AN: In honour that it's May 2. And Gloss' birthday.

Thanks to Victoria whose been thinking this with me. We should be uploading the alternate, mind-twistier, much longer version at some point.

Fringe also inspired this.

Enjoy my mind-twist, and pay attention to their names. :-D

Disclaimer: Last time I checked, I am an American, sarcastic, and fun-sized. Nice try, but I know that I'm not JK Rowling. Poem is own by Dylan Thomas.

Title: Rage Against the Dying Light

Word Count: 2K

Summary: Another day, another year, and no one remembers.

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rage at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Somewhere in the winding shelves of the Hogwarts' library, a young student was searching for a book for her History of Magic homework. The witch opened up a dusty tome and coughed as it rose upwards. Rubbing her eyes with a large sleeve, she quickly read the contents.

Strange, the Ravenclaw mused. She studied several aspects of magical history for her upcoming OWLs—from Merlin, to the Goblin Wars, even to the latest century—she was shocked to find that this was never mentioned in the curriculum.

Harry Potter: a History, the book said on the worn-out cover. The girl, Hermia was her name, pushed her bushy hair out of her face, and flipped through some more pages. Interesting, she thought, how very interesting.

The Gryffindor boy felt his friend's arms held him back. He glared at the Slytherin, struggling to raise his wand. It was a rather comical scene because the boy was so tall, and his friend that was holding him back was much shorter in comparison.

"Take–that—back!" he roared. The redhead then made another attempt to break free of his best friend pulling him back.

"C'mon, mate," she urged. The dark-haired witch looked around to see if a teacher would have the misfortune of being nearby. "We already have detention tonight."

"That's right," mocked the other boy. He lifted his head up, and a malicious grin crossed his face. He gave his housemate a look. He was enjoying needling at other's misfortunes, because it would put him in such a good mood. "Tell me, is the reason why you hang out with such riffraff is because you think—"

The girl slackened her grip on her best friend (who was now shocked at what the pale boy was heading), and whipped her wand out. Gold and red sparks showered angrily. The blonde boy paled. "You were about to say something about my family, Malfoy?"

The redhead gave her a bemused look. The anger in his face changed to consideration. "Forget detention?" He asked, and pulled out his own wand.

The two friends, a Slytherin and a Gryffindor— a most unlikely pair would have proceeded if a teacher never came across the scene.

A bushy-haired girl studying, a red-haired boy urging to take action, and someone with dark hair rising into a leader. There was something happening, something changing, but no one noticed.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

"What do you mean a dark wizard is trying to rise?"

"What I mean, Minister, is that a name that's been feared for centuries may be back."

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about?"

"If you stop asking me pointless questions, then let me explain further. Evil is rising, but you mustn't worry because I already started my plan. I believe you are familiar with the tale of Harry Potter? "

"What? That? That's just a story to tell children not to be afraid of monsters—merely a bedtime story!"

"A bedtime story so real that You Know Who—Tom Riddle himself— is on the verge of returning."

There was silence in the Minister's office.

"You plan to fight an imaginary monster with an imaginary hero?"

"No, you fool! What if I told you that it was possible for them to come back?"

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

"It starts out simple as first. I extracted memories of the so-called 'Golden Trio', and slipped them into three candidates that I thought were similar to each member. To enforce it, I made sure that they were of similar bloodlines and if I was lucky, they were distant-relations.

"Now that they are maturing, they will start to show signs. Like headaches…

The dark-haired girl, Halley, slumped in her seat in the Gryffindor Common Room. Her headache grew considerably since her encounter with Malfoy. Maybe she could blame him for her misery and an extra night of detention.

Technically, she wasn't supposed to be in this common room, but it felt like a bright and cherry safe haven compared to the gloomy Slytherin one. She raised her throbbing head to see a familiar face.

"You did this to children?"

"They were the only ones who could survive the process. No one, except for you and I know about it. I even made sure to have a support system by injecting their friends' personalities in other people."

"That's madness!"

"It's survival!"

"Hey, yourself," Jimmy sat in the seat next to her. "I heard you and my brother got into a fight?"

"Malfoy started it," Halley countered quickly. "He said some rotten things to Don, and then he was about to say some stuff about my parents."

"Ah then," the youngest of the Williams family knew better than ask what derogatory comment Malfoy used that started it. "I would have done the Bat-Bogey Curse, I were you," he said with a smile. "It's a more messier and entertaining result."

"I think your brothers warned me about that," she said. "'Size in no guarantee of power' or something like that."

"It's true," and his smile grew.

The headache in Halley's head spiked. She hissed and raised a hand to her temple.

"You too?" he asked. Halley nodded yes. "It's weird, like all of our friends are getting sick or something."

"It won't go away," Halley complained. Her voice grew a touch sarcastic. "Just in time for the big Defence Against the Dark Arts test."

"How could you think of doing such a thing? You're subjecting children to what is a story. There is no You Know Who. There is no Harry Potter. That is final."

