The Serpent and the Eagle

Chapter One - You Still Have All Of Me

[My Immortal]

[Evanescence]

I'm so tired of being here...

Suppressed by all my childish fears.

And if you have to leave,

I wish that you would just leave

Cause your presence still lingers here

And it won't leave me alone.

These wounds won't seem to heal.

This pain is just too real.

There's just too much that time

Cannot erase.

If you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears,

If you screamed I'd fight away all of your fears,

And I held your hand through all of these years.

But you still have...all of me.

You used to captivate me

By your resonating life,

But now I'm bound by the life

You left behind.

Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams.

Your voice has chased away

All of the sanity in me.

These wounds won't seem to heal.

This pain is just too real.

There's just too much that time

Cannot erase.

And you'd cry, I'd wipe away all of your tears,

And you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears,

And I held your hand through all of these years.

But you still have...all of me.

I've tried so hard to tell

Myself that you're gone.

But though you're still with me

I've been alone all along.

And you'd cry, I'd wipe away all of your tears,

And you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears,

And I held your hand through all of these years.

But you still have...all of me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No. 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey

Green light...a blinding flash...screams...such pain that it was as if a bolt of lightning was scorching across his forehead...

'Please...stop screaming, mummy...' he murmured.

A fluttering veil...disturbed only by a man's soundless screaming face as he stumbled through it...

'HARRY!' The words died on his lips as he fell in a graceful arc, and the fifteen-year-old felt a surge of grief more powerful than a tsunami. Sirius vanished...and Harry had the eerie sensation that his own soul had fallen through with him...

He jerked awake, wide eyed and covered from head to toe in a cold sweat.

He took a moment to look around the room, taking in the familiar shapes and sleepy nighttime scents that he knew so well - sweat, blankets, the light scent of his mint shampoo on the pillow, and the somewhat foul odour of owl droppings.

His mind calmed rapidly, and his heart slowed to a gentler beat.

He passed a slim hand across his forehead and groped for his round spectacles on the bedside table. He scooped them up and set them securely on the bridge of his nose.

Harry stretched and got hesitantly to his feet, feeling his muscles protest at this deprival of sleep.

'Happy birthday, Harry,' he muttered. 'Sixteen at last, and what have you got to show for it?'

Harry gave his reflection a wan grin as he stumbled toward it. It was the first time he had even attempted a smile since...He distracted himself quickly. It was still too much to bear.

Though, thin, his muscles were more defined. The lightning scar on his brow peered from between errant clumps of sweat-spiked hair. Those same electric jade eyes blinked somewhat drowsily as he studied his mirror image, finally acknowledging the dark circles that clustered beneath them, and the red tinge that skirted their outline. Harry dismissed them as a result of lack of sleep.

But why haven't you been sleeping? A nasty little voice hissed in Harry's mind. Too scared to sleep without your dead mummy and daddy, ickle baby Potter? Or is it your dead godfather?

Nothing could quell this ache in his heart. This dull, throbbing void where his godfather had once dwelled ate away at his spirit like a maggot gnawing at decayed fruit. Letters from Hermione and Ron assuaged the guilt and the grief for brief, euphoric moments, but the sorrow returned like the proverbial bad penny to coat his heart in sadness.

The very memory of Sirius' smile, and his laugh like that of some mighty dog, and even the way the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled when he grinned haunted him like a phantasm.

Rain beat a steady tattoo against the window, and Harry ducked his head out of it. Anything to wash this feeling from his skin, the too familiar sting of tears and their hot tracks down his cheeks!

The contrast of cold rain coursing down his face was almost pleasurable. It was relief, sheer and unadulterated to lose this feeling from his flesh, this feeling that enclosed him like a cage and constantly dug its claws into his soul...

'Who am I kidding?' he wept into the summer rain. 'I'd give all my blood just to have you back again, Sirius!'

He remembered how Sirius died. He remembered crying his name. He slammed the window shut and fled to the sanctuary of his bed. Crawling into a secure corner, he scurried beneath the blankets and buried his face in his hands.

His sheets were wet with tears, sweat and rainwater.

His heart was drowning in it.

He heard over and over in his head those taunting, cruel words...

