Mad World

Worn Out Places

Once you used to love the sensation of being weightless, of playing with air and gravity and your life like others play with a deck of cards or toy cars. You used to feel free only when you had left the ground far behind and were playing tag with wisps of clouds and fleeting dreams.

Now the clouds are thunderheads that would have killed you with one discharge and your dreams, which had come so close, so accessible, are broken; buried beneath a bloodied battlefield.

You wish you were buried there, too, another lost soul instead of an unlucky survivor. You also wish the thunderheads could still kill you. It would make everything so much easier, so much less painful. Because how are you supposed to live, like this, with a giant hole in your chest and your heart not even beating any longer?

You have considered doing it yourself, of course, if the lightening would not have been strong enough. Fire, you know, Fire is the end now. Or it would have been, had your magic not boiled over and kept the flames at bay, making sure your cold body would not meet any kind of harm.

You had expected to have lost it - your magic - you had even been glad about it... and then you had felt it:

A sheer endless amount of energy buzzing beneath your skin, tingling in the tips of your fingers, flowing through your veins.

Ready to do your bidding within the blink of an eye.

Well.

It seems that an end of this agony has receded into the distance, for you do not doubt that your magic will protect you against anything and anyone set out to kill you, including yourself.

Were you not so laden with pain that there is no place for any other sensation you might have felt annoyed. You are different, once again. And here you had thought that you could not hate your life even more. Duh. We all make mistakes.

Tiredly – oh, you wish you could sleep! – you reach for the splinters of holly you have put into a piece of cloth and place them on the flat palm of your right hand. In a short and rare moment of humour you take a deep breath (which is, of course, completely unnecessary) and softly release the air again, blowing it towards the splinters you have picked up piece by piece which has taken hours despite your superhuman speed and sight. The energy swirling through your body is begging to be used and easily you let it flow into the stream of air hitting the wooden pieces which are mixed with shreds of what has once been a beautiful gold, red and orange feather. The broken wand knits itself back together before your very eyes when your magic tells it to, and you are not even surprised.

It should be impossible – repairing a broken wand with magic.

But, well, you have always been one to cross all borders, if you have wanted to or not.

When your loyal wand is whole again, vibrating and ready to be used, you just stare at it. It is still laying on your flat palm and you feel your fingers itching to close themselves around it out of habit, your arms twitching with the urge to flourish it and change the world, like you have done so often. Yet your body stays still as a statue.

You are afraid – afraid of destroying that last token with one tiny moment of carelessness.

Also, you do not need it any longer, as the energy flowing through your body is reminding you. It is singing with the voice of a siren, so very alluring and so much stronger than ever. It is reacting to your every thought before you have even thought it, eager to fulfil any wish you might have, and it takes all your concentration to keep it in check.

It reminds you of Alice, hyperactive and always wanting to help, almost foreseeing whatev-

You quickly suppress that thought, push it to the back of your overactive mind. There is no need to add even more pain to the agony you are already feeling.

So you keep your eyes fixed on the wand; keep them from wandering, despite the fact that they want to dart around at every tiny glimpse of any kind of movement. Your instincts are running high, battling your magic for your attention; the two stirring each other up and making it harder and harder to keep them under control. You could probably use the excessive energy to forcefully stifle your heightened senses and the burning thirst that seems to be getting worse with every passing second, you could follow your instincts to push back the magic; however, you let both of them blaze and fan instead of using one to depress the other.

If you have to pour all concentration into keeping control you cannot think about anything else.

It gets harder and harder to keep this up, standing unmoving and just staring at your wand without breathing or blinking, and you have no idea how much time has passed since you have come here, fleeing the battlefield and its nightmares; but you are prepared to stay unmoving for years and years and years until the world comes undone and you may find peace.

Suddenly you feel a hand coming to lie on your arm.

It is a soft hand, smooth and warm and run through with blood. You can hear it rushing through tender veins, driven by a fragile heart which's beat is like music in your ears. A very enticing song, competing with the siren's voice of your magic, and you feel the need to breathe, to take in the sweet scent that will surely accompany the exquisite music. Still, with everything you have, you force your marble lungs to keep from moving and your eyes to stay fixed on the beautiful wand on your palm.

