Gundam Wing Fan Fiction / Fan Fiction ❯ Peace, Love, and Family: The Story of the Vanuli Three ❯ Trying and Failing ( Chapter 26 )

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 26: Trying and Failing

Harry finished his tale, tired and worn out from relating the events of the past few months to his friends. Surprisingly, he got through the entire thing without a single interruption from his two missing dorm-mates. Maybe not so surprising, though, as it was Friday night (or rather, Saturday morning), and both Dean and Seamus had girlfriends in different houses.

"Harry," Hermione said, leaning back into her chair. Ron and Neville had long since conjured their own chairs and were sitting of either side of her. "I have to admit, that's a bit much to take in all at once."

Harry smiled tiredly at her. He was going to have bags the size of hippogriffs under his eyes all day tomorrow. Especially since he and Ron had Quidditch practice at six in the morning, and it was already two. "I know, 'Mione," he yawned. "I understand if you-if all of you-need some time to get used to this."

"Time, yes," Hermione said. "I think I'll need and some time, and maybe some studying... I think I'll go to the library tomorrow, see what other books I can find on Vanuli. Maybe I can find something to help you out, with the prophecy."

Harry nodded. "Thanks," he said. As a longtime friend of Hermione, he knew that research would help her overcome this new (old) difference in her best friend.

"Are you sure it's the truth?" Ron asked, shattering the quiet atmosphere. Everyone looked at Ron, even Quatre, who Harry had been sure was asleep, his head in Harry's lap. Quatre glared daggers at Ron, and he gulped. "I mean, maybe they're mistaken. I'm sure they make mistakes. Right?"

Quatre sat up so fast that Harry almost fell off the bed. "We made no mistake," Quatre hissed, sounding too much like Malfoy for anyone's own good. "It was in the file. Besides, Dorothy would have known the second she saw him, if Harry wasn't our brother."

File? What file?Harry thought, but he didn't voice it. He would ask Quatre-or maybe Dorothy-later. He couldn't expect his friends to believe what he was telling them, if he, himself, questioned it.

"Okay, then," Ron said, his face giving those first tinges of turning red. Harry hoped he-and Quatre-could keep his temper under control. Harry didn't feel like playing mediator at this late at night. "How do we know you're not lying? That you haven't put Harry under some sort of spell? Maybe you're even working for You-Know-Who."

"Now you listen here," Quatre hissed, leaping up from the bed. Harry grabbed him just before he reached Ron. "I would never work for that piece of ex-human scum. He is not worth one tenth of the lowliest Vanuli, much less one of the best, most powerful." Quatre tried-and failed-to lunge at Ron, Harry holding him the entire time. "And I would never, ever put anybody in my family in any kind of danger, especially not my two baby brothers. I would personally rip," Quatre grunted as he attempted to lunge again, "the skin from anyone who tried to hurt them."

"Well, you haven't done too good a job at that, have you?" Neville asked from over in a corner.

Quatre stilled and went quiet in Harry's arms. The others in the room held their collective breaths as they waited for Neville to continue. "After all, Yuy isn't exactly in too good a condition, now, is he?"

Harry tensed, waiting to stop Quatre from trying to attack Neville, but he needn't have tried. Quatre collapsed in his arms as Hermione ripped into Neville. Quatre's knees gave out on him, and Harry lowered them both to the floor.

"Sh, sh, sh," Harry whispered, patting Quatre's head as he began to sob. "It's going to be okay. He's going to be okay. We're all going to be okay." Harry kissed the top of Quatre's head, and he started to cry, too.

("Of all the insensitive, pigheaded,")

Harry heard only portions of Hermione's rant, focusing instead on his and Quatre's heartbeats. They were oddly in sync.

("brother-seriously hurt-how could you?")

Harry hummed one of Quatre's favorite songs, the first one Harry ever sang, the Malaia song. Quatre wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, and Harry's hands went around Quatre's cheeks.

All was quiet in the dorm, the only sound being the humming of the song. The brothers' tears were silent, weak and strong at the same time.

