Yn Anfarwol

Prologue

Only the floor still looked like something pulled out of a manor, or from a palace. Made of polished black marble, it glistened in the torchlight and threw back the eerie glow from the tips of the wands that were gripped in pale hands. The state of the floor was ironic, the gleam a contrast with the decaying state of the walls, ceiling, and the souls of the men and women who passed over it.

One cloak slid over it like a sheet of dark water, flowing about the legs of its owner with a sinister life of its own. As it moved across the plane, other cloaks stepped away from it, some from respect born of battle camaraderie, most from the fear associated with the owner's delight in torture and pain. Bellatrix Lestrange's reputation was well-known among her fellow Death Eaters, and she preferred it that way; extracting information more fluidly was her idea of an easy night. And this night's work brought something even better, so much so that her steps seems to bounce as she made her way up the short flight of stairs to the central room.

The doors opened of their own accord, pulling back into the darkness that lay beyond. She stepped in, her heels echoing over the bare walls. She didn't understand the Lord's need for such solitude but knew not to question it. Questions could get one killed. The doors closed behind her with a groan and shut her alone in the room.

As alone as one can be with the Dark Lord, that is. He loomed up in front of her, his scarlet eyes a hellish beacon in the inky abyss. He made no sound, gave no inkling that she was there. She would make the first move; it was the rule.

"I got it, my Lord," she began, her voice full with pride for her skills. "The Longbottom boy. Seems that little Potter told him the prophecy out of pity. Out of a supposed noble wish for him to know."

The expression on Lord Voldemort's face shifted a fraction but remained unreadable. The information wasn't enough to warrant a response yet. Lestrange held back a disappointed sigh and continued on, this time without the flair.

"Remember what we had, well there's more. Here." She reached into her robes and pulled out a slip of parchment, stained with tiny drops of blood as if the writer had been bleeding when it was written.

An alabaster hand slipped from the darkness and seized the paper, lifting it to be read. Lord Voldemort's expression morphed to a dark look of anger, then to one of speculation, and finally to a look filled with such ferocity it made Lestrange take a step back involuntarily. Her eyes widened and her lips parted but she regained control quickly.

"M-my Lord?" She asked, half-dreading the answer.

Lord Voldemort set his gaze past her towards the closed doors, and his lips curled into a horrible mockery of a smile. "I want everyone back here. Immediately. I do not care what they're doing at the time. " As he spoke a slender finger traced over the Dark Mark tattooed into his own forearm; with it was a mental summons. Lestrange felt the fire flare in her left arm and she bit down hard on her tongue to confront the pain. Blood welled into her mouth as the Lord stepped to one side and around her, walking towards the doors.

She followed. She stepped out into the torchlight feeling as if she was still left in the dark.

* * * * *

The circular table was not a symbol of equality in the chambers of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Rather, it underlined the mistrust they held each other. No one was hidden from another's sight. One could glance at his fellows and never let it be seen. They were united by only one thing: their loyalty towards the Dark Lord who ruled over them. That was the connection; everything else revolved around politics to clamber to the top, to be the one not blamed for the latest mistake. Lord Voldemort knew this and exploited it. The Death Eaters knew that he knew and tried harder to achieve their goals.

It wasn't the healthiest of environments, but how could one step out?

The meeting started with whispers and side-glances as one by one the Death Eaters filled their assigned seats. This was also a ploy to keep them on their toes. If they sat in the same place at a round table then who knew exactly where they stood?

Lord Voldemort stood and his gaze fell onto each of them before he spoke. "I have now the full prophecy as was spoken by the Seer to Dumbledore so long ago."

Silence met this. No one dared to speak; no one dared to steal what Lord Voldemort thought was his moment.

"Thus I have decided that if I am to emerge victorious, there is only one way: I must become all-powerful. I must become immortal." He stopped and then looked around again. Blank stares met his, and then suddenly it was like a match was lit.

"But my Lord---" started Crabbe.

"My Lord--" Lucius Malfoy made to stand, but a wave of the Lord's hand made him sit.

"No, there is no other alterative. The Philosopher's Stone is out of my reach. There are other ways."

No one wanted to argue that, yet none of them had an agreement to voice.

"There may be a way, my Lord, without the Stone," came the soft voice from the opposite end of the table, directly across from Lord Voldemort. "A ritual, from the ancient texts of my people."

Lord Voldemort gestured for him to continue.

"It's a rare scroll, and I haven't come across it for many years, but it is there and it is real."

"What will it do?"

"Make you likened to a God." The voice promised, the mask a stark blot of emotionless white. "No longer the Dark Lord but our Dark God, our Master."

