Enternity Chapter 22 - part 1
PLEASE READ ME: Jewles is dead, long live the author. Here is the last of Enternity - what she had written of this fic and her notes for the ending. I will be posting a slightly updated version of this fic to AO3 - updated only in the fact that Jewles had done some editing to the fic as she worked on it and AO3 will have a little more formatting options available.
Luna walked ahead of Ginny, hair gathered in a knot at the base of her neck, shirt wrinkled and she wasn’t wearing any shoes. Her bright socks faded between colors, the tops a bright pink that blended into orange before fading to purple. And atop her head, spinning in a tight circle not unlike that of a halo, were three blue lights.
She didn’t recognize the corridor they were walking down - it had tall, skinny glass windows that let in bars of sunlight and the floor was made of what looked like limestone. There was the faint smell of peppermint and willow bark in the air, sweet and tangy.
“You love this girl. I’d say I’m impressed, but war makes adults out of children all the time.” Luna said and at once Ginny realized that she was dreaming. She continued to follow after the impostor, wanting to demand that she stop using Luna’s form but knew it would be useless to even waste the breath needed for it. Her fingers ached with the cold, like she was 12 again and had played too long in the snow with just her mittens and no warming charms.
“I thought I was done with my inheritance - I failed.” She said sharply and Not-Luna laughed a throaty, wild sound that Ginny recognized from the many times her girlfriend would laugh when she was tickled.
“You failed that test, true. This is another one.” Not-Luna said once she’d calmed down.
“What’s your name?” Ginny asked before she could lose her nerve. Not-Luna stopped walking for a few moments, as if shocked or perhaps distracted, before she wiggled her shoulders and continued.
“Whatever you want it to be, darling.” Not-Luna responded flippantly.
“I might as well call you Selene if you’re going to take Luna’s form all the time.” Ginny grumbled, mostly to herself.
“What has three heads, two hearts, and laughs when it roars?” Selene asked. Ginny blinked at the non-sequitur before thinking it over. They came to a stop in front of an ornate door with carvings of lion heads on it and there was a door knocker in the shape of hippogriff claws in the center. All in all, the entire thing looked tacky.
“A Cerberus.” She answered and Selene reached out to touch the door knocker. The door swung open, light cutting through Selene’s form, and the three blue lights shown brilliantly for a few moments, the light almost blinding, before they extinguished completely.
“This is your test. Find what needs to be found.” Selene said and her form vanished like fog.
Snow swallowed her feet, brittle like dying grass and just as warm. She squinted against the sudden light reflecting off the surrounding snow, a frozen wasteland spread out around her. She walked, snow crunching under her feet and sinking like mud between her toes. It pricked and sometimes stung her, like blades of high grass, but she wasn’t cold.
She walked until her legs burned; the snow up around her calves and clinging to her like the mud from the chicken coops at home, sweat dripped down her neck and clung to her hair. She was acutely aware of how blissed out the feeling of being hot down to her bones made her feel - she’d been so cold for such a long time it almost seemed like she’d never experience warmth again.
‘Find what needs to be found, huh?’ She thought, annoyed at the vagueness of the statement. She sunk down onto her knees, feeling the snow engulf her waist like water, and her legs ached like they had when she was younger, chasing after her brothers on summer days. Percy used to play tag with them, the twins always wanted to be it so they could chase after everyone else. Bill would roar with laughter at them all, holding a book that would be forgotten the second Charlie tackled him. Ron used to get purposely caught if it looked like she was getting tired - he’d chase after their brothers until she recovered enough energy to rejoin them. Their mother would come out with lunch and drinks, hollering at them all to gather round so she could perform cleaning charms on their hands and faces before eating.
She tilted her head up, letting the sunlight warm her face, smiling at the memories. She would never have those moments again - her mother and Percy were both gone forever. Bill was getting married, a proper adult, and Ron was so serious now and the twins…she didn’t recognize them sometimes. Their minds sharped towards war and escapes, ambushes and weapons, not laughter and pranks. She couldn’t remember the last time either of them had performed an actual prank.
And now they had gone to France and she feared she’d never see them again.
And Charlie, her sweet brother who carried hurt birds and lizards into his room, who always knew where to tickle her to make her shriek with laughter, who let her sleep in his bed when she was so small thunder still scared her - she didn’t even know if he was alive. Surely if he had made it back to Romania, there would have been word from him by now. The borders around Egypt were newly closed, he had time to get back to the sanctuary and get them an owl or a floo call. But there had been nothing. And there was no clock to tell them if he was alright, it had gone up in flames with their childhood home.
“I don’t want him to be dead.” She said to no one and anyone listening. She wanted to tell the world that she missed him, wanted someone (anyone) to tell her that he was safe or not. She just wanted to know, for sure, one way or another.