Harry finished the song, and Quatre started sobbing heavily. Unconsciously, knowing just how to help his brother, Harry reached out for Quatre's mind. In the past, Harry had been able to feel Quatre's emotions. Sometimes very strongly, such as when they were having a nightmare, but most of the time, the feeling was very weak. It had become such second nature for him to feel their emotions, that it was relegated to the back of his mind. Something to focus on only is something was wrong, if his brothers were hurt or afraid.

By instinct, Harry let blood out of his thumb. When Harry's blood and Quatre's tears mixed, Harry's mind touched Quatre's. When Harry touched Quatre's mind, it was that and so much more. Harry felt a tug at his stomach, much like a Portkey, and then he just wasn't in his body anymore. One minute he was himself, and the next he wasn't. He was Quatre and Harry.

***

Nelal looked at himself, reflected in his Other body beside him. He was sad because he wasn't completely whole. He needed his Other Other body, the other part of his mind. He looked at himself, and saw that he was crying. Nelal wiped the tears from his Other face, and his Other did the same for him. It was bliss being one with his Other.

Nelal pulled away from himself, so he wasn't touching his Other. The other groaned as he pulled away, desperate to stay as himself, with his Other. His connection with his other was still there, but lessening. He started to feel things his Other did not. Nelal closed his eyes, and broke the connection completely.

***

Harry opened his eyes, the connection with Quatre gone. He jumped back in surprise at what he saw. Quatre's blonde hair had chunks of black sprouting up everywhere, his nose had squashed, and his eyes were green. All in all, he looked more like Harry, as though he'd tried to take Harry's features and smush them on himself.

"What-what happened?" Harry asked, bewildered. He couldn't think straight. Had he really just done what he thought he had? Whatever that may be.

"Look at yourself," Quatre instructed.

Harry knew it had to be important, so he looked around in his trunk and dragged out a mirror. The one Sirius had given him. Taking a deep breath-and trying not to cry all over again over his late godfather-he held up the mirror to look at himself.

Harry prided himself on not screaming as his image, instead only giving a dignified squeak. Like Quatre, Harry's hair was a mosaic of black and blonde. His scar was lighter, and for the first time in his life, Harry had to squint to see it. Harry's nose was pointed, not the usual "button nose" as Hermione usually called his. And his eyes, his eyes were blue. Harry looked up at Quatre, the mirror dropping to the floor.

"Come on," Quatre said, getting to his feet. He offered a hand to Harry, and Harry took it. "Let's go to bed, and I'll tell you what we should have long ago."

***

Harry tried all night to go to sleep, but with the combination of the bed feeling horribly empty due to Heero's absence and his own thoughts over what Quatre told him, he failed spectacularly. Harry knew he should be angry with his family for not telling him earlier, but he just couldn't make himself feel it. In their positions, Harry probably would have done the same the same thing, giving them a few more months without holding such a heavy burden.

Fusion, Harry thought. Quite an innocuous little word that was going to change his life. King.Another word that now filled his mind. Destiny. Fate. Special. Unique. All words that meant one thing: Harry's life was not his own. Neither, for that matter, were Heero's and Quatre's.

Inextricably linked. One mind. One heart. One soul. Three bodies.

Harry sighed and turned over, throwing an arm over Quatre's hip. He would try to sleep, to put away all thoughts until morning. No doubt, everything would look better then.

***

Dorothy strode through the halls of the castle, taking the direct route to the Entrance Hall. Students weren't supposed to be out of their dorms after eleven, but the rules said nothing about being out before a certain time. It was close to 5:30, and Dorothy felt that to be a perfectly satisfactory time to be out and about.

Dorothy reached the door and opened it. Sunrise was about to happen, and she wanted to get to the rendezvous point as early as possible. The sooner she-and the others-arrived, the sooner she could get to Heero.

"Great, you're already here," Dorothy said upon seeing her "guests." They were standing around haphazardly-at least, it seemed that way to Dorothy; there might actually be some kind of centaur logic to their order-which made it hard to count how many there were. At first glance, there looked to be about four dozen. All male, all in their fifties and sixties. Young, then. Standing near the edge of the cluster was the centaur Dorothy had met last night, Zetoth. And beside him was the only elderly centaur in the immediate surroundings.

