The Erlking

105 A4 pages in total. Not one of my longest, I’ll admit. But I did enjoy it.



I want to thank everyone who reviewed continuously throughout this story. I really do appreciate it, and I will continue to adore everyone who reviews this, the final, chapter. Thanks once more.

And to those who pointed out that Harry should have been ‘unimportant’ in death like I kept repeating, thank you for catching on somewhat. Read on to see why Harry remains the Erlking’s beloved, even though he has died. And cookies to those who noticed that Harry died with TWO souls :)

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The first paragraph is taken from chapter 1, prologue.

Words: 2,965
Chapter 16
Epilogue
January 1997.

It’s common knowledge that parents tell their children stories, old stories, to protect them, or scare them, or even to comfort them. In some families there are tales of the Sandman who tears out the eyes of small boys who refuse to sleep at night; tales of Baba Yaga, the demon witch who rides a chariot of bones and rests her hands upon the skulls of children; tales Scylla the sea monster, who drags men into the depths in an attempt to appease an insatiable hunger. And then, in some families there are tales of the Hunt and the Huntsmen. Creatures who cause fears in the blackest of hearts, who send brave Centaurs running for cover their tales between their legs, and tales of their leader, the Erlking, the King of the Alders – sometimes mistaken for the Devil himself.

Like most tales, they are made up of a mix of fact and fiction. Each blended together equally to create an intricate web of fear, passion and amusement. Each time, the truth was usually the aspect that was most feared.

The truth in each tale was that the Erlking, while cruel and ruthless, was merciless as well. In death all importance ceased to be. No matter how powerful or rich you were in life, you were nothing to the Erlking in death. In death all were equal, and to the Erlking that meant one of three things. They were either entertainment or food, or they were servants.

However, Harry Potter was once again the exception to the rule.

XXX

Black Forest, Germany. January 1997.

The Hunt rode. The Erlking in the lead, amount his fiery steed, the Thestral itself breathing fire over all it passed. Behind the Erlking rode his three Betas: Galhar, Morfis and Ramon. Behind the Betas were the rest of the Huntsmen, but they all ran on foot. The Canis Demonata ran along side them, occasionally nipping at each others heels, leaping and bounding over the mist that flowed round their ankles and up to the knees of the Thestrals. The Erlking sat alone on his steed; the beloved boy was noticeably absent.

His eyes flashed red as they fell on a lone doe. The red of his eyes was all that was visible beneath that cowl that hid his entire head from view, except when he smiled, for then you could see the white flash of his elongated eyeteeth. The collar of his cloak no longer had scalps of human and humanoid hair attached to it, instead, the claws of dragons and the fangs of snaked were sewn into it, like beads, and they glittered as the Hunt rode. He hunched forward, urging the Thestral onwards, and his crown of human finger-bones slipped forward. It did not fall off, however, as it was held in place by the two large curved horns that sprouted through the hood of the Erlking’s cloak. His fingers were thin and bony, his nails long and sharp, blackening at the tips. Each finger was entwined with briars and vines.

A lock of rust coloured hair fell out of the cover of his cowl, and he brushed it back irritably. He raised the trumpet, made of the horn of a unicorn, and he blew into it. At the sound, the hounds descended on the doe, followed by the Huntsmen. The Erlking just watched, his eyes glowing red on his darkened face, and his fangs flashing white as he smiled. The sounds of screams echoed through the forest.

XXX

A jungle, India. February 1997.

The Black Panther ran for all it was worth. It jumped fallen logs, and climbed up the branches to hide in trees. The hounds barked at the base of the tree, while the Hunters threw their weapons into the air. The panther jumped down and began to run again. The Erlking watched in amusement.

When the panther was cornered, between a waterfall and a wall of thick trees that towered towards the sky, the Erlking left his Thestral and slowly glided forward. The hem of his robe swayed as the mist tried to caress his legs. It blew upwards slightly, but the Erlking walked on undeterred. The panther caught a glimpse of the creature’s legs when the robe blew up and it confused the animal.

The panther was a predator. The creature before him reeked of power and death, but his feet were cloven and his legs twisted and covered with course rust-coloured fur. The panther usually hunted animals with legs like that, and yet, it cowered before this creature. This prey that, strangely, walked upon its two back legs, and used its front legs to rip the lower jaw from the panthers face even as it snarled and struggled.

The Erlking smiled, pulling out the teeth of the panther one by one as the Huntsmen hacked away at what was left of the animal before leaving the Canis’ to have their fill. The Erlking pocketed the teeth, noting to himself to have Genetrix sew them to the collar of his robe.

XXX

February 14th 1997.

The Erlking had grown bored and tired in the space of a month. The war between the Wizards had come to a stop, and there were no longer pointless deaths, which meant there were hardly very many magical souls to steal. It also gave him no reason whatsoever to make an appearance. But he was bored.

It was a good an excuse as any.

Lord Voldemort was no the supreme ruler of the Wizarding World, he always made sure to take lunch and dinner at Hogwarts. Severus had been made Headmaster, and he taught at the school along with Lucius, Remus and Sirius. Some of the old teachers were still employed, but a handful, as expected, were unwilling to bow down and had to be disposed of.

