Harry Potter and the End of Immortality

If you have somehow come across this notebook without the aid of time travel, you almost certainly don't know anything about Harry Potter and you most likely don't wish to.

But if you do know who he is, or for some other reason want to know anything about him, then by all means, read the contents of this journal. I can say with full confidence that I know more about Harry than anyone else on earth right now, from his shoe size to whom he lost his virginity to.

I suppose part of the reason I know Harry so well is because I was and still am in love with him, but in truth it's more or less because I am a naturally observant person. I could tell when he was upset just by glancing at him; if he skipped his usual treacle tart at dinner I grew worried about him.

The parts of his life I missed out on are easily filled in by an antique ring and an illegal Time Turner that can take you back much farther than the ordinary ones can. It may seem presumptuous of me to write out part of Harry's life story, but as I'm the only living person qualified for the job, I see no reason not to. But I digress; allow me to tell the tale as I remember it before it slips out of my weary brain.

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The two boys stumbled and fell as the Portkey rushed them in a blur of color and light to their unknown destination: an ordinary graveyard that held the body of the late Tom Riddle. The dark-haired boy fell to the ground in pain as his injured ankle gave way underneath him.

The other boy's hair was changing color slowly, shifting from a lighter brown to a dark red and back again as he helped the dark-haired boy up from the ground. Glancing around nervously, he whispered, "D'you think this is part of the task? Wands out, I reckon..."

Now the second boy was changing again, this time into a gargantuan half-giant, but the dark-haired boy didn't notice this. He was watching a figure holding a bundle of cloaks walk slowly towards them...

It was Wormtail. Frozen, the half-giant slowly shifted back into a redhead and suddenly yelled at the approaching figure, "If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill me first! Do you hear me? You'll have to kill us first!" A bushy-haired girl appeared next to the redhead, tears streaming down her face as the figure came closer and closer...

"Kill the spares." There was a flash of green light and both the redhead and the bushy-haired girl fell to the ground, both murmuring softly, "We'll come with you, Harry..." Suddenly the red-haired boy was a full-grown man, almost a mirror image of the dark-haired boy...and the girl's hair was becoming thinner and much, much redder...

Suddenly the dark-haired boy clutched his forehead in agony as a blazing pain overcame his entire body...

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Harry sat up abruptly in bed, sweating profusely and gasping for air. It had just been a dream...hadn't it? It had seemed so real...and then his head had been splitting in half...

He stumbled out of bed and across the room to his desk, wincing as his scar twinged slightly. Professor Dumbledore had instructed Harry to write him anytime he had a dream that involved real pain in his scar, for what he was seeing could be real and Dumbledore needed to know anything Voldemort was up to.

Pausing, Harry considered this both thoughtfully and fearfully. Obviously the dream hadn't really taken place-people didn't have the ability to change form in real life and the Triwizard Tournament was in the past-but what if Voldemort was planning to kill one of his best friends? This had been Harry's greatest fear ever since the aftermath of the Triwizard Tournament and the very real death of Cedric Diggory: putting those he cared for in danger.

Just to be careful, Harry scribbled out a quick letter to Dumbledore, sealed it, and jotted out another letter to Sirius Black, his godfather, who also wanted to be informed of any nightmares-although Sirius also wanted details of his waking nightmares, the Dursleys. If they did anything Sirius didn't approve, he'd casually write one of them a short but efficient letter threatening to slit their throats in their sleep if they didn't stop treating Harry so horribly. He had used a special type of parchment that combusted as soon as the receiver finished reading it so that the Dursleys couldn't tell the police about the notes, and so far Harry had enjoyed a much more relaxing summer vacation than he normally did.

Hedwig, sensing her services were needed, clicked her beak several times and waited patiently for Harry to open her cage. He tied both of the letters to her left leg, then opened his window enough to let her fly out before quickly shutting it again. The weather had been excruciatingly hot this summer, and Harry didn't want to risk waking up any more sweaty than he already had to.

