The Pale Rider

A/N: thanks for all the reviews, and some answers can be found in this chapter. JK Rowlings owns Harry Potter. I own the plot.

Chapter Two:

“Get your facts straight first, then you can distort them” - Mark Twain

The desperado trotted toward the town of Hogsmeade. Cobbled stone still lined the street, but boarded windows covered any happiness left in the town. He shifted the bag upon his back as he slid off his pale horse, gathering the reins as he did. He would lead her down the rest of the way, knowing not what was to come for him, or what dangers await him.

“I am surprised so much has survived,” his mentor said.

“I came back here once,” the desperado said, “before I found you. I needed to finish something, and I still haven't.”

“Well, it is best to start at the beginning,” the mentor said, looking toward the burnt remains of the Three Broomsticks.

“And where else did this all begin but here at Hogwarts,” he replied.

“I suggest you stop there,” a dark voice said. The desperado halted, stopping the horse. His mentor remained floating, looking at them in amusement.

“Looks like you're going to have to get yourself out of this one,” he said.

“Sometimes I wish that you where here,” the desperado mumbled back.

“You say something boy?” another man said, Greencoat he'd be called, as wand was leveled at his hand.

“No sir, just admiring the smell,” the desperado said with a grin.

“Smell?” the first man said, Fatass.

“Yes sir, the smell,” the desperado said as he spotted another three men approaching him. They were defending their town, but that did not mean they had to go against him.

“Do you really have to agitate them?” his mentor spoke. He shook his head at the younger man, though he did not appear it. He peered over his rimmed glasses at the desperado. “They don't know who they're against.” The desperado just grinned.

“I've never smelt something as repugnant as this, and I fear that the damage your smell has dealt my nostrils is for life,” the desperado finished. The mentor shook his head for a moment as the defenders looked between each other. “Look I'm just passing through and heading to the castle.” He pointed toward the castle in the distance.

“All the more reason for us to kill you now.” A leader appeared, one that was all to familiar to the desperado, from a past life to say the least. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Neville Longbottom.” With a flourish of his wand, more defenders appeared. “And this is as far as you shall get to Hogwarts, I'm afraid.”

“Why is that?” the desperado said.

“We've you out numbered, and you wear no magical cloaks or magical items,” Neville said, leaning upon a quarter staff.

“Are you the leader?” the desperado simply asked, looking at the floating form of his mentor for a moment before staring at Neville.

“Does it really matter?” there was a confidence in the man before the desperado that he had never seen before. War changed people. They were about to find out how much it changed him.

“Why yes, I believe it does,” the desperado said. There was a moment of silence as the men surrounded the desperado. As two lunged from opposing sides, the desperado used his cloak to catch one and throw him into another, effectively knocking them both down at the same time. Without his cloak, the hoslter with the gun that hung on his right hip, and the blade slung across his back was easily visible.

In two swift movements, three things happened. Two mistakes, two lives changed. One of the defenders raised his wand toward the desperado; another did as well. With one hand handling the blade, the other on his revolver, the desperado fired off two rounds. One hand was lost, another's wand destroyed.

The magical backfire from the wand explosion was expansive, starting aflame the buildings, as well as the man who held the wand. The blade was pointed straight toward the burning man, and a gun handle could be seen in place of the hilt. With two move smooth movements the gunblade and the revolver were back in their respective holsters.

“I asked you are you the leader?” the desperado spoke once more, no one moving. The screams of the burning man carried through the air. His mentor floated toward the burning man and looked toward the desperado, who only nodded.

His mentor withdrew a wand, and waved it once, the bluish energy that surrounded him spread toward the man afire. While the desperado's eyes were locked with Neville's, everyone else's was upon the healing man. Gone were the flames and fire, replaced with healing skin.

“Really, do you have to cause so much damage?” his mentor asked without much reprimand. They both knew the answer to such a question.

“Your men will live, while you tried to kill me,” the desperado said, flicking his wrist toward his jacket. His jacket flew off of the men, and back around his shoulders. As he turned his back to them, the flickering of a tattoo could be seen, though what it was did not shine through. While he abhorred magic in almost its entirety, he found that its theatrical effects were more than worth bearing that particular demon.

