Harry Potter
and
The Soul's Silhouette
I do not own harry Potter
Chapter 1: The Black Tower
it is a curious thing to contemplate one's own mortality...
Pressed dark against the moon lit sky, the black tower silhouetted itself against the piercing night's illumination. Floating ominously over the still, silver lake, it mirrored itself below; a perfect mettalic black marred only by a single balcony at it's peak. Standing pale against the soft light illuminated behind him, the young man stood. His black eyes traced the horizon, dancing along the rolling hills that greeted them. A cold wind played across his pale hands resting on the balcony, reaching above and beyond to his long, ebony hair, rolling it along in it's wake. Short and thin, one might be careless enough to assume him nothing more then a teenage boy. Only his face told of his age, not by virtue of it's boyish apperance, but by the worn look it carried. Clothed in flowing robes of black, gold and white, he took little notice of the night's bitter cold, lost in thought with noone but the moon to accompany him.
It makes all things seem less fulfiling or meaningful. What pursuit in life can be taken with us into death? What can be made eternal in such finate conditions?
His eyes turned towards the moon, shinning bright within the night's sky. A golden glint shone from his side; a golden wand bore with red streams illuminated like a star from the moon's light, sending the man's face into sharp definition. His boyish good looks were marred by a single black scar that cut from his lips through to his right eye, standing out boldly against his pale skin.
It is no wonder why he fears death. Why he has pursued the boy mercilessly. It is the boy that he fears...more then he feared the late Dumbledore. But why? What makes him so certain that this boy can threaten him so? Has he truly bought into that "chosen one" talk? No...it can't be just that. He would need more then a misguided public's
opinion to take action. He is far too intellegent to be taken by the masses. Although I suppose it is irrelevent WHY he has chased the boy so far....He has him cornered, backed into a wall with no where to run. Tonight...everyone shall see if he is indeed the chosen one.
Quiet stole the night as the wind stoped cold. Many years had he waited for this night. Voldemort's 13 year disapperance had been completely irrelevent...for how could he have put into action all his dreams while Dumbledore still drew breath? Yet like a snake, voldemort crawled out of his hole to strike back, this time taking his greatest enemy to the grave. Dumbledore had fallen...but worse then this great opponent stood Voldemort, infinately more merciless in his tolerance for his ambitions. It was such an irony that the two greatest wizards of the age would also become his greatest opponents. It was always them that made him hide...them that forced him into seclusion. Yet if it was true...if Harry Potter was in fact the chosen one...then he could finally continue with his great work. No more hiding, no more masking his moves....yes, what a glorious day it would be if the greatest dark wizard woild fall on this night.
A loud cry of a raven cut across the lake, tearing through the silence and the man's thoughts. Comming to rest upon the balcony, the raven cawed up at his master, spreading out silver stained wings as he streched. Regarding the bird a moment, he lifted him up and carefully unfurled the note tied to his leg. The raven took flight, entering the tower behind him, leaving the man alone.
22 seconds.
The note continued to count down on it's own merit, even after he tossed it to the winds mercy. Pulling his wand out, he closed his eyes as he began to mumble archaic words, forming strange geographic shapes of deep gold as his wand danced through the air as if it were solid parchment. As more and more complex shapes arose, his movements quickened, until he was a blur of arcane words and gestures, finally turning about face and dragging his wand along a seemingly very solid air, fighting some unseen resistance until...
"SOLVO FRENUM!"
An explosion of silver light flashed from the tower top, bright as the moon above. The defining boom echoed across the lake, sending ripples across its surface. For a moment, nothing more occured, but as if an invisible drape were disturbed, the air around the tower began to ripple. The invisible curtain fell slowly along it's surface, disappearing just before it hit the lake's surface. Pointing his wand at a seemingly empty, random spot, he stood stock still, as if expecting something. For a few seconds, nothing occured. Suddenly, a loud crack broke the silence; a kneeling cloaked women , deeply robed, appeared where the man pointed his wand. Deep purple eyes found his from deep within her cloaked hood, sparing the wand a glance before standing to her fullest. The man's wand fell to his side as she withdrew from her cloak.
