Fic: One Last Word
Title: One Last Word
Rating: For All Ages
Fandom: Harry Potter / Sandman (Gaiman)
Summary: There's nothing left but the cleaning-up.
Another random crossover drabble. Frankly, I believe there are two crossovers that can work for almost any fandom -- this is one of them, for Harry Potter. I hope, if you've found your way here, that you enjoy it.
And in the end, that was it, really. He stood up, looked around, realizing that even then, the cheering was getting quiet, faint. For a brief moment, he saw shapes in the corner of his eyes, half-real reflections of himself in the fading light, but when he snapped his head around, they were gone.
"Hello, Tom." And the voice struck something deep within his shattered, torn soul. He couldn't look her in the face, but fell into his own arms and began to sob. An infinite weight hung on his soul, and the only response was to weep. Arms wrapped around him, and where he might have once killed for such presumption, he could only lean into the warmth, still sobbing.
"It isn't easy, Tom, is it?"
"What-what did I do?" She didn't respond, just let the man, whole now, sob until finally, he hiccoughed quietly and looked up into her eyes. She was beautiful, a pale, smiling woman that nevertheless reminded him a great deal of Myrtle. The memory of his first murder stung, and he stepped away from her. She watched him, a trifle sadly, as he tried to compose himself.
"What now?"
"What do you think?" she asked. It wasn't a harsh, mocking question, but thoughtful, serious, like the questions of the Ravenclaw dormitory.
That stopped his train of thought. Because, after all, hadn't all of this been to avoid this moment, to delay indefinitely the journey beyond the Veil? If he'd had any thought of what was to happen afterwards, he'd long ago discarded it for the obsession to live forever.
But now, he had an opportunity, and the spark in him that the Sorting Hat had once said could have made him a Ravenclaw flared up. "Could it have worked?"
"Hm? What?" She seemed distracted, or confused, which struck him as odd, given who she was.
"I tried to conquer death, to live forever. Would it have worked?"
"No. Or, at least not for you."
A bit of Lord Voldemort coiled, ready to strike, as this implication. "I was not powerful enough? I was not knowledgeable enough?"
"You were perhaps the greatest wizard of your age, Tom, just as Albus Dumbledore was of his, and Harry Potter is of his. But you feared me, and that fear gave me more power over you than you would have ever dreamed. I walked one step behind you, Tom, ever since you slew that girl."
And the bitter truth of it drove Tom Riddle - no longer Lord Voldemort, for Lord Voldemort was an inhuman creature that could not die, and he was no longer either of those things - to hysterical laughter. So it was as Potter had said, that so much power went to those who did not seek it, who did not desire it. The memory of Nicholas Flamel, an elderly man content to share immortality with his wife and quietly study, struck him, and it seemed monstrously unfair.
"If it hadn't been destroyed, would Flamel have lived forever?"
"I doubt it," she replied. "Although, he was a scholar, and as such, he might have kept on just for curiosity's sake."
It struck him then, the true magnitude of not only those he had killed, or ordered killed, but the casual destruction he was wreaked upon people's lives. Flamel might have lived another twelve centuries, if Voldemort had not tried to wrest the Stone from him. How many others had been ruined by the merest touch of Voldemort upon their lives?
"We are all connected, Tom. We must accept the consequences of that connection, but we should lay blame upon it. You acted as desired, and have had a lifetime."
"I want another," he replied. She raised one eyebrow, bemused. "There are people-Muggles, mostly, who believe that after you die, you're born again."
"And what would you do, if you had another life? Live forever?"
"Maybe," Tom said thoughtfully. "But there's a lot of ways to do that. But maybe, I want to see what I missed this time around."
"I can't tell you what comes next, Tom," she said, softly, "And your time is running out. But I do wish you the best of luck. You were a man, once. An arrogant, cowardly, cruel man, but still a man. I've seen better men than you, and worse ones, too. And when it comes down to it, I've met every one of them."
And then he stepped forward, and heard the beating of wings, great and terrible, and infinite warmth, and then...
"And who says this was your first time around, Tom? I'll see you soon."