Lord Voldemort's eyes slid to Lestrange, a question in them. Should they run with this? She jerked her chin a fraction in the affirmative gesture and he turned back to the Death Eater with the voice of silk.

"Very well. If this scroll exists, and the power promised is true, then all of our efforts must be used. Find it, and you will be rewarded handsomely." His eyes narrowed, and his lips pulled into a cruel grin. "Attempt to betray me in any way, or use the magic contained for yourself, and I'll have you given to Bella at her mercy."

The silence was thick at that. To be at Lestrange's mercy was to be condemned to a fate worse then death. At least with death the pain stopped. The Death Eaters nodded one by one, and then one stood. Lucius Malfoy.

Lord Voldemort watched him. Always at the meetings Malfoy would be the devil's advocate, the one walking in the other direction. "Malfoy?"

"My Lord, what if this is merely a gimmick from a spy?" Malfoy asked. Before he could be cut off he pushed on. "What if our enemies catch wind that we're with no guard, what if they choose to attack?"

"Then a time limit. Would that suit you, Lucius?"

Malfoy waited a beat without answering and then gave a twist of the head that could be a nod. "We would still--"

"As much as you love to play at worrying, enough with the overly dramatic. Even if this was a perfect time for Dumbledore to pull an amazing attack, how would he even know to find us? And, if there is a spy in our midst, no matter, for you will all be leaving. Directly after this meeting is ended."

A burst of protest rose and died quickly at the glare Lord Voldemort sent.

"You will be sorted into groups of three, never to leave the others' sights."

Lestrange quirked an eyebrow and Malfoy scowled. As they were the only two without their masks, they were the only reactions he could make out. No matter. His word was law and if one thought otherwise, Lestrange was looking for her next victim.

"The time limit is by the full moon. A fortnight from now." He looked to the Death Eater across from him. "Is that enough time to find this scroll?"

The Death Eater nodded. "Plenty. You will be re-birthed by the new moon."

This pleased Lord Voldemort. "Excellent. You are all dismissed. Stand up and group into threes." The Death Eaters did, although not without grumbles muttered under breaths. Soon they were grouped off. "Go, and return here by the full moon, or I shall make you return."

The warning was very real. With it ringing in their ears, they all left.

Lord Voldemort stood at the circular table, the torches spilling light the color of old blood on him, and he laughed.

* * * * *

Number four, Privet Drive.

He told himself it was only a pit stop. A pause in the road. He didn't want to admit that it was a closure for him. The end of a chapter in his life. His eyes roamed the empty walls of the small room and then dropped to the weathered floorboard under which he had kept his school-books.

Aunt Petunia had allowed him this much, to be able to collect what little he had left here. She could hardly meet his gaze when he stepped inside, and Dudley 's mumble about a special on the television didn't help matters much.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the heralded savior of the wizarding world, simply shrugged and trudged up the stairs to his old bedroom. The graduation ceremony had kept him for a day longer at Hogwarts, and his stuff was still packed in the back of the car he and Ron borrowed just for this. All that was left was...nothing.

Harry turned to leave but a flutter in the corner of his perception stopped him, turned him to find an unassuming letter on his bed. Tilting his head to the side in curiosity, he picked it up and opened it, his eyes going over the tiny scrawled message.

Boy,

He Who Must Not Be Namedhas found a way to turn the tides for the forces of darkness. By the Full Moon he will be on his way to obtaining a power that will surmount the prophecy you and he are under. Do not underestimate the drive he has to rid his 'new world' of you. He will stop at nothing. Do not try to attack; it will only stall what is to come.

I leave you with this question: How can one overcome their destiny if it is to die by another's hand? Know this, I am not a friend, nor am I an enemy. I only wish to see the outcome. Never try to contact or find me.

D. E.

Harry's eyes went over it again, and again. Was it a hoax? If so it was a poor one. But if it wasn't, then what would the sender be going on about?

"Either I kill him or he kills me," Harry sighed. "There is no other outcome." He tucked the letter into his pocket and gathered his things. They were due at the Order Headquarters by evening and if anything else, he could have Hermione try her hand at it.

Chapter One: Questio Tabellae

Harry and Ron walked up the steps, not to twelve, Grimmauld Place, but to another hidden house on the other side of London. After the death of Harry's godfather the house had passed to the closest relatives: the Malfoys. No one knew exactly what the Malfoys wanted with the house, but after a rather short-lived legal battle between Nymphadora Tonks and Mrs. Malfoy, the house was quickly cleansed of all things that could point to the Order of the Phoenix. Not surprisingly, Dumbledore had found another spot in a few days after Tonks had returned, a paper bunched in her hands and her hair a violent shade of black with zigzagging white stripes. It wasn't as large as Grimmauld, but it suited their needs nonetheless.