She didn’t have time for endless riddles and tests. She needed to be awake and aware for the remaining members of her family. Her father wouldn’t eat unless someone sat with him; Ron and Hermione would run themselves ragged unless someone demanded they sleep and eat; Fleur would work herself into the ground, trying to be everywhere at once, unless someone was there to forcibly take some tasks from her. The twins had left but they might need information or support and she needed to be able to give them whatever they might need.
She stood up, brushing the warm snow from her legs and skirt; she couldn’t afford to be lounging around in sunlight and childhood memories. It was a beautiful dream, but that’s all it was - a dream. And it was time to wake up.
She opened her eyes to the ceiling of her room, moonlight coming in from the open window. She was wrapped in the thick blankets she had taken to sleeping in, the wool socks around her feet uncomfortably hot and probably soaked through with sweat. She felt like she was boiling under the multiple layers of blankets and the sweltering heat of the room.
When she kicked her way out of the heat and tangled blankets, she could see Selene at the window, the three blue lights from her dream back above her head. It was easier to tell her apart from Luna now that she was seeing her in the waking world: her hair was a touch darker and she had broader shoulders.
“Good job, you found it.” She said, not turning around as Ginny shrugged out of her sleeping robe and night clothes - even her underwear was sticking to her uncomfortably, she’d have to take a quick shower to get even a little comfortable.
“Found what exactly?” Ginny responded, grabbing her brush and a towel.
“Your spine.” Selene said smugly. Ginny paused in gathering a new set of panties and another shirt to sleep in. She was naked, sweaty, and tired but she still wanted to march over to the woman and punch her square in the mouth. Selene chuckled as she faded from view, one of the lights leaving the crown of her head to float over to Ginny, where it touched her nose before extinguishing.
She looked out her window, out at the night sky and the stars swirling high above her. There were clouds coming in, tomorrow would be shady in the morning for the merchants at least. Maybe her father would like to go with her to the morning marketplace, would like to get out of the house and into the sunlight. She would buy them breakfast and when they got home she could floo Blaise and ask to speak to Luna.
She missed her girlfriend.
The carrions are screeching as they circle, the ground below them rolling as various creatures fight for whatever scraps of flesh remain on the slain soldiers. Wands and guns alike strew the field as blood soaks into the mud. Something in the mess of writhing darkness twists to look elsewhere, and twists into a long misshapen hand with three fingers too many. The long arm shoots forward, the eight fingers clenching around -
He’s in Hogwarts rather suddenly, sunlight streaming through the windows, the stone under his bare feet warm. Faceless students walk aimlessly past him and the uniforms he can see are from a plethora of different eras -the sweeping skirts from the 1870’s; the triangular robes from the 1780’s; the sleeveless outer robes from the 1920’s; and the closest circle around him are all wearing the latest uniform.
When he looks down, he finds that he’s wearing his own mishmash of a uniform - the skirt that belonged to Aife Korasaki, the shirt that belonged to Harry Potter, and the thin and bright yellow outer robes of Trilion Fealyo.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to find you here.” Draco says as he comes out of the mass of faceless students. He’s dressed in his own robes and his hair is down. His bangs have grown out so they can be pushed behind his ears, when did that happen?
“I’m nothing if not predictable, at least in these things.” He responds and reaches out to hold Draco’s hand. The hand that curls around Draco’s does not belong to Harry Potter - they’re too small and the skin color is wrong - but he recognizes the deformed ring finger and the mass of raised scaring on the back of it. His name had been Cordilla McGain, a tiny thing with a crooked jaw and an allergy to peanuts.
“I feel like you should look more stitched together, like some mismatched Inferi, but you really don’t. It’s strange; I can tell which parts of you are Harry and which parts of you aren’t, but I can only recall a few of the names.” Draco says, running his thumb across the raised scars on the back of his hand. “Didn’t I used to paint these, during the solstices?” Draco asks, sounding unsure.
“Yes, you used to use berry dye. It was a kindness.” He answers, remembering the way the scent would linger for hours afterwards.
“I miss you, you know. I’ve missed you for months but even now I feel like you’re so far away.” Draco says and for the first time in a long time, Harry feels the echo of Draco’s yearning and aches with it.
“I know that feeling.” He says, remembering what it was like to long for Draco, even when they were shouting at each other or across the Great Hall acting like they weren’t trying to get the other’s attention. What it was like to watch Draco say something or do something and ache so suddenly with the want to just skip all the hard parts and go back to the way they were before they’d both died.
Draco reaches out with his other hand to caress Harry’s cheek and -
Harry wakes up in the bed he and Draco share. Draco himself is awake and staring at the ceiling next to him but they’re still holding hands at least. He loves this cottage, loves the feeling of safety it gives him, the illusion that the rest of the world doesn’t exist and it’s just them.