"Harry," a soft voice says and your eyes dart into the direction where she is standing before you clamp them shut, every fibre of your hard, cold, perfect body suddenly tense.

"Go," you whisper, harshly, with what air you have left. You are delighted to see her alive, for a split second, but it is too dangerous for her to be here.

"No," she murmurs and her voice is warm, like her body, so very different from yours'. You feel her move beside you and then sense the raising magic in the air, hear the quietly muttered words of a spell so clearly as if she has screamed them at you. Within a split second your mind has found the cross-reference in your memory and assigned the words an effect even before it takes place. And really, only moments later what feels like a heavy blanket separates you from the warmth and the blood and the heartbeat.

You feel yourself relax a tiny little bit when the temptation plummets to a bearable level.

"Harry," she says again. "Harry. Look at me."

You stand still, like a statue, you do not want to, but there is nothing else that can be done, now is there? She will wait until you do, and you would not want her to suffer, to freeze and starve, because of you. So many have suffered because of you already, and you will not have her be one of them. Thus you slowly turn your head and aim your unblinking gaze at her, honestly expecting her to flinch or back away, or anything.

Yet you are not really surprised when she just smiles at you, her beautiful features full of trust and sadness.

"Harry," she repeats. "Breathe."

There is no other option but to comply. Your wish to stay here, completely turn into the cold stone your body is made of and wait for the end; for the pain to be buried beneath the thirst and the impatience of your magic, so that you never have to think of it again. So that it never again rips your unmoving heart into pieces. Her arrival, however, has crushed this wish. One more dream turned to dust… it is not like you are not used to it. And you know, for her you will endure the pain; to make her happy you will do almost anything. Thus you finally draw in a tiny bit of air, slowly and carefully, until you have made sure that her sweet scent is suppressed as well, just like her warmth and heartbeat. When your throat screams but none of your marble muscles even twitch you breathe properly, letting the fresh air graze your sensory cells and provide your brain with the smell of the Forbidden Forest on a clear winter morning, fresh and cold and peaceful.

"Luna," you finally say, quietly, and her smile widens.

"I have been looking for you," she explains. "After all…" She does not continue, then, but her face falls and the wide blue eyes tear up, and you know what she means.

"Shh."

With a movement too fast for human eyes you push your wand into the damaged holster that is still attached to your thigh and move to hold her, careful not to crush her fragile body.

"Oh Harry!" she sobs and buries her face in your torn, bloodied shirt the moment your cold arms wrap around her slim shoulders, tiny fingers clinging to what is left of your school uniform. You hold her a little closer, one of your hands moving to cautiously caress her head. The blond locks are dirty and crusted with dried blood, even scorched in some places, but have not lost any of their beauty. She is still wearing her uniform as well, wand in a holster at her forearm.

"I thought…" she gasps for air "I thought I had lost you too!" She raises her head then and stares at you, beautiful blue eyes rimmed red and swimming with desperate tears. "I was afraid you had… you would… oh Harry, please, I have no one left but you. Please, do not leave me as well!"

You force a smile.

"I tried to," you admit, understanding very well what she is talking about. She knows you like one would know a brother or sister, just like Ron and Hermione and Neville and Ginny had known you. "I am sorry," you immediately say. "I… it did not work." You take a deep breath, making a decision as hard as any you have made in your life that has been far from easy. "You will not lose me," you then swear.

Because what else could you do?

Even if it means that you will have to live with the pain and the loss from day to day instead of turning into stone, or looking for a way to suppress your magic. It will be excruciating, but for her you will do it.

She is the last one you have left.

"I thought you were dead, too," you explain. "I did not find your body when I looked, I found all the others, but not you… However, there were piles of ashes and shreds of people who had been blasted. I could not identify those and I thought you were one of them…"

She is still clinging to you. "I ran," she whispers. "I found you with a vampire of Voldemort's forces attached to your neck and I killed him, because I could not lose you as well. He did not get to drain you completely, and soon you were turning and I knew I could not be anywhere near when you woke up. So I left and came back to look for you after a month."

"A month," you whisper, glancing around. The branches of the trees are heavy with snow, and when you turn your head you realize that the white crystals are lying on your arms and shoulders as well, not melting due to your low body temperature. For a second you manage to muster fascination for the beautiful flakes, however, it soon fades; buried by the agony. "How long… when…"

"A little more than three months," Luna answers, slowly composing herself. "The battle was at the end of October. It is mid-February now."

