Azalea Potter and the Summoning System

Azalea Lily Potter was dying.

She'd faced many dangers throughout her fourteen years of life: Voldemort, her uncle, Fluffy, a basilisk, dementors, acromantulas, quidditch, flying cars, Death Eaters, and so much more. Yet none of these dangerous and lethal factors had played a hand in her current predicament. No, instead a mere tumble down a staircase connecting the seventh and sixth floors of Hogwarts was why she was currently bleeding out onto the cold stone.

A jinx-assisted tumble down the stairs.

In her nearly unconscious state, Azalea wouldn't have been able say who had fired the jinx other than the fact that she thought she'd seen the yellow of a Hufflepuff's robes. To be fair, were she in perfect condition she still would be unable to pin the culprit. Afterall, it was dark and there were far, far too many suspects.

It was the end of the first week of November of her fourth year at Hogwarts and nearly a week had passed since she'd been proclaimed as the fourth Triwizard champion.

Things had immediately taken a turn for the worse the very night her name came out of the Goblet. In the Gryffindor common room, Ron had very vocally called her out for cheating and was no longer talking to her. Not that that was a real surprise. Also unsurprisingly, most of Gryffindor had followed suit in treating her like a pariah.

But at least Gryffindor limited their actions to ignoring her and the occasional name-calling. The other houses were not so friendly.

Had the other houses limited their treatment of her to merely treating her like an outcast, Azalea would've been completely fine. She'd faced such abuse during the Chamber fiasco. But would she ever be so lucky?

By the end of the first day following the Champion selection, things had progressed from derogatory comments to being the target of whatever spells the student body felt she deserved at the time. Of course, no powerful or dark spells were used – that would've forced the teachers to act – but simpler spells from sticking charms and tripping jinxes to minor cutting spells were free game.

After second year, Azalea knew better than to ask the faculty for help. They had never intervened before so there was no reason to think they would now. She wasn't even sure they'd want to intervene; she had seen them throw her more than a few disgusted looks since her name was selected.

Instead, she bore through it all. And, when the end of the day came, she would climb the stairs to her dormitory and into the care of Hermione.

Hermione. Thank Merlin for Hermione. She'd never given up on Azalea. Even when the spells began targeting her for her association with Azalea, Hermione never left, not even once uttering a work of complaint against Azalea for what was happening. Always giving her words of support.

It was only on the third day after the Goblet selection that Azalea had, after a very long conversation/argument, convinced Hermione to distance herself in public so she wouldn't be hurt.

But though Hermione was no longer seen in public with Azalea these past few days, she would always be waiting up at night to perform the necessary counter-spells and to apply Essence of Dittany to Azalea's injuries. In fact, Hermione was probably waiting for her in the girls' dormitory at that very moment.

Honestly, Azalea had thought that she would overcome her current situation like she had with all others: enduring through it. And, like a phoenix, she'd come out as strong as she ever was.

The broken bones throughout her body and the blood rapidly matting down her dark red hair told her otherwise.

===

Elsewhere in the castle, Dumbledore was sleeping soundly, a pair of fluffy, bright pink earmuffs blocking out all noise. Said sleeping aid had become necessary this past week when one of the many spells he had placed on the Girl-Who-Lived had begun sounding its alarms incessantly.

Naturally, he had all sorts of tracking and notifications charms placed on the girl. The spell that had been annoying him for this past week was one that, while only having a range of a few kilometers, would inform him whenever Azalea came to harm. Of course, 'harm' was quite a broad term and it was for this reason that it hadn't given him a moment of peace, particularly in the last week.

Thus, earmuffs – much more stylish than some spell – became necessary in order to sleep. With three important positions to fill, he needed sleep. After a week of only minor 'harm' coming to the girl, he doubted a more serious situation would arise. It wasn't as if one of his precious students would ever try to kill the girl.

Unfortunately, his thinking and actions prevented him from hearing another alarm, far more important than the one he was trying to ignore.

Sound blared through his office as the devices that tracked Azalea's health and life force were triggered.

But Dumbledore would never hear them.

===

Luckily, she couldn't feel the pain. Although, it was also the lack of pain that told her she was dying. At the end of all her misadventures she had always felt pain, even when she came close to death. But not now.

