Welcome to my first long story.
Rating: T/M. This might be subject to change at a moments notice.
Summary: The dementor incident prompts dumbledore to take a different approach with concern to Harry, and the war. Harry/Fleur relationship-focus. Grey dumbledore.
I've been wanting to write this for a long time, and I finally sat down and got through that first, hard and likely too exposition-heavy chapter. It's probably got a lot of room for improvement, but this is atleast something.
My two favorite things in the Potter fandom is the idea of a grey dumbledore, and the specific pairing Harry/Fleur. The idea is that the story will contain:
- Harry and Fleur in a relationship as soon as chapter 4 or 5. I find the idea of writing about an established couple a lot more interesting.
- A magically powerful Harry who is specifically trained in combat at the very start of the fic, but this training is severely limited. Fleur and most older people will wildly outclass him in everything that isn't actual combat magic.
- A grey, intelligent(Provided I succeed at writing him as such), very motivated and very much aligned with the light Dumbledore.
- Multiple antagonists with conflicting goals and ideals.
- My own interpretation of the magical system and how magical battles work. For one, Sectumsempra is an unforgivable in this one. There will be an explanation. The focus in combat will be heavily on movement and various means to achieve it. If you hate it, either stop reading or bear with me.
- The second chapter will likely be out next week, and after that I will try to do bi-weekly updates, though some might take up to a month.
All criticism is welcome, especially harsh one. For one, is the formating terrible?
AN: Also, just finished, and I can never find things that sound stupid if I read something I wrote the same day. So there will likely be some serious revamps of sentances after Ive had a good night's sleep.
Thank you for reading. / Stryker Aka. Max M
Avenues of defeat
June 3rd 1994
4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging
Surrey, England
He knew something was off the second he stepped into the house. Say what things you would about the Dursley household, but quiet would not be it. There was always a TV blaring, a pot boiling or a fat uncle complaining about the dangers of unrestricted immigration. Always something. So his mind instantly went into high alert. Danger mode. Call it whatever you want, but it was a state that evolved out of necessity once you survived enough brushes with death. And Harry certainly had his fair share.
As he gazed into the kitchen, his fears were confirmed. Petunia Dursley was frozen mid-motion, in what looked like the act of flipping a pancake. The unlucky pastry was similarly suspended in midair, so he had confirmation of magical involvement. Harry crouched, trying to present a smaller profile, and drew his wand with all the dubious certainty a 14-year old could posses - albeit one with Harry's rather colorful history.. He then rounded the corner, the Stunner on the tip of his tongue. As he crossed the doorway and the living room came into view, he found his fears unfounded. There, nestled in the loveseat, sat the familiar and grandfatherly face of Albus Dumbledore. The old, lanky man smiled slightly at Harry's flushed appearance.
"No need to be frightened my boy. I see now that I maybe should have alerted you to my presence here at an earlier date. I must apologise, as I didn't mean to startle you, but you and I need to have a long conversation, which will concern things that are both very secretive and are also nigh guaranteed to make you very emotional. As such, I took the precaution of freezing your relatives in place for the next couple of hours. Besides, your aunt has a positively dreary singing-voice, and I simply could not bear it for one more minute."
"No problem, sir. I was simply being cautious. After the events of last month part of me feels that there might actual be people out there to get me. The Rat, for one."
The old wizard stood, stretching his limbs for a moment before drawing his wand. Harry eyed him inquisitively, still very puzzled by the visit.
"As well you should, my boy. As well you should…"
The wand rose over the old wizards head, and suddenly he looked to be concentrating very hard.
"Harry, What I am about to perform now is a mass-counter, or what you might call a wide-area finite. Normally, clearing a room from a pretense of espionage requires the casting of 21 different charms, all keyed to find specific ways of spying on a conversation. But for those of us with a lot more magical potential than the norm, a massive dispel like what I will now project is a much simpler method, even if the energy-expenditure is certainly higher. It is quite effective in dueling, and I will gladly teach it to you at some point. Now watch."
Without leaving time for questions or answers, the old wizard swung his wand straight down, like it might as well have been a claymore, shouting simply one word.
"Magnus!"
The wave of power could not be seen, but it could most certainly be felt, as every hair on Harry's arms stood straight.
