Gundam Wing Fan Fiction / Fan Fiction ❯ Peace, Love, and Family: The Story of the Vanuli Three ❯ The Attack ( Chapter 23 )

Disclaimer: I do not own any things Harry Potter-the characters, setting, plot, everything belongs to the wonderful J. K. Rowling and whomever else she decides. I do not own anything Gundam Wing-the characters, setting, plot, everything belongs to (I think) Bandai and Sunrise.

Spoilers: This fic contains spoilers for books 1-5 of Harry Potter and all of the episodes of Gundam Wing. This fic does not include Endless Waltz.

Rating: NC17

Pairings: Neville/Harry, 2x1

Category: crossover, fantasy, general

Author: Selune

Author's site: http://www.gundam-wing-universe.net/fanfiction/menu.php?id=113

Summary: Two years ago, the One Year War ended. At this time, the five heroes-the Gundam pilots-disappeared from the Muggle world. Three of them-pilots 02, 03, and 05-reappeared shortly after in the Wizarding world, as students at Hogwarts School of Witchraft and Wizardry. Now, twenty months after the fact, Heero Yuy and Quatre Winner are coming to Hogwarts, and they're bringing all of their secrets with them. The world-especially one Harry Potter-will never be the same.

Peace, Love, and Family:

The Story of the Vanuli Three

Chapter 23: The Attack

Daemon Rosencrantz thought of himself as a good person. He always tried to do the right thing, unless the right thing was completely opposite of what he wanted to do. Daemon used to have friends. Ten good ones and one great one. Once, Daemon made a choice that sacrificed the one great friend for the benefit of the ten good ones. It had been the right thing to do, one life for ten, but it hadn't been what he'd wantedto do. He never really forgave himself for it, even after the ten good friends did. Daemon was a leader, and leaders had to make tough decisions, sometimes.

Daemon eventually found out that his great friend lived-thrived, in fact-as the lead weapon in Daemon's superior's arsenal. It made Daemon happy to learn that, even though he had been sad before when the honor passed him up. Daemon watched the news religiously after that, his heart jumping in his throat every time his friend was shown. It was a dangerous job his friend had, but he was good at it.

Daemon came to love his friend once again, through the television. He came to know his friend and respect him. Daemon's friend seemed happy, even in the midst of war. His friend was in love. Daemon recognized the look on his friend's face. It was how his friend used to look at Daemon, before Daemon hurt him.

Daemon was happy that his friend was happy, and it made him think. Maybe his friend would forgive him, since it was Daemon's betrayal that ultimately brought him his happiness. When Daemon finally saw his friend, though, he wasn't happy anymore. The one his friend loved did not love him back. Daemon tried for forgiveness, anyway, but he was rejected. Daemon's friend told him there was only one way possible to gain his forgiveness, regain his friendship. An impossible way.

It was this want, this need that drove Daemon through the crowd of underage wizards and witches when his friend fell from the sky. Amid the thoughts of he wouldn't dareand he promised me he wouldn't hurt him and oh, god, there's so much blood, came the thought this is my chance. If I help him now, he'll have to forgive me.

Daemon picked Heero's upper body off the floor, brutallly shoving the wings away. They were just part of the costume and could be treated as such. Heero moaned and whispered something. Daemon didn't catch it.

There was so much blood-it covered the entire front of Heero's costume, and part of the back. Daemon could feel the sticky blood on Heero's back. Daemon didn't know how he could help Heero; his wand was somewhere near the stage. Heero was dying, again, and Daemon didn't know how to save him, again.

Daemon held Heero's head, stroking his blood-soaked hair. He was reminded of another time they were almost in the exact same position. Experimentally, hoping that it worked, that what he did last time really had mattered, Daemon put his hands on Heero's bare skin. One hand on his tricep, the other on his lower arm. It was very slight, but Daemon could swear he felt a difference. His left hand tingled, a slight suction gluing his hands to his ex-brother.

Daemon hoisted Heero further up on his body, thinking that more contact was probably best. Ignoring the stares of the silent crowd around him, Daemon cried, for the first time in years.

Please, let him be okay.

***

Dorothy sprinted to the castle, pushing her legs to go faster than they ever had before. She followed the Fury Shooter, but it was too fast for her to catch. The bloodsmell caught her before she reached the front doors. The olfactory sensation was not coming from around her, but rather from her boy.

Heero,she thought as the Fury Shooter passed through him. She couldn't say how she knew whom it was after. She just knew the Fury Shooter targeted and got her youngest baby boy. I won't let you die! Dorothy thought, finally reaching the Great Hall.

