Blood Brothers
Title: Blood Brothers
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: None
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, just love 'em
Warnings: Slight mention of canon character death
Summary: Written for the third round of the Harry Potter Last Author Standing Competition over at harrypotter_las
"We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry," said Voldemort's soft, cold voice, drawing nearer, as the Death Eaters laughed.
"You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry... come out and play, then... it will be quick... it might even be painless... I would not know... I have never died..."
Harry leapt out from behind the headstone but Voldemort was ready. As Harry shouted ‘Expelliarmus!’, Voldemort cried, ‘Avada Kedavra!’
The two wands met in a blinding streak of red and green light before a deep, golden rope of energy formed between them.
Power... and recognition shuddered through the holly wand as the heavy, golden cord roared into life. After so many years alone, sitting on a shelf in Ollivander’s shop, crammed between alien wands - some as black as the cores they contained, others as willowy and pale as a ballerina’s arm - the holly wand had finally found its brother.
But his brother... oh his brother had done terrible, terrible things. They had been so alike, in the beginning. Two wands, holly and yew, with cores of phoenix feather at their hearts. And then, one uneventful day a very long time ago, a small, dark boy with eyes that concealed too much had come into the shop. The yew wand had chosen him, almost instantly.
The holly wand had kept vigil in Ollivander’s shop as each new year passed, watching a new wave of witches and wizards come through the shop and find their true wands. He saw a thin lanky boy with messy dark hair and a cheeky, confidant smile as he chose a pliable mahogany wand. He saw a girl with long, dark red hair, who looked around Ollivander’s curious shop as though she’d never seen anything quite like it in her life, before her willow wand found its way into her hand.
The holly wand was tried out occasionally but no one ever handled him for more than a few seconds before dropping him rather hurriedly. Some decades after the yew wand had gone, Mr Ollivander had taken him down off the dusty shelf. He had simply looked at the holly wand, with that deep unsettling stare before carefully placing him back on his shelf. He never touched the holly wand again.
Until one day, a gangly boy with broken glasses and green eyes came stumbling into the shop. Mr Ollivander handed the boy one wand... and then another... and then another and every time the wand would spit sparks and judder in his hand. Ollivander seemed to be at a loss until suddenly, that old, cunning look swept across his face and he reached for the holly wand. As soon as that boy’s fingers touched him, he knew - this boy was his. And then, in seconds, Ollivander explained away forty years of neglect.
“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother - why its brother gave you that scar... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great...”
In that moment the holly wand found his brother, only to lose him once more.
Over the few years they had been together, Harry Potter had used the holly wand well and the holly wand in turn had done its best to protect Harry. But now the wand faced its dark brother and the holly wand could feel the taste that the yew wand had developed for violence and pain. It spat gold-coloured hate across the connection like acid along a rope and the holly wand cried heavy golden tears to feel such blackness. They were once so alike, now both struggled viciously against each other until Harry and the holly wand forced one of those golden drops into the yew wand and the ghosts of the past began to spew forth.
It was over too quickly, as Harry wrenched away from the duel and ran for the portkey, Cedric’s dead body cradled in his arms.
For sometime afterwards, the holly wand would watch as bad memories tortured Harry in his sleep. When they returned to school, lessons continued as normal, until the end of the year, when Sirius was lost to the curtain and all the rage and pain Harry felt was thrust through the holly wand and into Bellatrix Lestrange.
It only lasted a moment but it was enough. Enough for the holly wand to understand a little of what drove his brother and his dark master. There had been great satisfaction in Harry’s act of revenge but as the boy’s hate was overcome by his love for Sirius, as he crouched on the cold stone floor of the Ministry, the holly wand finally understood why he had chosen Harry and not Voldemort. Revenge might bring a momentary flash of fierce, vindictive joy but friendship, with all of its happiness and its heart-rending agony was far more precious...
“I DON’T CARE!” Harry yelled.
“You do care,” said Dumbledore. “You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.”
Harry spun away from the Headmaster, not wanting to understand, his head swimming with guilt and pain and rage.