Recognizing his as their leader, Dorothy went to him. "Ismea Mordal," she said, standing in front of him, "Naiyama to and representative of Malal, Nelat, and Imela LeFey, sons of Morgan LeFey the Seventh, eldest daughter of Aravu LeFey, Queen of Vanuli." Dorothy bowed, showing her respect to her elder.

"Brimor Koel," the centaur returned, his voice gruff, "leader of the clan Teldon, second brother to Bramtac Koel, High leader of the Forest Centaur Alliance, and ally to the house LeFey." Brimor bowed to Dorothy, a little bit stiffly.

He must be over 300, Dorothy mused, looking at the white hair and arthritic knees.

"Dona Maya," Dorothy said, shaking off her inappropriate thoughts. The one thing Dorothy envied centaurs for were their long lifespans. A typical Vanuli lived about as long as the typical wizard, men living to 197 and women living to 204. The atypical Vanuli, such as her Niamos, could live to be as old as 500, through the use of their combined magic.

"Dona Maya," Brimor said, returning the Vanuli greeting.

"I assume you've briefed your clan on the situation," Dorothy said, standing up straighter. Leading always put her in a much better mood.

"Of course," Brimor said. "However, I believe it would be best if you told them exactly what will happen. Some of them are a bit apprehensive, you see."

Dorothy took that to mean "scared shitless."

"Of course," Dorothy said, smiling while inwardly growling at the delay. Nobody could ever accuse Dorothy of being rude to her elders. Dorothy whispered the Sonorous charm and waited for the crowd of centaurs to be quiet. She was not going to try to talk over them.

It took a few moments, but when Brimor motioned for silence, he got it. Dorothy smiled again at him and levitated a few feet in the air, so all the centaurs could see her.

"Now, I know you all know why you're here," she said, overlooking the crowd. A few-maybe a handful-scuffed their hooves on the ground, pointedly not looking at her. Like most purely magical species, centaurs had a reputations for being egotistical. Of course, the Vanuli had that same reputation, and everybody knew that was a complete falsehood. Vanuli were better than any other species.

"And I know that some of you," she eyed the handful, "have some misgivings about helping out a "fairy race." However, you are bound by your alliance to do so, and you will do so, or else face the shame of your elders." Brimor nodded. It would be very shameful, indeed, if any of his clan members refused. Dangerous, as well. The Forest Centaur Alliance had a peace treaty-a contract-with the LeFey for many centuries. To break that over something so small would be devastating to the centaurs.

"You will each be giving up a portion of your magic," Dorothy said. Unlike humans would, the centaurs did not take that as a chance to chat. "Since there are so many of you, however, each individual will only donate a small amount." Dorothy held out her hand, and a Fury Orb grew out of it.

"This is a Fury Orb, as most of you know. In a few minutes, I will send it to collect magic from the first dozen of you. It is set at the second lowest setting. When it passes through you, you will feel a sharp sting, much like that of a wasp or bee. It will only take two thirds of a second, and then it will be over. Afterwards, you can expect to feel a little tired, like you ran for many miles without stopping. This sensation will gradually lessen and will be completely gone within a few days. If the sensation is not gone, contact Brimor or Zetoth, and they will contact me about righting your condition."

Dorothy motioned to Brimor, and he ordered the centaurs to line up in four lines, twelve to each one. Dorothy stepped in front of the first line and let go of the Fury Orb. It zig-zagged through the centaurs-the first of which was Zetoth, Dorothy noted, with some pride-before returning to her hand. Dorothy gathered the Fury Shooter, fat with magic, in her left hand, and her right went about the motions of releasing it. Making a motion like that of tying a balloon, Dorothy released the Fury Orb. No longer an extension of Dorothy, it fell to the ground, bouncing lightly on the grass. Dorothy left it there and did the same thing with the other three sets. When Dorothy was finished, she gathered the four ex-Fury Orbs-more commonly known as Magic Givers-in a pouch at her hip.

Dorothy turned to Brimor, "Thank you, Brimor, leader of the Teldon, for your assistance in this crisis."