You just stare at her.

You have been standing here, unmoving, for more than three months. (It would work, your perfect brain immediately realizes. It has felt like much less time. You could easily wait for the end of the world… when she is gone.)

Her smile is sad. "You need to feed," she says. "Your eyes are pitch-black. I… there is a muggle prison nearby. If we leave the grounds I can get you one a felon, and smuggle the corpse back in afterwards. I am afraid I will not be able to get hold of any blood-substitute at the moment, England is still a mess."

Your eyes widen. "That… you would do that…"

"Of course." Her voice is firm, as if it is that easy, and you realize that it is as easy as that. And you could have known, really, for this is Luna you are dealing with. If anyone could accept a newborn vampire into their family without hesitating or making sure that they could control themselves, if anyone would offer to organize them a human to drain, it would definitely be Luna Lovegood.

You smile honestly then, for the first time since the battle – and it has already been rare before then.

"Do you have everything you need?" you ask and she nods.

"There is nothing left for me here," she says and you understand that she is talking about her belongings as much as Hogwarts and Britain. Cocking your head you look at her, questioning, and when she realizes what you are asking for she squeals in delight.

"I have wanted to since I was a kid!" she exclaims and – carefully – you pick her up bridal style.

"You will have to tell me where to go," you warn her.

"North," she immediately replies, winding her arms around your ice-cold neck. "Until we have left the grounds. I will get you your meal then, and we can make further plans once you have fed."

Nodding you tighten your grip around her just a little and then take off

It is only the second time you are using the speed that your new vampire nature has gifted you with, and race northwards. Easily you elude trees and rocks, jump across rivers. Luna is cheering in your arms and you think that before you would have enjoyed this as well. This is after, though, and while the pain is no longer holding you in a stony grip it still is everything you manage to feel.

It does not take you long to get off Hogwarts' grounds, however extensive they may be; without encountering any of the forests' dangerous inhabitants. They sense that you are higher threat to them than they could ever be to you and flee, just like they did in those three months you have spent unmoving.

You do not know whether to be relieved or disappointed. You have always loved animals, and that they fear you now does not make being an immortal any easier.

Finally you come shooting out of the forest and to an open field, feeling the foreign magic as you pass through the school's shields.

You put Luna to the floor as soon as you have stopped and she gives you a wide and very honest smile, taking a deep breath before she closes her eyes and turns on the spot, apparating away. What used to be a faint crack now is like thunder to your ears and you flinch. You then settle to stare at the place she has just left, the energy in your veins flowing out before you can stop it, eagerly examining what traces of magic the apparation has left. It is almost interesting, the way you can feel what kind of magic she has worked, along with her signature which you easily recognize. You think about how excited Hermione would have been about this-

And your world comes crumbling down once more.

Hermione.

Before you get the chance to sink into depression, however, you catch the momentary condensation of magical energy in a spot a few feet away from you before Luna is torn from the crack in the structure, her fragile fingers around the muscular upper arm of-

The scent hits you, then, and everything else is forgotten.

Not even the loud crack when she disapparates again manages to distract you, for you smell the sweetest scent you ever have smelled, you hear the beautiful, frantic beating of a human heart, you take in your prey. Panicked blue eyes are wide open; the tattooed giant of a man gasping for air and bobbing up, trying to run.

You let him, for a few seconds, before you take off, landing in front of him. He screams when you do, calls for help in this godforsaken plain, and you give him a cruel grin. "Run," you purr and your voice drops from your lips like honey. "Run for your life." He does like you told him and again you jump, barring his way. He freezes for a moment and then changes direction and you give him a little lead this time, before cutting him off again – and again and again and again.

When he has finally stumbled and fallen to the floor, reduced to a panicked, whimpering mess, you slowly approach him. Your movements are those of a predator, and you bare your teeth, deeply inhaling his scent. Easily your sharp eyes find the long cut on his palm, the one he has already stumbled into your territory with.

"Mine," you purr when you finally have reached him and put your pale fingers under his chin, raise his head.

