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Who is That Man? | ||||
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Category: Post-HBP Characters:All Genres: Angst, Songfic Warnings: Dark Fiction, Violence Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 2 Summary: Songfic based on the song "Who is that Man?" The final battle. Hitcount: Story Total: 3684 Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work. I don't own the song either. It belongs to Don Besig, and any subsequent versions by the people that own those. Author's Notes: This is based on the Catholic song "Who is that Man?" If you have a problem with that, feel free to not read. |
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Who is That Man? Who is that man? Oh who is that man Praying in the moonlit garden? There was a light in the gardens- unnecessary, as the nearly full moon was high overhead. A dark-haired boy sat on the heavy stone bench, a single red rose resting next to the lamp. His head was bowed in thought, and he didn’t seem to notice the slim figure of a girl walked hesitantly down the narrow paved path. The girl wasn’t beautiful, but she certainly wasn’t plain. Her hair, arguably the most vibrant thing about her, was red. Not just any red, but the red of the sunset on a clear day, when the light hit clouds and made everything just a hint too perfect. Her eyes were brown, but not just any brown. They changed, darkening with anger or sorrow, becoming almost golden when she was happy. Just now, in the darkness, they were nearly black. She stopped in front of him, and raised her hand to touch his shoulder. She wanted to sink to her knees in front of him, take that face that she loved and kiss him. She drew her hand back at his shuddering breath. She took a step back, giving him space. She forced her face to stillness when she saw the anguished features of a man who should still have been a boy. “Harry?” He didn’t say a word, instead reaching out and taking her hand. He stared into her face as he stood, drawing himself up to his full height. He was taller than she was, nearly a head taller, and his narrow chest filled her line of vision. He pulled her closer, kissing her mouth and holding her tightly. After an eternity, he broke the kiss, refusing to look at her face. “Harry? Did…you wanted me to…Harry, what did you, um, what did you need?” He ran a finger down her cheek. “I needed to see you before…I want to give you something.” He picked up the rose and handed it to her. She smiled at him and lifted it to her face, catching the delicate scent of the blossom. He watched her for a moment before taking her hand in his and kissing it. What does he seek? “Ginny, I need you to be safe for me. Can you…can you promise me that you won’t fight? I can’t lose you…I just…stay safe?” Why does he weep all alone? Her eyes, those eyes that changed when she was happy or sad- how he loved those eyes- flared dangerously. “You don’t trust me to take care of myself, do you? You see me as some weak little girl that needs to be protected because she can’t handle a wand, right? How dare you!” He watched her stalk away, but he didn’t follow. Better for her to be mad at him now and live than allow her feelings to get her killed, and take away all hope of his defeating Voldemort. His love for her would kill the greatest evil he had ever faced, and his love for her might help him to live. If not, death might be her only way out. *~* Where have they gone? Harry fought by instinct only. His wand was a blur, the colors of his spells blurring together. His words…he couldn’t have told anyone which spells he had actually used. People fell left and right, and not all were Death Eaters. He saw not a few Aurors firing spells and taking fire, all at once. He saw his friends, his classmates- people he knew, people he loved, throwing spells they should never have learned in school. Harry ducked an oddly red spell that impacted behind him on the stump of a tree. It stuck, spreading like a virus. Suddenly, the stump exploded, spraying the people, both Death Eaters and not, with slivers of glowing red wood and burning twigs. Wherever one of the glowing slivers touched someone, a fire started and quickly spread. Screams were growing across the battlefield. Oh where have they gone: He couldn’t find Ron. The spells in the air cast lights and shadows where none were meant to be. Faces- not Ron’s- were illuminated in the light of spells that spanned the colors of the rainbow. His best friend, the first person who had seen him for who he was, not what he was, was somewhere in this free-for-all, fighting for his life. Without Ron, he would have failed long before this. Those who always walk beside him? He couldn’t find Hermione. She was small, sure, but he still should be able to see her darting around, firing off spells that he couldn’t even begin to imagine. She was his dearest friend, the one who stood by him through thick and thin, and if she was hurt, he would never forgive himself. She was the foundation of their friendship- without Hermione, he could never have gotten this far. Where can they be? He couldn’t find Ginny, and it was killing him. He had caught a glimpse of her hair just after the battle joined, but he had hoped, prayed that she was only helping the Healers and not fighting the Death Eaters. She had told him…but no. He saw her later, firing a Bat-Bogey Hex into the face of one of the attackers. He had shrieked, flailing his arms and hitting a few of his fellows with spells from his still-active wand. Harry had growled and hit a different Death Eater with a Disarming spell that caused him to fly back at least ten feet- he hadn’t stopped to look. But by the time he had finished with the man, he had lost sight of Ginny. He loved her. And he was sure, in his heart of hearts, that she loved him too. He hadn’t wanted her there, but since she was, he wanted her as close to him as possible, and as far away as he could get her. But he couldn’t even find them. Why do they leave him alone, alone? *~* Why, oh why, do some want to hurt him? Harry stood poised on the tips of his toes, his wand gripped tightly in his fist. Voldemort faced him, his inhuman red eyes staring deeply into Harry’s own. He could feel Voldemort trying to get into his head, but shoved him out with thoughts of Ginny. Specks of burned flesh appeared on