The Erlking left Genetrix to sew the panther teeth to his robe collar, and he donned another one. This one was made entirely out of snakeskin, and lined with black silk. The hood hung down past his nose, and had two large fangs sewn onto it, so when the hood was up, the teeth looked like part of the Erlking’s face. His red eyes were visible through two holes that had been cut into the hood. His horns ripped through the fabric as he called them forward.

He made his way, using the mist as a conduit, to the Forbidden Forest, outside Hogwarts. When he entered the Great Hall no body saw him or took notice of him. He kept to the shadows out of sight and let his eyes roam over the people assembled. There was a distinct lack of redheads at the Gryffindor table. Draco was sitting at the Slytherin table, as always, a crowd of admirers and hanger-ons surrounded him. He looked sullen though and his cheeks were hollow.

His father didn’t look any different than the last time the Erlking laid eyes upon him, but then again, the death of Harry Potter would hardly effect the Malfoy patriarch. The Werewolf looked haggard, his face was pale and his hair was unkempt. There were dark rings under the eyes of Sirius Black and Severus Snape. Both of their hairs were lanky and greasy – which wasn’t really a change for one of them. They didn’t argue, both united in their grief. They had let Harry die – Sirius had failed James’ son, and Severus had not been able to protect Lily’s son.

Lord Voldemort looked the worst. His face was gaunt and his eyes were a dull green colour now, no longer the blazing, bright red they used to be. His lips were almost as colourless as his skin and he wasn’t touching his food. Instead, he seemed to be staring at the front of the head table, the place where Harry had been hit with the Killing Curse.

He blinked as the Erlking stepped into his line of view.

“Audenarde,” he whispered in greeting, not sounding happy to see the man who got to keep Harry.

The Erlking shook his head softly. Voldemort frowned at him. The Erlking noticed several other teachers frowning as well, Severus even stood up. “I love thee, I’m charm’d by thy beauty, dear boy!” He breathed, moving closer so he was leaning over the table that separated him from the Dark Lord. “And if thou’rt unwilling, then force I’ll employ!1”

The Erlking lowered his hood. Rust coloured hair fell over his shoulders, and the entire Great Hall gasped as the Faun took hold of Voldemort’s chin and pulled him into a kiss.

XXX

January 1997. The day Harry died.

He opened his eyes, and blinked as the light almost blinded him. He squinted as he sat up. Getting to his feet, slowly, he looked around and gasped. It was somewhere he had not been in a very long time, but at least it wasn’t Platform 9 and ¾ anymore.

It was the wooded area in Surrey where his uncle had abandoned him such a long time ago. It seemed like a lifetime, and Harry supposed it was, since, you know, he was dead now. He walked towards the path, hesitantly putting one foot on it, and one foot off the path. He began to walk into the woods, following the path until he arrived at the clearing where Audenarde had brought him. This was the first place he had found that felt like home to him. Voldemort’s arms were the second place, but he wasn’t sentimental enough to admit it to anyone who couldn’t guess for themselves.

When he arrived in the clearing he smiled as Audenarde turned to face him. The Erlking lowered his hood, and truly smiled at his beloved boy.

“It is my choice what happens to you now.” The creature murmured, as if talking to himself. He rubbed his chin with his bony finger, the nail scrapped at the skin, making it bleed but he didn’t notice.

“I don’t understand.” Harry came towards him. The mist rose, bucking and swelling until it had formed a throne. The Erlking sat in it, and Harry climbed into the man’s lap. “Why aren’t I dead?”

“You are.” The Erlking said, not looking at the boy. “And you aren’t.” Harry frowned and made an impatient sound, which caused Audenarde’s head to snap around to face the boy. “You had a piece of Voldemort’s soul within you, which you knew.”

“It was only a fragment.”

“It was enough. It was not yours, so it must belong to somebody else. In the afterlife, there are now seven different Tom Riddles, all of different ages, suffering or enjoying different fates depending on what actions they had committed before creating that particular Horcrux. Your scar was the last, so he had done the most wrong by that time, and as he had yet not learnt to repent, the Fates will likely punish this soul fragment more than the others.”

“That’s nice and all,” Harry huffed, “but let’s talk about me some more.”

Audenarde chuckled, and it sounded like nails scraping on a blackboard. “Impatient, impertinent child.” He said fondly. “Your soul died along with the fragment of Tom Riddle’s, but the Fates only received one body, yours. So they only need one soul fragment. It is my choice with what to do. What shall I do with your soul, Harry, my beloved?”

Harry looked away, wanting to ask to go to Voldemort, to live and love him again, but he couldn’t. His body was dead, and he had passed his time. There was no going back to the living. “Should I send you beyond, where you shall be of no importance to me in death?” Audenarde asked with a sad, wistful look upon his bared face. “Or shall I have you posses another young boy, and you could be my beloved for ten more years? Or should I make you submit to me, obey and honour me like the Huntsmen do?” He paused. His hand came out to stroke Harry’s cheek. “Tell me what will make you happy?”

