"I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees
I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees
Asked the Lord above, "Have mercy, now, save poor Bob if you please."
Robert Johnson
Bob Dylan once sang Hard Rain A-Gonna Fall. Harry suspected this was that rain. It was hailing down upon the thin roof like bullets while the sound of thunder shook all of Private Drive. Once the rain turned to hail, The Dursleys attempted to cram themselves into Harry's unused cupboard while Harry remained in his room, staring up at the ceiling. Neither gave the other a moment's thought. They were all past the point of caring. If it weren't for the prophecy, Harry wouldn't have minded if the entire house collapsed, ending his suffering.
Harry wasn't oblivious to the storm, but a far greater one was raging in his heart. The Futility of his task weighed heavy on his mind. Killing the Dark Lord was impossible. The only person Harry succeeded in killing was his Godfather, whose loss grew harder to bear with every passing hour. The grief was suffocating. If only that were all that weighed on his mind.
He had the nightmare again. It started with Hermione collapsing from Dolohov's curse. Only this time, she was not breathing and were eyes were wide and empty, as they were when she had been petrified. Harry tried to wake her, growing increasingly desperate as his cries turned to screams. Pain worse than a thousand torture curses tore his heart to shreds. Harry wished he was dead.
Then a voice would whisper Harry's name, and he would look up to see a pair of red eyes. The red eyes always awoke him from his nightmares, covered in sweat, trembling with tears streaming down his face.
When he first woke from the nightmare, Harry had written a messy letter to Hermione to make sure she was alright and apologizing for nearly getting her killed. But, unfortunately, Hermione did not write back. More than likely, she wasn't allowed, but when Hedwig returned, she carried only a cross necklace. Harry's spirit grew heavy with worry as he held the chain to his heart, crying in silence.
Harry had not removed the necklace from his neck since he'd put it on. Hermione had worn it since her 4th year at Hogwarts. It had been her grandmother's until she passed at the tender age of 92. The necklace was nothing special. Just a simple cross hung from his neck. Harry wasn't religious, nor was Hermione, who found the Wizarding world's aversion to Muggle theology a surprising relief. Yet Harry found the necklace eased his pain. It confirmed that Hermione did not blame him for what happened.
Yet it did not quell the fear from his heart. Harry did not know her sending him the necklace wasn't an ill omen. Hermione was severely injured fighting by his side, and though she insisted she was okay, he saw the pain in her eyes. Harry grimaced as he clutched the cross in his fist. Despite the number of people Harry had lost, the thought of losing Hermione was unbearable.
Of course, it wasn't just the cross that consumed Harry's mind.
Nor was it the cross that Harry was tenderly caressing, staring long into the night when seep alluded him. Harry couldn't explain the stupid chocolate frog card had captivated him so. Harry had a strange fascination for the women on the cover, which had nothing to do with his teenage hormones. It was her eyes that held Harry's will captive. Yellow eyes, the blackest eyes,
Harry tried to lock the card away, yet he could not sleep without it. He could barely sleep with it. Most concerning of all was when Harry flushed the card down the toilet. As loathed as he was to part from Luna's gift, his obsession over the old dark lord was a distraction from the present. Yet when he returned to his room, he found Morgana's card waiting for him underneath his scrawny pillow.
Harry had considered writing to Dumbledore, but there was no way he was sending Hedwig out in this storm. News reported it was a post-tropical storm. Harry hadn't paid much attention to it, but he still ensured Hedwig's needs were cared for. The thought of Hedwig dampened his mood, as he wondered who would care for Hedwig when he was gone.
Luna was right. The situation was hopeless. What could Harry do to match the might and power of Lord Voldemort? The weight of the world rested upon his shoulder. War was upon them, and even if he succeeded, what more would it cost him? The Memory of Hermione rose in his mind. He lost his parents, Sirius Black, and there was a genuine possibility that he would lose all his friends, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Nevile, and even Luna. Oh, what Harry wouldn't give to save his friends. To protect the people he loved, he would give anything! Everything! Wouldn't he?
Smash
Harry jumped off the bed in alarm, his wand aimed at the shattered window. It took Harry longer than he liked to admit to lower his wand. He wasn't under attack. A branch had smashed through his window. The wind was billowing, and Harry felt the full power of the storm. He was end danger, and he couldn't die now. Everything depended on his survival.
