Faerie Folly and Wizard Wands

Chapter Twenty-Three

The moment of the battle drew closer and closer. Saquoya had long ago slipped into a state of restlessness.

Her blood felt the battle. It drew up inside her, and pulled her into the adrenaline rush of the powerful. She held more domination than any other creature in the world, but her own power was her weakness. She had tasted the darkness that caressed the force, and the easy surrender of it.

It would be easy to fail.

Their allies and army followed her. Open war was new to both sides of this battle. Never had the wizards pitted armies against one another. Muggles were always a hindrance to open warfare. But Voldemort, if victorious, would not stop with the wizards. He would control the world, Muggles or no.

Dumbledore had insisted on her wearing a long gown of white. Saquoya thought the effect of the flowing garment was impractical and overly dramatic, but her father had decisively clothed her in the robe, saying it was good for morale.

Besides, what would she have preferred? Black? The colour of the enemy?

She had thought of black as the colour of love.

So now they marched behind her, dressed in dark reds and blues and greens, the colours of the earth, but she wore the color of peace and innocence.

She smiled ironically.

It was the colour of surrender as well.

They followed her blindly, and risked all on her shoulders. Her essence. The wizards behind her were filled with fear, she could feel it filling the air behind her. Yet the fright was also countered with determined courage and pride. They were afraid, but they knew they fought with right on their side.

Perhaps that is how she ought to face the enemy. She knew she was doing the correct thing; she had promised her father that she would aid him.

And Severus followed her too. In his own way, he believed her enough to risk everything to follow.

She would march forward.

* * * *

Saquoya was a tall, slim figure in white that approached the enemy from the mists. The rest had fallen back a few meters, and her form was ghostlike in the fog of England's moors.

Her enemy was dark and unrecognizable. Their black masks made them faceless specters of the eerie silence of the land.

She felt the power of the earth beneath her feet, and the strength of the air spiral around her head. She called upon her blood, and called upon her life essence.

It was all or nothing.

"I seek Voldemort only." For the first time, her American accent seemed out of place.

The Death Eaters spun to her voice, and instantly began to stalk nearer. She could feel their caution and wariness. They had been prepared for her, she knew. They had known of the "secret weapon" and they were ready to fight.

"Give me Voldemort. I will not waste my time with your kind."

It was a silly claim, in retrospect. There were others besides the Death Eaters. Giants, Dementors, dragons, and grotesque beasts; the wretched creatures of the world had united with Voldemort. But she only saw the Death Eaters in the mists. Where ever the Death Eaters were, Voldemort was sure to be nearby. Even he distrusted the other beasts.

In a sudden snarl, three swooped towards her, their wands raised. With a dismissive swipe of her arm, they were thrown backwards, their wands shooting from their hands to lay several feet away from their limp bodies.

"Do not dare to challenge me. It will take more than you to bring me down."

Her voice had deepened with rage, her eyes blazed with a flame that had never been awakened. Saquoya felt her potencies ripen with a richness she had never known. Power is a thick source of magic, especially that which is born within the body. Her mother's people would have been appalled at her use of flight as she rose and flew over the heads of cowering Death Eaters. Those who dared to raise their wands were toppled by her hands, for she was grappling with the magic of Mother Earth and flinging it into their bodies.

Hovering over them, Saquoya felt the sudden evil surround her, suddenly making her heavier.

"Give me Voldemort!" she cried, and was stuck suddenly in the side. It was one of the beasts of the air, perhaps of the same kind that had come to spy the night before. Its stench overwhelmed her, and made her stumble in midair, its claw catching the flowing white gown, ripping half the skirt, reaching to the flesh of her leg, and slicing it open.

Red blood spilled from her, and spilled onto the Death Eaters below her. They cried out as the droplets hit them, and began to sizzle. It seemed her faerie blood, when incensed, was acidic. But Saquoya had no time to revel in this.

For Voldemort would not come. Instead, he sent his entire army.