“We don’t have to do anything, anymore. We don’t have to fight, if you don’t want to. We can run, go anywhere you want; I won’t care where we are as long as we’re together.” Draco says into the darkness of the room and he turns onto his side to look at Harry seriously. Harry stares at him in shock, not sure where this is coming from but knowing he has to say something.
“We can’t - the people -” He starts, feeling the world outside their sanctuary pressing in again, the enormity of his failure pressing against him. Erus must be stopped, must be put down. But every time he tries to think of a way to do it, every failure over the ages comes back into sharp focus and he can’t do anything about it. What can he do against a force of nature such as Erus, when before he couldn’t even -
“Fuck the people!” Draco yells, breaking Harry’s thought process. He sits up and looks down at Harry with an intense look in his eyes. “We’re done enough for the people; we’ve spent centuries doing things for other people, can’t we be selfish for once? I want to be selfish! I want to go back to how things were, just a few years ago, where all I cared about was getting my own way and damn everyone else! I want to run away from all my problems and let someone else deal with them!” He continues and Harry feels his stomach sink and chest tighten.
‘He wants to go back to that? But where does that leave me?’
“Let’s run away and let someone else deal with this. We can go to Africa, somewhere we’ve never been, make a house somewhere out of the way.” Draco finishes in a whisper, longing in his voice and Harry closes his eyes against the temptation of that idea.
“And what would we do there?” He asks.
“Whatever we wanted. I could finish my potions apprenticeship, you could teach, if you wanted, or make children’s dolls or sleep all day. I don’t know. We could do whatever we wanted and just forget all of this - let someone else deal with it for once.” Draco says and a large part of Harry wants to do just that.
Why should he be the one that has to solve all the world’s problems? Why can’t he go off with Draco and just live the rest of their lives out in peace, far away from everyone and everything they’d both known? Hasn’t he tried to fix the mistakes of the past, over and over again? Hasn’t he failed at every path, hasn’t he just been making things worse?
Why can’t they just leave and let things fall where they fall?
Something inside of him rolls and writhes at the very thought, but he is so tired.
He feels Draco’s fingers on his cheeks and opens his eyes to see him looking down at him with something like pity. It makes his chest tighten and for a moment, he remembers another set of eyes staring at him in pity before telling him that their daughter hadn’t lived through the birth. It knocks the breath out of him, leaves him aching.
“You won’t though, will you?” Draco says and it’s not really a question.
“I feel responsible.” Harry admits and isn’t that the worst part of this whole thing? There is no one left to clean this shit up because no one remembers how. No one has the knowledge to even know where to start to try and fix the massive problem that is Erus - it’s an old problem from an old time and he is all that is left.
Erus will not stop with the northern islands. He will spread, like a plague or a raging fire, until he consumes everything in his path; until there isn’t anything to eat anymore, nothing to pull magic and strength from, until the whole planet is nothing but death and despair. He has swallowed his maker, swallowed the one person who could have commanded him, and it’s in his nature to go and devour until there’s nothing left.
The gods themselves wouldn’t try to stop him until he came for them - what do they care that one world is utterly wiped out? They have millions of others and Erus can’t get to any of them, not once they slam the preferable door in his face.
“Did you help create him?” Draco asks.
“No, of course not! How could you ask that of me?! I tried my best to get him to stop making Erus; I got branded a traitor and thrown in prison for it! Merlin killed my men and turned the whole Empire against me! And then he wouldn’t listen to me when I broke out and tried to help fix his mistake, once it was apparent that it had gone out of his control.” Harry spat out, angry at the accusation.
“Then how are you responsible for it?” Draco cut in; cutting off what would have become a rather loud and angry rant.
“I trained Merlin and allowed him access to the documents that he used to make Erus.” Harry says quietly, looking down at his hands. “I know that doesn’t make me culpable, I get it, but that doesn’t change the way I feel. If I had done something different, if I hadn’t saved his life so many times, if I hadn’t spent so many lifetimes not doing anything concrete about Erus’ containment, this might not have happened.”
“This might come as a shock to you, but you’re not actually a god for all that people have taken to calling you one throughout the centuries.” Draco says dryly.
“Oh, fuck you; I don’t think I’m a god.” Harry says and rolls out of bed. He won’t sit here and be talked to like that, not even by Draco.
“Really, so you just think you’re responsible for everyone’s actions and should have been able to handle everything yourself, is that it? Right, that doesn’t sound at all like a god complex to me.” Draco retorts and follows him out, grabbing a robe to throw over his sleep pants.
“It’s not like that. This might come as a shock to you, but I take responsibility for my failures!” He says testily.