Stepping through the narrow doorway, Harry and Ron removed their coats, set Harry's trunk by the staircase and moved into the den, nodding to a drowsy portrait of an ancient wizard as they did.

Ginny was already seated, her legs folded under her while she read the latest Daily Prophet, her eyes flicking up and over them before returning back to the page.

"The attacks have died down," she started by way of greetings. She tossed the Daily Prophet on the table before her and then looked to them, her eyes going over their reactions.

Ron's was expected. His face lit up in a grin. "That's great!" He turned to Harry to share his grin, but that faded with Harry's expression. Ron's grin fell into a frown born of speculation and confusion. "Er, right Harry?"

Harry shrugged. The note was out of his pocket now and in his hands, the words etched into his brain from the ride over. "Depends."

"Depends?" Ron asked. "What do you mean 'depends?'" Harry handed him the note as an answer. Ginny came to read over Ron's shoulder, and as one, the siblings' eyes widened and their faces grew pale.

"Who sent you this?" Ron looked up from the paper.

"Don't know, someone named 'D.E.'," At Ginny's look, he scowled. "I know it's just a pen name, but it's all I have."

Ginny stepped away from Ron and sighed. "Well, he's talking about escaping death, right?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, 'stopping destiny' or somethin' along that line."

Ginny's eyebrows furrowed, much like Hermione's did when she was thinking.

Ron watched his sister for a moment, then sighed. "Too bad Hermione isn't here. She could have this figured out before we could say 'Quidditch.'" His confidence in Hermione didn't instill confidence in Ginny; rather, it made his sister's thoughtful expression sink into a glare.

"Hermione isn't here, now," she snapped, her pride dented. "Let me have a try at it, all right?"

Harry handed it over, after taking it from Ron. "Here, you've spent enough time with Hermione, maybe she rubbed off on you."

Ginny took it back over to her seat. "Hmm. He refers to the prophecy. Harry, what exactly was in the prophecy? You never told us."

Ron looked at him. "That's true! You never did."

"I never wanted to," Harry grumbled.

"Why?"

"Because." Harry sat in one of the plushier armchairs and shoved a hand through his hair, then pulled off his glasses, wiped them, and put them back on. "Just ...because."

Ginny seemed to examine his reactions and then leaned forward, her eyes suddenly bright. "Because isn't the answer we're looking for, Harry."

He felt like sinking into the chair. "Yeah. I know." He sat up straighter and also leaned forward, his head hanging while he tried to voice the dark card fate had dealt him. "The prophecy told me how to defeat Lord Voldemort."

This caught their attention, and like kids being told their favorite horror tale, they crept closer, their eyes wide, their mouths slightly agape, and their nerves tensed for the punch line.

"I have to kill him. Or he kills me." That didn't get a reaction. Harry frowned, then repeated it louder.

"We heard you the first time Harry," Ron said, wincing at his tone. "We're just ...well, relieved."

"Relieved?!"

"Yeah, there are more horrible prophecies out there, Harry," Ginny quipped.

"I have to kill him, murder him!" Harry threw out, his tone just barely under a yell.

"What do you think you've been doing since you were eleven?" Ginny shot back, her voice the opposite of his, cool, collected to his rash and edgy. "I heard how you prevented Voldemort from getting the Stone, Qurriell died from the touch of your skin. Remember how you saved me? You stabbed the fang into the diary? Well, that killed him. Harry, this is only the final death for him."

Harry shook his head, frustrated that she wasn't getting it. "Ginny--"

Ron cut him off. "No, she's right mate, there *are* worse fates. What, did you think you were going to bring You-Know-You in alive?"

"Well, you two seem too grateful that I have to murder him. Or become his latest victim."

"We're not grateful because of that," Ginny started. "We're grateful because it's nothing worse. There was a wizard who also had a prophecy on him to liberate the magical world from the tyranny of a evil viscount. Well, what he had to do was sacrifice all he loved to prove that he was willing to go the distance to free the land he loved. Do you want to know what he sacrificed? His family."

Ron continued the next bit. "He had to kill his wife and his two daughters. The Wizard Village of Vie par la Rivière celebrates a holiday called Deuil Semaine," Ron paused and Ginny picked up.

"That means 'Sacrifice Week'. Actually it translates into something else, but that's not my point," Ginny said, "So, you see why we're relieved? It means you only have to face him one-on-one. No hidden catches, no worrying about him bringing back Grindelwald's power. Just you, him, and a final duel."