His cheeks are tear-streaked and his beard looks dreadful. His panicked eyes, however, are lovely.

"Such beautiful eyes," you purr, slightly scratching the skin of his cheek – not enough to draw blood, but almost. "A shame, really." For a moment you want to know what you are hunting, who he is, what you will be destroying – and instantly your magic complies, forcing him to open his mind to your legilimency like a door to his memories. You brush through them carelessly, not that interested, until you find those including rape and murder and the trials. Roaring you tear your mind out of his and do not hesitate to bury your teeth in his neck, your hands snapping the bones in his arms and legs as if they were twigs. He screams with agony, but not for long, as you are draining him with your body and magic, ridding the world of this monster.

You only become aware of yourself when he is lying in front of you, dead and bloodless.

The burning thirst is sated.

Moments later you feel Luna's arrival.

"That took impressively long," she beams at you, as if that were an achievement, and then draws her wand. "Give me a few moments," she murmurs and then begins to mutter spells in a quick succession.

You feel the magic work, abiding by her spells, and when you understand what she is doing you let your magic join hers, freely flowing to do its work, without the constrictions of a wand.

Within a few seconds the corpse is filled with magically multiplied blood – no vampire would drink that – and the bite mark has made way for the kind of bruises that hanging would leave. The bones in his limbs are healed and Luna gives you a quick smile.

"He must have committed suicide, a shame. Anyway, I will be right back," she murmurs and apparates the corpse away, back to the prison.

You stare at the thin air where she has been just moments ago and let your mind wander.

You have just killed.

A rapist and murderer, yes, but a human no less. You have taken a life. Suddenly images come up, memories of vicious green curses shooting from the wand pressed against your thigh, and injuries that take the lives of hundreds of wizards clad in black, faces hidden behind silver masks.

You have killed before.

To save your life, and those of others. It is not any different this time, right? You have killed this man so that you would not give in to your instincts and kill Luna.

Trying to distract yourself you realize that you remember everything, and so very clearly – as if it had happened before your transformation. For a moment you wonder whether you should be surprised, but then you resign. You have kept your magic, which should be impossible. Why not keep your memories? Also, you have long stopped being surprised about stuff that is possible for you and no one else. Why change that policy?

Before you manage to contemplate that any further Luna returns, a sweet smile on her lips.

"Harry," she beams and throws herself at you. "I really liked your green eyes, but red fits you lovely as well!"

For a moment a pale face flashes through your mind; features with no proper nose and fiery red eyes. Voldemort. Your arch enemy, whom you managed to kill a little more than three months ago. You cannot look like him, no way, you would not-

Then you remember your Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons, moving pictures of vampires in your books; and Sanguini at Slughorn's party. Their eyes had the colour of fresh blood, not of fire. When that realization hits home you feel the tension leave your body and manage to force a smile.

The look in her eyes is understanding and she reaches for your hand. "Really, Harry, I am impressed," she murmurs. "You have gone for at least three months without blood, and you have not attacked me the moment I found you. Also, you obviously took your time with your meal instead of draining him immediately. You must have an incredible self-control."

Your smile is still forced, but it is the best you can do. "My magic," you answer.

"Ahh." She nods, not in the least surprised that you have kept it. Well. She does know you as well as you know yourself. "So," she then says, cheerfully, "where are we going?" Staring at you expectantly she sits down on a stone, not caring about the fact that it is covered in snow, soaking her damaged robe and skirt.

"We… going… what?" You are confused. It is a little embarrassing, really, with how fast your mind works, but then – this is Luna. She does not do normal.

"Well, we will not stay here, will we?"

You look at here and you see in her beautiful blue eyes what she must be seeing in yours: Pain.

No, you will not, you cannot stay here. England holds nothing for you, and neither does the wizarding world. You two are the last survivors of the Order of the Phoenix and you hold no love for the Ministry who have kept out of the war cowardly, letting who they were supposed to take care of do their jobs. Maybe you could have stayed had anyone else survived; but with Hermione, the Weasleys, Neville, Remus, Tonks,Teddy, Dumbledore – hell, even Snape – gone you know that you will have to leave.

"And we will stay together."

It is as much a plea as an order, and you can do nothing but nod. After all what she said before is true: Both of you have no one left but each other.

"What about Japan?"