Title: The Lonely
Author:trifecta-imperfecta

Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

Spoilers: None for Glee, really, since it's a crossover. As for Harry Potter, there are multiple references to plot points from the final book.

Author's Note: Let me start by saying that killing off Brittany was the very last thing that I wanted to do. However, Christina Perri's song "The Lonely" put this idea in my head (hence both the title and the names of the chapters) and, once it took root, there was no dislodging it until I had typed out the story in full. That being said, I hope you enjoy the end result. Feel free to review or simply send me a message to let me know you read it! I'd love to hear your feedback.

There were once two women who were wandering through a cold, condemning world of silence. They completed one another the way that sunshine follows rain and summer warms the frost of winter. Simultaneously, the two were each other's most fortifying strength and most crippling weakness. Their bond was, by its very nature, a contradiction in terms - as unlikely a union as that of water and fire. Yet these forces of nature raged side-by-side. They cleared a path for themselves through the leers and the lies and thenceforth allowed only love to spring up from the ashes. But fate still held its ultimate cruelty in store: it extinguished the beloved embodiment of light. In the other's absence, the incomplete half was left to the darkness where melancholy and madness waited with open jaws to swallow her whole.

... ... ...

It had been just seven days since Brittany died. A solitary week and already Santana's life was reduced to a series of meaningless numbers. Seven days of unfelt sunshine... six nights of chilling vacancy in the bed they once shared... five times she could have sworn she heard her voice and answered it before she remembered... four letters bearing condolences from those who could not possibly understand... three flowers that she had placed on the grave - birth, life, death... two blue eyes they allowed her to close on the day that her heart stopped beating... and one soul that had, for the first time in their lives, travelled to a place that its mate could not follow.

Lately, the last number had taken on a new and peculiar meaning.

When they were both still in school, Brittany's mother read them The Tale of the Three Brothers. The girls were held spellbound by the plot from start to finish. It was easily one of the most captivating stories taught to young witches and wizards, with its tantalizing notions of bargaining with Death. When she had finished, Mrs. Pierce told them that, according to a more recent legend, the Deathly Hallows described in those pages had resurfaced.

This vaguely supported rumor circled, not surprisingly, around none other than the famous Harry Potter. Varying tales of his triumphant victory over Lord Voldemort abounded, but in several accounts there were mentions of objects whose descriptions resembled that of the Hallows. Some of those who had attended school with Potter recalled escapades involving an Invisibility Cloak and they asserted that this item must still be in his possession. As to the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone, reports were even less reliable. Their generally accepted fate was that the former had been destroyed and the latter was lost. Harry Potter himself, however, refused to give these suspicions any confirmed validity.

The two young witches had been terribly excited by the thought of such incredible treasures actually existing in the world. Mrs. Pierce was quick to quiet their eager chatter by dismissing the accounts as idle gossip. It was appealing to think that such things were true, of course, but the likelihood was that they were merely tall tales invented by ordinary people seeking their fifteen minutes of fame.

In light of her current circumstances, Santana now found herself either unable or simply unwilling to be so sure.

With each passing day, she became increasingly possessed by the idea that she might be able to locate the lost Hallow. If the diluted details that had trickled down through word-of-mouth were even remotely accurate, perhaps she could be the one to discover the stone's whereabouts. A nagging whisper of worry tugged at the back of her consciousness. It tried to caution her that involvement with such powerful magic was frequently dangerous and often resulted in tragedy. Santana pushed those concerns aside. Her situation could not possibly be worsened. After all, what else did she have left to lose? On the other hand, she had so very much to gain. To be with Brittany again, to see her smile and hear her laugh... It was a heart-wrenching possibility worth every risk.

So the grief-stricken widow turned her complete attention to the task. She did her best to research the Resurrection Stone's history, especially how its path intertwined with that of The Boy Who Lived. The most consistent theory seemed to be that he had deliberately disposed of it in The Forbidden Forest. Beyond that, there was very little to go on regarding its exact placement in those enchanted woods. Such a search, based on so few and unhelpful clues, would no doubt prove daunting and nigh impossible.

It did not matter. Santana's mind was made up. On the 1st of September, when students from miles around convened at King's Cross Station to board the awaiting train, she would return to Hogwarts.

... ... ...

It was an infernally windy afternoon when she was at last able to set her plan in motion. Santana stood at the edge of a rocky cliff overlooking the metal tracks far below. The breeze lifted tendrils of her coal black locks off her bronze shoulders and it billowed them out around her face. Her features were set in concentration with eyes narrowed and lips pursed as she strained for the first sight of the train.

In her left hand, she gripped the curved end of her old Nimbus 2015. Her fingers drummed impatiently on the smooth handle pressed against her palm. She wore a small pack slung over her right shoulder, expanded by an Undetectable Extension Charm that had taken several tries to perfect. In it were all the basic essentials that might be needed for a lengthy trek through the wilderness. Now the only fear was that "lengthy" might be modified to "indefinite," in which case her supplies would prove insufficient.