"That's not that comforting," Harry muttered.

"You're right. It's not."

Ginny's reply made Harry's temper sink like a stone and he couldn't help but toss a wry grin her way. "That ...wasn't what I expected."

"I try to be different." She smiled and he smiled back. "Look, maybe now we've narrowed it down a bit."

Ron looked her way. "How? All we did was find out that Harry will be crossing wands with You-Know-Who."

"This means that there's only a limited amount of ways he can turn the odds in his favor." Ginny rolled her eyes. "Ron, did you get dropped on your head?" Ron rolled his eyes in response and Ginny smacked him in turn.

Harry blew out a long breath and turned to begin pacing the three meters of floor space. "So, he can't bring anyone back from the dead, can't borrow power, can't create a weapon to destroy me, can't have anyone else kill me, can't force me to kill me. What's left?"

Ron shrugged; it was an awkward roll of the shoulders but suited the redhead just fine. "Don't know. The only way is if he couldn't die and you could."

"That's it! Ron! You're a genius!" Ginny squealed, leaping on him in a hug. She pulled away to explain to a now very puzzled Harry. "If You-Know-Who can't die, then he's beaten the prophecy." She got up and helped her brother up as well. "And the only way he can make sure he doesn't die while you do, Harry, is to become immortal."

"That's impossible without the Philosopher's Stone, right?"

Ginny shook her head. "No, I overheard Hermione asking Professor McGonagall a few months ago. McGonagall said that over the ages a few ways to break the mortality barrier were created. Some were lost to Legend, most were destroyed in the Alexandria Library; she did say a few survived, passed down through generations, and guarded like a dragon's nest.

"So it wouldn't be too much of a leap to think You-Know-Who is going after the few remaining ways." Ginny handed the note to Harry. "Still, to be on the safe side, I think we should ask Professor Dumbledore what he thinks."

"He's not here now," Ron said.

Ginny cracked a grin. "Oh yes he is, he's upstairs with Lupin going over the latest raid," Before either of the boys could say anything she hurriedly continued. "I just wanted to see how well I could do Hermione's job, did I pass?"

Harry opened his mouth to snap, then closed it, before shaking his head. "Come on then." He rose to his feet and walked with Ron to the stairs. Ginny wasn't too far behind.

"Well?"

"Quiet, Ginny," Ron shushed.

* * * * *

The room in which Professors Dumbledore and Lupin chose to converse in was small and crowded with an assortment of items with unknown properties to the three teenagers standing in the doorway, hands shoved into pockets, and eyes nervously darting from one gadget to the next. They each murmured a passing greeting to the departing Lupin as he went by and down the stairs.

"Ah, Harry. Ron, Ginny," Dumbledore nodded to each of them. "Have a seat, would you?"

The three shuffled to seats. Ron and Ginny turned as one to look at Harry. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the now slightly wrinkled note.

"What's this?" Dumbledore read the note with a flicker of a glance and then stared to Harry, blue eyes unreadable. "When did you receive this?"

"Earlier, at the Dursley's," Harry said.

"Do you know what it's referring to?"

Harry kept quiet and Ginny took the chance to join. "We think it means that You-Know-Who is trying to become immortal."

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eye grew as he looked her way. "That's exactly where the train of my thoughts was going. If school were in session, I'd award house points, but alas, I can only offer a sherbet lemon." As Ginny laughed, he turned back to the conversation at hand and his manner turned towards a more serious nature.

"Harry, this note shows that what I've feared for awhile has come to pass. Ever since that night in the Ministry, I knew that the Death Eaters would try their hardest to find some way to achieve what Voldemort desperately craves: his immortality." Dumbledore set the note down, the twinkle banished from his gaze.

"Not even Grindelwald fought so hard to achieve this feat," he said, walking over and sitting down behind a table. "Now I'm not sure what there is left to prepare for."

"Sir," Ginny began, "Can we also make Harry immortal? Beat You-Know-Who at his own game?"

Dumbledore slowly nodded as he went over in his head all the possibilities that could be awakened if that came true. He looked again to Harry.

"That is one way of unraveling this plot before it has time to be set," he offered, not taking either side until Harry voiced an opinion.

Harry's brow furrowed. "How?" he asked, "The Stone's destroyed, Ron and Ginny said that the other ways of gaining immortality were guarded tighter then Gringotts. Plus, I'm not sure I even want to become immortal."

Ginny tossed a sidelong glance at him but said nothing. Ron looked worried, and appeared to be biting his tongue in order to prevent himself from saying something he would regret, and Dumbledore merely stared, not giving away any emotion.