To hell is underage magic! This storm certainly qualified as a life-threatening situation. Harry raised his wand and banished the branch before repairing the window, but as more debris struck the glass, it became clear it would not hold for long. Harry ran downstairs to find broken glass covering the floor. Harry repaired the house as he went, only to stop when he found Vernon Dursely trying to force himself into his old cupboard. Dudley's fat bottom was wedged in the door, and from the muffled screams, Petunia was inside as well.
Harry was somewhat impressed. Despite his countless flaws, Vernon valued his family's life before his own. Of course, if he valued their life, he would have come to Harry for help. For a moment, he considered leaving, let's call them family, to fend for themselves, but in the end, that wasn't who Harry was. Harry pulled Vernon away from the cupboard, drawing his ire. "This is your doing, isn't it, boy? Put a stop to your rubbish, or I'll..."
Harry didn't find out what Vernon would do, as he had silenced his uncle's words with a flick of his wand before turning to the cupboard. "Get Out!"
Petunia and Dudley screamed as they fled the cupboard, fearing for their lives, while Harry rolled his eyes and waved his wand. He was admittedly out of his element. If only Hermione were here. Harry bit his lip as he inspected the ruin carved into the wall before turning to the Dursleys. "Get In!"
The Dursleys fled from his wand like cockroaches fleeing from light. They cowered in fear before they realized they fit perfectly inside the cupboard, with room to spare. Harry lowered his wand and approached the cupboard, only for the door to slam in his face. Harry frowned, rolled his eyes, and locked the cupboard door with a wave of his wand. "You're welcome."
Harry looked around, looking for a place to find shelter, but outside of lying underneath the kitchen table, a kitchen full of windows.
Suddenly Harry had an idea, Mrs. Figg. Her place had a basement! Harry ran outside and was hit by powerful winds. Only the use of his wand prevented him from flying. Wand raised, drenched from the downpour. Harry pushed toward Mrs. Figg's house and latched on the door. The door was locked and would not budge, even with magic. Harry began banging on the door, preying that Mrs. Figg's hearing aids would somehow hear his desperate cry for sanctuary.
"Please, help me!"
Then he heard it, and Harry's blood went cold. He didn't know why the bird's cry put the fear of god into his heart, why he suddenly felt more afraid than string into Voldemort's red eyes. It was only later, when Harry dwelt on the moment, that it was as if his very magic was trembling, a warning. Then, slowly, as if submerged beneath an ocean, Harry turned around.
The Raven was perched on a signpost, oblivious to the buffeting winds or the rain, which fell like lead. The storm seemed to fade from Harry's thoughts as the Raven gave another chilling cry. But, most frightening of all, the Raven was looking at Harry. Its black beady eyes remained fixed on his own.
With a sudden cry, the Raven took flight. It flew down Private drive before circling back. Harry trusted his instincts and ignored the fear in his heart. With a deep, shaky breath, he took his first step and followed the Raven.
Harry paid the storm no mind, even as debris flew past him, missing by mere inches. Roofs ripped from houses, and trees crashed down on power lines. Yet like the Raven, he knew no harm would come to him. Time lost all meaning as he walked through the usually mundane streets of Little Winging, now ripped and torn to shreds.
Soon Harry found himself in the park, where, only a year before, two dementors had attacked him. The pavement beneath his feet turned to gravel, yet even the dirt road was untouched by the storm. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the Raven came to a stop, landing on another signpost. This post was older, rickety, and made of wood.
Harry came to a stop, and so did the storm. He saw a clear blue sky's, surrounded circle of pitch-black clouds. If Harry didn't know any better, he would say he was in the eye of a hurricane. Harry took in his surroundings and frowned. He was standing at a crossroads, the dirt road branching out into two paths, and in the middle sat the Raven, once more staring at him with black, beady eyes.
An ominous whistle pierced the air, with a haunting melody full of dissonance, like a lullaby for nightmares. Then a tiny thin object appeared in the air, carried by the light breeze as it slowly fell towards Harry. Without thinking, Harry quickly snatched the thing from the air and found himself staring at the back of a chocolate frog's card. Harry did not turn it over. He did not need to. Instead, he drew his wand and pointed it at the Raven.
Harry narrowed his eyes, and with his wand raised, he yelled with authority. "Who are you?"
"Don't you know?" A voice hissed from the ether, and the Raven began to contort before Harry's eyes.
