To everything there is a season...
Jul. 7th, 2006 12:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iambetadraconis"On the day the wall came down
They threw the locks on to the ground
And with glasses high, we raised a cry
For freedom had arrived"
After the events documented here.
He might have run for an hour, or maybe he'd run for a day. It didn't matter, not now. All he knew was the sheer unadulterated joy that one can only feel when one has attained true freedom.
Not the freedom some people think is freedom in the form of a swift broom or the ability to assume an animal's form at will [if one actually has that ability] but the freedom from someone and something one never thought to be free from, and had in fact given up hope that such freedoms could ever be attained.
The Dark Lord is dead...
He was dead, and this time, there would be no rebirth. Rabastan knew nothing of the Horcruxes that Voldemort had made in a bid for immortality, and it would be allowed that the now ex-Death Eater be permitted to carry on in his ignorance, lest the knowledge give him something new to fear.
Six. Voldemort had made six Horcruxes to hold bits of his soul, so that they each could, in turn, allow their owner to live six times longer than any wizard had save for Nicolaus Flamel, who had used his Philosopher's Stone to make the Elixir of Life and grant himself a very long life. Six pieces of Voldemort's soul.
They'd been destroyed in the end. And that meant that Voldemort was, in the end, the one thing he hated most: he was inescapably mortal.
Freedom... Oh gods I am free at last...
He'd never know how it ended, the final moments of Voldemort's existance, nor would he. The one who witnessed it would never tell a Death Eater what had happened no matter how pressed the witness was to answer that Death Eater.
He stopped for a moment, to catch his breath and to look about him. See if anyone was following him.
No one was.
It made his heart soar.
He could do what his mind had been telling him he ought to do ever since the sun had set again.
His heart fluttered for a moment, as he thought about it. He could be excused for being afraid to do it, for this was a drastic change he was about to make, but to stay meant to live in a world tainted forever by the fear the Dark Lord had created in the hearts of others. Fear he himself had created, loathe though he was to do it.
One must start anew; take a chance; begin again.
"I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the moment had arrived
For killing the past and coming back to life"
A baby's cry echoed through the hospital room where its mother lay while its father looked on.
"Congratulations," the nurse said. "It's a baby boy."
"Let me see him," said the new father, joy in his face. "Let me see my boy."
The newborn boy was handed over to the man, who scooped the infant into his arms, smiling down at the new life he'd helped to create.
"Our son," the woman—his wife—said in a tired voice. "Our little boy Sebastien."
He smiled.
"Yes he is."
"What will we name him?"
After a moment, more to make it look like he'd been mulling over the name he'd already chosen than out of a reluctance to choose anything at all, he nodded and bestowed the boy his name.
"Neville."
Lyrics from "A Great Day For Freedom" and "Coming Back To Life", both songs © 1994 Pink Floyd Music.
They threw the locks on to the ground
And with glasses high, we raised a cry
For freedom had arrived"
After the events documented here.
He might have run for an hour, or maybe he'd run for a day. It didn't matter, not now. All he knew was the sheer unadulterated joy that one can only feel when one has attained true freedom.
Not the freedom some people think is freedom in the form of a swift broom or the ability to assume an animal's form at will [if one actually has that ability] but the freedom from someone and something one never thought to be free from, and had in fact given up hope that such freedoms could ever be attained.
The Dark Lord is dead...
He was dead, and this time, there would be no rebirth. Rabastan knew nothing of the Horcruxes that Voldemort had made in a bid for immortality, and it would be allowed that the now ex-Death Eater be permitted to carry on in his ignorance, lest the knowledge give him something new to fear.
Six. Voldemort had made six Horcruxes to hold bits of his soul, so that they each could, in turn, allow their owner to live six times longer than any wizard had save for Nicolaus Flamel, who had used his Philosopher's Stone to make the Elixir of Life and grant himself a very long life. Six pieces of Voldemort's soul.
They'd been destroyed in the end. And that meant that Voldemort was, in the end, the one thing he hated most: he was inescapably mortal.
Freedom... Oh gods I am free at last...
He'd never know how it ended, the final moments of Voldemort's existance, nor would he. The one who witnessed it would never tell a Death Eater what had happened no matter how pressed the witness was to answer that Death Eater.
He stopped for a moment, to catch his breath and to look about him. See if anyone was following him.
No one was.
It made his heart soar.
He could do what his mind had been telling him he ought to do ever since the sun had set again.
His heart fluttered for a moment, as he thought about it. He could be excused for being afraid to do it, for this was a drastic change he was about to make, but to stay meant to live in a world tainted forever by the fear the Dark Lord had created in the hearts of others. Fear he himself had created, loathe though he was to do it.
One must start anew; take a chance; begin again.
"I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the moment had arrived
For killing the past and coming back to life"
A baby's cry echoed through the hospital room where its mother lay while its father looked on.
"Congratulations," the nurse said. "It's a baby boy."
"Let me see him," said the new father, joy in his face. "Let me see my boy."
The newborn boy was handed over to the man, who scooped the infant into his arms, smiling down at the new life he'd helped to create.
"Our son," the woman—his wife—said in a tired voice. "Our little boy Sebastien."
He smiled.
"Yes he is."
"What will we name him?"
After a moment, more to make it look like he'd been mulling over the name he'd already chosen than out of a reluctance to choose anything at all, he nodded and bestowed the boy his name.
"Neville."
Lyrics from "A Great Day For Freedom" and "Coming Back To Life", both songs © 1994 Pink Floyd Music.