A distant whistle echoed off the verdant hills. Santana snapped to attention. A tiny, black-and-scarlet blur appeared at the farthest reach of her vision. Gradually, that speck grew larger until it took the familiar form of the engine from her childhood. She hurriedly straddled her broomstick and crouched low, poised for take-off. The ground shook underfoot as the Hogwarts Express chugged nearer. The train wound its way around the base of the cliff, weaving a serpentine path through the trees on either side. When half of the interlinked cars had gone by, the dark haired woman kicked off the cliffside and followed.

In spite of everything, the joy of flight still sent a thrill through Santana's heart. It had been so long since she travelled in this way and the freedom provided a welcome release. She breathed the fresh air deep into her lungs and, in that moment, it was difficult to avoid feeling optimistic. Things were off to an excellent start. Before the day was out, she would reach her destination and begin her search. It would be just a short time, surely, until she held that wondrous stone in her hands. Only a little longer and the hollow ache in her chest could heal.

Such were her beliefs while soaring through the sky. The skills she had honed in her days on the Slytherin Quidditch team came back to her with pleasant ease. She guided her broom along its course with a confident touch. For the first time since the grief had set in, Santana found herself smiling.

Soon, Brittany, she vowed silently. I'll be there soon. You won't be alone much longer, I promise. I'll find you.

... ... ...

Night had fallen by the time the train at last came to a halt. Santana's fingers were beginning to cramp and her kneecaps ached. Still, her breath caught in her chest when she was met with the sight of that magnificent castle in the distance.

Hogwarts.

It was the place that, for seven years, she and Brittany had called home. Half the memories of their times together circled around those stone walls and the myriad rooms and chambers within. There were countless recollections of walks through the halls, pinkies linked, and of late-night adventures sneaking into one another's dormitories. The weary brunette hovered in the air for a while, simply remembering, until at last the lump in her throat grew too painful and she had to turn away. She pressed her body close to her broom and shot off toward the Forbidden Forest, anxious to find a place to camp for the night.

The black silhouettes of the trees spread out in all directions. Her dark eyes scanned their ranks for a break that would indicate a clearing but it seemed to take an eternity for one to become visible. When at last she located a spot that looked promising, Santana's shoulders sagged with relief. She guided herself down for a graceful landing and alighted on the grass.

The sounds of crickets and other nocturnal creatures filled the air, disrupting the stillness. Santana shivered at some of the unidentifiable noises in the shadows and decided to walk the perimeter to put up some protective charms before settling in for the evening. She withdrew her wand from the pack resting against her back and whispered the necessary words with each step that she took. With that done, she pitched her tent and started a fire.

It was as she sat before the flames warming her hands that the pain set in again. Santana shouldered the burden of it readily, having grown accustomed to such attacks each time that she faced another night alone. She tucked her legs up against her chest and allowed the rush of sensations to wash over her mind. Everything came back in perfect and vivid detail as if it were playing out in front of her.

She could still see the way the sunlight had given an almost heavenly glow to Brittany's hair in the morning. The smell of the blonde's perfume filled her nostrils and brought a smile to her lips. The woman's memory called up the echo of her lover's laugh and she could feel the smooth curve of her back as it pressed against her while they slept. When the taste of Brittany's kiss graced her lips, Santana covered her mouth with her palm to fight back a sob.

The touch of cool metal caught her attention and she withdrew her hand to look at the gold band that rested on her third finger. Tears streamed down her face as she gazed at the circle which had been in place so long now that she couldn't remove it. The ring's mate was buried with its owner, still bearing the matching inscription that Brittany had chosen when she had the set made.

Proudly so.

Two simple words with a lifetime of meaning.

With a heavy sigh, Santana rose to her feet and went inside the tent. She flopped onto her cot and stared up into the darkness. The images and feelings continued to assault her consciousness and she mentally steeled herself for the sleepless hours that loomed ahead. However, the fatigue from her journey coupled with the emotional exhaustion from what she had just experienced ultimately slipped her unexpectedly from reality into dream.

... ... ...

Two weeks after she arrived in the forest, Santana was still not making any real progress. Every morning, she got up bright and early to scour a new section of the woods but to no avail. Such a remarkably tiny object could be literally anywhere and she had no trustworthy insight to guide her.

To make matters worse, the comfort of her current style of living was wearing thin. The air was growing chill, for one, howling through the sides of her tent and leaving her with the warning signs of an oncoming cold. Her feet were beginning to callous and blister from the constant walking and each day brought with it new insect bites in inexplicable places on her body. Her food supply was beginning to dwindle and she was desperate for a proper shower. She bathed whenever she could find sufficient water to do so, but she was always dirty again within the hour and believed that she was beginning to smell faintly of fish.

Santana ran a hand through her disheveled hair and winced as the strands caught on her cracked fingernails. Hours upon hours of scraping the earth had taken their toll. If only she felt some kind of draw to a specific area, an internal instinct that could point her in the right direction...

