Title- A Prophecy Fulfilled
Disclaimer- I almost literally own nothing, not to mention BtVS, or Harry Potter.
Rating- PG-13 for now.
Pairing- None as of now
Summary- Prophecies can be fulfilled in all kinds of interesting ways.
Spoilers- Through the end of BtVS and OoTP for Harry Potter.
His power was quite honestly greater than any mortal should have been able to posses. The fingers of one hand were more than adequate to count the possible rivals to his might.
One of those rivals, an Archmage of such skill and power that his name was known throughout the various planes of reality. Good creatures, both mortal and divine spoke his name with the profoundest respect. There was a very real possibility of Ascension upon his eventual death. Creatures of darkness, from the lowliest imp to vastly powerful greater demons, used his name as the vilest of curses, a remnant of an adventurous youth and several memorable visits to a myriad of hell dimensions.
The other rival, the only other being on the planet who could challenge his power...was a boy. Ignorant of his potential and largely untrained beyond the merest tricks available to one such as himself. A survior, nothing seemed able to stop the boy. An observer could very well conclude that one of the more ethereal higher beings, possibly Fate but more likely Luck, made a habit of interfering with his adventures.
Dumbledore and Potter. Oh how Voldemort loathed them. They were literally the banes of his existance. That was all right, though. They would soon fall and nothing would stand in his way to achieving the transformation that had begun decades earlier. A Dark God would soon walk the Earth once again...
The Dark Lord, Voldemort, felt quite secure in his place in the order of things. The old fool could not leave his precious school, not unless he wished to return to find it a smoking pile of charred rubble. The boy, well, that threat just didn't bare consideration. Not for several years at the very least.
"Crucio," the dark magus whispered, a twisted smile upon his inhuman visage.
Held by Unbreakable chains and contained within a circle of silver charged with the blood of an angel, his latest acquisition shrieked in purest agony. A fortuitous find, he had almost literally had this latest treasure fall into his lap. Imagine the Dark Lord's surprise, when instead of stealing the essence of a demon with which to temporarily empower himself, a beautiful young woman appeared within the summoning circle.
Hours of magical torture had been required to break into the natural shields surrounding the girl's mind. He dared not break the power of the circle, for demons were a cunning lot and it would not be beyond for one to attempt to decieve its summoner. Hours...astounding really, considering that even the most resistant aurors seldomly lasted more than a few minutes when the Cruciatus curse was applied. Finally, as the girl's core of mystic energy weakened adequately for legimens probes to penetrate her mind, Voldemort learned of the Slayers.
Mystical warriors from an alternate universe, they had been empowered to fight the forces of Darkness, given that power with the refined essence of powerful demons. Her world had hundreds, possibly thousands, even she didn't know.
The recollection made Voldemort giddy with the promise of the power he would soon gain. Certain forces had to be in alignment to bridge the barriers between the planes, and he would only be able to summon one Slayer at a time, but he had learned a certain amount of patience as a bodiless spectre. Power gained through time and effort had a way of sticking around longer than that taken by quicker means.
Lord Voldemort made a critical mistake, though, as he planned out the ritual, altering certain aspects of the summoning spell to tailor it specifically for Slayers. He had been waiting for an opportunity to reach into the Slayer's home plane, but something else had been waiting for the same opportunity to reach into his own.
The woman floated before the Dark Lord, but not within the circle nor bound by the enchanted chains as expected. Things had gone wrong.
Pale skin made translucent and luminous by the impossibly huge amount of white magic contained within her body, the woman had hair the color of newly fallen snow, its orignal color bled out by magic escaping through her very pores. It would have seemed that a Goddess of Light had descended upon Voldemort had it not been for her corona of darkness, pure black magic, that corrupted the very air itself and turned her eyes into pits of utter black fury.