"It is an honor to aid one such as him, and one such as you," Brimor said and bowed once more to Dorothy. "Maya Dona, Miss Ismea."

"Maya Dona," she said, bowing back. Dorothy watched as Brimor led his people back into the Forbidden Forest When she could no longer see them, she turned and ran to the Infirmary.

***

Harry lay silently in his bed, still musing on his information, Quatre curled up around him. Harry hadn't slept a wink all night, his thoughts going round and round in his mind. He knew it was close to time to get up (basically, because his watch said, "almost time to get up"), and he knew that Ron would pounce on him at any moment, ready to go to the Quidditch pitch.

Ron had done so before every morning practice since becoming Captain in their sixth year. Thankfully, Harry had remembered Ron's tendencies and had been able to get Quatre and Heero back in Quatre's bed before Ron could see them. Except for this morning. With the entire school aware that they were Vanuli-and with Ron aware of so much more-Harry decided he wouldn't try to hide what was in his nature, anymore. So when Ron opened those curtains in five, four, three, two, one-

("Wake up, Harry," Ron yelled, flinging back the curtains.)

-he was going to going to get an eyeful of fairy culture.

Harry looked up as Ron sputtered. He petted Quatre's hair one last time and gently shoved his brother off him. As Harry climbed out of bed-Ron still doing a very accurate vocal impression of a dying motorcyle-he nudged a body pillow over for Quatre to latch onto.

"Morning, Ron," Harry said, patting his friend's shoulder as he passed him. "I'll be right there. I've just got to get," Harry rummaged through his dresser drawers and pulled out a vial, "this." Harry drank the Pepper-Up potion and waited for his ears to stop steaming.

Harry got his toothbrush and Quidditch robe sand went to the bathroom on the next floor up. The seventh years' dorm rooms were the second highest rooms in Gryffindor Tower, the highest being a bathroom. That, in effect, gave the seventh years their own bathroom, as no one else bothered to venture up that high. Harry brushed his teeth and changed into his Quidditch robes. He'd slept in his clothes, and they felt a bit grungy. Harry didn't bother to shower, knowing it would be pointless to do so before practice.

By the time Harry got back to the dorm room, Ron had stopped his motorcycle impersonation and was calmly waiting for Harry. "Look, Harry, about last night," Ron said. "I didn't-"

"I forgive you for last night," Harry said briskly. Ron tensed at his tone. Getting his broom, he stood in front of Ron, looking up at him. "I understand your concerns. I had them myself, at first." Ron relaxed and smiled. "However, that being said, never question my relationship with my family again. Never insinuate that they are working for, with, or to help Voldemort or any other Dark Lord of which you may think. Do not attempt to make me choose between my friends and my family. You won't like my choice." Harry finished and nodded at Ron. "You remember that, and we can still be friends. I want us to still be friends." Harry smiled.

Ron relaxed again-he'd tensed up during Harry's tirade. "Merlin, Harry, that's a rant worthy of Hermione," he said. Ron punched Harry lightly in the shoulder, and Harry read between the lines. He and Ron were still friends.

"Wait'll you hear the one Neville's getting," Harry said, and Ron laughed.

At least not everything's changed, Harry thought as they walked out of the room.

***

Dorothy stood at the foot of Heero's bed, staring down at her Niamo. It had been disappointingly easy to break into the Infirmary, and she made a mental note to talk to Madam Pomfrey about stepping up the security. Heero couldn't protect himself in his current state, and if Dorothy couldn't be with him 24/7, she was going to be damn sure he was safe in her absence.

Dorothy circled the bed and noticed the changes since she'd been there. She smelled the odors of three different people. One was undeniably Maddy, but Dorothy couldn't quite pin down who the other two were. They were male, that much she could tell. And the scents were familiar, so they were people she was around often. She knew it wasn't Quatre or Harry because she would recognize their scents instantly. Dorothy cursed herself for her inability. If she were Relena, she'd have known the intruders' entire family lines by now.

"Wakey, wakey," Dorothy said, reaching down to brush the hair out of Heero's eyes. She reached into the pouch at her side and drew out a Magic Giver. "You've been asleep long enough, Imela. It's time to wake up."

