4 Works by illuminious
Listing Works
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Ascencion Ends Where the Heartbeat Hesitates by illuminious
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
30 Jun 2026
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Summary
"I can't… What do I do?" Harry hesitated to speak, but he knew Lily would answer him no matter what anyone else did wrong.
"You will listen to them and do what you must. If you need help, you will find your father." She smiled down to him, she had always wanted to be the one to help her son, no matter what the problem was.
"Dad? But how? Isn't he here with you, how do I get back to him?"
Lily hesitated for a long while, thinking about what to say.
"Harry, Baby, your biological father."
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There was a scream at the back of his head, though he couldn't hear it properly as the ringing in his ears drew louder at the movement of stepping back for balance. Harry had never felt pain like this before. It hurt, yeah, but it was peculiar.
His hand slipped from Sirius' grasp as he fell back almost comically slowly. It seemed as if learning how to cast for the first time were faster than this.
Harry's body curved back in a lonely fall, struggling against the cold fabric settling like a veil over his feverish body.
The worry had not quite fell from his face, it never turned calm, always waiting to see if Sirius would come with.
The crooked gasps of laughter from the giddy girl had fallen slack, probably realizing who she had hit. Hitting him with a sectumsempra were fine, in normal circumstances at least.
Harry Potter wasn't to be delivered to her Lord anymore. There was no more Harry Potter to deliver.
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Faintly showering the blunt snow coated land, the stars floated sparsely through the space.
Dipped higher above the clouds, the moon coveted for a colder night than the morning temperatures could reach.
The sun had retreated far earlier into the days as the seasons blended to winter months.
Reeked by the retched screams of the local daily hunt, the echoes of the night infused into the clashes of iron against rotten flesh drew closer by the few minutes that had passed.
Resting beneath the corroding floors of stone sit the corpses of the dead, though the living stated above are soon close to resting there to.
Dishevelled frost lamp flowers lay trampled by the headstones only waiting for their turns next.
It feels fitting.
The living fall into an endless cycle of birth, fighting and death. They duel against the hunt only out to get them and die early at the same place they were destined to get to eventually. -
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Summary
The Wild Hunts attacks come more heinous, more towards the weak rather to the prepared
The moon's power is dwelling weak
Why is that? Flins is trying to figure that out himself