Draft ending
Sep. 19th, 2004 06:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fpbI have a large-scale project of running three chaptered fics alongside each other and reach a common climax. I have already written most of the final chapters. I just thought I'd run a couple of passages here. I don't think I'm giving much of the story away when I say that the good guys win; does anyone believe that I would deliberately show anything else?
This is the death of a major character:
“It shall be so,” said a gentle, firm voice.
Katharine wondered who it was who took it on herself to give orders to the likes of Dumbledore and Lucius Malfoy; and as if to answer her question, a tall, golden-haired, sweet-faced young woman, wearing a shimmering diadem, came into her sight.
“Are you… are you the queen?” Katharine was near her last breath; all that was left of her life was in her eyes. “Yes,” said the golden apparition, “and I am also your cousin, Cleopatra Malfoy. I am sorry for everything that was done to you and I will do my best to change it.” Her hand reached out to the bloodstained, bony face, and she hoped that Katharine could feel her.
“You’re beautiful…” whispered Katharine as the luminous loveliness of Cleo swam in and out of her sight; and Biagio came and stood by her side, looking down at the broken body with pity and admiration. “You are… both beautiful…” she breathed out at last; and with the vision of her cousin and her bridegroom in her eyes, she quietly died.
For a second, there was a great silence. There were no tears, except from kind-hearted Cleo, because everyone who actually had loved Katharine had died before she did; except for little Peter, and he was far away. But everyone present found themselves looking into their souls, reflecting on her tragedy, on her strange and lonely destiny, unwittingly written by Lucius Malfoy himself long ago.
And these are the final scenes.
“Wait,” she said, and her beautiful forehead furrowed in thought. “We are doing something wrong.” And they all stopped, as she stood, contemplating the thoughts in her head. “Of course it’s wrong,” she said at last. “The dead must go first.”
Blaise looked at her in wonder. No matter how silly or slow she might have been, no matter how often she might have left it to others to react to events and to do things, he had never known her to be wrong on a moral issue. And she was right now. Of course the dead must go first, he said quietly to himself; and soon he heard the whisper go around the Elven host: Of course the dead must go first.
He raised his wand, and saw that the Elves were following his lead; even before his marriage and his coronation, they were treating him as their king. He spoke a few words, repeated by the whole Elven host; and the bodies of the valiant dead, scattered through the battlefield before Hogwarts, rose, freed from the blood and the mud, the scattered limbs brought back together. Then the Queen herself rose and spoke: and the cocoons in which Blaise and the Elves had woven the dead started glowing with light, as flags with faint, shining images of their dear faces rose fluttering above.
There was a single blast of trumpet, though who sounded it was never known; some, in days to come, were to say that Kirsten Johnson had come to sound the in-call herself. The great outer gates of Hogwarts, the gates that the enemy had failed to take, slowly gaped open, their dozens of tons of wood and bronze rolling over hinges as big as a man. The dead started moving. Three by three and three by three, under a forest of their flags flying blinding white in the sun, they went in: Tamsin Johnson and Kirsten Johnson, Margaret Bulstrode and Colin Creevey, Filius Flitwick and Katharine Malfoy, Delia Donovan and Aberforth Dumbledore, the famous and the unknown, rank on rank, file on file they came, home one last time and for ever. Through the great drive, as the trees stood and saluted, the wave of shining white proceeded, all the way to the castle that had stood untouched and inviolate as they fought and died to save it. The castle welcomed them: another set of gates, that no enemy had ever crossed in arms, swung open, and another passage was made for them. Under the tall gallery behind the castle gates with its majestic vaults and Gothic traceries, came the dead in shining white array, and they passed into the great courtyard, as the four Houses stood guard; and those of the living who could see knew that there was more than just stone and glass to watch over them. A honour guard of ghosts, of ancestral spirits, of valiant dead of the past in bright scarlet, shading off into gods and angels and great unseen things in the sky, stood over and saluted, as the long army still came in, rank on rank and name on name – now one with the stones and the memories of Hogwarts, old and proud and strong and unbreakable as history. The silence was as deep as the archivolt of heaven above; and yet those who saw the dead going home could only, later on, express what they had felt in terms of music – proud, sad, solemn, thankful, loving, cleansing, exultant.