That black aura exploded, filling the chamber and turning the few terrified Death Eaters who had been privelaged to witness what would have been a great display of their Master's power into wisps of oily black smoke.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was well into his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. At this particular moment in time, though, he was in Hogsmeade with his friends and several housemates. The weather was chilly but not uncomfortable and they were heading towards Madam Rosmerta's fine establishment for a butterbeer before making the short trek back to school.
Black and purple smoke, somehow crawling with black tendrils of lightning, billowed into existance in the middle of the street, startling the group and causing more than a few screams of terror. Despite the surprise, Harry and his companions knew the drill, having practiced endlessly for ambushes and the like. Wands were drawn and defensible positions were taken. Spells leapt into the young wizard's mind, preparing for any eventuality.
The smoke faded from existance as quickly as it had appeared, in an instant. Left behind was an attractive young woman with glowing white hair, pale white skin, and black eyes fit to give nightmares to all but the most stalwart.
No spells had yet flown, though the air was charged with magical energy and the tension was almost tangible.
"Harry Potter," spoke the woman, her voice unnaturally hollow and vibrant all at the same time. She turned her horrible eyes unerringly towards the aforementioned young man, seeking him out among his comrades.
Harry nodded and stepped forward, somehow sensing that the strange woman was no threat to him or his friends.
Returning the nod with a small smile, the...visitor walked forward to meet Harry, extending her hand in greeting.
Students and residents of Hogsmeade all stood by, nearly paralyzed by the strange proceedings. It had looked like an attack was imminent, and yet now the Boy Who Lived was shaking hands with the creature/woman?
"I'm Willow and I have a present for you," Willow said.
"What kind of present?" Harry asked warily. The total strangeness of this situation meritted a bit of caution no matter how friendly Willow seemed.
"Why, the best kind of course!" Willow exclaimed excitedly. "Today, Harry Potter, you're getting your very own arch enemy. Free of charge and gift wrapped, too." Before Harry could further question Willow, she waved her hand and another puff of that same off energized smoke appeared several feet to her left.
Bound hand and foot with his own intestines, Tom Riddle's body, twisted by dark magic rituals, but even moreso by spell induced trauma, writhed weakly on the muddy cobblestones.
Stunned speechless, Harry and the visitor's audience simply stared.
"Pathetic, really. Look what this guy did to himself to become powerful. Wasn't doing a bad job of it, though. Then he kidnapped and tortured a friend of mine. Well, I couldn't allow that to go unpunished, right?"
Harry found himself nodding, though his eyes never left the thoroughly destroyed visage of Voldemort quivering like a dying flobberworm.
"I played with him for a while and let Cindy get her licks in once she recovered from the torture. Nothing fatal. Then, just before we were ready to return to our own world, I decided to just flay him and be done with it. There just aren't many things as satisfying as tearing the skin from your living enemies. So, I flayed him, then incinerated him. I don't like to leave a mess behind. You can imagine how surprised I was when his body reformed before my very eyes."
The Boy Who Lived still hadn't managed to look away from the whimpering puddle of trussed up flesh that was once Lord Voldemort.
"It took a few seconds to find the answer in what remained of Tommy's mind. Did you know there's a prophecy that only you could kill him? Annoying things, prophecies are, especially when the Powers That Be get involved. Since I couldn't kill him, Cindy and I had a bit more fun while a spell sought you out," Willow finished. She snapped her fingers and a bone hilted dagger appeared in her palm, its blade the color of ebony and the runes etched deeply into its surface glowing a malignant purple.
"Would you care to do the honors?"
It was less than a minute later that Dumbledore arrived. He'd felt "Her" arrival as the very ectoplasmic fabric of the Astral Plane trembled in sympathy with her power. Navigating the resulting turbulent eddies of ectoplasm had been difficult for his astral form, but he'd made decent time returning to his body.
He arrived at the scene in Hogsmeade less than a minute after Willow made her offer.
Harry had already managed to stab Voldemort thirty seven times with the enchanted dagger.
The prophecy had been fulfilled.
Author's Note: Well, that was fun!