Nor was it a simple matter of losing consciousness. She had fainted one too many times to not know this was different. This was more like she was…fading.

But, she wondered, was this such a bad thing?

Her parents dying. Ten years of emotional and physical abuse at the hands of her uncle. Three years of deadly situation at Hogwarts. Then this year. And despite all those dangers she only had found one true friend, a friend that couldn't even be near her most of the time because of the danger it posed.

At that moment, she determined that it wasn't worth struggling to live. This was it. The Girl-Who-Live decided it was time to die.

She lay there on her back, blood now soaking through the back of her robes, and calmly felt her life force leave her.

"Here I come," she whispered.

The tension eased from her body.

Her eyes closed.

It was over.

Or it should've been.

The part of Azalea that was ready to move on was trample by the sheer force of will that had seen her through so many horrors. After so much, she was dying because she fell down a flight of stairs?! There was no way in Hell that would be her fate.

Azalea Lily Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived, the abuse survivor, and the defeater of Voldemort, dementors, and basilisks refused to die. Though her spirit had momentarily been shaken, it would not break. As she had always done, she would survive.

Her body tensed and her fingers clawed the stone as she tried to move, but to little avail. So, as she had done several times in her cupboard under the stairs, she instinctively called on her magic to heal herself.

Her subconscious guided her magic – something with a pseudo intelligence of its own – through her body, analyzing and attempting to cure her injuries. It was only then she realized how dire her situation was. Cracked head. Damage to her organs. Broken bones throughout her body, of which three had broken the skin.

Nevertheless, her magic tried to fix what it could. She immediately felt some relief, but it wasn't enough.

After a full week of trying to defend herself from various spells, her magic was far from being in optimum condition. There wasn't enough magic to heal even one of her fatal injuries in the time she had left, which was hardly any time at all.

But she would not give up!

Having a deep connection with her magic since she was young, she knew that it could act in the best interest of its host without conscious or unconscious direction. And so turned her fate over to magic and pleading with it to save her at any cost.

Given such a request, her magic rose up to meet the challenge. Of course, it already knew that as things stood there was no way to heal its host.

At least not by normal means. But its host had said to save her 'at any cost.'

Sacrificial magic. To give up something of yourself in return for a great boon. Rituals often used this concept to enhance a person's physical body or magic. At its heart though, sacrificial magic didn't need a set of words or a prescribed ritual in order to work. Such means were mortal constructions while magic was an eternal constant. Just the intent and willingness of Azalea was enough for her magic to initiate the sacrifice, just as her own mother had done thirteen years prior.

And it already knew exactly what it wanted to sacrifice. For thirteen years it had been leeched on by a foreign entity. A parasite. A fragment of a soul. And for thirteen years it had been preventing that fragment from taking over its host. For thirteen years Azalea's magic had been trying to rid itself of the taint.

Now it could. Now Azalea had allowed for sacrificial magic.

Of course, under normal conditions an individual's magic would have no jurisdiction over another's soul. But this was not a normal scenario. Voldemort had never intended to place a part of his soul in Azalea but doing so had allowed it to survive that night by feeding on her magic. Therefore, in a very real sense, the soul fragment only existed because Azalea had fed it magic, albeit unwillingly. As a result, though it bent universal laws – bent, not broke being an important distinction – Azalea could rightfully sacrifice that part of Voldemort's soul.

The soul fragment fought as her magic surrounded it, constricting it. But it had fed and strengthened itself for thirteen years, and so its struggles were fierce. Azalea opened her mouth and screamed in pain, both her voice and Voldemort's echoing through the castle. However, her determination and that of her magic was not to be denied.

A final feral scream tore through her throat as a black tar-like substance oozed from her scar when her magic finally tore the soul fragment free from her and offered it up to the magic of the world and those who oversaw it.

Of all things throughout the cosmos, few were more powerful or hold more importance than a soul. To sacrifice such a thing, even a fragment, was to spark the greatest magic that could be called upon. Even those few entities that ruled over the infinite realities, dimensions, and timelines could not ignore such a thing.

And indeed, at the very moment that fragment of Voldemort's soul was offered up as a sacrifice, several of those entities looked on Azalea's still, nearly dead body with interest.