"Today, dear Minister, is the anniversary of Tom Riddle's death. Everything is going in motion and according to plan. There is no way of stopping it."

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Halley felt her feet slam into the ground; her injured leg gave way, and she fell forward; her hand let go of the trophy at last. She raised her head.

"Where am I?" she said. Was this a part of the Defence Against Dark Arts test? The last thing she remembered for the final was grabbing the trophy in the maze. She got to her feet and looked around.

She had left the Hogwarts grounds completely; she had obviously traveled miles - perhaps hundreds of miles - for even the mountains surrounding the castle were gone. She was standing instead in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above her to her left. Halley could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.

A sickening feeling swooped in her stomach. Something was beyond wrong.

"Maybe what you are saying is true, then how about we just kill the Dark Lord already?"

"We can't because only a Potter can."

A short man in the cloak had put down a bundle that was in his hands, lit his wand, and was dragging Halley toward the marble headstone. Halley saw the name upon it flickering in the wand light before she was forced around and slammed against it.

TOM RIDDLE

The cloaked man was now conjuring tight cords around Harry, tying him from neck to ankles to the headstone. Halley could hear shallow, fast breathing from the depths of the hood; she struggled, and the man hit her - hit her with a hand that had a finger missing.

And Halley realised that the rat-faced man looked eerily familiar. "You!" she gasped, and hoped that was enough to delay whatever event that may be happening.

But the man, who had finished conjuring the ropes, did not reply; he was busy checking the tightness of the cords, his fingers trembling uncontrollably, and trembling over the knots. Once sure that Halley was bound so tightly to the headstone that she couldn't move an inch, the wizard drew a length of some black material from the inside of his cloak and stuffed it roughly into Halley's mouth; then, without a word, he turned from Halley and hurried away.

She couldn't make a sound, nor could she see where the man had gone; she couldn't turn her head to see beyond the headstone; she could see only what was right in front of her.

"Is there anything we can do?"

"I'm afraid the rest is up to them now."

The surface of the grave at Halley's feet cracked. Horrified, Halley watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at the wizard's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.

And now he was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs. "Flesh - of the servant - w-willingly given - you will - revive - your master."

He stretched his right hand out in front of him - the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward.

Halley realised what the rat-faced man was about to do a second before it happened – she closed her eyes as tightly as she could, but she could not block the scream that pierced the night, that went through Halley as though she had been stabbed with the dagger too. She heard something fall to the ground, heard the man's anguished panting, then a sickening splash, as something was dropped intothe cauldron.

"I cannot dare to believe that what you are saying is true."

"I'm an Unspeakable, for it is my job to learn the unknown. What is happening needs to be fought back. We can't lost everything to a madman again."

"B-blood of the enemy… forcibly taken… you will… resurrect your foe."

Don Williams stumbled out of the Forbidden Forest. Pieces of his robe were turned to shreds from his encounter from the giant spiders. Shuddering, he forced himself upright to see if any of his friends came out. He was partially worried because he saw Halley going down a different path, when he last saw her. He hoped that she got out.

The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness. Nothing happened…

Let it have drowned. Halley thought, let it have gone wrong…

"You've seen Halley?" Don asked a friend.

Hermia turned to face him, her face pale and shaking. Possible from the Boggart that was rumoured to be part of the exam. "No. Have you?"

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

But then, through the mist in front of her, she saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.

"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and the other wizard, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one handed over his master's head.

The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Halley… and Halley stared back into the face that had haunted her nightmares for as long as she could remember. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snakes with slits for nostrils…

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

"Sir!" The Minister of Magic's door busted open. A tall man clutched onto a letter that was shaking in his hand. "A student was kidnapped from Hogwarts!"

The Minister gave the Unspeakable a dark look. "If anything happens, it's on your head."

"Now untie her, Wormtail, and give her back her wand."

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

"We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry," said Voldemort's soft, cold voice, drawing nearer, as the dark wizards laughed. "You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry… come out and play, then… it will be quick… it might even be painless… I would not know… I have never died…but imagine how glorious this must be for me, now you're the shadow of your former self! You probably don't even know why I must want to kill you…"

Halley crouched behind the headstone and knew the end had come. It was almost surreal to think that this was actually happening. There was no hope… no help to be had. And as she heard Voldemort draw nearer still, she knew one thing only, and it was beyond fear or reason: She was not going to die crouching here like a child playing hide-and-seek; she was not going to die kneeling at Voldemort's feet… she was going to die upright, and she was going to die trying to defend herself, even if no defence was possible…

The most strangest thing of all, Halley thought, was how achingly familiar this all felt. It was like waking into a nightmare that became a reality. Nothing made sense, nothing was sane, and it was just her and a madman that called her by a different name. A name that deep down felt as true as her own.

Before Voldemort could stick his snakelike face around the headstone. Halley stood up… she gripped her wand tightly in her hand, thrust it out in front of her, and threw herself around the headstone, facing Voldemort.

Voldemort was ready. As Halley shouted, "Expelliarmus!" Voldemort cried, "Avada Kedavra!"