedly snatched up his blade. One last look to his injured enemy, unsure as to why he didn't finish it off, and he spread his white wings to rise up into the air and begin his return to the encampment.
Horadian landed smoothly, her murky grey wings stirring up the top layer of dust. She took in her warrior's broken wing and motioned for the others to help their friend stand. "Are you well, Ishla?"
Ishla nodded his reply, brushing his blonde hair away from his face.
"We should return. It will soon be the Birthing."
He allowed himself to be lifted up and concentrated on staying as still as possible to not aggravate his injury. Horadian picked up Ishla's red blade and led her people back to their city.
**********
The enormous hall was filled with noise as the Eternalings spoke amongst their comrades and spat words at their enemies. The Lightlings stood far down below in their trench of fire and smoke. The Darklings stood high up above on their platform of water and mist. Horadian, the leader of the Darklings stood on her ledge, halfway between the throne and her kind. Just as the leader of the Lightings stood on his ledge, half way between the throne and his own kind.
And of course there was the throne. Glorious to even look upon, it floated without moving on its floor of mist and smoke. It sat before the long walkway that the Judged would soon make their way down to receive their orders. Half way between both platform and trench it was a sign that for a brief moment the Humans in this place were both and neither Darkling and Lightling, and would remain as such until their judgment was over.
The noise trickled away as the halfdark brightened and the halflight darkened and then It was among them and they were awed. It sat in Its throne and the doors opened, the Judged were to begin their walk. And walk they did, in their hundreds. No sound was made save but for the beating of wings as Darklings swooped down and Lightlings rose up to collect their new numbers and take them to where they belonged as the Birthing took effect.
Then but a few remained and Eternalings alike watched with interest. There were always some judgments that were harder to make than others and God weighed each person in Its thoughts and their own.
Ishla for once looked away from the Judged and ran his eyes down across the Lightlings, searching for something he did not know. And he found it, already looking at him. Distress ran through his body and mind though he did not understand what it was. He looked away from the black-haired Lightling and tentatively flicked his healing wing, distracting himself from his uneasiness.
Then the Birthing was at an end and all turned to leave, ready to begin fighting once the Truce Time was complete. Ishla turned his thoughts away from his confusing encounter and slowly glided back to the City of Darkness. He had new blood to train and no time to waste on trivial Lightlings who caused him to feel ... something.
But he saw the Eternaling fly out from the trench entrance and follow its people towards the lighter side of the Everfields and a word came to his thoughts as if on command, one he did not even understand. Potter. But it did not matter, for he forgot it a few moments later. He flew on, carefully minding his damaged wing and planned how he would act in the next battle.
**********
Ishla felt uneasy as he swung his blue blade and sent yet another Darkling to their reward. He looked around, knowing that it must be there somewhere. But the battle was all just a blur of black and white and red and blue. All around him Eternalings fell and rose and attacked and defended. It was impossible to find one Darkling out of thousands. He blocked an attack and sent that Darkling on its way too, knowing that surely his time would be soon. He spotted a group of Darklings retreating, probably a couple of the newly Birthed, and gave chase, blades clashing as they returned his attacks while flying away from the mass.
Some broke away, leaving one to fend for itself against the more experienced Lightling and it took little time for Ishla to cut it down out of the air, making it land on the ground with a sickening crack. He touched down and raised his blade to finish it off as it flinched from the anticipation.
A red blade cracked against his own halfway down and it was the Darkling he had been looking for, defending its fallen comrade. A word from it had the injured Darkling in the air, off in search of safety and they were alone together.
"Potter." It murmured.
And that sparked something in Ishla's mind and he nodded, though he didn't know at what.
Ishla the Dark brushed his hand over Ishla the Light's face, feeling the pain that would lie under the tanned skin for all Everfields time. "You did not deserve this." A distant memory of a time forgotten, a time when it had been him with the white wings and torment and suffering came to his mind. "You did not deserve it." He leaned forward and kissed the Lightling, feeling his soothing dark leaving him to be replaced with the coarse light. Pain swelled in his mind, almost too much to bear before it eased and he opened his eyes and looked at the Darkling in front of him. Part of his mind throbbed and he frowned. "Do I know you, Dark One?"
A horn sounded loudly, startling them from their confrontation. Ishla the Light looked in confusion at the blue blade in his hand, then to the red one that was held by his enemy. In a silent gesture of good will, he offered it to the other, holding his hand out for his own. They traded weapons and gazed at each other in uncertainty before another horn, deeper and louder than the last, sounded and the Darkling took to the air to answer the call.
Ishla watched it fly off, his mind throbbing, demanding for him to remember something. Something important that had just slipped out of his reach. Lost and confused, he turned for the one place he thought might offer him answers.
**********
Ishla glided above the walkway, wondering how he must have felt while he was being judged. He assumed he must have been, but no-one can remember their own judgment. Eternaling life only began after it was passed, all memories before were washed from their minds. But he supposed something must have gone wrong with his, he hadn't been inducted properly, for he felt things and this had given a sort of twist inside when he had looked upon those grey eyes.
A moment of hesitation and he flew the gap between the walkway and the throne, knowing the horrific consequences he would face if another Eternaling or even It Itself caught him there. Drifting down to stand on the misty, smoky platform he gazed at the throne and wondered at its power. It was the Throne of Next, said to record all that happened in the hall and he reasoned if he could work out how to get it to tell him of his Birthing it might show how whatever it was went wrong and then he could appeal to It to fix him and make him right.
