Enigmatic Riddle

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Note: Slightly edited & revised.

I hope you enjoy ;)

Prologue: A New Era

"Harry Potter," he said, very softly. His voice might have been part of the spitting fire. "The boy who lived."

None of the Death Eaters moved. They were waiting: everything was waiting. [...]

Voldemort had raised his wand. His head was tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Harry looked back into the red eyes, and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear−

He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone.(1)

It was at that moment that Harry James Potter lost his famous title, 'The Boy Who Lived.'

He had given it all up in hopes to save those who remained, those who were fighting a lost battle. It was a selfless act, a desperate move that showed the extent of his love and of his regret.

Harry James Potter, the Chosen One, the only person whom they thought stood a chance against the Dark Lord… They had all been living in a distorted and cruel illusion.

The boy's life had been dictated and planned out according to a prophecy. The ones he loved always perished. He had grown to know hate, evil and sadness in all their forms. Indeed, he was the child of tragedy.

Whatever the outcome his actions brought about, he hoped that he had made the right decision and that his sacrifice would ultimately make a difference.

-x-x-x-x-

Ron Weasley muffled his sneeze as best as he could and continued to shiver despite the heating charm cast by Hermione. The floor they were seated on was icy, much like the atmosphere. Dawn's official companion, the mist, was starting to make itself comfortable as well.

They sat side-by-side, not quite facing each other, but feeling connected nonetheless. They were on a risky assignment and knew that one of the best ways to succeed –and survive– was to stay to the shadows.

"I can't believe he's gone," The redhead mumbled dejectedly, still not over his best friend's death. He closed his tired eyes and leaned back on the wall, stretching his legs out.

It took moments for Hermione to respond. "He lives on as a legend, Ron. He is not gone."

Two months had passed since the incident. They still considered their getaway through the Room of Requirements a miracle. Whoever made it out alive that day acknowledged the fact fully.

However, it was not a mere escape. Their strategy was to destabilize Voldemort's army and strike again. Individuals or little groups of the survivors were sent out, targeting certain key people. They didn't always make it back.

A cold draft swept through the windowless room, extinguishing the single torch that was lit in it. Ron took this as his chance to reveal what was on his mind.

"I'll be joining Harry soon enough. I hope you'll think the same of me,"

"Ron! Don't talk like that!" His friend was reproachful. She found that her intended tone was hard to convey in the form of whispers. "We may be weak now but-"

"Hermione." He interrupted gravely. "There are maybe fifty of us left and a whole army of Death Eaters out there. Being hopeful is not going to change the numbers,"

They sat in silence as the Muggleborn witch considered his words. There was no use in bickering, not when their lifespan had shortened so considerably. After all, Ron was right.

A tone of dread had taken over people's lives. There was no more Ministry of Magic. Crime had become the new norm. Purebloods were granted rights that others were denied. Entire Muggle cities were wiped off the map...Most had lost their homes and their families, if not their dignity as well.

Hermione placed her hand on Ron's shoulder and waited for him to look her way. He could faintly see her silhouette.

"He won't defeat us," Hermione confirmed.

"Wishful thinking but–"

"Ron." He stopped. Not even he could challenge the authority in her voice. "Not if I can help it."

He gave a slight nod and they both waited a moment until the weight and sincerity of her statement were fully grasped.

"We'll be counting on you, then."

She removed her hand and looked ahead.

It was useless to add anything else.

-x-x-x-x-

A few weeks later, the twelve remaining people who had either resisted the pull of the shadows or were lucky enough to not have fallen victim to it came to a consensus. They were going to attack the main quarters of the Dark Lord, and try to drag him to the other side of the veil with them.

With Ron's loss still fresh in her memory, Hermione felt an overwhelming determination flow through her veins. This was not solely about her anymore. This battle...it was in behalf of Harry, Ron, Dumbledore... her parents, and the thousands unjustly gone.

They were not required to search for the place, as it was known to all. When they did arrive, the most nauseating about the scene that met them was the lake. Not only did it look morbid with all the cadavers floating on its surface, but the blood escaping the ill-fated victims had replaced the water.

They charged.

They were instantly met by a huge resistance. To say that they were merely outnumbered would be an understatement. One after the other, they fell.

Death was not instantaneous, of course. The Death Eaters preferred to have some fun first, unleashing their knowledge of dark curses. Whoever they were lucky to hit suffered an agonizing pain.

Had they stood a chance at all? All this time…The prophecy…Were they meant to lose from the beginning?

A curse hit Hermione square in the chest and sent her flying backwards into the damned lake.

With a resonating splash, she sank deep into the chilling blood, so deep she could not see any light anymore. A force was pulling her down and her head started feeling heavier and heavier…

Would it change anything if she were to act upon her regret? Not in the least.

It was over and they had been defeated. They had failed their mission. All their efforts had been worthless.

Such realizations broke Hermione. It felt as if she was being stabbed over and over again by the miserable truth.

If only she could go back a couple of months, if only she could go back and change it all…

If only she could do something to save the thousands of victims who had died or to at least keep her promise to Ron…Anything…She was willing to do anything. But what would that change now? She was dying. No more air was entering her lungs.

Her instincts screamed, ordering her to swim, to go up. But another part of her brain, the more stubborn one, told her to let go of everything, to let go because it was too late…

With that last thought in mind, she drifted into the eternal slumber.

Or so she thought.

-x-x-x-x-

It had stopped raining a mere hour earlier and the night was still young. A very discontented Adrian Cain walked through the streets, his step disrupting the silence and his shoulders shaking with silent rage. He was powerless, and weak, and there was nothing he could do to reverse the betrayal that had just taken place. He could not start to imagine how it was possible for them to do such a thing to him, how it was possible that they accuse him of such treachery! It was unbelievable. Especially since he was the one whom they needed most…

He came to a sudden stop, momentarily blinded by a spark of reason. He realized that there was no use in wasting his energy this way. Instead, he would channel it for something useful, like revenge. He was going to think up a plan…and let them regret their foolish decisions. He swore on it, he swore that they were going to pay for what they had done.

However, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't concentrate and could not piece together a decent scheme. His level of frustration only ended up ascending, worsening the situation.

He took a calming breath. He would go to Plecto Lake. Plecto Lake always calmed down his nerves.

He had the bad habit of doing ridiculously dangerous things when he felt too much pressure, so why not relax a bit and try thinking things over?

Adrian wasn't old, barely twenty-five, charming. A little arrogant and boastful sometimes, but really, he was quite alright.

Not to mention of the purest blood.

A dog barked in the distance, yet it failed to distract him or stop him from remembering not only the encounter but his past efforts to get where he was today. The mere thought made his blood boil. The sooner he arrived at park, the better and safer it would be.

When the moment finally came, when the setting was supposed to be perfect, it didn't go quite as planned. Sure, the place was the same, but the landscape was slightly odd. The vast lake's water was not smooth, only interrupted by small waves. Instead, an object was floating around.

Adrian peered closer, using some extra light from the tip of his wand, only to widen his eyes in quiet shock.

There was a corpse in the lake.

He quickly reacted. "Accio body!"

-x-x-x-x-

To Be Continued…

(1) Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. London: Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 2007, p.564.

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