Shadow and Flame

"All right, loves. Time for bed."

The woman stood inside the well-used playroom, speaking to the three children huddled around their miniature Quidditch pitch. Her face, while once beautiful, was now aged and gaunt. Her eyes were empty and cold. They held the unmistakable mark of tragedy.

"Story! Story! Story!" chimed the three in unison, as they prodded the players to and fro, smashing them into rings and other players, wreaking havoc in the stands.

The woman's aged face showed no weariness as she removed them from their King Kong Quiddich and shooed them into their beds, tucking their sheets in around them like tourniquets.

"Story, eh? Did I ever tell you about the time I made a love potion with..."

"No, not that one again! We want to hear about heroes and dragons! About adventure! We want to hear the one about the Battle of the Black Marshes again!"

She sighed and her shoulders dropped, suddenly wearied.

The children could never understand the pain of that day - she hoped they never would have to. The only reason she kept telling it to them was that each time, the pain was less poignant.

She took a deep breath, regaining her composure. One more time.

"Alright. But after that, sleep - straightaway.

"It was cold and dark that day, but it was not wet. The rain didn't start until it was all over - it was there to wash the battlefield clean. The two sides faced each other across the march. Endless rows of hooded, cloaked figures were lined up against our ragtag ranks. All faded into the fog. There was an endless, nervous rustling all around me - people fidgeting with their wands, their robes, shifting their weight, ready for action, waiting. Harry stood just behind the first row, hidden until his time came, ready as all of us. In front of him stood Lupin and Ron, and they shielded him.

"We didn't know what we were waiting for until it came. Across the moor, we heard faint murmuring, and as it continued, it became stronger. It built up until it was painfully loud, and then the avalanche of Dark spells hit us all. It harmed no one, but a dome stronger than titanium erupted from their ranks, covering them, shielding them. The light quickly dissipated, but we could still smell the crackling of the shield charm - it smelled like lightning.

"At once, two hundred wands erupted with curses and spells from all around me, all directed at the now-invisible dome. And at once, two hundred bursts of multi-colored light ricocheted right back at us, and two hundred bodies hit the floor, ducking our own onslaught.

"Bursts of light whizzed by my head, some brushing my ear or scorching my hair. We were doing everything we could think of to bring down that shield, but nothing we could do - no curses we could devise - could even touch them.

"Their curses, most of them Unforgivables, with a few extra-special bloody ones thrown in, could get right through to our ranks. Those who didn't fall to the spells of the Death Eaters were likely to catch the bad end of one of our own.

"Things were looking dire for our side. Now, children, don't get scared, because..."

"We aren't, Gramma!" they interrupted, enthralled by the story. "Tell us what happened next!"

"Okay, okay - didn't your mother ever teach you any patience? So anyway, many of us were scared. The outcome of this battle looked dire. We knew the importance of it - all of our ranks were present, and all of his ranks were present. If we didn't succeed, if we didn't stop them, then who would? Many of us had families, many of us..."

"Yeah, yeah, we've heard this before!" the children exclaimed. "Get to the good part!"

"I say, patience, children, patience! Honestly...it's a thing called manners... Alright, alright."

She continued, "So things were getting desperate. None of the Death Eaters had even been harmed."

"And then, a silence slowly filtered through the moor, compelling and consuming us. We looked across the field, suddenly stilled by the oppressive silence, and were shocked by what we saw. One by one, the ranks of Lord Voldemort," involuntarily giving a shudder that went unnoticed by her entranced audience, "began to fall.

"We thought it was a miracle - we thought that someone up above was shining Light into that Darkness - we stood dumbfounded. The ranks were thinning. Death Eaters were falling. And as we looked across the battlefield, we witnessed the fall of Dark. Emerging atop a pile of cloaked corpses, one final hero stood defiant and proud, his wand in his hand.

"And with his first and last look of open hatred and disgust shot at the only one left standing amongst the bodes, he stoically made his way over to our side, across the vast expanse between Dark and Light. His cloak billowed behind him, as it ever had.

"Severus Snape had brought the fall of the Death Eaters.

"But the fight against darkness had only just begun. It was now someone else's turn to shape it. Our ranks parted, revealing our final weapon against Dark. Harry Potter stepped forward, ready to face his part in destiny.

"No matter which way you looked at it, the battle was mismatched. The Dark Lord was experienced, cruel, and unforgiving, and Harry was fresh out of Hogwarts, still unsure of himself. Voldemort was imposing, and try as he might to suppress his fears, Harry still cowered.

"He fought valiantly, though - I imagine the thought of his parents sustained him... or maybe the thought of Sirius, and all the others who had not died in vain."

She paused.

"And neither would he," she said, her voice thin and soft.

Tears threatened to overtake her, and her voice began to crack. But at the respectful silence of her grandchildren, she continued on.

"After... after Harry passed, Voldemort just stood there. He had already heard the prophecy, of course. But he just stood there, looking down at the body of the only worthy adversary he would ever have.