She let go of the Magic Giver and stepped away from Heero. It hovered for a moment, flashing through all the colors of the spectrum. When it reached violet, the Magic Giver dropped sharply, straight into Heero's belly. Dorothy waited for him to stop glowing before dropping the second on into him.

When Heero had absorbed all four of the Magic Givers, Dorothy stepped into Heero's personal space. And prayed. Dorothy stood watching Heero's face for she didn't know how long. Nothing happened. Not so much as a twitch of his eyebrow.

Dejected, Dorothy slumped into the plastic hospital chair by Heero's bed. Well,she thought, I knew it was a long shot.Dorothy grabbed Heero's hand and buried her face into it. I will not cry again. I will not.I am Ismea Mordal, and I am stronger than that!

"It's okay to cry, sweetie," a male voice said behind her. Dorothy tensed as a cold wind touched her hair. She whirled around, desperate to confirm her suspicion.

"Heero."

***

Harry flew away from the rest of the team under the pretext of looking for the snitch. He would never admit it-except to, maybe, all of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff-but Geoffrey Hooper, one of the new Chasers (along with fourth year Victoria Frobisher, who finally came to her senses that Quidditch was more important than Charms Club) was an annoying little git. Harry could not see how Ron had picked such a whiner over Dennis Creevey. Except, of course, for the obviously superior flying, throwing, and catching skills.

Harry saw a hint of gold and flew towards it, up, up, up in the sky. The snitch was being especially elusive today. They'd been practicing for over an hour already, and Harry'd only caught it once. Usually, Harry would have caught it three or four times by now. I must not be at the top of my game, Harry thought. What with everything that's been going on, it's a small wonder that I haven't gone stark raving mad. Seeing the snitch again, fluttering not five feet in front of him, Harry reached out and caught it.

"Squeeeee!" Ron's whistle sounded through the air. Harry had caught the snitch just in time.

"Time to pack it in!" Ron yelled from the other side of the pitch. Harry waved to show that he heard, and he started his descent.

Harry was halfway to the ground before it happened. His vision flickered between normal and nothing. He felt lightheaded, more so than was normal for this altitude. Harry slowed down, wary of the change in his body, knowing the cause of it. He concentrated on getting to the ground safely, before his Sight threw his head on into vision.

He just stepped onto the ground when the vision overcame him. He swayed in the air before sinking to the ground.

"Heero," he whispered, before tumbling over.

***

Everything was black. That's how Heero knew where he was. Sort of, anyway. Black and cold meant death. Heero would know-he'd died once for every year of his life. Seventeen deaths-and seventeen rebirths-in the span of seventeen years. It must be some type of record, Heero mused.

Heero wasn't dead at the moment, though. He had been before, earlier, right after the Thing hit him in the chest and all there was was light and pain and blood. He came back to life pretty soon from that. At least, Heero thought it was soon. Time was weird when you were dead. Or in a coma.

That's what Heero figured was happening now. It was pitch black in his mind; he couldn't see anything, but he could hear. Oh! He could hear all the wonderful sounds, all the people that came to see him. Quatre and Harry and Dorothy and Daemon and-dare he think it?-even Duo! Heero tried to respond to everyone who came to see him, but he couldn't. He knew why. Maddy said he didn't have any magic left. The Thing took it from him.

Dorothy tried to help Heero. She pushed strange magic in him that made his bones and blood and teeth hum with it. Heero closed his eyes-the "in his mind eyes"; his real eyes were already closed-and tried to tell Dorothy that it was okay. She took his hand, and he knew she wanted to cry. She needed to cry, after everything that had happened in the last few days. Weeks? Months?

"Sh," Heero tried to say. "It's okay to cry, sweetie." Dorothy tensed around his hand. He tried to get her to relax by mentally patting her head. She loved that as much as he and Quatre and Harry and every other Vanuli did.

"Heero," Dorothy said. She wasn't touching him anymore. He didn't know where she was.

"Dorothy," Heero said.

"How did you get all the way over there?" she asked, obviously bewildered.

"What?" Heero said. His eyes flew open, and he saw himself across the room, in the bed.

Selune