“And other people’s failures, too! That’s the problem! You can’t take responsibility for what Merlin did, Harry, it doesn’t work like that! It’s not your job to fix his mistakes, gods be damned! If you want to do this, do it because you want to not because you feel you have to clean up after him. It’s been over a thousand years, you have to accept that fact that doing this will not bring him back and make him the little boy you helped raise!” Draco shouted.
“He’s not at fault here! He didn’t know what he was doing!”
“Oh, come off it, Harry! He was a power hungry bastard that bit off more than he could chew and it got him killed! It got his family almost wiped out of existence but you spared his youngest daughter because that’s who you are! Getting yourself killed, over and over, trying to fix his mistakes isn’t going to bring him back or get him to forgive you for murdering him!” Draco says hotly and Harry wants to punch him. He wants to lash out and scream at him, wants to make him hurt for saying such things.
“It’s not like that.” He says coldly instead of hitting him.
“I may not remember all of it, but I remember this much: You killed him after he went off the rails and ever since you’ve been trying to fix that decision. Trying to excuse him, helping his decedents keep their fortune and power in tact throughout the ages, and trying to keep them alive even at the cost of your own life or mine. He’s dead, Harry, he’s dead and he’s never coming back to you. The last of his children is dead in front of Hogwarts and you can’t bring him back - he’s gone, Harry. He’s gone.” Draco says and Harry is mortified to realize that his eyes are filling with tears.
“I’m aware of that.” Harry says and refuses to let the tears fall. He leaves the room, wanting away from this conversation. He knows that truth better than anyone, he was the one who did the deed after all, who hunted his sons and damned them to death. He was the one who stood over his daughter and almost struck her from the world, almost went through with it and dealt the final blow, but he couldn’t.
Why should she have to pay for her father and brother’s sins? She had no part in their decisions; she was a child, why did she deserve to die?
Draco grabs his arm and spins him around, taking his face in his hands.
“You listen to me, Harry Potter. This is not your fault. It’s not your fault any more than its Aife Korasaki’s fault that Tom Riddle was possessed, made into a host, and ripped apart his very soul to try and contain the parasite inside him. That wasn’t your fault. Things happen, bad things, but you can’t stop them from happening just because you have a death god’s favor. This is not your fault, my love.” Draco says, staring at him like his words didn’t just cleave Harry open.
“I have to help them.” Harry whispers, finally. “I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t.”
Draco leaned forward (and down, he’d gotten so tall and Harry hadn’t really noticed) and pressed their foreheads together.
“I know you do, I just want you to know that you aren’t obliged to help them. You wouldn’t be who I fell in love with, over and over again, if you did anything other than help them. But, you can’t do this thinking that you have to fix Merlin’s mistakes. It’s time to let him go, Harry. The last of his line is dead; it’s time to let him go.”
He shakes his head and he can’t even muster the mortification over the fact that he can feel tears rolling down his face.
He hadn’t done anything to even try to save Albus, hadn’t tried harder to protect him. He hadn’t done anything all those years ago when his little sister had been killed, when Gellert broke his heart, when his brother abandoned him. He had been so mistrustful of the older man, especially after the muck up regarding Tom and Diamond, and sometimes he used to think that it would be better for everyone if the old meddler was just gone.
But now he was and there was no one left. Merlin’s last heir, the last person with his blood flowing through their veins, with a mangled pronunciation of the name he’d given to Merlin’s daughter to spare her life - he was dead.
Merlin’s line was gone.
He hid his face in Draco’s chest, his heart breaking.
Neville flings fire and curses alike as the monsters rush the line. Next to him, muggles are firing their guns and the bullets seem to have just as much effect as the curses - little to none at all.
“FALL BACK!” Someone yells loud enough to be heard over the noise and something small hits Neville right in the chest, sharp claws digging into his stomach. He punches at it and apparates away as the portkeys around the muggle soldier’s necks react to the password and activate. He reappears some yards behind the line, clutching at his stomach. There’s too much blood coming out of the wound and the material of the gloves on his hands is burning away - just what he’s always wanted: a stomach wound with something acidic making it worse.
He staggers into a tent and a mediwizard rushes up to fix him, spells flying out of their lips faster than Neville can translate them. A cream is rubbed into the wound as it closes up.
Outside, the mines explode. An unholy screeching accompanies it and the sound makes the hair on his arms stand straight up, when he comes out of the tent a few minutes later the line is strewn with body parts, mud, and sludge from the creatures. Some things are still twitching. The stump where his arm should be itches as if in response.
The ground shakes as more of the creatures come over the hill, dark shapes in the night. The new line will form two kilometers away from here and he hears the medical tents collapse into themselves as they’re portkeyed away.
‘Fred and George Weasley are geniuses’ He thinks before he vanishes, not wanting to be the last one out of camp. Sunrise is in two hours.
Part Two