Bellatrix Lestrange in the Department of Mysteries, mocking him only moments after her own cousin, and Harry's godfather combined had died.

'Aw...did you love him, baby Potter?' she sneered.

Harry grit his teeth so hard that the shock of pain snapped him out of his grief.

'I did love him,' Harry mourned, 'I loved him so much that I thought my heart would break. And now it is. Thanks to you, Bella. And thanks to me. If I hadn't...if only I had...I wish I had studied Occlumency harder, and maybe then you wouldn't be gone, Sirius!'

No response came to him. No epiphany arrived with a message of cosmic love, no ephemeral words of comfort echoed through his mind. Only his own voice soothed him.

He's gone, he told himself, gone. I have to rely on myself now.

From the corner, his snowy owl Hedwig hooted. Harry emerged from his cocoon of misery and shuffled over to her. He patted her on the head and pressed his face to her soft brow.

'Thanks, Hedwig,' Harry smiled softly, stroking her feathered face as gently as though she were fragile porcelain.

To his surprise, Hedwig extended her wing and stroked his cheek, as though to wipe away an errant tear. Harry bowed his head and smiled gratefully. At least someone he loved was still with him.

'Do you want to go hunting?' Harry asked, coaxing her onto his forearm. 'You've been living on owl kibble for ages now.'

She hooted softly and beat her wings in the direction of the open window.

Harry gave the faintest of smiles and opened it up again.

'Off you go. Make sure you come back soon, ok? I couldn't bear to lose you, too.'

Hedwig hooted reassuringly and glided into the night on silent wings.

Harry watched her go, and called softly, 'If you aren't back in two days, go on to Hogwarts, okay?'

Hedwig's calming hoot echoed back through the night to him.

Harry retreated to his bed and curled beneath the covers like a frightened dog. The warmth where his body had lain previously still lingered there, and he gratefully accepted its heat. Sandwiched between soft cotton sheets and a light duvet, Harry felt sleep coax him into its realm once more.

His eyelids twitched and itched as sleep sought to claim him, and eventually he surrendered to its will, silently praying that he would be spared from the nightmares that plagued him. He removed his glasses and placed them gently on the bedside locker.

'Night, Sirius. Love you,' he murmured, and he fell into a deep sleep.

Malfoy Manor, England

Elsewhere in England, Harry would have been pleased - even in his mind's current state of catatonia - to know that Draco Malfoy had not been sleeping very well either.

Draco clambered out of his massive double bed and shrugged on a velvet bathrobe across his nude body. What need had he of pyjamas? He slept in such a huge bed, with such thick fur-lined curtains that he no longer required nightwear!

Right now, the only thing he required was the bathroom...and for these nightmares to go away.

The bathroom was only twenty metres away, but the floor was icy cold ever since their house elves had claimed they would only accept proper orders from Master Lucius. His mother had been absolutely livid, and blamed Lucius entirely for the whole sordid affair.

At dinner one night soon after Lucius' trial, she had placed her cutlery down on the table in disgust.

Draco recognised the silent tantrum that characterised his mother's temperament.

'What's wrong, mother?' Draco asked tentatively.

'I told him!' she sniffed viciously, 'I told him that consorting with Death Eaters would only land him in the dragon's den!'

'Mother, you were also...consorting...as I recall,' Draco pointed out fairly.

Narcissa Malfoy glared angrily at her son.

'Don't you dare try to pin this on me, Draco,' she said coolly.

'No, mother. I won't,' Draco said wearily.

Narcissa smiled at him warmly. 'There's my little man. Now be a good boy, and give your poor mummy a hug before you go to bed.'

Draco had obliged her and traipsed through cold corridors to his bedchambers.

Tonight however, the mansion was impossibly cold. Draco winced as his warm feet hit the chilly floor. Every nerve protested at this disturbance of sleep, but Draco's bladder overruled them.

'Damn you, Potter!' he snarled.

He ran to the bathroom, now thoroughly roused and awake.

This was all Harry Potter's fault! If the little upstart had never gotten his father imprisoned, Draco Malfoy would still have central heating and clothes laundered daily, instead of weekly. It was absolutely unbearable to run out of fresh underwear every Friday.