Harry looked at the three of them, his gaze lingering before finally turning skyward with a muffled curse. "I guess it's my only shot though, right?"

Dumbledore gave a weary nod. "After Severus's death, there was no one to take up the mantle of the spy. Our eyes are closed on Voldemort's movements. If we tried to retrieve a spell we wouldn't be sure that we'd claim one that can make you immortal before Voldemort. I fear that, once he has become it, the war would end. He would be able to simply walk in and kill you without blinking."

Harry had never heard Dumbledore say he was afraid and that tugged at his own doubts and fears, making them curl around his heart like a dragon, squeezing ever-tighter as the whispers crawled through his mind. "So, there's no chance?"

"Now, I didn't say that," Dumbledore said. "There is one avenue that we could take and have little worry about Voldemort or time."

Harry was confused. "There is?"

"Have you heard of the Fey, Harry?" he asked, standing up. He walked over to a large, oak bookcase on the far wall and grabbed a rather weathered book. The pages looked brittle and the spine was ready to fall to pieces. Dumbledore set the book on the table and gestured for the three to gather around.

He opened to a page with two figures standing tall, a man and a woman. Both were tall, and the most beautiful people Harry had ever laid eyes on. Their features were regal, delicate, and exotic, everything that was born from a dream of nobility. The man was like the sun, his skin a golden-bronze that dazzled brightly, his eyes the only difference of color. Those eyes were each three circles of blue, like three oceans curled around the other. He stood with a tall spear in hand and stared proudly into the east, or to the right of the page. Harry looked to the woman and found her to be the night to the man's day. Her skin also glowed, but was like the cold light of the stars, pale and distant. Her eyes were circles of charcoal, the smoke hiding things that Harry wasn't sure he wanted revealed. As tall as the man, she bore a sword nearly her height in length and stared into the west.

Harry tore his attention from the picture. "Who are they?"

"They are the rulers of the Fey Kingdoms, the High King and Queen of the Seelie and UnSeelie courts."

"Fey? That means fairy, right? But those are pixies and house-elves, not ...not these two," Ron sputtered.

Dumbledore nodded. "You are correct and mistaken Ron."

"What?"

Dumbledore pointed to the picture again. "The Sidhe, which is the race from which these two hail, are the highest court of the Fey, which encompasses pixies, house-elves, and the fairies Professor Flitwick allows in his classroom. The man is King Taranis, the woman, Queen Andais. Respectively they are Seelie and UnSeelie. They are also what you must seek to become Harry."

It was Harry's turn to be dumbfounded. "What?"

Dumbledore laughed softly, chuckling at Harry's bewilderment. "I said what I meant. The Sidhe, though they are a fickle race, can grant their status onto worthy mortal candidates. It has been done rarely over the thousands of years since they become known to mankind."

"I'm not worthy."

"That is not for you or I to decide. They choose what they will. All you must do is request it."

Harry's eyebrow arched suspiciously. "All I have to do is ask and they'll give me it?"

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak but something over Harry's shoulder made him stop in mid-thought. "Professor McGonagall, perhaps you could enlighten Harry on the formalities of becoming immortal via the Queen's blessing."

Harry turned to her as well. "He said all I had to do was ask for it."

"No." Professor McGonagall stepped through the door. "That is only the first step."

"I'm confused," Harry said.

Professor McGonagall sighed and glanced to the portrait in the book. "I know you are, Potter. Albus brought them up because they do not like You-Know-Who. When he was younger and first going around, he insulted them terribly and killed the Queen's favorite niece during an attack on a Muggle household."

"You said they are immortal," Harry said, wondering about the double-standard she just exposed. "They're not?"

Professor McGonagall's eyebrow quirked, it seemed a rare case when she was called on a contradiction, especially from a former student. "They are to the extent that they will live forever, never age; never die from disease, poison, or a wound. They can, however, be slain, for everything that bleeds may die. Their weaknesses are few and it's uncommon for one to be killed accidentally," she explained, her look daring him to speak out again. "I will let one of the Sidhe to explain it more fully to you if you wish."

Harry shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

"How are you going to meet them?" asked Ron.

"I'm going to the Sithen later on to meet with an old friend," Professor McGonagall suggested, looking to Harry. "You and I can go. You will be able to see what the Sidhe have to offer, if this is the way you wish to become immortal, then I'll take you before the Queen and you may ask. It is not a guarantee that she'll accept or even acknowledge your request for an audience. But if You-Know-Who is striving towards his goal as ferociously as I imagine, then you should at the very least consider this possibility."

"I'm Harry Potter, Professor," Harry grumbled. "I've learned that when it comes to Voldemort, I hardly ever have a choice."