“To be alive.” Harry whispered, with tears on his cheeks.

The Erlking brushed them away. “The one thing I cannot give you, life. And yet, my beloved asks for it. I will give you the next best thing,” he decided. He made Harry stand, and when his lap was free the Erlking stood up also. He unfastened his cloak of human skin, and pulled off Harry’s dragon skin cloak. The cloak of dragon skin caught fire and turned to ash in seconds. Harry made no sound as Audenarde placed his own cloak around the shoulders of the beloved boy.

“In death you are nothing. You mean nothing to me, nor to those who came before you or after you.” He breathed into Harry’s ear, his tongue flicked out to trace the soft flesh. “But, in the Hunt, at the head of the Hunt, you are fear and vengeance, terror and retribution.” He pulled the hood up over Harry’s head, and smirked as the horns appeared of their own accord. Harry let out a startled gasp as, against his will, his body morphed into Faun.

“I am Faun,” he whispered to Audenarde, who softly shook his head.

He took the crown of human fingers from his own head and placed it on Harry’s. The mist rose, and began to swallow the creature who was almost as old as time. His fingers and arms began to disintegrate; his body was so old it was long past rotting. His legs and feet turned to dust, as did his torso. As his face began to crumble, his eyes sought out Harry’s and he whispered, “You are the Erlking.” Then he vanished, turned to dust and blown away by the mist and fog.

Harry, the Erlking, turned to face his army of Huntsmen, and his three daughters and he let out a laugh, one that would have caused the mute to scream, and all those before him bowed in fear.

“We ride!” He cried, and mounted the Erlking’s Thestral. He had work to do.

XXX

February 14th 1997.

He pulled Voldemort closer to him, their tongues battled against one another’s, but Harry won the duel. Voldemort was still in shock. He pulled back and smiled softly at the elder man. The Dark Lord’s mouth hung open and his eyes were wide and dazed.

“Harry?” He breathed, as Severus moved around to the other side of the head table. The Potions Master pulled him into a hug as Voldemort stood from his seat.

“Hello Marvolo,” Harry whispered, his hand moving forward to run through the other man’s hair. “I have missed you.”

“Happy Valentine’s day,” Tom Riddle breathed. “I didn’t get you anything,” he added after a moment of confused silence. During that time, Remus and Sirius had also pulled him into a hug. Draco was standing beside him now, almost foaming at the mouth.

He punched Harry’s shoulder and scowled. “Bastard! And to think, I cried over you!” He turned and stalked back to the Slytherin table. No one attacked him, because Harry only laughed in amusement, smiling fondly at the back of his blond head.

“It is of no importance,” he told Voldemort. He reached into his snakeskin robe and pulled out a small wooden box. He laid it on the table before the Dark Lord. Voldemort opened it and frowned in distaste. Harry laughed softly at the look on his face. “I give you my heart, it belongs to you.” He leant forward to kiss the Dark Lord again. “Keep it safe.”

“I promise.” Voldemort murmured as he pulled back, then surged forward again, pulling Harry into another desperate kiss.

Harry pulled back, and Voldemort’s fingers clenched around the edges of the box until his knuckles turned white. “Oh, come, thou dear infant! Oh come thou with me! Full many a game I will play there with thee.1” He grinned lewdly as he held his hand out invitingly.

Voldemort merely snorted. “Am I not a little old to become your beloved boy?”

“I always preferred my men older, at any rate.” Harry smiled, pulling the hood back over his face. His horns peeked through the top, holding his crown in place. “Come away with me, Marvolo. Be mine.”

“I am yours.” He answered, as he took Harry’s hand in his own. Harry raised it to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss to the palm. Voldemort gasped as one of Harry’s fangs caught on his skin, making him bleed. He let out a moan as Harry sucked on the cut, ignoring the fact that every person in the great hall had his or her eyes on him. “I always have been.”

Harry met Voldemort’s eyes, and they flashed emerald green once more before bleeding to red. “Come with me,” he asked again, and Voldemort let go of Harry’s hand to walk around to the edge of the table, before coming to stand beside the beloved boy, turned Erlking.

Their hands joined again, and Voldemort allowed Harry to lead him from the great hall. “I would follow you to Hell and back,” Voldemort breathed against the back of Harry’s neck as they mounted his Thestral in the Forbidden Forest.

Harry chuckled, “I might have to hold you to that.” He kicked his heels against the Thestral’s stomach, and the beast began to run. Voldemort’s arms tightened around Harry’s waist and he breathed in the new Erlking’s scent as they sped away towards the Eternal Lodge.

All of those years striving for immortality, and it turns out that love was all it took to send Lord Voldemort to the afterlife. Harry chuckled to himself as he thought, ‘pity Dumbledore wasn’t around to see this’.

XXX

The End


1. The Erl-King by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - http:// www . cs . rice . edu / ~ssiyer /minstrels /poems /920 . html

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Thanks for reading. Once again I want to thank everyone who reviewed and plans to review this chapter also.

The Lambs chapter 1 can be found - - - at my profile. If you voted at my LJ I left you a comment reply, with a link.
I hope you enjoy it as well.