Timidly he rested his hand on the arm and gasped at the feeling. His mind rushed with words and pictures that he couldn't comprehend and he had to draw back his hand or be overwhelmed. Shivering he rubbed his fingers together but the itching feeling remained. He chastised himself for being foolish enough to come here and turned to leave. But one final word drifted through his mind and it caused him to stop. It was gone before he could repeat it but that had been enough.
Straightening his back in a bold action he stretched his wings out, until they curved above his head proudly. Without letting himself think about what he was doing, he sat down on the throne and was held in place by a power he could not see.
Images poured into his mind, a dark cupboard, a fat boy, sadness and loneliness. Overwhelmed, he had no choice but to sit through it. There were voices pouring into his ears, telling him he was worthless, laughing at him, chasing him, and then there were praises and well wishes and it was all very confusing. A girl with brown hair, a whole family of redheads, an old man with a long beard, a home, happiness, pain, fear, green light all around him, an evil laugh, a boy with white blonde hair, the boy, the boy, the older boy, the man who looked so young, all with the same hair and eyes.
And the voices rose, pushing in on his mind and the images came quicker, blonde, red, blonde, brown, white, black, green, until he couldn't even see anything of them to know what they were. The pain built and built and then suddenly it was gone.
And in his mind he was walking down the walkway, hundreds of others around him as he headed towards the ... being on the large throne. All around him people were being collected by what looked like angels and demons but he was confused because the angels returned to a pit of fire and ash while the demons gracefully glided up to a cloud of mist. He frowned a little, trying to remember if black was bad and white was good but his life seemed so long ago now.
He gazed around as more and more people were taken away, wondering how long he would have to walk before he was grabbed. High up above among the black wings he spotted something that made him stop walking all together. The 'demon' looking down at him was as he remembered, though with the addition of jet black wings sprouting from his back.
"Malfoy." He whispered and the demon tilted his head slightly, he was sure of it. He looked to the being on the throne and finally noticed how utterly alone he was on the walkway. To his left a white-winged creature rose up and reached for him. A mere moment after it grabbed him, another latched unto his right arm and he jumped slightly. "Malfoy." He said again to the black-winged angel, because now he was sure that's who it was.
A flash of red swept passed his face and the one with white wings screamed as its arm was severed at the elbow. There were deafening howls coming from everywhere and Harry instinctively knew that Malfoy had done something very wrong. The being rose from his throne as Malfoy yelled something over the commotion at it, but Harry didn't recognise the language and his head was starting to feel very sore.
He clutched at his forehead, a hazy memory from his life whispering that this was familiar before it died and pain shot through his spine as his wings started to push outwards. Malfoy yelled whatever it was again and forced Harry to look at him before leaning in and kissing him. The last thought he had was of pain and comfort all at the same time and a beautiful, unfamiliar voice whispering into his mind that none would remember.
Gasping, Ishla opened his eyes and said the word again. "Malfoy."
"Potter." Was the reply from his right.
Rising hurriedly he was oddly relieved to only see Malfoy, the original Ishla, and he relaxed.
"I see you're just as indecisive in death as you were in life." And it was spoken in English, a familiar and comforting sound to both of their ears.
"Why?" He looked the new Malfoy up and down, remembering a life from a lifetime ago. "Why did you take my punishment?"
Ishla the Light hovered a little closer. "You didn't deserve this."
"Who are you to judge?"
And they smiled weakly as if they were human.
"You shouldn't have done it. I did deserve it. I killed him in anger and bloodlust."
Ishla the Light shrugged and flexed his wings. "I don't care. This wasn't meant for you." He lifted his hand as the burning shaft of light twined up and back down his arm. Constantly moving so that there was no hope of becoming accustomed to the pain. "You shouldn't be punished for what you did."
"And you should?"
"In freeing you I broke the Truce Time. In the past, Eternalings have been denied entrance to both Heaven and Hell for that alone. I think I was let off lightly."
Harry smiled at the joke and then lowered his head. "I can't let you serve my sentence for me." He caught the other's eye. "You know I won't let you."
Draco nodded and stepped closer. "I was only trying to repay my debt to you."
Harry smiled and shook his head. "Liar." But he didn't press the issue. "We'll forget when we switch again."
"Yes."
"Any regrets?"
"Well, I’m disappointed that we're not anatomically correct."
Harry laughed softly as Draco leaned in to kiss him one last time. And it was different this time. There was no pain or feeling of loss and when he opened his eyes he still knew the person that stood before him.
"Welcome, my Ishlas."
They slowly turned their heads to look at It and then dropped their eyes in horror.
"Do not worry for breaking the rules." It spoke to them in English, perhaps as if to ease them. "The Birthing is to begin soon, you must take your new places." It gestured to the two podiums on which the leaders stood.
Ishla the Dark nervously brushed his blonde hair back from his face. "Where is Horadian?"
It smiled at them gently and lovingly. "The Horadians have moved on. Just as you will, in time."
It was starting to make a strange sort of sense in their minds. Ishla the Dark, remembering how he used to be in his life, dared to look It in the face. "I don't suppose you have a timeframe on that?"
It just smiled and faded out to await the ceremony.
They glanced at each other and then took to their new posts.
It felt right, standing there, their murky-grey wings curving into the leader's stance as the Eternalings arrived to take their places. It was a new eternal day in the Everfields.