It seemed that the dead should go on for ever; and yet an end came, and the living came to follow. First went Harry Potter with the sword of Godric Gryffindor, sheathed now and hanging by his side, his face deep in thought, his eyes on those who had gone in before him. Behind him strode Albus Dumbledore bearing the battle flag of Hogwarts, with its emblem quartered with the arms of Britain, and the colours of his brother; and with him came all the friends who had given so much to the fall of evil – Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, hand in hand, the Weasley family with their red hair looking like Flanders poppies against the green of late spring, Dennis Creevey bearing his brother’s flag, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, Luna Lovegood smiling with tears in her eyes, the teaching body – with Severus Snape and Emmy Vector bearing Poppy Pomfrey on a stretcher – and all the students of Hogwarts, and Viktor Krum leading the survivors of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons contingent, and Samjukta Gupta with the Indians and Americans. (Durmstrang’s former headmaster, Karkaroff, was among the dead, and, as nobody knew, then or since, on whose side he had fallen, he was counted among the forces of the light.) Last of all the Hogwartians came Blaise Zabini in full armour, with the flag of his country and the arms of the House of Zabini; and the Queen of the Elves had dismounted her own carriage to walk hand in hand with him. Behind them, his lack of shame as black a blot on that procession as Ganelon among the Paladins of France, came Lucius Malfoy in golden chains imposed on him by Blaise, symbols of his noble birth, but also of his defeat. They were followed by the avant-garde of the Queen of the Elves’ life guard, their swords then and always drawn; they strode around the Queen’s empty chariot, and she still walked on ahead. Finally, rank on rank, came the army of common Elves, and many other allies.
Finally the whole army of the living and the dead stood in two semicircles around the lake. Behind Dumbledore, his robes shining white and red, was the semi-circle of the glorious fallen, rising steeply upwards over the hillside like a theatre of light, witnesses and consecrators of the ceremony that was to take place. Around him stood the teaching body of Hogwarts, with Poppy Pomfrey borne by a magical chair, and the giant figure of Hagrid behind and to the right of the Headmaster, holding for him the arms and banner of Hogwarts, and that of Aberforth Dumbledore. And before him were arrayed the armies of Hogwarts and its allies, with the empty chariot of the Queen of the Elves almost in the middle on the Elvish side.
On the left side of the lake, the Queen of the Elves detached herself from the crowd of her subjects and walked with elegant simplicity and without the least suggestion of pride towards the place where the old wizard stood. Two steps behind her and to her right went Lucius Malfoy, her father, his stride expressing all the vanity his daughter did not have, still held by golden chains; and ten steps behind him, a detachment of the Elves’ royal life guard, with their sheathless swords.
Then, on the other side of the lake, Blaise Zabini stepped out alone, with nobody to keep him company (Draco Malfoy had offered to be best man, but the offer had been rudely refused). He had removed his helmet and his armour clanked and shone around him. With the broad stride of a soldier, apparently unencumbered by the weight of metal he bore, he reached Dumbledore and stood on his left, while Cleopatra and Lucius stood on his right. Dumbledore spoke in a voice that could be heard across the field and well beyond the circle of Hogwarts.
“Your majesty Queen Cleopatra of the Dark Elves, daughter of Lucius Malfoy, first Queen by the will of the gods and the approval of your people, of unimpeached name and glory; let your Majesty acknowledge that one comes to seek your hand – Siccard Biagio Baldassarre of the noble and ancient House of Zabini, true heir of the Iron Crown of Italy, successor to the Duke of Ormagno and hereditary protector. Is it your Majesty’s will to be his bride?”
“It is,” said Cleo softly, bowing her beautiful head as if burdened by all the titles.
“My lord Siccard Biagio Baldassarre, Duke and hereditary King, you have heard the response of her Majesty to your proposal. Is your will unchanged and steadfast?”
“It is,” said the young man, also quietly.
“Then in the presence of the dead and the living, of gods, ancestral spirits, men, and elves, whose assent consecrates this ceremony, by the permission granted me by the lords of the kingdom of the Dark Elves and by her Majesty, under the eye of He who is Truth, I, Albus Dumbledore, declare you man and wife. May the spells of good fortune and good love and friendship go with you for ever!”
It was indeed an enchanted evening: and eight more couples came forward to be united – of whom not one was, in days to come, to part. There was some laughter, mostly benevolent, when Neville Longbottom stepped forward hand in hand with Millicent Bulstrode, both blushing furiously; but cheers rose like a storm of fireworks when Harry Potter advanced, his sword still by his side, hand in hand with Ginevra Weasley, and her brother Ronald with Hermione Granger. The applause all but drowned the old teacher’s words of blessing, and everyone who could throw a spell of good fortune and happiness at them did so. Even Draco Malfoy’s union with Pansy Parkinson received Dumbledore’s blessing, although the old sage’s smile was observed to be, on this occasion, somewhat fixed.
