The Forgotten Years by Bonehammer
A companion piece and prologue to my ongoing story, Destined to Repeat It.
Because when the Boy Who Lived comes back from the future and the first thing he does is bumping off his younger self, there had better be a damn good reason for it.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and associated characters belong to the respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Rating: M for violence, language, mature themes, truckloads of angst.
A/N: Because the FFNet format is less than ideal for this type of story, I have uploaded this chapter on my Livejournal (bonehammer) as well - please pay a visit and tell me which one you like best. Thanks for reading.
Chapter 1 - The Empty House
The hardest years, the darkest years, the roarin' years, the fallen years
These should not be forgotten years
The hardest years, the wildest years, the desperate and divided years
We will remember, these should not be forgotten years
MIDNIGHT OIL, Forgotten Years
Department of Mysteries – Memorandum
Classification: Hush-Hush – Internal Circulation Only
The following is a transcription from a handwritten book found by wizard Dearg McDougal of Wolverhampton in a clearing of the woods near Cinderford. The book appeared worn, discoloured and partially burnt.
After reading the first pages, Mr McDougal saw it best to turn the book to the Cinderford Auror station for further enquiry; in turn, the Chief Auror handed it over to the Department of Mysteries. (Note: All parties involved so far were subjected to memory modification and are NOT to be enquired further)
After thorough examination of the book and the location where it was found, our Unspeakables narrowed the possibilities to a number of three: namely, the manuscript could be:
1) an elaborate prank,
2) the product of a mind labouring under an intense delusion,
3) an accurate report of events that actually transpired.
The presence of residual magic of Dark nature in the clearing, and the finding of partial human remains, did not help clarify the matter further. Although it is certain that a ritual of some kind was perpetrated, no assumption can be made regarding its purpose or successfulness.
People mentioned in the book and whose identity could be ascertained were approached as discreetly as possible; no one has given a likely explanation so far.
In order to allow the specimen to be thoroughly examined, and with a mind to its state of preservation, the book has been transcribed completely, including parts that had been erased or marked for cancellation by the author. Shorthand, acronyms and abbreviations have been worked out as best as possible.
Anyone able to provide explanation please apply to Mr Knutworth, Unspeakable Office, Department of Mysteries, every other Wednesday afternoon.
(Please note: it might be necessary to modify your memory after giving evidence. We apologise in advance for any inconvenient it may cause).
11th November, noon
Left V alone; condition apparently stable. Supplied w/ pain-suppressing potions w/in reach, five days supply. Reached the shack today dawn, on the lookout from safe distance ever since; no sign of activity. Elected not to contact Order after last altercation. The utter morons – they still refuse to do what has to be done.
I am leaving observation point & heading to the shack now.
Founders preserve me.
[Scratched out, partly unreadable: (If anyone finds this book & cares for wizardkind, please leave █████████████Magical Brethren in the hall of the Ministry building at London. Your identity shall remain a secret.)]
11th November, 7th hour
IT'S OVER.
Ten years of hunting came to an end. I didnt have to do anything: he is finished.
[Scratched out: (I only wish I had_)]
Shack contained one Dementor in warded cage-like structure. Found P. lying in front of cage, obviously Kissed – hardly accidental. Body dehydrated, otherwise healthy. Conditions as to be expected – responsive to bodily stimuli (prodding / Stinging Hex), capable of executing simple verbal commands; otherwise catatonic: motionless, blank, etc. Wand polished & shut in carrying case confirms hypothesis of suicide. Appears that P. took his own soul in the end rather than answering the Wizengamot.
[Scratched out: (For thunder's sake, a dementor. It takes some_)]
No notes / messages / will found. Will inspect tomorrow w/ more light & rest - cant risk triggering a trap.
Sleeping out in the woods b/c of Dementor. Havent met one in years, own defences pretty low.
Havent contacted the Order yet.
Not sure what to do.
[Sketched drawing of a female head follows. Scratched out: (You know I had to.)]
13th November
Too busy to write yesterday. P.s condition stable for now. Unsurprisingly he is in no condition to talk. Several interesting findings, eg a Portsieve (how he even acquired one?!) & sealed memory vials in false bottom of cupboard. Ought to turn it over to the Order, but unable to. Spent last ten years trying to understand what passed through his mind – not easy to let go, not so soon. His victims deserve an explanation. I deserve an explanation.
Left Dementor in cage, wards around shack reinforced; side-Apparated w/ P.s body to S. End this morning. Hidden quarters behind library not vacant anymore. Spent rest of day setting up.
Will try tomorrow on a good nights sleep.
[Sketched drawing of a Pensieve follows.]
15th November.
Cannot make out what I saw. Vials do not seem to contain memories – not matching w/ anything that actually happened. Perhaps visions – P. possibly a Seer? No trace of Divination on his school records, & yet that would explain so many things.
[The previous page has been torn from the book.]
16th November.
Merlin's bollocks.
[Sketched drawing of the Astronomy Tower at the Hogwarts School, harshly scratched out.]