Rating: For All Ages
Fandom: Harry Potter / Sandman (Gaiman)
Summary: There's nothing left but the cleaning-up.
Another random crossover drabble. Frankly, I believe there are two crossovers that can work for almost any fandom -- this is one of them, for Harry Potter. I hope, if you've found your way here, that you enjoy it.
And in the end, that was it, really. He stood up, looked around, realizing that even then, the cheering was getting quiet, faint. For a brief moment, he saw shapes in the corner of his eyes, half-real reflections of himself in the fading light, but when he snapped his head around, they were gone.
"Hello, Tom." And the voice struck something deep within his shattered, torn soul. He couldn't look her in the face, but fell into his own arms and began to sob. An infinite weight hung on his soul, and the only response was to weep. Arms wrapped around him, and where he might have once killed for such presumption, he could only lean into the warmth, still sobbing.
"It isn't easy, Tom, is it?"
"What-what did I do?" She didn't respond, just let the man, whole now, sob until finally, he hiccoughed quietly and looked up into her eyes. She was beautiful, a pale, smiling woman that nevertheless reminded him a great deal of Myrtle. The memory of his first murder stung, and he stepped away from her. She watched him, a trifle sadly, as he tried to compose himself.
"What now?"
"What do you think?" she asked. It wasn't a harsh, mocking question, but thoughtful, serious, like the questions of the Ravenclaw dormitory.
That stopped his train of thought. Because, after all, hadn't all of this been to avoid this moment, to delay indefinitely the journey beyond the Veil? If he'd had any thought of what was to happen afterwards, he'd long ago discarded it for the obsession to live forever.
But now, he had an opportunity, and the spark in him that the Sorting Hat had once said could have made him a Ravenclaw flared up. "Could it have worked?"
"Hm? What?" She seemed distracted, or confused, which struck him as odd, given who she was.
"I tried to conquer death, to live forever. Would it have worked?"
"No. Or, at least not for you."
A bit of Lord Voldemort coiled, ready to strike, as this implication. "I was not powerful enough? I was not knowledgeable enough?"
"You were perhaps the greatest wizard of your age, Tom, just as Albus Dumbledore was of his, and Harry Potter is of his. But you feared me, and that fear gave me more power over you than you would have ever dreamed. I walked one step behind you, Tom, ever since you slew that girl."
And the bitter truth of it drove Tom Riddle - no longer Lord Voldemort, for Lord Voldemort was an inhuman creature that could not die, and he was no longer either of those things - to hysterical laughter. So it was as Potter had said, that so much power went to those who did not seek it, who did not desire it. The memory of Nicholas Flamel, an elderly man content to share immortality with his wife and quietly study, struck him, and it seemed monstrously unfair.
"If it hadn't been destroyed, would Flamel have lived forever?"
"I doubt it," she replied. "Although, he was a scholar, and as such, he might have kept on just for curiosity's sake."
It struck him then, the true magnitude of not only those he had killed, or ordered killed, but the casual destruction he was wreaked upon people's lives. Flamel might have lived another twelve centuries, if Voldemort had not tried to wrest the Stone from him. How many others had been ruined by the merest touch of Voldemort upon their lives?
"We are all connected, Tom. We must accept the consequences of that connection, but we should lay blame upon it. You acted as desired, and have had a lifetime."
"I want another," he replied. She raised one eyebrow, bemused. "There are people-Muggles, mostly, who believe that after you die, you're born again."
"And what would you do, if you had another life? Live forever?"
"Maybe," Tom said thoughtfully. "But there's a lot of ways to do that. But maybe, I want to see what I missed this time around."
"I can't tell you what comes next, Tom," she said, softly, "And your time is running out. But I do wish you the best of luck. You were a man, once. An arrogant, cowardly, cruel man, but still a man. I've seen better men than you, and worse ones, too. And when it comes down to it, I've met every one of them."
And then he stepped forward, and heard the beating of wings, great and terrible, and infinite warmth, and then...
"And who says this was your first time around, Tom? I'll see you soon."