But the climax of the day was not in Dumbledore’s hand. How it happened, nobody knew; one second he wasn’t there, the next he was: a tall figure in a heavy, sky-blue cloak, a single baleful eye blazing from under a blue hat, carrying a power that everyone could feel. Without any hesitation, he turned to Blaise and Cleo and asked: “Do you know who I am?”
“I do now, my lord. You are one who watched over my whole journey and over the nation of the Dark Elves.”
“And do you know my name?”
“Ah, which name, my lord? Are you Gaut or Hoar-beard? Bale-Worker or Tyr-of-Men?”
“A good answer, my child. Yes, I am all of that and more.
To the race of the gods | my face have I raised,
And the wished-for aid have I waked;
For to all the gods | has the message gone
That sit in Ægir's seats,
That drink within Ægir's doors.
Grim is my name, | Gangleri am I,
Herjan and Hjalmberi,Thekk and Thrithi, | Thuth and Uth,
Helblindi and Hor;
Sath and Svipal | and Sanngetal,
Herteit and Hnikar,
Bileyg, Baleyg, | Bolverk, Fjolnir,
Grim and Grimnir, | Glapsvith, Fjolsvith.
Sithhott, Sithskegg, | Sigfather, Hnikuth,
Allfather, Valfather, | Atrith, Farmatyr:
A single name | have I never had
Since first among men I fared.
Grimnir they call me | in Geirröth's hall,
With Asmund Jalk am I;
Kjalar I was | when I went in a sledge,
At the council Thror am I called,
As Vithur I fare to the fight;
Oski, Biflindi, | Jafnhor and Omi,
Gondlir and Harbarth midst gods.
So I deceived the giant | Sokkmimir old
As Svithur and Svithrir of yore;
Of Mithvitnir's son | the slayer I was
When the famed one found his doom.
Now am I Othin, | Ygg was I once,
Ere that did they call me Thund;
Vak and Skilfing, | Vofuth and Hroptatyr,
Gaut and Jalk midst the gods;
Ofnir and Svafnir, | and all, methinks,
Are names for none but me.“
And I have come for this, Siccard and Cleopatra, because the words I spoke long ago should be fulfilled.”
The man of many names gestured at their heads; and suddenly Cleo’s diadem flashed like a star, and Blaise was wearing a similar diadem. “You are now, before men and gods, the Queen and King Consort of the Dark Elves. You have already won glory that shall not die, and shall win more before you tread the path of mortals; and I leave you with my blessing.”
This is the death of a major character:
“It shall be so,” said a gentle, firm voice.
Katharine wondered who it was who took it on herself to give orders to the likes of Dumbledore and Lucius Malfoy; and as if to answer her question, a tall, golden-haired, sweet-faced young woman, wearing a shimmering diadem, came into her sight.
“Are you… are you the queen?” Katharine was near her last breath; all that was left of her life was in her eyes. “Yes,” said the golden apparition, “and I am also your cousin, Cleopatra Malfoy. I am sorry for everything that was done to you and I will do my best to change it.” Her hand reached out to the bloodstained, bony face, and she hoped that Katharine could feel her.
“You’re beautiful…” whispered Katharine as the luminous loveliness of Cleo swam in and out of her sight; and Biagio came and stood by her side, looking down at the broken body with pity and admiration. “You are… both beautiful…” she breathed out at last; and with the vision of her cousin and her bridegroom in her eyes, she quietly died.
For a second, there was a great silence. There were no tears, except from kind-hearted Cleo, because everyone who actually had loved Katharine had died before she did; except for little Peter, and he was far away. But everyone present found themselves looking into their souls, reflecting on her tragedy, on her strange and lonely destiny, unwittingly written by Lucius Malfoy himself long ago.
And these are the final scenes.
“Wait,” she said, and her beautiful forehead furrowed in thought. “We are doing something wrong.” And they all stopped, as she stood, contemplating the thoughts in her head. “Of course it’s wrong,” she said at last. “The dead must go first.”
Blaise looked at her in wonder. No matter how silly or slow she might have been, no matter how often she might have left it to others to react to events and to do things, he had never known her to be wrong on a moral issue. And she was right now. Of course the dead must go first, he said quietly to himself; and soon he heard the whisper go around the Elven host: Of course the dead must go first.
He raised his wand, and saw that the Elves were following his lead; even before his marriage and his coronation, they were treating him as their king. He spoke a few words, repeated by the whole Elven host; and the bodies of the valiant dead, scattered through the battlefield before Hogwarts, rose, freed from the blood and the mud, the scattered limbs brought back together. Then the Queen herself rose and spoke: and the cocoons in which Blaise and the Elves had woven the dead started glowing with light, as flags with faint, shining images of their dear faces rose fluttering above.
