The Promised End

Devouring time, blunt thou the lion's paws,

And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;

Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,

And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood.

Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st,

And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed time,

To the wide world and all her fading sweets.

(William Shakespeare, from Sonnet #19)

~~~ o0o ~~~

On silent battlements, soldiers stand waiting, eyes straining into the darkness beyond the walls. The sullen air presses down upon them, heavy on weary heads, weighing on disheartened shoulders, smothering breath beneath straining ribs.

Leaden clouds obscure moon and stars' light, shrouding the defenders upon the walls. Then with a silent flash, lightning splits the sky, illuminating the massed ranks of the enemy, poised just beyond bowshot in the valley below. Like a roiling sea they appear, shields and helms reflecting lightning's flame in bobbing points like white-capped waves atop the tumult.

With a great growling roll and crash, the storm breaks: down from the skies it pelts, and from the valley below, the tidal wave rears in upon itself, then hurtles toward the walls. Thick gusts of arrows blow in both directions. Stricken warriors scream; pierced bodies writhe and die. Some fall from the battlements; others lie crushed beneath rushing feet as the enemy horde presses forward, heedless of its losses.

Ladders rise against the walls more quickly than they can be overthrown. Hideous faces and horribly misshapen forms appear where, a moment before, there was only darkness and noise. Violence breaks upon the defenders in earnest now. Sword strikes sword - and frequently finds flesh. Howling and gnashing of teeth rise all around, beyond the wall and behind. This is hell and these are the forsaken ones, lost in the darkness of fathomless fear.

Without warning, Hermione stood and flicked her wand at the projection equipment on the other side of the room. The battle scene disappeared into the room's darkness; the violent rain retreated with it, leaving only a faint dampness in the carpet. Harry stared at her in surprise.

"But this next bit's really good," he sputtered. Then he realised: "You don't like it."

"Harry, you can watch this any time you like after we've gone home." Hermione pursed her lips and fixed him with stern brown eyes.

A disappointed whine from the other end of the sofa took up the complaint when Harry faltered. "But it was good, Aunt Hermione!" The speaker was a small redhead with a persuasive voice.

A strikingly similar voice from a strikingly similar little person pleaded, "Can't we see the rest?"

Hermione frowned, not at Ron Weasley's twins, but at their 'Uncle' Harry, who was now considering whether his choice of movie had, indeed, been inappropriate for a pair of excitable six-year-olds with bedtime approaching. Hermione's verdict left no doubt of her opinion; it was a summary judgment: "No. We've seen enough blood and guts for one evening."

"But they were about to drive the Orcs back from the gate! The king is about to ride out of -!"

Hermione moved to cut off Eleanor's enthusiastic rush. "How many times have you seen this movie?"

"Only a couple. Right, Uncle Harry?"

Hermione raised a sharp eyebrow at him, which he pretended not to notice as he bestowed a crooked smile on Eleanor and Louisa.

"Well, we can see it again next time you're here. Okay?" he said, then added with a conspiratorial wink, "And next time we might not ask Aunt Hermione to come!"

"I was thinking we should have baths, then bedtime stories," said Hermione, ignoring the provocation. "I'll see to the baths, and Uncle Harry can choose the books."

When it came down to it, however, and the girls were snuggled into the big bed in Uncle Harry's guest room, they didn't wish to hear any of the books Harry had selected. They wanted to be told a story, instead. They were quite adamant, despite Harry's slightly desperate assertion that he had no skills as a storyteller. At last, Hermione came to his rescue. The girls moved over to accommodate her beside them on the bed, and Harry pulled the big overstuffed chair close by. When they were all finally quite settled, Hermione asked what sort of story the girls had in mind.

"Tell us the story of how Uncle Harry defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort."