Faerie Folly and Wizard Wands

Chapter Twenty-Four

They should have known. They should have planned a different strategy. There should have been other plans, and other talks.

He sought to win by using his followers rather than his own power.

Voldemort was cowardly.

She thought briefly of this, as she rampaged the moor. There were Giants and Dementors that were dominating the field, and hags and evil werewolves. Screams and shrill cruel laughter filled the air, and tore at throats. Gargling blood seemed to gush over the good brown earth. The creatures of Voldemort were everywhere. They tore at the deep rich colours of her friends. Magic flashed furiously across the land, striking, disabling, crippling. The Death Eaters wasted no time with using the Unforgivable Curses, and bodies writhed in pain: utter, complete, and immobilizing pain. Horrible grotesque shapes were stalking in the mists, and she saw the Imperious Curse even work on her side, and watched one wizard in deep green turn to his friend, who was dressed in blue, and utter in a cold voice,

"Crucio!"

Terror reigned, and chaos was the master. In her head, she heard a laughter that could not be silenced.

It was Voldemort.

"Coward!" she screamed, after tossing a shot of power from her hands into the face of a deformed troll. The huge lumbering troll staggered, angered by the sores that began to crack over his skin. Tossing another burst of energy from her core, she let the electricity of her essence tear into the thick, pus covered hide of the creature. A deep bellow was emitted from its dull throat, and it began to take the huge club and swing it with amazing accuracy at her, pain clouding its eyes.

"Stupify!" a voice shouted, hoarse and haggard. Magic shot out of a wand. The troll, already badly damaged, dropped heavily to its knees and tumbled in a giant, stinking heap at her feet.

"Get to Voldemort, Saquoya."

She looked up through the cloudy, murky haze of the evening. Her hair hung in tatters, her blood had clotted and made a gnarled trail down her left leg, her white gown hung in dirty, ragged tendrils around her body.

"Go, Saquoya, before you weaken further."

It was a mere second, but she saw him. Severus, standing, his hair tousled and dripping with sweat and blood and filth. His black robes were smoking in some areas, and his side was ripped through to show a gapping wound. But his eyes were piercing even in this light, and she smiled ever so briefly.

"Go, damn you, pixie! Be the Queen."

She took her finger, and pressed it to her lips, and blew it directly to his side, where a blue light flickered along his torn flesh and protected the red and dripping gored gash.

Then she soared up, and disappeared into the mist, and let herself listen to the evil voice in her mind. Following her faerie instincts, she found her way through the battle, flitting with frightening quickness through the air. Without looking at the mess below her, she let herself go where her blood warned her to avoid. Voldemort was near. He was...

He was standing at the rear of his forces, his being impossible to see in the gloom. His cruelty was radiating off his body, his essence repulsed her.

Screams still cut the air, and the smell of blood and guts and terror made her dizzy. She suddenly thought: how could she fight this evil wizard without a wand of her own?

"Voldemort," she said coldly, letting her body lower to the ground.

He was not surrounded, as he had proudly set his entire forces to fight. Keen on victory, he wasted no time to play it safe with sending a specific amount at once. Voldemort was not one to take war lightly, and he would give all or nothing.

Like she did.

It was a pity they were on different sides.

"The 'secret weapon'. I should be honored. Strangely, I am not," he said as he eyed her up briefly. His red snake eyes took in the curve of her exposed, wounded leg, the torn bodice of her dress.

"Tsk tsk. Shouldn't be wearing white on a muddy day like this, Saquoya."

Her eyes narrowed at his mention of her name. How did he know this? Was it possible Voldemort could read minds? How stupid, she reminded herself, she could sense enough about anyone to read their minds as well! There couldn't be a power he had that she did not.

Except, perhaps, the power of evil.

But she had that as well! There was a darkness in her! Did she not know this? They were matched, her and Voldemort. The battle rested on them.

His eyes found hers, and she was blown into a whirlwind of ebony darkness. His voice was a high pitched cackle in her mind. The world was a cavern, the mouth of a huge terrifying beast, the swirling pool of the oceans, all trying to suck her down, or swallow her whole. This darkness had the power to kill, simply because it existed. This power called to her essence, and tugged at her selfish pride, and her pompous, arrogant nature. It would be easy to succumb, it promised. She would be immortal, a source of Forever. Did it matter which side-good or evil-used her vitality?

Persuasion began to worm its way into the folds of her skin, and permeate into the pupils of her eyes, killing all thoughts. This darkness was harsh and cold, but it was ever so insistent. And it was offering her the rest of the world. Through this darkness, she would be unstoppable. She would have complete and utter power.

She could have all she ever wanted. Her greed could be fulfilled.

But how greedy was she?

And as she mused this fragment of thought, Voldemort's voice suddenly became clear in the murky depths of the darkness, and snapped her suddenly back to the gray and red battlefield.

"I am not surprised Dumbledore sends a woman. Quite sad none of my Death Eaters can enjoy you before I kill you. As you can see, they are quite busy," he waved his hand carelessly toward the blood covered moor.

"I am not a woman. I am a Faerie Queen," she said quietly, still fighting the dismal forces.

"What?" his slitted nostrils seemed to quiver at her.

"I am the Faerie Queen."

"Should I be astounded at this revelation? Good-bye, queen," he raised his wand, almost bored. "Avada Kedavra."

As the green light shot out of his wand, Saquoya was assailed with visions.

There were the green eyes of her mother, and the gentle whir of her body as she glided into the air for the final time. Saquoya felt the earth in her hands and the warmth of herbs in her fingers. There was the scent of pine, and the deep shadows of Granna and her house. Tildie's voice trilled in her ear, and the roll of the ship in water tilted under her feet. Briefly she felt the tug of the engine of a train, and felt the emptiness of the hills round her lonely little house in Mead. Her father's sparkling eyes and booming voice flashed across her, saying, "We shall meet again, my dear little Saquoya." Sirius' laughter, and the boy Harry's wide eyes. A happiness and permanence washed over her as she recognized Severus' severe shape swooping near her, and the flash and stench of blood carried her to the battle again. And then there was the remembrance of power.

On the surface, there was the power of the witch. Tight, bundled power, that crackled from her hands and her fingers. It was a stinging power, and it brought her a jolt of surprise. She did not need a wand. Then, there was power seeping into her feet, her hands, and her mind. It was power as old as the earth and sea. Power that flowed in the very sand of time. There was power that coursed through the trees and the plants and fruits. Nature, in all her strength rose up around her, and filled her senses, reviving her.

Green grass, green trees, green green light...And power older than green...