P.s not visions; delusions. He is the only responsible for D.s death. We have been nurturing a raving lunatic in our midst for seven years. We stood by taking no action, as he repeatedly stepped out of boundary. The Headmaster goaded P.s ego and ultimately paid the price for his own leniency. All the destruction. All the sufferance that ensued. Were. For. NOTHING.
This has to be denied, evidence destroyed, for our own sake. Better to second the old wives tale that P. was to be the next Dark Lord.
[Scratched out, partly unreadable: ('Se███s... Please')]
I wouldnt. I never.
17th November.
Completed examination of 'memories'. More examples of events which never happened & never could have happened. Either delusions or fabrications, an alibi for nothing: P.'s true nature has been bitterly revealed in the destruction of our society spread over an entire continent. This pathetic attempt at a self-defense is known only to the two of us; soon to myself only.
Side-Apparating back to the shack for the final arrangements.
Dust rose around them as they Apparated into the desolate shack. The body he was holding stumbled and fell like an empty sack, dragging him down; he let go at once, but fell painfully on the floor nonetheless. Severus Snape swore horribly as he got up; he had mastered Side-Apparation a long time ago, but he was used to companions that would at least try and stand upright.
The other was still lying on the floor, in a contorted pose; he hadn't moved a muscle. A slight rasping sound that accompanied every breath was the only sign of life.
Severus Snape drew his wand. The Dementor, still restrained, sensed the tension in the air and paced the perimeter of its prison; the temperature dropped.
"You should be thankful, Potter. Your torment is about to end."
A vicarious memory hovered before his eyes, but he shook it away.
Severus... please...
An inarticulate cry rose to his lips. They would all have to live and die without an explanation; why Potter had bit the hand that had raised and trained him, done the things he had done, set the wizarding world ablaze in a deflagration that was now finally smothering just because there was too little of value left to sustain it.
Snape had just brandished his wand when awareness struck.
"Idiot," he muttered to himself.
He took a step back and pocketed his wand again lest the temptation became too strong again. Others had tried to kill Potter before, and look where it had landed them. What with him being a soulless entity now, casting the Killing Curse was now more likely than ever to have it rebounding in one's own he didn't like the idea of casting something gross such as Reducto; the Killing Curse was cleaner and definitive. There were a way to find out, however. He drew his wand again and aimed it at the body.
"Crucio!"
Everything happened at once. The limp body at his feet contorted and writhed like a sack of live tarantulas; and a shriek surged from behind Snape. He turned at once, readying his Patronus if need be, but the wards were holding.
The Dementor had gone mad. It was hurling itself at the cage, flailing his long skeletal arms and shrieking like a banshee.
In all his years researching Dark creatures Snape had never seen anything like this. Dementors were not prone to pain: a Patronus could drive them off, not hurt them. What kind of magic Potter had used to destroy all of them, bar this one, was a puzzle even for the Department of Secrets. What in the name of Merlin was going on?
"Finite," he ordered.
The body at his feet and the towering creature behind the bars ceased writhing in the same exact moment.
Perhaps the Dementor was just venting out its frustration at having helpless bait just out of reach. There was a simple way to find out. Snape pointed the wand inwards.
"Crucio," he said, and immediately the air was sucked out of his lungs.
He leaned aginst the wall, trying to control his own spasming body. Through the red haze of pain he could see the Dementor: staring blindly, motionless, indifferent. The wand slipped between his fingers, ending the spell, and the torture ceased.
"It can't be," he breathed. Slowly, painstakingly, he bent over and retrieved the wand. He needed to sit down.
He had always thought Albus had lied to him out of sympathy. A soul could not possibly mend itself, not after a lifetime of murder and torture. Just a ruse to convince hardened criminals to surrender.
And yet the proof of the very opposite was now in the room with him: something of Potter had survived other than his numb body. As he grasped the enormity of that fact and its ramifications, a plan quickened in his brain, undefined and hazy at first, like distant shapes in a November morning. But when the haze would clear, there would be something solid.
The library at Spinner's End was too limited for his purpose. But young Nott had salvaged a lot of Dark tomes from the family mansion before it was razed. He knew where they were hidden; he would pay a visit soon.
19th November
Still dont know why dont cast Diffindo and be done with him. Im wasting my time. P. is beyond recovery, hes soiling the house, & even if I succeeded the Wizengamot would sentence him to the Kiss immediately.
My only justification: I need him to explain what have I seen in the Portsieve.
[Scratched out: (The Astronomy Tower)]
20th November
[Scratched out: (sketched drawing of a severed arm)]
Im crazy. Im Demented.
I cant think of anything else.
Salazar have pity on me. Im back at S. End now. My obsession lies hidden behind the bookshelves drooling all over himself as I browse tomes inked in poison and bound in iron restraints.
Order firecalled today sounding frantic – did not reply. Could not come up with convincing lie.
24th November
Contacted veteran Ministry officer, assigned to Azkaban pre-war. Very familiar with Dementors & rather unpleasant man to be around. Provided helpful information however: spells do exist which can be applied to terminate rogue / supernumerary Dementors. Extremely demanding and impossible to cast outside strictly controlled conditions.
I cant do this alone.
Next: Driving Miss Granger.