“That's it, you're just going to continue on?” Neville asked, still in shock.

“You've lost the fight, there was no chance of winning,” he said, swinging his way back up onto his horse. “I may be Death, but it is not your time.” The desperado's stare was fixated upon Neville, who nodded.

“Let me come with you for now, Mister?” Neville said as a woman brought a horse to him. He kissed the woman before getting onto the horse. The desperado felt a pain that had no risen in over a lifetime for him, but then he never figured on returning to here.

“Death, just Death will do for now,” he said with a smirk. He waved his hand, removing the cloaking spell around his mentor. “And that is my Mentor.” The look of surprise and shock on Neville's face was only comparable to the shock upon everyone else's.

“Professor Dumbledore?” Neville managed to stammer out.

“Hello Mister Longbottom, it has been quite some time,” Dumbledore said. “My student tends to be a bit more effective at times than I ever planned.” He looked at Hogwarts for a moment before resuming his spot next to Death. “I do believe it is best that we get going. The tale we must weave is rather long, and I'd rather rest before the night is through.”

“What? Rest? But aren't you….” Neville's voice trailed off as Death glared at him, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Dead is a relative term, Neville, and I suggest that you watch you tongue,” he said with slight venom before relaxing under his mentor's hand.

“All in due time, all in due time,” Dumbledore said. The bluish glow around him never faltered, adding an ever-eerier sense of mystery to the man called Death. It made him paler than he truly was and his eyes dark holes in his head. The desperado knew who he reminded them off, however, it did not matter. He was not that little boy they had all forgotten about.

“Much has happened since you umm….” Neville said looking toward death in slight fear.

“And the best place to begin is at the beginning I believe,” Dumbledore said. “However, what you know, I already do. That and more.” He looked toward the castle once more. “The night falls quicker these days.”

“With less light in this world, it is a wonder that there is still day,” Death replied. Emerald eyes met blue for a moment, before a twinkle returned to each of them. “I do believe that it is out turn to tell a story or two. News of the outside world perhaps.”

“What news, the world is in chaos,” Neville said with bitterness in his voice. “Ever since Potter left.”
“Really, I've heard much about this Potter on my travels, and Dumbledore spoke so highly of him,” Death said the glint still in his eyes. “Please tell me your impression of him.”

“I thought he was hero, a great person,” Neville spoke with such sadness in his voice. “Though, he showed his true colors the day of Bill and Fleur's wedding, running like he did. Potter, the coward.” The name was spat to the ground. “Things went down hill from there, Hogwarts did not reopen to the public, and the Ministry tried to sack just about everyone who worked there. It was only by happenstance that a man by the name of Evans I think, John Evans or something like that came along and bought the land in your name Professor. It was quite odd, for we haven't heard of him since.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said, looking toward Death for a moment.

“Evans, I name I too am familiar with, however, in my case, I believe I ended up killing the man, as was the final part of our deal,” he said with an air of nonchalance.

“You killed him!” Neville said, nearly jumping out of the saddle. ”He was one of the last hopes of the Light side.”

“I killed him par his wishes,” Death said, and chose not to speak again. His eerie glare that came from the glow only offset the darkness of his words even more. “we will not speak more of that man.” The glare could have pierced steel. “For now.”

“Please excuse my pupil,” Dumbledore said, with a knowing smirk. “I'm afraid that subterfuge has too often been his forced pointed.” Neville looked confused at the statement as did the other riders, but Death just chuckled.

“It means ask me no questions, I tell you no lies,” Death said. “Avoiding the point as usually, no wonder I'm so good at it now.”

Death let the two talk as he watched the scenario of the old hills unfold before him. It truly was not as dark as it first appeared, with the green Scotish hills still rolling cross the landscape. However, the lake was shallower, and the trees that surrounded it appeared burnt and scarred at points. The battle that began the war was immense, and the memory was burned into his mind, much like the scars upon this land. Time heals all wounds, yet only if they had closed, no longer bleeding.

The castle held strong, with magic simply bounding off the sides of the walls, as if there was too much for one fortress to contain. He sighed, and immediately spotted several entry paths without the use of magic to use.