"Then slowly, his gaze moved to the lifeless heap of his old supporters. How little they were worth to him in death! They had been his only supporters, his last few. He was now very, very alone.

"None of us had even twitched since Harry had stepped forward - this was not our battle to fight. But a hatred so deep and so primal rose up in us - we wanted to tear every limb off that demon."

Her face was now rigid, full of hatred and anger.

"But before we could do anything, before any of us could form a rational thought, a sound as powerful as thunder ripped through the mire. He turned towards us, his face suddenly scared, scared of the knowledge and understanding that hit him in that moment. Then slowly, slowly, the pillar of evil and darkness that was the Dark Lord crumbled. His cloak disintegrated into the air like the ashes of a dying fire and his wand crumbled to dust in his translucent, shaking hand. Then, as when matter meets antimatter, his body collapsed in upon itself. The paradox was resolved.

"Lord Voldemort was no more."

The woman sniffed and straightened up again.

"But Gramma - what happened to Harry?"

"We searched for him, but he met the same fate as Voldemort. His body had turned to dust."

"We're sorry, Gramma - but we're glad that you're here."

She kissed them on the foreheads, and tucked the sheets in round them again. "So am I, little ones. But now it's time for bed. Goodnight, loves."

And as darkness overtook their bedroom, Pansy Parkinson made her way back to her own room, where waited an eternally empty double bed.

*******************************************

Pansy was wrenched from her dream, gasping for air. She was cold and clammy - she had relived the Battle of the Black Marshes again. She reached over and turned on her bedside lamp, throwing light into the room, reassuring her that she was not surrounded by the dead bodies of those she fought with.

Her eyes fell upon the foot of her now-illuminted bed, for it had just rustled of its own accord.

She screamed.

Sitting there, in her room, very much alive, was Harry Potter.

Her brain refused to process the information. This was lucky, because the two facts, 'Harry Potter is sitting on my bed,' and 'Harry Potter is dead,' decided to coexist peacefully in her head.

Her breath came in ragged gasps. The Harry that sat before her was not the one she remembered. His face was shrunken and emaciated. The skin was stretched grotesquely over his cheekbones, and the last semblance of human compassion had vanished from his face. His eyes were sunken; the thoughtful green pools had flattened and grown stagnant. He was hollow. The Harry that sat before her had been destroyed.

"Pansy..." he whispered. "Pansy, I...I am..." He was gasping for breath, making his words unintelligible.

Then she noticed something that winded her. Harry was still seventeen years old. Despite the destruction that had been wreaked upon his body, it was still the teenage body that had fallen that day.

She scrambled over to him, her motherly instincts taking over, and threw her arms around him without thinking. She wanted to take away all the pain that was written on his face and in his soul.

She felt him flinch away from her touch, and she drew back, unsure of what to do.

His deadened eyes sought her out.

"Pansy...why?" The words came out in a strangled sob that contained the pain and horror he'd seen trapped in eternity.

A sob left her lungs involuntarily, answering his. There was nothing else she could do. She would willingly lift his pain from him - she would take it for herself - if only she could.

So she just sat there, suspended between death and eternity, loathing and caring, and the Harry she once knew and this stranger who sat on her bed.

His lungs began to work once more. "Pansy...Pansy, help me...help..." He spoke slowly, with words forced from his lips by sheer strength of will. She did not answer him; he waited for no answer. "The place I was sent to...where I have lived out an eternity already...it is..." his breathing became strangled and choked, "it is a shadow world that haunts my step; it chills my skin and it invades every last corner of my mind. I cannot escape it. I cannot..."

She suddenly became acutely aware of the irregular rise and fall of her chest, of the air rushing through her mouth. Her heart was beating audibly. She was alive, and he... She felt no heat coming from his insubstantial body.

She realized she was straining to see him - to keep him in focus. The light from her bedside table didn't fall on him as brightly as it had before. He was fading away.

"Harry? Wait, don't...Harry - Harry! Harry!"

The room faded into obscurity, leaving her floundering for something to hold onto. Wind rushed past her face, whipping her hair, and she felt the dampness of mist on her skin. Then reality came back into focus with the sound of children's voices.

"Hurry! Hurry! Hurry up!"

Her head left the pillow, her eyes snapped open, and she gasped for air, searching for him, needing to see him there.

The sun shone in on her room brightly, illuminating her otherwise empty bed.

Her cheek tickled, and she reached up to find a streak of wetness wending its way down her face. She wiped it away, and let logic take control of her senses once more.

The room is empty, she told herself sternly. Harry is gone. He is not coming back.

The thought unwrapped her heart from the boy she once knew and the pain that he felt, leaving it free to drop into her stomach. It was the truth, but she so wanted... she wanted him to...

It was time to go. She exhaled slowly and got up from the bed, leaving the shadowy phantoms that had struggled to the surface of reality to fall back into the world of her dreams. But as she closed the bedroom door behind her, she noticed a soft indentation at the foot of her bed, just large enough for a very slender teenage boy.