Black smoke billowed around the signpost, consuming the Raven in shadow. Then with a final cry, the Raven's silhouette began to change, contorting violently like a twisted thing. Its back elongated, the winges stretched, bending unnaturally, and Harry resisted the urge to run as the beating of his heart pounded in his chest. A figure now stood in the smog, nearly seven feet in height, dwarfing Harry's short frame. Finally, the smog dispersed, and Harry was left staring at a loving maternal smile.
"I am your friend Harry Potter." She uttered in a warm voice.
The woman was drenched in elegant black robes with hints of indigo running through the seams. The black contrasted with chalk-white skin, as white as snow. Her hair was black as soot, her lips as red as blood. At first glance, Harry couldn't help but take in her beauty, but on closer inspection, he saw the beast within. The nails on her hand were long and curved like claws. A red substance was dripping from her lips, resembling blood, and when she opened her mouth, a long serpent tongue licked the blood from her lips, revealing fangs. On her head rested a crimson helmet. Two metal points protruded from it, roughly three feet in length, resembling horns. But most unsettling of all was the cracked and decaying skin, around her bright yellow eyes, like smoke from a fire.
There was a warmth to her eyes as there was to her greeting. Yet Harry was extremely cold as if a hundred dementors stood before him. Moreover, Harry knew in his heart that whatever warmth this being exuded was only a hollow shell and that within, he would find only darkness.
Harry tightened the grip on his wand and snarled. "Is this the best you can come up with?"
The Witch laughed a sinister laugh that echoed through the silence, and Harry felt as if he had been dropped in a vat of ice. "You are right to question your eyes, but your heart will never deceive you, Harry."
"Liar, you already deceived me," Harry yelled at the beast, who smiled, oblivious to his rage and the tears in his eyes. "I won't fall for your tricks again, Voldemort."
The Witch's smile fell into a hideous scowl. "You offend me by even using that pretender's name. Tom Riddle is the afterbirth of my dynasty. Thy bloodline, so polluted by squalor, incest, and mud. My heir ripped his soul to shreds for the meagre possibility of immortality. I have lived for a thousand years, and a thousand more shall I walk this earth. My life shall reach the end of time, but I do not fear death. Only fool fails to understand there are worse things in life than death. So do not compare me to a mudblood tyrant. He is not but a false prophet."
The ground had shaken and trembled by the end of the Sorceress' tirade, and even Harry began to doubt. Voldemort was far too prideful to attack his character so voraciously, even in the name of deceit. Still, Harry did not let down his guard. The possibility this was real gave him no comfort. "I'm given a card with your name and told your tale, then all the sudden, you just so happen to appear? You think I don't know what a compulsion feels like?"
"I was merely preparing you for my presence. You knew this was coming, in your heart, no matter how hard you tried to push the thought from your head. So now you know who I am."
"How?"
"I have my ways." The Witch uttered a smirk, and Harry felt he didn't want to know. Still, a thought stilled his heart, and he glared at the Witch.
"If you hurt Luna..." Harry began with growing rage.
"I would never harm your friends, any friend of yours is a friend of mine." The Sorceress crooned with a loving voice. "We are friends, Harry. Look into my eyes, and you'll know it to be true."
Harry could not help but stare into the yellow eyes, full of fire. Harry saw the truth in her words and the lie. She meant him no harm, at least not yet. The Witch seemed to care for him genuinely. Yet Harry knew she was not his friend.
Harry lowered his wand, but a little uncertainty clouded his mind. "It... It's really you isn't it."
The Sorceress nodded her head as she slowly approached Harry. "Utter mine name, sweet child."
Harry was sure he was as pail as the dark lord before him. His wand arm fell to his side, knowing that resistance was futile. Instead, he looked into her eyes and excepted the truth. "You're the Dark Lady, Morgan le Fay."
The dark lord smiled, and Harry felt like a mouse standing before a mighty hawk. Harry summoned his courage and uttered the question he knew he must ask. "What do you want."
What happened next shocked Harry more than another moment in his life. The last thing Harry expected was for the towering Dark Lord to suddenly drop to her knees and prostrate herself before him, but that is precisely what Lady Morgana did. She looked up reverently as she whispered. "I offer thee my servitude. From his day until your last, I shall be your humble servant."
Harry stared with wide eyes at the sight before him and was reduced to stuttering. "I...I...I...why me..."
"Do you not know," Morgana uttered, rising off the ground but remaining on her knees. "You are a child of destiny, Harry, the chosen one. A heavy burden lies on your shoulders. Tom is far greater than you can ever hope to beat. Your potential is limitless, but you don't have the time to reach it. Surely you must know, your destiny is futile."