Despite his father's reassurances that he would be able to talk his way out of the situation, he was now rotting in Azkaban, with only Aurors for company. Each Death Eater was kept on a completely different floor so they would be unable to contact each other, and each cell was lined with titanium, the only metal that could truly inhibit a wizard's powers.

So, Draco found it absolutely unavoidable that he despise Potter even more so than he had ever done.

And he was already plotting revenge against the Boy Who Lived.

A revenge so cruel and heart-wrenching that for years afterwards people would wince and say, 'Ye gods, how mean can you get?'

But that was exactly how Draco liked it. It had once been said that one should battle without honour or humanity. It had also been said that revenge was best served cold. Draco decided that it should merely be lukewarm.

He winced as his naked rear end touched the cold enamel of the toilet seat.

'Damn you, Potter. Damn you!' he hissed.

He ran on tiptoe back to the cosy warmth of his bed, and curled up with a copy of Dante Alighieri's "Inferno".

If he couldn't sleep, at least he'd be doing something constructive.

"The Happy Dragon" Chinese Restaurant and Takeaway, London

'A long tray of egg fried rice, Wan Ton soup, two bags of prawn crackers, aromatic duck, a single portion of soft noodles and a large tray of spicy curry sauce with onions. That'll be twenty pounds and fifteen pence, please.'

The corpulent man on the opposite side of the counter dug deep into his pants pockets to retrieve his wallet. There were tiny stains down the front of his massive t-shirt. It resembled a Russian Circus tent, albeit one that bore the legend: "ELVIS LIVES".

Cho had to admit, he really was horrendously obese. Any day now, he'd probably file a lawsuit against them for making him that horrible way. They were not obliged to serve him, of course, but the customer is always right...and he was their best customer.

She handed him the two brown paper bags with a winsome smile.

'Enjoy your meal, and please order from The Happy Dragon again,' Cho recited hollowly.

He winked playfully and said, 'Can I order you next time, gorgeous?' He leered at her as he waddled out the door.

'Can I offer you Slim-Fast next time, fatbag?' Cho snarled as the door closed behind him. 'You shithead. Your mother sucks Dementors in the Forbidden Forest!'

Cho hated this job.

Her father had convinced her to take it on over the summer, in order to earn some cash before her return to Hogwarts.

'Please, pumpkin, just to help out Uncle Ping?' her father had said pleadingly. 'He really needs the help...and he'll pay you, too! Five pounds an hour, how does that sound?'

'Fantastic, daddy. Just absolutely spiffing,' Cho said softly.

'I know you're still upset about your boyfriend Cedric...and about what Harry Potter and his friends did to you and poor Marietta...' her father began awkwardly.

'No, daddy, I'm not upset at all!' Cho had retorted, tears stinging her eyes like nettles, 'The fact that my boyfriend was murdered, and my most recent boyfriend turned out to be a git doesn't bother me!'

Her father looked pained, and removed his glasses. He couldn't bear it when Cho was angry with him, and if anything that made Cho even angrier than before.

Her mother had died when she was a child, leaving her father Li to take care of her. He was hopelessly inept, and Cho remembered how his cheeks burned when he asked her did she need a bra. That was when she was fourteen, and had been wearing one for three years.

He was timid and gentle, never uttering a harsh word, but he always knew what buttons to press to make Cho do exactly as he said. He never compromised, or cajoled or coaxed her into doing things, he merely had to look at her with puppy dog eyes.

It was heart-rending for her to see that look on her daddy's face. The last time he had looked that sad was when her mother died. His joie de vivre died with her, and Cho never wanted to see him that sad again.

Even so, this was an unmitigated disgrace! It seemed like such a cliché; a girl of Chinese origin working in a Chinese takeaway. It was such a horrid, and somehow non-politically correct cliché at that!

At least she was working with her family, a at the very least the restaurant was clean and beautifully decorated. The ceiling panels were dark red, and decorated with a filigree golden pattern. The floor was tiled in the same shade, with every other tile bearing a golden design. The wall behind the counter was painted with a massive mural of a magnificent phoenix rising from dancing flames, and a carved golden Chinese Fireball dragon crept its way across the counter.

Traditional Chinese music played across the strategically placed speakers, enveloping the diners in a soft Chinese atmosphere.