She flung open the doors and ran in, spotting the Fury Shooter as soon as she entered. It was fat with Heero's magic. "Dvada!" she screamed in rage, pointing her wand at it. The Fury Shooter exploded, rocking the castle with its force. Bits of magic rained over the hall, dissipating before they hit ground.

Satisfied that she'd dealt with the threat, Dorothy scanned for Heero. It wasn't hard to find him-he was in the middle of the crowd of people. Dorothy pushed her way through the crowd, taking note of every "he just flew up!" and "did you see what happened? The light exploded in him!" and "there's so much blood. No one can survive that."

Dorothy broke into the center of the crowd. They had given Heero a wide berth, were well away from trampling him. Gave him his breathing space. Only he wasn't breathing. He wasn't breathing, and his toga was covered with more blood than should be in only one body. A piece of metal glinted from his left cheek. Part of his anklet, she saw upon closer inspection. She pulled it out and put it in a special pocket inside her toga. Heero might want it back later.

Dorothy lifted Heero's mask off him, slowly, so as not to harm him. It was only then that she realized the person holding Heero was not the person she was expecting. Wasn't Quatre.

"Don't you touch him," she snapped at Rosencrantz. She knew all about him, about what he did to Heero. Quatre had told her when he'd found out, but she would have known, anyway. He was just one of those people. People that hurt others just because. Dorothy herself was one of those people, the only exceptions being her family. "Get away from him."

"No," Rosencrantz said, shaking his head. He hugged Heero closer to himself. "He needs me."

"He needs jack shit from you," she spat. It she had a gun, she would gladly put it between his eyes and pull the trigger. She didn't, though, so she had to settle for magic. Dorothy held her wand out, pointed it at the scum, but she didn't dare use it. Even being a mere foot from Rosencrantz, she might miss and hit Heero instead. With a thought, Dorothy got rid of the problem.

"Aah!" Rosencrantz screamed, his right arm twisting out at an awkward angel. He screamed again as she broke the other arm.

"Move, before I get creative," Dorothy threatened. She wasn't sure if she would do much worse or not. In front of all these people, anyway. She was leaning towards "yes." She had a suspicious feeling that Rosencrantz was somehow involved with all of this.

Rosencrantz didn't take any chances, scrambling away from Heero. He shrieked in pain as he accidentally put weight on his arms.

"Good boy," she said absently, as if to a mongrel dog. She squatted down to get a better examination of Heero. He was lying half on one wing. It was broken, bleeding. The other wing, torn, lay sadly on top of it. They were both destroyed beyond repair. Figuring it couldn't do much more damage, and wanting to be able to hold Heero at a better angle, she tore off the wings. Blood spurted out of the empty space on Heero's where they'd been, but not much. Barely a trickle or two.

Dorothy pulled Heero on her lap, and she felt it. What she'd been afraid of. Heero's scar had ripped. "Quatre!" she called. "Come here! Help me!" Quatre didn't come. He always came-he wouldn't just let Heero bleed to death. "Quatre! Harry!" she called more loudly. "Help me!"

***

Harry jerked his head away from Neville's neck. "Did you hear that?" he asked. He could swear somebody said his name, someone other than Neville.

"What?" Neville said. He looked at Harry, dazed, his pupils dilated. "I didn't hear anything." Neville moved his mouth back on Harry's neck. Apparently, he was trying to write his name in hickeys. The ultimate marker.

"Stop, Neville. Stop," Harry said, pushing Neville off him. Something was wrong. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Neville whined. "I don't hear anything."

"Exactly," Harry said. He didn't hear anything. No sounds coming from the castle, even though music had been pouring from it full blast just a moment before. No birds singing, even though Hagrid's new Corienta birds were nocturnal, and it was their mating season. Not even any damned crickets. Nothing, except for Neville's harsh panting and his own heartbeat, thudding in his ears.

"Come on," Harry said, tugging Neville's hand. "Something's wrong. Let's go back inside."

Neville looked about to protest, but didn't. Even thought he didn't know Harry was an Oracle, he knew Harry usually was right with his bad feelings. Most of Harry's friends knew that if Harry thought something was wrong, it usually was. And it usually involved Voldemort.

"Let's go," Neville said. He led the way back to the castle, locking up Greenhouse 3 as they left.

The huddled together until they got in the castle. It was deathly quiet when they entered, and Harry's bad feeling grew. Nothing was making any noise. Peeves wasn't even somewhere pushing down a random statue.