"Has the dark lord fallen?" He asked.
Sliping from her cloak, she turned to face him again. Something about her beauty seemed too perfect; for she was indeed, a beauty that none but the veela could rival. Long dark hair fell and swayed perfectly along a lithe figure. Olive skin on perfectly formed legs showed through a high slited purple and gold skirt, flowing perfectly into a low cut purple and silver top. Her eyes showed no inkling of compasion: only purpose.
"The dark lord died from his own spell. Not sure what's protecting that boy, but it reflected the dark lord's avada kadavra curse. I wasn't aware any magic could deflect a curse of that power..."
"You are certain?" He asked, his eagerness betraying his composer. "You saw him die yourself?"
"I was there when it happened, just as you asked of me."
Falling back into a chair, he closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. So many years....how he had waited for this day to come. There were dark moments when he had feared he may never be free of the dark lord's shadow, or Dumbledores piercing eyes. The only wizards he had ever feared were now no more then a bad memory. Grindlevald, found dead in his cell, Dumbledore betrayed to his death, and now Voldemort, murderer of the best wizards of the age, defeated by the boy he failed to kill when he was no more then a baby. He closed his eyes, resting his head against the back of the chair. He barely noticed his wand slip from his hands as it landed on the floor with a loud crack.
"Michael..." She asked, rushing to his side. "Michael, are you alright?"
Opening his eyes, Michael regarded her with a smile. Touching her face gently, he looked up at her with his dark eyes, but his look was one of loving care.
"I haven't felt this alright in thirty years, Cadence." Letting his hand fall to his side, he looked up into the sky. The night sparkled with heaven's lights, and each one shined only for him. Thousands of miles away, at Hogwarts, the corpse of his enemy lay wasted at the hands of a mere boy. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, had defeated the greatest dark wizard the world had ever known.
"Would you like me to put the Frenum charm back in place?" Cadence asked, taking out a lavender wand.
"No more need...." A soft, dark laugh escaped his lips. Michael returned to his dark composer; calm, cool and deadly. "With the fall of
V-Voldemort, who do we have to fear? Let them apparate."
Picking up his wand, Michael swept from the balcony into his room, Cadence close behind.
The room held a dark, majestic aura. Black tomes and bloody pages in frames lined the ebony walls. A spectacular mural of angels falling before an onslaught of demons covered the rolling, dome ceiling. A large pearl white carpet fell below this. Occasionally, the demons would drag an angel across the walls, violently tearing his wings off before devouring the helpless creature. The battle raged across the room; the silent fury of a demonic horde left to it's own designs. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes of various age and condition. Shelves of odd chemicals and strange supplies filled an entire wall, some with vials of still living creatures despreately attempting to escape their fate. A large half dome hung from the ceiling, filled with a strange black substance that boiled with such vigor only magic kept it within it's container. A grand bed laid against the back wall, draiped in black silk blankets with golden trim. Grim, moving pictures of terrifying duels stood on tables beside the bed, along with a single picture of Michael and Cadence in a deep embrace.
With a simple flick of his wand, a cabnet burst open, a bottle of fine wine floating along at his command, trailing along with it 2 glasses.
"I bought this wine thirty years ago just for this moment..." With another casual flick, the cork popped off, the bottle filling generous amounts of wine into both glasses. Smiling down into his glass, Michael's black eyes reflected from it's depths. "Thirty years I have been delayed. Thirty years of frustration and fear..."
Drawing close to him, Cadence put her arm around him, allowing him to drink from her glass. Kissing him gently, so caressed him as she spoke. "No magic can bring back the dead...and with his horacrux's gone, he is gone-"
Wine flew across the floor, the glass shattering onto the floor. withdrawing like a wounded animal, Cadence grasped her wrist, looking hurt and confused. Michael had knocked her arm off of him, a sudden shock gripping him.