He crawled back into bed, hoping against hope he wouldn't have another nightmare-he felt had experienced his share of sleepless nights this summer.

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Satanachia, Commanding-General of Hell and enthusiastic rapist, didn't normally visit the physical world above his own. He had long ago found his ability to control all women and girls on earth rather tiresome, and since the Prime Minister wouldn't grant him any other special powers, he had chosen to remain underground unless he encountered very special circumstances.

Circumstances such as those he had tonight, for example. One of his lower officers, Sargatanas, had a sticky mortal situation to deal with, and the sooner he got it over with, the better. Some follower of Sargatanas had killed herself after being granted invisibility; apparently she hadn't realized that the invisibility charm was permanent and would wear off only in death. Normally when a follower killed themselves to escape the consequences of their own actions and thereby broke the contract between themselves and a given demon the spirits of Hell would torture their soul, but Sargatanas preferred flesh to spirit and wished to possess the dead girl's identical twin sister.

Such a thing could be worked out, Satanachia reasoned. If they had been fraternal twins, it would have been a different story, but since the two girls had temporarily resided in the same body (or fetus, if you were picky about such things), they could technically be considered the same person, and Sargatanas would get his pleasure from the living twin.

She would have to be trained, of course, and that would take some extra time and effort, but that was Sargatanas's problem, not his. If he wanted the girl so badly, he would have to pay the price, small as it was. All Satanachia was needed for was reinforcement; his ability to control women would prove quite useful in convincing the girl to do as they asked. He knew she would give in in the end.

After all, it wasn't as though she had a say in the matter.

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Voldemort sat on a newly constructed wooden throne draped with black velvet, considering the plan his servant had just suggested to him.

"What are you thinking, my lord? Would my plan work?"

Voldemort curled his fingers tightly around his wand, marveling at the feel of them. Having been deprived of a body for so long, this sensation of being able to hold things felt nearly miraculous to him. For the first time, he understood what newborns went through when they first came out of their mother's wombs.

"What do you think, Wormtail? Would it?"

Sensing something was not right, Wormtail said shakily, "Well...yes. Kidnapping Harry Potter while he is at Hogwarts would send a very strong message to that Headmaster about where you stand and just how powerful you have become, my lord."

"Do you really think so?" Voldemort smiled cruelly. "And just how are you planning on actually kidnapping the boy without being detected, Wormtail?"

"Er...I was going to leave the more intricate details of the plan up to you, my lord."

"You have failed me, Wormtail." He raised his wand slowly, enjoying Wormtail's horrified expression.

"Master, please, I-"

"Crucio!" Wormtail collapsed to the floor in a heap, screaming. Voldemort sighed, still pointing the wand at Wormtail.

"When you think of a better plan for killing Harry Potter or for restoring my immortality, let me know. Now leave!"

Groaning in a manner that reminded Harry of a squeaking mouse, Wormtail raised himself up to his knees and whispered, "My lord, please!"

"LEAVE!"

"Yes, master!" Wormtail scurried away, frantic at the thought of being on Voldemort's bad side again. Voldemort sat back in his chair dejectedly, glaring at the floor where Wormtail had just been.

Suddenly he turned into his chair and stared straight at Harry, who had surveyed the entire scene. Smirking, he quickly raised his wand and-

"Crucio!"

Harry's head was on fire once more...he couldn't take the pain...

"STOP!" Harry sat up in bed for the third time that night, gasping for breath and worried sick. That dream had been real, he had no doubt...he was about to go over to his desk to write a second letter to Dumbledore when he realized that would be pointless; he had already sent Hedwig away, and she wouldn't be back for a couple of weeks if Sirius was where Harry thought he was. Exhausted, he laid back down and tried to shut his eyes, tried to fall asleep again, but he found that he couldn't.

He couldn't stop thinking about the dream. Was Voldemort really that desperate to end his life? And why had he asked Wormtail to help him with "restoring his immortality"?