"Quatre! Harry! Help me!" a female voice wafted to him. Harry recognized it-and the name she left out. He ran toward the Great Hall, Neville following behind him.

The smell hit Harry about halfway there. It was the smell of blood and death. Harry double-timed it, reaching the Great Hall faster than he ever had in his six and a half years as a student of Hogwarts.

The smell intensified when Harry opened the door. It smelled like a bloodbath, and that's what Harry expected to see. He was thrown off-kilter when he saw the students gathered in a circle, white as sheets, but unharmed.

"Harry! Quatre!" Dorothy screamed again.

Harry ran toward her, through all the people. He almost puked when he broke free, into the center of the circle. The source of the smell was lying on Dorothy. Blood covered him, almost from head to foot. He was breathing shallowly, his mouth open. Every time he exhaled, he popped a little blood bubble.

"Oh, god, Heero," Harry said, sinking to his knees beside his younger brother. He looked at Dorothy. "What happened?"

"A Fury Shooter," she said. Her face was more blank than Harry had ever seen it, but her eyes burned with rage. "What I gather, from listening to the crowd, is that Heero and Quatre were dancing. Quatre suddenly collapsed, and Heero took that as an opportunity to fly away. He almost reached the ceiling before the Fury Shooter hit him. When it did, his scar must have burst-and his anklet-and he fell. Rosencrantz scrambled over to him and held him until I came in. I dealt with him and called for you and Quatre." She said all of this without the slightest hint of emotion. "You have to help him, Harry. My magic isn't the right kind. I've tried, but it's done nothing. Nothing."

"Okay," Harry said, trying to calm her down. Dorothy was starting to work herself into a panic. "What should I do?"

"Quatre usually cries on him," Dorothy said, "but I don't think that'll work for you. I already tried." She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She was crying freely now. " Blood. Try giving him more blood. He's lost a lot." As if to illustrate her point, she slammed her palm on the floor, right in a puddle of the stuff.

"Okay," Harry said. It was a good plan, if he could do it. He'd been training to use his Gift-just like Quatre, Dorothy, and Heero had-but it had always been about taking blood out of something. Never to put it back in. Harry had only even clotted blood once or twice. That wouldn't work here, anyway. Heero had lost too much blood already to survive with a mere clotting.

Harry sat beside Dorothy-in a puddle of blood-and took Heero's hand. It was easier to use his Gift if he was touching what he wanted to influence, though it wasn't necessary, like with Heero's Gift. Harry concentrated on filling Heero back up with blood. Harry had seen Heero's scar a few times. He knew that it was a magical scar, and it was the only blemish of Heero's that he couldn't cure. Harry focused on the lost blood flowing back in through the scar. He visualized it flowing through Heero's veins, pumping through his heart.

Harry opened his eyes. He almost whooped for joy at what he saw. Heero's costume was clean. The floor around Heero was free of blood. Harry had succeeded. He saved his brother.

Harry went to hug Dorothy. Her eyes widened as he leaned in, and he looked back at Heero. The blood was coming back out. The scar wasn't closed, and Heero was bleeding again. Horrified, Harry grabbed Heero completely from Dorothy, pulling his brother onto his lap.

Harry concentrated on clotting the blood this time. Heero had enough in him to survive. If Harry could just keep it there.

The blood wouldn't clot. Or rather, it would, but then it unclotted mere seconds later. Harry had to try to keep the blood Heero already had in him and put the lost blood back. It wasn't working, and Harry was fast giving up hope. Three minutes after Harry's initial attempt, Heero had lost more blood than before. He didn't wake up the entire time.

Quatre was who they needed. He helped Heero last time and the first time and any other time Heero was hurt. He was their big brother, and he was supposed to keep them safe. But Harry didn't know where Quatre was. He could have hit his head when he fell before. He could be passed out in the middle of the crowd, clueless as to what was happening.

Breaking his concentration for a moment, Harry turned to Dorothy. "Find Quatre," he said. "We need him, if we're going to save Heero."

Dorothy pointed a shaking finger at somewhere past Harry's back. She looked small, so unlike the normal "if you look at me cross-eyed, I'll kill you" Dorothy he had come to know and love, sitting there, doing nothing, as Heero bled to death. But what could she do? Heero's bones were fine, and wounds were not her specialty. Harry looked to where she pointed. Quatre was sitting on the floor, holding the leg of someone dressed as a humpback. His eyes were glassy as he stared at the scene Harry, Heero, and Dorothy were making.

"Quatre," Harry pleaded, "please, help us."