But the holly wand understood. Because faced with what his brother had become on that dark night a year ago, he could have bled enough to drown the world.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: None
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, just love 'em
Warnings: Slight mention of canon character death
Summary: Written for the third round of the Harry Potter Last Author Standing Competition over at harrypotter_las
"We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry," said Voldemort's soft, cold voice, drawing nearer, as the Death Eaters laughed.
"You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry... come out and play, then... it will be quick... it might even be painless... I would not know... I have never died..."
Harry leapt out from behind the headstone but Voldemort was ready. As Harry shouted ‘Expelliarmus!’, Voldemort cried, ‘Avada Kedavra!’
The two wands met in a blinding streak of red and green light before a deep, golden rope of energy formed between them.
Power... and recognition shuddered through the holly wand as the heavy, golden cord roared into life. After so many years alone, sitting on a shelf in Ollivander’s shop, crammed between alien wands - some as black as the cores they contained, others as willowy and pale as a ballerina’s arm - the holly wand had finally found its brother.
But his brother... oh his brother had done terrible, terrible things. They had been so alike, in the beginning. Two wands, holly and yew, with cores of phoenix feather at their hearts. And then, one uneventful day a very long time ago, a small, dark boy with eyes that concealed too much had come into the shop. The yew wand had chosen him, almost instantly.
The holly wand had kept vigil in Ollivander’s shop as each new year passed, watching a new wave of witches and wizards come through the shop and find their true wands. He saw a thin lanky boy with messy dark hair and a cheeky, confidant smile as he chose a pliable mahogany wand. He saw a girl with long, dark red hair, who looked around Ollivander’s curious shop as though she’d never seen anything quite like it in her life, before her willow wand found its way into her hand.
The holly wand was tried out occasionally but no one ever handled him for more than a few seconds before dropping him rather hurriedly. Some decades after the yew wand had gone, Mr Ollivander had taken him down off the dusty shelf. He had simply looked at the holly wand, with that deep unsettling stare before carefully placing him back on his shelf. He never touched the holly wand again.
Until one day, a gangly boy with broken glasses and green eyes came stumbling into the shop. Mr Ollivander handed the boy one wand... and then another... and then another and every time the wand would spit sparks and judder in his hand. Ollivander seemed to be at a loss until suddenly, that old, cunning look swept across his face and he reached for the holly wand. As soon as that boy’s fingers touched him, he knew - this boy was his. And then, in seconds, Ollivander explained away forty years of neglect.
“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother - why its brother gave you that scar... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great...”
In that moment the holly wand found his brother, only to lose him once more.
Over the few years they had been together, Harry Potter had used the holly wand well and the holly wand in turn had done its best to protect Harry. But now the wand faced its dark brother and the holly wand could feel the taste that the yew wand had developed for violence and pain. It spat gold-coloured hate across the connection like acid along a rope and the holly wand cried heavy golden tears to feel such blackness. They were once so alike, now both struggled viciously against each other until Harry and the holly wand forced one of those golden drops into the yew wand and the ghosts of the past began to spew forth.
It was over too quickly, as Harry wrenched away from the duel and ran for the portkey, Cedric’s dead body cradled in his arms.
For sometime afterwards, the holly wand would watch as bad memories tortured Harry in his sleep. When they returned to school, lessons continued as normal, until the end of the year, when Sirius was lost to the curtain and all the rage and pain Harry felt was thrust through the holly wand and into Bellatrix Lestrange.
It only lasted a moment but it was enough. Enough for the holly wand to understand a little of what drove his brother and his dark master. There had been great satisfaction in Harry’s act of revenge but as the boy’s hate was overcome by his love for Sirius, as he crouched on the cold stone floor of the Ministry, the holly wand finally understood why he had chosen Harry and not Voldemort. Revenge might bring a momentary flash of fierce, vindictive joy but friendship, with all of its happiness and its heart-rending agony was far more precious...
“I DON’T CARE!” Harry yelled.
“You do care,” said Dumbledore. “You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.”
Harry spun away from the Headmaster, not wanting to understand, his head swimming with guilt and pain and rage.
But the holly wand understood. Because faced with what his brother had become on that dark night a year ago, he could have bled enough to drown the world.