What puzzled Harry most was that Voldemort seemed to be letting the less than talented Pettigrew doing most of his work for him. Why couldn't he come up with ideas himself? Yawning, Harry decided to write that letter to Dumbledore now after all and get his dream down on paper before he forgot it entirely.

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Satanachia and Sargatanas stood side by side, peering through the windows of the dead girl's sister's room.

"Nice, Sarg. Very nice. I must say, you do know how to pick 'em."

Sargatanas waved a hand as if to say it were nothing. "Sure, she's gorgeous, but look at those clothes! Why is she wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans in the middle of August?"

"Maybe she's modest. She might even be religious..."

"I hope not. I haven't had a human woman for awhile now. I can't wait much longer..."

"You'll live. Now let's start, I have a meeting with the Prime Minister and the Lieutenant-General in less than an hour and you know how the Minister is about being on time." The two of them walked through the wall of the house and into the girl's room silently.

She was draped across an oversized bean bag chair, reading a Jane Austen novel and occasionally taking sips out of a large mug of hot chocolate. Smirking at Satanachia, Sargatanas cleared his throat loudly.

Jumping up, the girl whirled around and screamed very loudly, the mug slipping out of her hands and shattering on the wooden floor, her book landing in a puddle of hot chocolate and marshmallows. She backed against a wooden desk, trembling with fear.

"What...who are you?"

Sargatanas stepped forward, smiling. "I'm Sargatanas, Brigadier of Hell, and this is Satanachia, Commanding-General. We're demons."

"What do you want?" She reached slowly behind her, searching for the letter opener she kept on her desk, but Satanachia snapped, "Don't bother. Knives don't hurt us, we're immortal."

"Oh, and by the way, screaming won't help you. We soundproofed your room before we entered it." Sargatanas sat down on the girl's bed and said, "How much did you know about your sister's religious beliefs?" He motioned for her to sit down next to him, but she stayed where she was.

"SIT!" Shaking, the girl sat next to him, and the bed creaked slightly from the combined weight of the two of them. "Now answer my questions, or my friend here will show you what he can do."

The girl just stared at the two of them blankly until Satanachia waved an arm threateningly. "We...we shared the same religious beliefs. We don't belong to any specific religious group...we just meditated a lot and things like that. Am I...dreaming this?"

Sargatanas laughed at that, a great booming laugh that shook the very walls of the small room. "Do you think you are?" The girl shook her head slightly, and he continued. "Your sister used to serve me, but I cast an invisibility charm on her one time and she killed herself after she realized it was permanent. Since you two are identical twins, you came from the same egg and are classified as the same person in Hell's record books. Now, normally we just torture the souls of our dead followers, but since you and your sister are the same person, we thought it'd be best if you just served in her place. That way, your sister's soul will be spared."

The girl's face clouded over at the mention of her dead sister, but she did want to save her soul. "What...what do I have to do?" Suddenly Satanachia vanished; his influence wouldn't be needed. The girl was cooperating.

Sargatanas curled his arm around her shoulders, a thrill going up his spine as the girl gasped slightly. "You will do whatever I ask you to. In return, I will give you invisibility, teach you the arts of seduction and lovemaking, and give you pretty much any material object you desire."

She stared up at him, her eyes growing wide at the idea of having anything she wanted. "Anything? I can have anything I want?"

"Anything. But you must do exactly what I tell you, or you'll suffer the consequences." His face grew dark for a moment, then returned to its normal state. "Do you swear total allegiance to me in exchange for the peace of your sister's soul and the other things I mentioned?"

The girl swallowed visibly, her Adam's apple bobbing as she did so. "I...I do."

Excellent! This had gone much better than Sargatanas could have imagined. "Good. Now, lie back on the bed and close your eyes."