"The trick is holding the spell you want to amplify…"
Then both wizards spun around startled, as the sound of a wet pancake hitting the floor echoed through the house. The old wizard shook his head while chuckling.
"I am getting old. Aetas Mortis"
His wand pointed at the wall leading into the kitchen, and once again the house was quiet. Harry was trying hard not to break out into laughter. There was something disarming about the old man he adored so much, and this type of mistake was just such a Dumbledore thing to do.
"Have at it, my boy. I certainly deserve it."
At that statement, Harry broke out in some serious guffaws, the seriousness of the moment now completely lost on him. Once he calmed down, Dumbledore gestured for him to sit.
"What I am about to tell you now, Harry, is something that will change your opinion of me forever. If you wish, I will never speak to you again after this point, but please promise me that you will do your utmost to hear me out completely before you make such a decision."
Harry paused, startled.
"... I promise, sir."
"Very good. Also, while I will very gladly tell you my reasoning for doing what I have done, I won't do so unless you specifically ask for it, since I believe coming of as trying to make excuses for what I did would kill what little trust you might have in me when we end this conversation. I did what I believed I had to do."
All pretense of laughter was now gone from Harry, as the old man suddenly looked very old and very, very tired, so burdened by whatever it was that he might as well sink through the chair he was sitting in. It made him want to give the grandfatherly headmaster a hug.
"What you must first understand, Harry, is that there is such a thing called a Horcrux. A horcrux is nothing more than any physical object, conditioned to contain a piece of a soul. Through a ghastly ritual that requires massive human sacrifice, a Wizard can tear of a piece of his eternal soul, and embed it in an object of his choosing. While this has very little effect on the wizard while living, as the soul, from what little we know, is infinite, it has a great effect when that wizard dies. The Horcrux anchors the spirit in our world, where it retains a certain amount of agency. Through the use of another, much less horrific, but still distasteful, ritual, that spirit can be brought back into a body. This form of magic is known only to very few, but one of those few is someone we are both acquainted with."
"Tom Riddle."
"Exactly. Not much of a surprise, is it? The shade in the diary you fought in your second year was very likely a horcrux. But our dear tom, in his search for true immortality, created more than one. The exact number I am not yet sure on, but I suspect seven or thirteen are the most likely candidates, as those are arithmetically significant numbers, which would improve the strength of any protections placed upon the containers.
These Horcruxes are one part of the puzzle, but there is another thing you must know before my explanations will make sense. As you discovered last year, whereas most magic in the school of divination is spotty at best, there are such things as actual prophecies in our world. We know very little about them, or the way they choose certain individuals as conduits, but we record all of them."
Harry sat deep in concentration through most of the headmaster conversation, when suddenly his eyes shone with surprised understanding.
"This explains so much! There is one that concerns me and Riddle, isn't there?! It's the only way all of this makes sense."
Dumbledore regarded the boy with twinkling eyes, as he was prone to do. Still, this deduction made him more sure of his current plan.
"You have a strong mind my boy, never let anyone tell you different. What you deduced just now is the hard truth, and it is known to a very select few individuals. People on both sides of this conflict have died to protect or steal it, and our one biggest advantage over the dark lord is the fact that we know the exact wording of this prophecy. I cannot stress these facts enough."
The old wizard spoke with powerful reverence.
"As follows:
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies …"
Harry was flabbergasted. While his mind was used to both the idea of fighting Riddle and the presence of a magically dictated fate, the combination of the two was almost incomputable. It felt absurd, like he was part of a comic-book or one of the fantasy novels he would read at the library. He simply couldn't accept the absurdity of the situation.
"So it's me or him, then… Well, I guess it might have been much worse. Heh, both of us could have been fated to die in the confrontation."
Dumbledore suddenly took on a very pained expression, and Harry was yanked out of his introverted stupor.
"So there's more?"
"So much more. Like I said before, what I am now about to tell you will likely change your opinion of me forever. For what it's worth Harry, I am so sorry. So very sorry.
You know the scar on your forehead is no ordinary scar, correct?"
Harry nodded.