Harry turned his back to the Dark Lady, refusing to let her see the tears in his eyes, the weakness. He flinched as a hand rested upon his shoulder, and a voice hissed in his ear. "You will die before the Dark Lord. I have foreseen it. Your fate is written in the stars. Imagine what Tom Riddle will do to your friends and, dare I say, family. The people you love will not be shown mercy.
Harry trembled as his worst fear was confirmed, and Morgana smiled as she struck the fatal blow. "Against the Dark Lord, there can be no victory, only death."
Harry turned around and snapped. "I don't believe you."
Morgana sighed, and Harry glowered at the pity in her eyes. "Don't you?"
Harry smacked her hand off her shoulder and roared. "I may not have a chance alone, but I'm never alone. I have my friends, and I have Dumbledore on my side. We've defeated Voldemort before, and we will do it again."
Harry turned to leave away the sorceress. He was moving briskly before the Dark Lady stopped him in his tracks. "Dumbledore is dying."
Harry remained rooted on the spot as Morgana spoke. "Riddle cursed him not three days ago. Albus holds the curse at bay but will not hold it for long. Albus Dumbledore shall fall within the next year, and he is not alone."
Harry slowly looked over his shoulder as Morgana hissed like a serpent. "Did you think the necklace around your neck was a good omen? You think she sent you her precious heirloom purely out of the kindness of her heart."
Harry stomach's plummeted, and his nerves flashed with a pain that cut deeper the any Cruciatus Curse. Morgana shook her head in mock pity. "The young Muggle-born has no heir, and only two friends, who she values above all else. Your fears are well placed. In fact, if you're lucky, you'll have a chance to say good buy."
The next thing Harry knew, he had his wand pressed against the towering Witches throat as she screamed. "LIAR!"
Morgana laughed, her voice unnaturally deep as she croaked. "Are you going to kill me, Harry?"
Harry leaped back in horror as her voice mirrored his deceased Godfather. When Harry came to his senses, he shot a powerful hex at the Witch before bolting away, failing to ignore her twisted cackling. Harry had to get to Hermione to make sure she was ok. The neck weighed heavy from his neck. He didn't know where exactly Hermione lived, as she rarely spoke of her home life, but he already had a plan. He would make her a letter, then follow Hedwig on his broomstick. Hermione couldn't be dying. She just couldn't.
"I can save her, you know." A voice hissed in her ear, and Harry blinked to realize he was back at the crossroads, or maybe he had never left. Jarred by this display of magic, Harry almost didn't take in the Dark Lady's words...almost.
Harry faced Morgana, whose eyes seemed to glow like two lit torches. "I can save Hermione and Dumbledore two. I save the ones you love and destroy the ones you hate. I can even bring back those who are long gone. I can fulfill the deepest and most desperate desires of your heart. Together we can even bring them back. All you need do is allow me to serve you as my Master."
Harry tried to bring back hope in his eyes but knew it was a lost cause. The Dark Lord's seduction almost entranced him, but a lifetime of disappointment held him back. He had learned long ago if something seemed too good to be true, it was. "What's the catch."
Morgana smiled with pride at her would-be Master. "Yes, Harry. Dark magic has taught me one thing; everything comes at a cost. If you want to save the ones you love and ascend to a high being than any, You must be willing to pay the price. After all, Nothing's Free."
Harry was afraid of this and nearly turned down the Witch then and there. He knew the price would be too great and terrible to imagine. Excepting the help of the Dark Lords was a terrible idea. To even hear her out was to play with fire, and Harry had a bad feeling he would burn. Yet Harry could not turn away. Just the thought of Hermione...he could not bear it. The temptation was too great. "What will it cost me."
Morgana Le Fey's smile turned predatory, and he saw the sinister creature from within that caused untold death and destruction the world was still recovering from a thousand years later. "Everything."
Harry shivered as the air turned so cold that he could see his breath in front of him. The Dark Lord continued. "If you wish to share in my power, it will not cost you your life or body, and all the riches in the world mean nothing to me. But, if you wish to control your fate, it will cost you that which is most precious to you."
Lady Morgana stalked towards Harry, and the young wizard was petrified with fear he couldn't describe, but it was as if his very magic was rebelling against him. The Dark Lord leaned down and whispered the price.
"Your Soul."