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This wasn't the first night Willow Tolaza had had a hard time falling asleep. Apparently Ireland's weather was just as bad as England's at times-it had been raining nonstop for the past three weeks, along with occasional thunderstorms that raged nonstop. Having an attic bedroom hadn't turned out to be what Willow had hoped it would be, and while normally she would have asked to be switched another bedroom, there was no point now. She had put up quite a fight about having the attic as her room when they first arrived here, and they were about to move again anyway.

She and her family had only been in Ireland for about three months now, but everyone was all too ready to leave this place, for it was the location of the Incident, which none of them spoke of when Nari was around for fear she do something rash.

A sudden creak in the wooden floor on the staircase outside her room jolted Willow from her thoughts. She knew without looking which sister of hers it was; Nari was extremely skilled at walking silently, and Willow hadn't heard any footsteps before that lone creak.

Sure enough, the door opened slowly and Nari Tolaza stepped quietly through it, shutting it silently behind her. She tossed her brilliant silvery hair and said pointedly, "Move it. I'm sleeping here tonight."

Startled by her sister's bluntness, Willow folded her arms across her chest defensively. "No way. This is my room; Mum said I could have it and you'll have to live with it. You got the good room in the last house we had."

"It isn't because this is the 'good room,' Willow I just don't want to be in that room right now, all right? Now move!" Nari crossed the room rapidly to the bed, gave Willow a good shove that knocked her off the bed, and crawled on top, not looking at her sister.

"What was that for? What's with you tonight?"

"Hmm, I wonder. Maybe it's because that room has bad memories for me?" So that was it...Nari was remembering the Incident. Understandable.

"That room has bad memories for all of us," Willow said softly, getting up slowly and straightening out her nightgown.

"Were you there?" Nari asked sharply. Startled for the second time that night, Willow glared at Nari without speaking. "I didn't think so. You didn't walk in and see her...you weren't home alone with the phones not working..."

"Sorry." It came out barely more than a whisper, but she truly meant it.

"Well isn't that sweet. Now out! Leave me alone!" And Nari turned away from Willow, leaving her stunned at her sister's sudden odd behavior.

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Hermione Granger yawned as she read the letter Ron had sent her, smiling to herself happily. While there wasn't anything of a romantic nature in his letters, there had been a definite increase in the number she was receiving from him, and she supposed that was better than nothing.

She had been in the middle of a Potions essay on the three types of forbidden potions-poisons, truth potions, and love potions. The first two were only to be used in extreme circumstances, while the third had been banned centuries ago because the Dark Lord Grindelwald had been using them to gain more power. She supposed having half the wizarding population fall madly in love with you would give you some influence.

She placed Ron's letter gently on her nightstand along with all the others from him and Harry, then pulled out a fresh piece of parchment so she could respond. She always had a hard time writing letters to him now, especially the closing bits where she put "Love From Hermione." True, she put that on the letters she wrote to Harry as well, but it felt odd to write it now that she really did like Ron in that way. He obviously wasn't going to figure out how she felt anytime soon-he was too much of a typical boy-but she still worried one of her letters might somehow reveal how she really felt about him.

Pausing, her quill hovering just above the surface of the parchment, she tried to think of something interesting to write. She hadn't been doing much this summer aside from studying and preparing for the O.W.L.s, and was beginning to slightly regret turning down Viktor's invitation to spend part of the summer with him. She had said no mainly because she didn't want to give him the wrong message about where she stood on their relationship (she wanted it to end, the sooner the better), but it would have been better than this.

Worst of all was that Ron hadn't invited her over to his house at all. She knew it was because he didn't want Harry to feel left out, seeing as he couldn't visit anyone because of Dumbledore's orders, but it still bothered her. She missed both of them terribly, and felt helpless because all she could do about her loneliness was hope Dumbledore would decide it was safe for Harry to leave the Dursleys for a few weeks.

Sighing, she started writing.

Dear Ron,

How's your summer going? Mine's doing fine.

No, that was silly. Crumpling the parchment up, she took out a new sheet and started over, knowing the crumpled letter on the floor was only the first of many rejects.

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