"You have been told such a scar is what happens when you're hit with an incredibly powerful curse, because that is what the general populace believes. This is not the truth. Such a scar, or what in ritual magic would be known as a permanent sacrifice, can only be the result of a ritual of great magnitude. Or in this specific case two clashing rituals."
For the second time that evening, understanding dawned on the face of Harry potter.
"So our connection… The visions… The Pain… I am an horcrux, am I not?"
"Correct. I have known this for quite some time, and suspected it long before that. Part of the ritual for creating a horcrux is a truly hateful murder, and while it could be argued that dear Tom hates all of the world, it is likely he was aiming to use the murder of your parents as a catalyst for another horcrux, one I believe would have been your corpse. Only you didn't die. This is likely because of ritualistic protections your mother placed upon you, of which I will gladly tell you more on a later date.
We are now approaching the first part of my crime. I know of a way to remove a horcrux without destroying the host, and I have done so since before I suspected you were one. While not exactly simple, the method for extraction is in no way unreasonable, and I certainly could have chosen to do so in your case. I have not.
To understand the second part of my deception, you must know that it is greatly dangerous for a wizard to come into magical contact with his or her own horcrux. Even more so to try and destroy it. It is not entirely certain why this is, but as far as I can gather the soul carries a certain resonance that shines through in our magic, and there is a very violent reaction when this resonance reverberates itself."
The old wizard rose.
"Have you ever wondered why I have not issued you special training, Harry? Why I've let you stay here with your "Family", and I use the term loosely, for so long? I've been grooming you harry, but not in the way you might think. The prophecy and your status as a horcrux presented me with a unique weapon against dear Tom. It's been my hope for most of the second part of this conflict that should Riddle ever regain his body, I could use you, willingly or unwillingly, as a sort of magical bomb, prompting him to destroy you and in the process destroying himself. For this purpose I needed you untrained and not exactly bathing in the ambrosia of life."
Dumbledore stood firm, fire and brimstone radiating with every word.
"Some would call me a monster. You likely will. But I will see the defeat of Tom Riddle, this scourge that would burn our world. No matter what the cost. No matter what. Britain, and by extension the world, stands under my protection. I am Albus Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, and this is my oath!"
The old wizard sat back down, all fire gone from his eyes.
"That ends the confessions of an old fool. Should you desire it, I will gladly tell you my reasons for this deception. Also, as a smart boy, It must not escape your notice that I just threw away my weapon for no gain. Last year changed everything, and if you will listen to it, I have a proposition for you."
Harry sat, blank face staring in the air, for the better part of two minutes. The world just broke, and he didn't know how to fix it. He wasn't even sure what to feel. The rage was there, sure, and he wanted to lash out, but not the amount that he had expected to feel. Sadness too, at what was probably the biggest betrayal of his young life. But he also, surprisingly, felt understanding. The fear he himself felt in front of Voldemort was not insignificant, but compared to what the wizarding populace had felt as a whole it was next to nothing. And dumbledore had been on top of that whole pile for longer than anyone should ever have to. Eventually, after enough deaths, and enough sacrifices, no move was off the table.
It was ironic really, that after what amounted to the biggest betrayal in his young life, Harry felt more cold and calculated than he'd felt, well, probably ever. Still, he had to know the exact reasons. Naturally, he could no longer trust Dumbledore to tell the truth, and for all he knew what he just heard might have been one big lie.
"Why?"
Not that the anger wasn't there. He could no longer trust himself with anything more than monosyllabic questions, for fear of launching into a complete rage.
"I cannot beat the complete Tom Riddle anymore."
It was a simple statement, but it carried the power of the truth.
"There is an old truth in the old fairytale of the shining knight facing of against the old, dark wizard. Time, both in a single duel and in life favors the dark arts. In a true duel between two mages of different allegiance, but the same magical potential, the one aligned with the dark arts is always favored. Do you know why this is harry?"
"No idea, professor."
Despite his best efforts, venom radiated each syllable.
"I am sorry, Harry. When you have been teaching for as long as I have, the role of teacher is far too easy to fall into. I was out of line. The reason is simple, they are willing to go where we are not. This Refers both to dark spells, although in truth, most spells labeled as dark, outside of highly specialised torture-curses, are actually outside my own limitations in a true duel. The real problem are rituals.