Voldemort’s face, but the non-man didn’t flinch. Without warning, both started firing spells. Most of Voldemort’s were the sick, acid green of death spells, spells fueled by murder and chaos. Harry’s own were lighter, more brilliant, powered by the love of Ginny, of his friends. His feelings for her made the edges of his spells glow pure gold, and every time that Voldemort was hit by anything, be it a Disarming spell or any number of the hexes Harry had learned, burns and boils appeared on his exposed flesh. Not that Voldemort’s spells missed their mark in any way. Harry had a number of bruises, scrapes, and not a few deep cuts. He could feel a few broken ribs, and possibly, a broken wrist. He could also feel a black eye coming on from a particularly nasty spell that he hadn’t seen coming. What has he done to make them afraid? Why, oh why do his friends now desert him? From across the battlefield, as she helped a wounded student, Hermione caught sight of Harry and Voldemort. Spells illuminated the small area that they fought in. She drew her wand and bound the leg of the younger student in front of her. She conjured up a stretcher and cast a Portkey charm on it; it would bring the student straight to the Hogwarts infirmary. She froze when she saw Harry begin to glow. She wanted to watch forever. She closed her eyes and turned away, burning the vision of Harry winning into her mind. Ron was fighting a Death Eater when he saw Harry. He fired a Stunning spell at them and watched as the person ducked and shot a spell he didn’t recognize at him. Ron dodged it and managed to hit the man with a full-body bind. He set the coin-Portkey on the man’s chest and activated it- it sent him directly to a special jail block created by the Ministry to hold combatants of the Final Battle. He bound another man, bending over to put the Portkey on his chest as well. He froze when he saw Harry begin to glow. He stood tall, wishing he could lend his support to his closest friend. He closed his eyes, turning away from Harry so as not to see his friend fall. Not that he would. Ginny was darting around those fighting, trying to get as close to Harry as possible. She wanted to help him in any way she could, and right now, that meant helping him fight Voldemort. She spun and shot a Bat-Bogey Hex at a Death Eater, helping an Auror who was being driven back. The Death Eater started shrieking, the sound lost in the sounds of battle. The Auror petrified the man and continued fight. She darted around another fight and froze. Harry was glowing, his wand shooting sparks. She darted closer, only to be stopped by a ring of light as solid as brick wall. She wanted to watch him for as long as she could, but the light grew brighter. She closed her eyes and turned away- the light and the heat were too much. Closing their eyes, turning away? *~* Who is that man? Bright light surrounded Harry Potter, and bright light filled him. He could see the pure pain etched in Voldemort’s inhuman face, and knew somehow that it was echoed in his. It felt like a dream, this end of days. He was himself, Harry Potter, and yet he was outside of himself, a figment watching as light erupted from somewhere deep inside and surrounded him, and connected him to Voldemort. Oh who is that man Once before, they had had a connection like this. There was white light there too, and music, and Harry had seen his family. There was no music, no family here. Only the light. Pure light. Hanging there in pain and sorrow? His feet lifted from the ground, and the light that had been a part of him and all around him started throbbing in time to his heart. He closed his eyes- the light that was his soul was too bright to look at. Harry heard voices whispering to him, telling him that everyone he loved and that had ever loved him was dead. They were dark, those voices, but the words were said with a sickly sweetness that was very nearly light. Harry began to cry, the tears like pure diamond as the fell down a cheek bathed in radiance. The edges of the light began to smolder and darken, and Voldemort laughed that hideous laugh that cut like nails. The light dimmed even further. Harry thought of his friends- he could see them clearly; every moment of their lives with him and with each other was edged in that burning light. He saw every face that had ever looked at him; some with scorn, some with hatred and fear, but every face, at least once, looked at him with hope. And now they were dead. They were a parade of dead faces edged in burning light. He saw Ginny. If she was gone, and he had no reason to believe otherwise, then his life was over. And so he pushed with everything he had, not caring anymore if he survived, just so long as he took Voldemort with him. Why must he die? Voldemort’s shrieks of fury and pain cut through the raging battle like swords, forcing to the ground all who had ever served him. And then he died, and with him, the war. Harry collapsed, and the light vanished. Why must he suffer there and die? Ginny Weasley walked through the valley in the shadows, her red hair like a beacon. She searched for survivors, those who had made it through to see the world after Voldemort’s defeat and Harry’s victory. She hadn’t the heart to look for her heart yet. Ron and Hermione found her at the edge of the circle burned in the ground. A ring of fire and light had been here, and the edges were blackened and smoldering. But inside…inside the ring that marked the final stand, there were flowers. A tree stood in the very center, and in its branches, a phoenix. “Fawkes…” The breath of Ginny’s whisper seemed to stir something, for one of the mounds of flowers shook. All alone, all alone? And then the voice that they had never thought to hear again rang out like a bell. “Ginny?” Harry rose like some ancient god, and though he was covered in blood and bruises, and his eyes were closed, he found them unerringly. Her voice had brought him back. Surrounded by his friends, Harry Potter lived. Nothing tore him away from them, and Ginny’s kisses brought a sweet smile of relief. No one ever asked him what he had done, though many thought that to get answers, all one had to do was talk to his wife. Ginny sent them away with bogeys flying out of their noses. Some Weasleys aren't meant to be crossed, and that went for Potters, too. |
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