A sudden thought occurred to her then and she pulled the wand out of her back pocket to give the new idea a go. She tried to remember the illustration of the stone from the books she had read and focused on its image as clearly as she could in her mind.

"Accio Resurrection Stone!" she exclaimed with her eyes still closed.

Cautiously, she peeped out at the surrounding trees and rocks. She listened for a moment with her head cocked to one side, hoping to hear the approach of something small whizzing through the air.

Nothing.

"Damn," she grumbled as she returned her wand to its former place. "I suppose it was worth a try."

And so she continued. The endless stretch of days and weeks turned into a month and her positivity began to wane. Every time that she felt herself losing faith, she spoke the story of her relationship with Brittany aloud to remind herself why she was still fighting. To simplify things, she turned it into a tale of flowery words that flowed out easily, much like the ones that she and her wife had been told as children. This recitation became like a mantra. It lifted Santana above her troubles and set her feet down in front of each other in a plodding sort of rhythm.

There were once two women...

But even this could not fortify her for long. When at last her travels took her to the edge of the woods, bringing Hogwarts back into view, she felt undeniably lost. She supposed that she could return to the place where she had slept that first night and set off in the opposite direction. However, the prospect overwhelmed her. Santana's vision blurred with her disappointment and she turned on her heel to go back the way she came. Everything down to her bones seemed heavy to her now and it took all her effort just to keep moving.

A ragged sob tore from her throat and once the first tears fell a battalion of others followed their lead. She could not stop their flow and they made it increasingly difficult for her to see. Her awkward, fumbling steps eventually led her to a clearing identical to every other that she had seen over the last thirty days. Somehow, the very sameness of that place threw her into an even greater fit of hysterics and she collapsed to her knees in the middle of it.

Santana looked up through the trees overhead, past the branches lined by cobwebs that glistened with dew, and stared at the sky. It was vast and cloudless, a blank and uncomforting slate. Her shoulders shook as her head dropped down onto her chest. The anguish clawed at her heart and she dug her fingers deep into the ground beneath her. With shaking hands, she lifted her muddy palms to her face and scraped her nails down her cheeks, wailing to the empty air.

"Brittany, I'm sorry! I failed. I've tried everything I could think of and I still can't bring you back. What the hell did I think I was doing? I'm so sorry."

She said those last three words again and again and repeated the dragging motion through the dirt and along her face. The dark haired woman's pitiful moans echoed all around her but she was too lost in her sorrow to hear them.

A sharp sting flared at the top of her cheekbone and ran down her jawline, following the path of her fingers. Santana felt warm drops trickling down to her chin and realized that she had inadvertently drawn blood. She looked for what it was in the dirt that had scraped her since such a deep wound could not have been caused by her short nails.

There, embedded in the mud on her left hand, was a little black rock. She plucked it out and held it up to the light for closer examination. It certainly didn't look all that lethal. The edges were a bit rough but certainly not razor sharp. Evidently, she had been attacking her own face with more force than she realized. Santana turned the object over in her right palm, still considering it, and her gaze fell on something that made her pulse stop and then quicken.

There were lines carved into one side of its surface. Not the wear and tear brought on by exposure to the elements but intentional engraving. What was more; these lines formed a symbol that was all-too-familiar to her now: the sign for the Deathly Hallows. A deep crack ran vertically through the rock but on either side of that break were the two halves of a circle enclosed in a triangle. An awed gasp sucked through Santana's parted lips.

The Resurrection Stone.

The woman was in such a state of shock that her clumsy fingers nearly dropped it. She pulled herself to her feet and dusted off her pants. Her eyes never once left the unbelievable object clasped in her hand. She wanted to cry again but, after the pit of despair from which she had just escaped, she was utterly spent.

Santana shook all over as she tried to prepare herself for what she was about to do. All her nerve endings were alive with excitement and apprehension. Tiny talons of doubt clawed at her chest and gave rise to the fear that it might not work. She shook her head to dismiss the thought and focused instead on the one she had lost.

With an attention to the miniscule made possible only by years of study, she called up every feature in her mind's eye. Then, after a steadying breath, she slowly turned the stone over in her hand.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

An outline appeared a few yards from where she stood and filled instantly into a form she would have known anywhere. Muscular legs toned from countless hours of dancing, a slender torso, long arms that provided a singular sort of comfort, topped by a uniquely pretty face surrounded by a golden cascade of hair, all came into focus before her. Steel blue eyes that had always been able to pierce her soul, even when she was most keen on keeping herself hidden, now met her gaze steadily.

Santana felt a jumble of phrases jostle inside her head, fighting for the upper hand. Her throat threatened to close off from the emotion that was causing it to become painfully constricted. Ultimately, every sentence and sentiment that she had longed to utter during her unbearable solitude culminated in the one simple word that summarized the whole:

"Brittany."