"Michael? Why did yo-"
"Did you say Horacrux's?"
"well....yes, but-"
"As in MORE then just one? The dark lord made MORE then one?"
"Yes...but why-"
'How do you know this?"
"I'm just saying what that Potter boy was saying, thats all! He told the dark lord he no longer could hide behind his horacrux's."
Dumbstrick, Michael stood for a few moments in shock. Horcacrux's? It would be foolish to assume the greatest dark wizard of all time did not possess a horacrux, but had he really found a way to create more then one? Could the human soul sustain such massive damage? Spliting your soul once was dangerous enough, but twice...? Or had he done more? How many horacrux's did Voldemort create?
"Michael....? Whats wrong?"
Wordlessly, Michael began searching his book shelves, tossing aside novels with a single minded determination. Pulling out a book seemingly binded with skin, he quickly began flipping through its pages. Somewhere in here, there must be a passage....a note, anything pertaining to what he needed to know.
"Michael, what are you-"
"Leave me, now." He replied, not taking his eyes off the book.
"But-"
Stuck silent from the look he shot at her, she gave up on him. Hesitating for a moment, she gave him one last hurtful look before disapperating.
There was nothing....not a single refrence in secrets of the darkest art on multiple horacrux's. Voldemort had been the first to attempt such a daring act. Truly brilliant....there was no doubt why he was such a great wizard. But just how far did he go? How far could he, Michael, go to ensure his own immortality? Was three splits the limit? Or did Voldemort go further? If he couldn't find the answer in these books...where could he go to find the truth?
Staring blankly at the wall, Michael watched lost in thought as a group of angels took the upperhand against a lone demon, holding him down while another angel impaled him. The demon writhed in pain, but eventually grew still. Voldemort had fallen...someone had discovered his secret and destroyed his horacrux's, then took his life. How they came ot this knowledge...well, it was not important. What was important was that that someone knew exactly how many times Voldemort has split his soul.
Dawning his traveling cloak, Michael turned on the spot, and was soon sufficated in darkness, pulled through nothing as if sucked through a straw. Only one thought crossed his mind as he appeared at the border of Hogwarts: The boy who lived had some questions to answer.
"Harry?"
Hermione's voice broke Harry's trance. He had been staring deeply into the lake, lost in thought. He had almost forgotten Hermione was beside him; his mind was lost in the day's events. He was exhasted...Nearly 2 full days without sleep. It seemed an eternity ago he came out of Grignots riding a vicious, deadly dragon that had been just as intent upon killing him, Hermione and Ron as the army of goblins they were escaping. It was seemingly forever ago that he stood in Amberforth's home, trying to find a way into Hogwarts. But it was the memories he wanted to seem forever ago that were still fresh in his mind: George's death, Lupin's body beside Tonk's, all the wounded and dead students he had grown up with, fighting to fend off Voldemort's forces. And Voldemort himself. Staring into his red snake eyes in the forbidden forest. Watching him lift his wand that took his, Harry's, life for the briefest of moments. And finally standing his ground against him, face to face, in the final moments of Voldemort's life. That final cry of hatred Voldemort echoed in his mind. That last look of evil in those rage filled red snake eyes would forever haunt him. He was drained...emotionally wasted. He needed time alone, which was fine for Ginny and Ron to give him. George was dead, and the family needed to be together to grieve for their loss. But Hermione...as much as he yearned for time alone, he couldn't help but be thankful for her staying with him. It was comforting to have a friend like her close by.
"Harry, whats bothering you?"
"I-" He was on the verge of saying 'I'm Fine', but something in her concerned expression stoped him. Her and Ron had been there with him through it all. True, he went alone to face Voldemort, but they had always had his back, no matter how bad things got. He could trust them with anything, so why should he hide it now? Before he knew it, he was telling her everything. How he had felt when he walked to his death to face Voldemort, how he felt responsable for everyone who died to protect him, how he felt the Weasley's would and should stop talking to him because of George. Harry felt the burden grow more and more as he spoke, feeling the weight of all that had happened since he first put the sorting hat on 7 years ago.