Uncle Ping was a squib, and had started this restaurant and takeaway to chide away the shame.

The Chang family were very prominent in the Hong Kong wizarding community, and they had moved to Britain in the early 1930's to avoid the local stigma of having a squib in the family. Unlike most wizarding families in that age, the Chang family refused to abandon their magically impaired son.

Cho plotted revenge against the lecherous, ugly, fat bastard and soon realised that he wasn't the source of her irritation.

Harry Potter, on the other hand, was.

Ah, well. Only two more days until she returned to Hogwarts. She had all her equipment, and she was truly looking forward to this year. It was her final year, and she hoped to get enough NEWTs to become a Healer.

Her shift was over in two minutes, and then Uncle ping would take over.

Cho removed the orchid from her hair and replaced it in the vase on the counter. After all, she had no desire to look like that exotic, albeit wilted, flower.

Time to cut loose and have a drink with some of the local guys!

And then, if she was still somewhat sensible when she reached her home, she'd write to Marietta.

Poor Marietta...the word "SNEAK" still hadn't faded from her face.

That damn Hermione Granger, and that idiotic Harry Potter! If it wasn't for them two, Marietta would still be pretty and outgoing, and Cho would not have to bury her grief with booze in the local laneways with the local tearaways.

Uncle Ping opened the front door and strolled through the tables, greeting customers and wishing them 'Bon appetit!'

Cho rolled her eyes heavenward fondly.

'How's my little magic butterfly?' Uncle Ping crowed, scooping her into his arms and spinning her around.

Cho giggled madly.

'Put me down, Uncle Ping!' she laughed.

Normally she loved working with Uncle Ping. He was always so happy when she showed him the latest spell she had learned in school, and called her his little magic butterfly.

Uncle Ping may not have been very handsome or intelligent, but Cho worshipped him. He had always been supportive and caring whenever she was concerned, seeing to her interests first and foremost.

Cho's latest interests had involved "improving" and "reinventing" herself.

Her silken midnight coloured locks were cropped to her shoulder in a trendy layered bob, and she wore green glitter eye shadow coupled with vivid red lipstick.

She had cast off the prim and proper skirts and blouses she usually wore at Hogwarts, and had gone for something a tad more daring. Tartan skirts that skimmed her thighs, knee-high leather boots and tight shirts with slogans emblazoned across her breasts were the norm for Cho these days.

She loved the attention she got while wearing them, as long as said attention did not come from portly customers like the previous one.

'Well look at you!' Ping cooed, ruffling Cho's hair, 'When did you get that done?'

'Yesterday,' Cho replied.

'Oh? Glad to see you're spending my money well!' Ping joked. 'Now, off you go Madame Butterfly. The world awaits you!'

'You're so silly.' Cho smiled.

'Isn't that what uncles do best?' he quipped, and disappeared into the kitchens.

Cho pulled on her denim jacket and strolled out of the restaurant, discovering to her revulsion that Fatbag was waiting for her.

'Hey, baby, going my way?' he leered, lurching drunkenly towards her.

Cho smiled wickedly. She was now seventeen, and could use magic freely outside of school.

'I warn you, sir, stay away from me if you know what's good for you!' Cho said firmly.

'Oh, I love 'em fiery!' he growled, almost dropping his takeaway with lust. He pinned her against the wall, his face unpleasantly close.

Cho sighed wearily and pulled her wand from her jacket pocket.

'You asked for this,' she said apologetically.

'I know I did...' he growled, leaning towards her neck.

'Tarantallegra!' Cho whispered, aiming the spell at his fat legs. She ducked under his arms and ran to what she deemed to be a safe distance to watch the fun.

His legs jerked about crazily, and he spilled his food all over the path.

Cho giggled madly as two police officers rounded the corner, and he kicked them both squarely in the shins.

'Finite Incantatum,' Cho murmured, aiming the new spell at fatbag.

He instantly stopped bouncing around, just in time to be cuffed and arrested by the police.

'Obliterate,' Cho grinned, aiming the spell at his forehead. Fatbag passed out, forgetting the last five minutes had ever happened. There was no way he could implicate Cho as a witch, and the lecherous gimp would stay arrested.

'I love happy endings,' sighed Cho, 'and revenge!'