There was a single blast of trumpet, though who sounded it was never known; some, in days to come, were to say that Kirsten Johnson had come to sound the in-call herself. The great outer gates of Hogwarts, the gates that the enemy had failed to take, slowly gaped open, their dozens of tons of wood and bronze rolling over hinges as big as a man. The dead started moving. Three by three and three by three, under a forest of their flags flying blinding white in the sun, they went in: Tamsin Johnson and Kirsten Johnson, Margaret Bulstrode and Colin Creevey, Filius Flitwick and Katharine Malfoy, Delia Donovan and Aberforth Dumbledore, the famous and the unknown, rank on rank, file on file they came, home one last time and for ever. Through the great drive, as the trees stood and saluted, the wave of shining white proceeded, all the way to the castle that had stood untouched and inviolate as they fought and died to save it. The castle welcomed them: another set of gates, that no enemy had ever crossed in arms, swung open, and another passage was made for them. Under the tall gallery behind the castle gates with its majestic vaults and Gothic traceries, came the dead in shining white array, and they passed into the great courtyard, as the four Houses stood guard; and those of the living who could see knew that there was more than just stone and glass to watch over them. A honour guard of ghosts, of ancestral spirits, of valiant dead of the past in bright scarlet, shading off into gods and angels and great unseen things in the sky, stood over and saluted, as the long army still came in, rank on rank and name on name – now one with the stones and the memories of Hogwarts, old and proud and strong and unbreakable as history. The silence was as deep as the archivolt of heaven above; and yet those who saw the dead going home could only, later on, express what they had felt in terms of music – proud, sad, solemn, thankful, loving, cleansing, exultant.
It seemed that the dead should go on for ever; and yet an end came, and the living came to follow. First went Harry Potter with the sword of Godric Gryffindor, sheathed now and hanging by his side, his face deep in thought, his eyes on those who had gone in before him. Behind him strode Albus Dumbledore bearing the battle flag of Hogwarts, with its emblem quartered with the arms of Britain, and the colours of his brother; and with him came all the friends who had given so much to the fall of evil – Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, hand in hand, the Weasley family with their red hair looking like Flanders poppies against the green of late spring, Dennis Creevey bearing his brother’s flag, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, Luna Lovegood smiling with tears in her eyes, the teaching body – with Severus Snape and Emmy Vector bearing Poppy Pomfrey on a stretcher – and all the students of Hogwarts, and Viktor Krum leading the survivors of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons contingent, and Samjukta Gupta with the Indians and Americans. (Durmstrang’s former headmaster, Karkaroff, was among the dead, and, as nobody knew, then or since, on whose side he had fallen, he was counted among the forces of the light.) Last of all the Hogwartians came Blaise Zabini in full armour, with the flag of his country and the arms of the House of Zabini; and the Queen of the Elves had dismounted her own carriage to walk hand in hand with him. Behind them, his lack of shame as black a blot on that procession as Ganelon among the Paladins of France, came Lucius Malfoy in golden chains imposed on him by Blaise, symbols of his noble birth, but also of his defeat. They were followed by the avant-garde of the Queen of the Elves’ life guard, their swords then and always drawn; they strode around the Queen’s empty chariot, and she still walked on ahead. Finally, rank on rank, came the army of common Elves, and many other allies.
Finally the whole army of the living and the dead stood in two semicircles around the lake. Behind Dumbledore, his robes shining white and red, was the semi-circle of the glorious fallen, rising steeply upwards over the hillside like a theatre of light, witnesses and consecrators of the ceremony that was to take place. Around him stood the teaching body of Hogwarts, with Poppy Pomfrey borne by a magical chair, and the giant figure of Hagrid behind and to the right of the Headmaster, holding for him the arms and banner of Hogwarts, and that of Aberforth Dumbledore. And before him were arrayed the armies of Hogwarts and its allies, with the empty chariot of the Queen of the Elves almost in the middle on the Elvish side.
On the left side of the lake, the Queen of the Elves detached herself from the crowd of her subjects and walked with elegant simplicity and without the least suggestion of pride towards the place where the old wizard stood. Two steps behind her and to her right went Lucius Malfoy, her father, his stride expressing all the vanity his daughter did not have, still held by golden chains; and ten steps behind him, a detachment of the Elves’ royal life guard, with their sheathless swords.