"Evreryone is treating me like a hero just because Voldemort is dead. That won't bring everyone back to life...everyone who died because of me." Harry's eyes bured with tears, but none fell. Burying his head into his arms, he found a little beatle crawling along his robes. This reminded him of Rita Skeeter, writter for the Daily Prophet, and remembered how she didn't bother to mention Cedric Diggory in her report on the triwizard tournament. Cedric...just another person who wouldn't have had to die.
"You can't blame yourself for what Voldemort and the death eaters did." She consoled, offering him a gentle hug. It was comforting, and for a bit, he felt as if the burden on his chest was easier. She pulled away, and at once he wished she didn't; the weight came back as strong as ever. "Your a good person Harry. Evreyone at Hogwarts will tell you the same thing. Well, maybe not Grawp, but if he knew the words I'm sure he would too!"
Harry couldn't help but laugh. That was normally Ron's job...making jokes, or lightening a horrible situation, but she was trying, and that meant a lot to Harry.
Looking down the lake, they watched the herd of Centaurs rush along the battle-worn school grounds, Grawp laughing and running behind them, in complete bliss with the world. It was a beautiful mourning...the sun glistened off the lake's surface like a million diamonds all fighting to glitter brighter then the rest. A soft breeze carried it's refreshing wave across the gounds, carrying away the smell of ash and war that still lingered in the battle's wake. But why did he feel a draft going through his robes? After a moment inspection, he found a large tear in the back of his robe. Without thinking about it, he reached into his pocket to take out his wand but discovered two there. How could he have forgotten? He had the wand of destiny still....he had to return it to it's proper resting ground. Taking out his regular wand, Harry repaired the tear and stood up.
"Hey, I need to return Dumbledore's wand. I'll be right back."
"Alright....I'll wait for you." Hermione smiled, staring back out at the lake, pulling her knees up to her chest. "Hey Harry!" She called out, stopping him midstep.
"Yeah?"
Her eye's pierced him in a way he only ever felt from Dumbledore, as if she was looking for something in him. Her smile never faultered.
"...He would be proud of you."
Her words stuck with him as he walked on. Dumbledore, proud of him? Why? Because he caused the deaths of so many people simply by existing? Sure, Dumbledore might offer him all the praise in the world, but what did he know? What did anyone know? Why didn't anyone else see that these simple facts?
Students passed him by as he went, laughing and smiling, cheering and praising Harry as a hero wherever they came across him. It was almost too much; how could they be so ignorant? Didn't they know that all this death was because of him? So many lives could have been saved if he hadn't come to Hogwarts...there must have been an easier way. What about the vanishing cabinets? Why hadn't he thought of them? He would have been right beside the horacrux....he could have gotten it and been gone, then had more time to plan how to Kill Voldemort. Why did he, Harry, always have to make the wrong decisions?
Harry's brooding was interrupted when he noticed he wasn't the only visitor to Dumbledore's grave. Standing, draped in marvelous robes of black, gold and white, stood a pale, dark hared man, no older then harry. He stood stock still, statue like, as if the grave held some important information for him that he may never get if it noticed he was there. There was a slightly troubling air about the man. Something about him reminded Harry of a distant nightmare long forgotten. Approaching catiously, Harry tried to catch the man's face before he took notice.
"Harry Potter." The man began, without ever turning around. "I am honored to meet the hero of Hogwarts....no, the hero of the wizarding world at large." He faced Harry, purely black eyes meeting deep green. Holding out a hand, Harry took it uncertainly.
"Um...yes....who are you?" Harry asked, not sure what to say.
"I am Michael Cain. And you, are the boy, no, the man who can solve my problem."
I look forward to your reviews! My next post will be on may 23!