Ritual magic is a highly stigmatised, perhaps rightly so, part of our culture, though in truth our kin make use of it a lot more than they realise. Potion-making and floo-powder, for example, are rituals most of us employ of in our daily life. The textbook definition of a ritual is actually Magic that changes something permanently, at the cost of something else. Some scholars would even argue that the Avada Kedavra, a permanent transfiguration, a simple cutting curse or even all magic are tend to be a little more narrow in their definition.
None argue against the fact that rituals are very powerful. There is a ritual I could perform sitting in this chair that would obliterate this neighborhood at the low cost of one of my fingers. And before you ask, it is very easy to defend against through magical means. My point is that a lot of rituals have sacrifices that are morally unacceptable for a mage aligned with the light, but available to the dark side. The horcrux is a perfect example. A lot of these are useable in combat. Others can be used to permanently improve reflexes, physical strength and other traits to superhuman levels. While some of these are morally accessible to us, most are not.
This leaves two avenues for a bright mage to win a true duel. Either you have to outclass your opponent in magical potential so thoroughly that no rituals can bridge that gap. Or you have to physically outclass your opponent and constantly pressure him in close combat, so that you can end the duel before they can utilise their advantage to the maximum potential. This is how I once took down Grindelwald. A combination of both is preferable.
I used to truly outclass Tom Riddle magically. This is no longer the case. This closes off avenue one for me. Avenue two hinges on physical strength and martial fortitude, neither of which I longer possess at my ripe age. Some of these gaps can be bridged through the clever use of potions and my own rituals, but the hard truth is that I would lose nine out of ten duels with dear Tom. The only one he has ever feared? Bah, Humbug!
There are people who could've taken my place and challenged dear Tom eventually. Your father likely would've been able to in this time, if not for his unfortunate fate. Sirius, as well, had he not spent so long in that terrible prison. Make no mistake, you godfather is a very capable duelist. Some others have possessed the natural magical potential needed to eventually challenge the threat we face. But none have been ready."
Harry looked incredulous.
"But I am?"
"I saw potential in you before, and had I believed we had a lot more time, I would've trained you from a very young age. However I did not believe any child, or even young adult could possess enough magic to truly challenge Tom."
"Until?"
"Until I saw you drive away those dementors. That is the act of one with my own level of magical fortitude, and you are much less refined than I've been for over a century. Rest assured I could not have done a fifth of what you did at your age. This meant I had to reevaluate you as a tool in my fight against Tom, something I was more than happy to do. You can beat him, Harry, you can truly beat him if you allow me and others to train you. However, if you request it, I will never speak to you again, on that I give you my word. Voldemort is coming, whichever you choose."
Harry was silent.
/
Thanks for reading. Please Review if you see fit, I appreciate any and all input. Things I am unsure about as of now:
The formating
The ending of the first chapter
The large amounts of dialogue towards the end of the first chapter
My portraial of Harry so far
The writing in general, though I actually found myself enjoying the first read through.
Also, I randomly ended up writing this little tidbit this morning, consider it a teaser of what's to come.
/
Her probe slammed into his mind with all the force of a battering ram. Outer tripwires, One-way alleys, inner shields, all was crushed in her effort to control his mind. He was furiously throwing memories in her path, but Harry knew he could not keep this up for long. The fury was a good combatant, but he clearly surpassed her. The mind arts however, were apparently her arena. He could not remember having felt so overmatched in anything since he began traning in earnest.
"Sirius! She just probed me! Be ready for combat!"
His godfather instantly snapped out of the jovial, if whispered, conversation he was having with one of the junior ambassadors. In the blink of an eye, the one he had been talking to had been wandlessly stunned and banished into the corridor, restricting the possibilty of one of her partners waking her. At the same time Harry summoned the back wall, quickly sliding backwards while wandlessly banishing the table, several chairs and additional assorted tupperware at the fury with some speed. The distraction lessened the strength of the probe significantly, and he was able to strategize for a brief moment.
Fleur was clearly the target here, which meant that her current probe was just meant to control his mind and take him out of the combat equation. This meant that she would not be looking for the prophecy. He still could not let her have it, of course, but he would need his entire mindspace in order to even stand a chance of ejecting such a foe. And even then he was not probable to win.
"Fleur! Stun me!"