Then, on the other side of the lake, Blaise Zabini stepped out alone, with nobody to keep him company (Draco Malfoy had offered to be best man, but the offer had been rudely refused). He had removed his helmet and his armour clanked and shone around him. With the broad stride of a soldier, apparently unencumbered by the weight of metal he bore, he reached Dumbledore and stood on his left, while Cleopatra and Lucius stood on his right. Dumbledore spoke in a voice that could be heard across the field and well beyond the circle of Hogwarts.
“Your majesty Queen Cleopatra of the Dark Elves, daughter of Lucius Malfoy, first Queen by the will of the gods and the approval of your people, of unimpeached name and glory; let your Majesty acknowledge that one comes to seek your hand – Siccard Biagio Baldassarre of the noble and ancient House of Zabini, true heir of the Iron Crown of Italy, successor to the Duke of Ormagno and hereditary protector. Is it your Majesty’s will to be his bride?”
“It is,” said Cleo softly, bowing her beautiful head as if burdened by all the titles.
“My lord Siccard Biagio Baldassarre, Duke and hereditary King, you have heard the response of her Majesty to your proposal. Is your will unchanged and steadfast?”
“It is,” said the young man, also quietly.
“Then in the presence of the dead and the living, of gods, ancestral spirits, men, and elves, whose assent consecrates this ceremony, by the permission granted me by the lords of the kingdom of the Dark Elves and by her Majesty, under the eye of He who is Truth, I, Albus Dumbledore, declare you man and wife. May the spells of good fortune and good love and friendship go with you for ever!”
It was indeed an enchanted evening: and eight more couples came forward to be united – of whom not one was, in days to come, to part. There was some laughter, mostly benevolent, when Neville Longbottom stepped forward hand in hand with Millicent Bulstrode, both blushing furiously; but cheers rose like a storm of fireworks when Harry Potter advanced, his sword still by his side, hand in hand with Ginevra Weasley, and her brother Ronald with Hermione Granger. The applause all but drowned the old teacher’s words of blessing, and everyone who could throw a spell of good fortune and happiness at them did so. Even Draco Malfoy’s union with Pansy Parkinson received Dumbledore’s blessing, although the old sage’s smile was observed to be, on this occasion, somewhat fixed.
But the climax of the day was not in Dumbledore’s hand. How it happened, nobody knew; one second he wasn’t there, the next he was: a tall figure in a heavy, sky-blue cloak, a single baleful eye blazing from under a blue hat, carrying a power that everyone could feel. Without any hesitation, he turned to Blaise and Cleo and asked: “Do you know who I am?”
“I do now, my lord. You are one who watched over my whole journey and over the nation of the Dark Elves.”
“And do you know my name?”
“Ah, which name, my lord? Are you Gaut or Hoar-beard? Bale-Worker or Tyr-of-Men?”
“A good answer, my child. Yes, I am all of that and more.
To the race of the gods | my face have I raised,
And the wished-for aid have I waked;
For to all the gods | has the message gone
That sit in Ægir's seats,
That drink within Ægir's doors.
Grim is my name, | Gangleri am I,
Herjan and Hjalmberi,Thekk and Thrithi, | Thuth and Uth,
Helblindi and Hor;
Sath and Svipal | and Sanngetal,
Herteit and Hnikar,
Bileyg, Baleyg, | Bolverk, Fjolnir,
Grim and Grimnir, | Glapsvith, Fjolsvith.
Sithhott, Sithskegg, | Sigfather, Hnikuth,
Allfather, Valfather, | Atrith, Farmatyr:
A single name | have I never had
Since first among men I fared.
Grimnir they call me | in Geirröth's hall,
With Asmund Jalk am I;
Kjalar I was | when I went in a sledge,
At the council Thror am I called,
As Vithur I fare to the fight;
Oski, Biflindi, | Jafnhor and Omi,
Gondlir and Harbarth midst gods.
So I deceived the giant | Sokkmimir old
As Svithur and Svithrir of yore;
Of Mithvitnir's son | the slayer I was
When the famed one found his doom.
Now am I Othin, | Ygg was I once,
Ere that did they call me Thund;
Vak and Skilfing, | Vofuth and Hroptatyr,
Gaut and Jalk midst the gods;
Ofnir and Svafnir, | and all, methinks,
Are names for none but me.“
And I have come for this, Siccard and Cleopatra, because the words I spoke long ago should be fulfilled.”
The man of many names gestured at their heads; and suddenly Cleo’s diadem flashed like a star, and Blaise was wearing a similar diadem. “You are now, before men and gods, the Queen and King Consort of the Dark Elves. You have already won glory that shall not die, and shall win more before you tread the path of mortals; and I leave you with my blessing.”