“I could get into this castle in less than five minutes,” he said aloud, pulling Neville and Dumbledore out of their conversation. “Potentially taking down defenders in a total of ten.”

“This is the most secure position in Great Britain,” Neville said with anger and surprise. “Who are you to say that you could get in so easily?”

“When have you known these walls to stop Death?” he asked, knowing the answer already. “Voldemort has grown to fear Death.”

“Relax, Fawkes,” Dumbledore said in a hushed tone. No one else heard it, and he smirked lightly. He nodded, and settled back into his saddle. Not before removing a hat from his saddle bags, a fedora, and placed it on his head, hiding the majority of his face.

The rest of the ride was quiet to say the least. Death appeared to be asleep, but if on noticed, his left hand was upon the revolver, resting there as if waiting someone to approach. Dumbledore floated along side him, watching the young man carefully, knowing the demons that tormented him all to well. The scared look of young Neville returned on his older incarnate. Almost bringing a grin to Harry's face.

“This way,” Neville finally said. He guided them through the broken gates, holding on only by ancient magic. Death smirked at this for a moment, wondering if he should fix it. Deciding against it, he'd leave that for later, when they all wanted proof.

“Who is in charge?” Dumbledore asked the question Death had left alone. It did not matter to him, but it was nice to know the chain of command.

“Professor McGonagall,” Neville said. “The Order is in ruins sir, its good to have you back.”

“Oh, I'm not here for the Order, they're going to be in more than capable hands soon,” Dumbledore said with a knowing look. Death almost laughed at the twinkle in his eyes, as Death's eyes began to share the same twinkle.

“Why are you here?” Neville asked, though there never was an answer. Two more people came running up to them as they passed Hagrid's old hut.

“Neville why aren't you guarding the town,” a woman with blond hair in a braid said as she came up. Death did a once over of her, noticing her attractive qualities, but the tired look in her eyes told him her futile efforts to get someone to notice her were taking their toll.

“Because,” Death said, hopping down from his horse. “I wanted to get something to eat.”

“Who are you?” the redhead asked.

“Does it matter who I am?” he said, taking his horse by the reins. “I already know who you two are.”

“How?” The redhead asked again.
“Well Ginny, let's say that Potter gave me a lot of answers before his disappeared,” the tone of voice was evil, or almost. No one caught the joke in Dumbledore's eyes though.

“You killed him?” Ginny said, being held by Neville now.

“Oh no, he just gone for now,” Death said with a smirk. “He knows his worth, and his worth to those that knew him.”

“So the coward left and found you?” Ginny said, the tears gone replaced by venom.

“I wouldn't call him a coward,” Death said, scratching his chin. “Brave to a foolish point, chivalrous as well, but never a coward. Spoke his love's name on his lips as he disappeared. Still on them too I think.” He laughed at his joke, only to be stopped by the blond.

“I know who you are,” she said in a small voice. “You don't fool me.”

“Good, Luna,” he responded, his voice lower, softer. “Then don't try to stop me.” Louder he spoke though as he held out his arm for her to take. “Please, I think I might enjoy so more elegant company while I tour this place. Its good to know the places you plan to conquer.” He said this in such a way it made her laugh, knowing the lies behind the man. At least one more person knew now.

“You're causing quite a stir,” she said, through her small laughter as she took his offered arm.

“Well my dear, this is nothing compared to the storm brewing,” he said, looking back at Dumbledore who was chuckling.

“Marvelous boy isn't he?” He asked as he followed Death down the path with Luna.

“He's a bastard,” Ginny said. “How does he know us?” She looked at Neville for a moment, still in shock. “Dumbledore, he's….”

“Back?” Neville offered as they watched the floating form disappear along with the man in black with Luna. Ginny nodded.

“I don't know, but he knows more than he should,” Neville said.

“Are you going to call him?” Ginny asked, surprise in her voice. He looked at her for a moment before Neville nodded. “Good, the bastard embarrassed me.”

“Ginny, learn to grow up,” Neville said, shaking his head as he followed the unlikely trio, that for some reason had some similarity to a trio he saw only a year ago disintegrate in front of his eyes. Sighing, he knew that what he was about to do may fail, but it was worth the shot. He left Ginny there, knowing the girl needed to be taught a lesson as well.