***

This can't be happening, Quatre thought, watching as Harry turned his attention back to Heero. It couldn'tbe because no Vanuli would ever attack Heero, and that was exactly what happened. It couldn't be real because Quatre finally figured out the name Heero said before falling unconscious, and it couldn't be her because she loved Heero so much. Morgan wouldn't dare try to kill Heero, and that was exactly what she had done if this were real, so it couldn't be real.

The other time, the first time Heero bled like this-the real time-when Heero showed Quatre that he wasn't invincible, even after he was cured of his wards. That time, with the Drow, that was real. This couldn't be real, though, because if it was, Quatre was sitting here and doing nothing and not helping, and Heero might die, again, and they would have to declare war on Morgan and her clan-their clan, Quatre's and his brothers'-and that wouldn't be a good thing because Vanuli had never warred with Vanuli, and this would be a first.

Quatre would much rather this be a repeat of the Drow betrayal-

("So we have a deal," Quatre said, signing the contract. King Undea signed it, too, below Quatre's signature)

-and not the first Vanuli betrayal of a mother to her more powerful, but currently weakened son. It made a sick sort of sense, if they were human, if this was real. Morgan was the next most powerful Vanuli after them and her mother, and next in line for the throne after them. If Heero was out of the way-

("Quatre, watch out!" Heero screamed. Quatre never saw it coming, the bodyguard pulled his sword from its scabbered)

-then Quatre and Harry would be severely weakened. It would be easy to pick them off, one by one, as they were in mourning. Dorothy-

(was too far away. She couldn't run faster than the sword. Heero could. He stepped in front of it)

-would be useless if she lost Heero. Naiyamas were famous for going insane-

(The sword entered through Heero's back, coming out of his chest at a 45° angle)

-when their Niamos died. She might just finish the job for Morgan, not realizing who Harry and Quatre were.

Heero stumbled to his knees. Furious, Quatre turned away from his brother and advanced on the idiot guard who tried to slay him. Heero could take care of himself; he would pull the sword from his body, heal his wound, and start stabbing Drow with the bloody sword.

"You ignorant buffoon," Quatre said to the responsible Drow. It stood up straight and proud, a smile on its face. It was happy about what it done. "Do you realize what you've done?"

"I killed vermin," it answered, haughtily.

"Wrong," Quatre said. "You have killed your family." He made a motion to Dorothy. She nodded. Everything would be taken care of. Quatre stalked over to the king, the ink on the contract still wet. He picked up the sword King Undea had laid on the table as a show of trust. Quatre used it on the king as the bodyguard had on Heero.

"You are responsible for breaking contract with a Vanuli," Quatre said, decapitating the queen. All of the Drow stood, horrified, as Quatre finished off the royal family. "As such, you have subjected your family to a standard Vanuli clause. 'If either party breaks the requirements herein, or attempts to harm the other party, the contract shall be broken under pain of death of the breaker's family,' " Quatre quoted. It sounded better in the original Vanulian, but the meaning of it translated. "Drow consider every member of their species to be family..."

Dorothy opened the door leading to outside the cave that was the home of the Drow, letting in Heero's werewolves.

"Goodbye," Quatre said, picking up Heero and carrying him out. "I hope it was worth it."

It wasn't until Quatre got Heero out in the sunlight that he realized one important thing. Heero wasn't breathing. Quatre gasped, almost dropping his brother. Heero was bleeding. A lot. Heero never bled that much, not even when Dr. Kafka messed up the operations, and he almost died.

"Dorothy," Quatre called, sinking to his knees, "something's wrong."

"What is it?" Dorothy asked, forcing herself to turn away from the carnage in the cave. The Drow had no chance against angry werewolves. And they were fighting mad over their favorite Vanuli's injuries.

"Heero's not healing," Quatre said.

Heero had died thirteen times that night, coming back to life each time, only to die again of blood loss. It was part of being a Vanuli triplets-or twin, Quatre supposed. Heero couldn't move on to the afterlife until his brothers joined him, but he couldn't stay alive with his body that injured. It took Quatre until the twelfth death to figure out what was going on and how to fix it. He cried on Heero until he came back. It took him longer to die after that. After he woke up, Quatre had made him all better.

Quatre was going to have to do it, again. As much as he didn't want it to be happening, didn't want to have to kill his mother, it was, and he would.

Gathering up all of his strength, Quatre rose of the floor and walked over to his family. He sat on the floor and gently took Heero from Harry's arms.

Quatre cried and hoped it would be enough.

Selune