The Unplanned Life
Chapter One: A Fool's Hope
Harry strode down the halls of Hogwarts, his crimson auror robes fluttering in the breeze that blew scattered pieces of
parchment in his face. The noise of the battle rung outside like a bell, marking the death toll and the rising casulties in
the war, his war, Harry's war. Harry clenched his wand all the tighter in his left hand. His right hand was wounded, purple
bruised and bandaged haphazardly by a medic a few hours earlier. The battle had reigned outside Hogwart's halls for over
twenty hours now, and the aurors held the fort still.
But not for long. Harry tasted bitter coppery liquid - blood - on his tongue. He tasted the signs of defeat. He was injured
and hurt from the battle. His head felt feverish and he was hungry, because he hadn't eaten all day. There was no time in the
raging battle to take a serious five for meals, for washing, for anything that did not pertain directly to the battle.
Harry was the commander, the senior auror in charge, and all the lives he possessed under his command was his responsibility.
He couldn't and wouldn't afford to give anything less than his best.
Harry turned a sharp left and entered Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. It was a rotten place, filled with the stench of sordid
things that Harry couldn't quite discern. He could smell the burning flesh that came from outside, and blood. The scent of
blood was everywhere but in the bathroom for some reason it was more pronounced and sharp. Perhaps it was the air vents,
perhaps it was the innate magic of the doorway to Slytherin's private chamber of secrets, or perhaps it was just Harry going
stir crazy from the burdens placed upon his shoulders.
Either way Harry hurried through and did not see the ghost that cried in the bathroom stall. He whispered "open" in
parseltongue to that special knob which held the carving of the snake with red eyes and stepped back as the wall opened to
reveal a refined and cleaned passageway, a stairwell that led straight down into the abyss of darkness where Harry had first
studied dark magic from an abandoned book he found near one of Slytherin's statues.
He was tired and hurt. The battle outside raged on and the Light side was losing. It was time to unleash Harry's trump card,
the one he had been saving for just such an occasion when Hogwarts was attacked by innumerable foe. As Harry trudged down,
the tiredness vanished and with every step he felt lighter, exhilirated by the addictive drug like nature of dark magic, of a
ritual he was about to perform that was both morally wrong and completely illegal, which underminded his position as an auror
and all the ethics he held dear his entire life.
He entered the dark and dusty Chamber of Secrets. It was lidden with the remnents of ancient curses and magic still lingering
in the very air Harry breathed, in the stale smelly air of corpses and old parchment. There were books scattered all around
the floor, Harry's books. They were dark magic, filled with all sorts of evil writing that could get Harry a life sentence to
Azkaban should he be caught. Luckily the chamber was his safe haven to practice his hidden hobby, his secret other life. The
dark arts were alluring and called to him, beckoning him in his dreams, in his private moments of listless activity, in his
very shadow, in the dark corners of his mind where seductive whispers ran through his brain like electric jolts.
He lit a few candles that he found on the floor and let it hold itself up through a simple charm. Then he gazed at the books,
most of them with black leather bindings, and picked one that he immediately recognized and knew was right. He had a special
feel for his books, and knew each of them almost by heart. Some were about summoning demons, some were about dark rituals
that could gain him power of body and mind if a proper sacrifice - a live sacrifice - was provided. And some simply held dark
curses that he learned through the dint of painstaking study and hard work.
He opened the book of rituals and flipped through the pages until he came across the one he wanted, the one he needed
tonight. Summoning dead creatures back to life... he needed a weapon and he had one right here in the chamber. The corpse of
the basilisk lay in the far corners of the gigantic cavern, not rotting or aging but preserved and even replenished by its
very own innate magic.
Harry copied the runes listed in the book on the floor with a conjured piece of white chalk, making sure that each dot and
each mark was exactly as drawn in the diagram. He double checked to make sure he hadn't made a mistake, because any tiny
mistake could be fatal, could be deadly to both himself and to the very foundations of Hogwarts.
After he was done with the runes which surrounded him in a semi circle, he held his wand atop his head and said the words
listed in the book, the ancient spells that would at once corrupt his soul and give him power unimaginable. He shivered at
the very thought of such power under his command, such dark magic coursing through his veins and beating through his heart.
It was addictive, alluring, almost like a high. He sucked in a deep breath of the stale air in the chamber and then, his
pulse quickening, he repeated the words in his mind, and then aloud.
As he finished his spell, he could feel his bones vibrate, his very eyeballs shake and all the hair on his back and chest
stood on end. He felt as if he had been zapped by a lightning bolt, all the way from his scar to the tips of his toes. A
shudder ran through his body as he felt the power race through him, into him, and out of him toward the dead creature
illuminated by numerous candles surrounding it.
The basilisk's scales were as black as night and the closed lidded eyes that once gazed golden with its magic had now been
vanquished. But as the spell rose to a crescendo, Harry heard a hideous shriek echo throughout the chamber and then suddenly
the basilisk began to move, shake, as if it were seizing, as if every muscle, every tendon in the vast creature began to
vibrate with the same energy coursing through Harry.
Harry fought for control, he fought because he could feel a tugging at his mind. It was akin to the imperious curse, except
the opponent was much bigger in complexity than a human. The opponent had animal instincts and human like intelligence. The
King of Serpents rose, and said in hissing parseltongue, "I am yours to command, human."
Harry felt his mouth dry and his throat clenched in fear as the basilisk gazed at him with its golden eyes. Harry gazed back
into the very depths of darkness and he came out unharmed, untouched by its sheer malicious power. "Go," Harry rasped, "Go
out and kill my enemies."
The creature hissed at him in rage, "Why should I kill those who serve the heir of slytherin?" The tugging increased to a
sheer pain that lit up in his lightning bolt scar, and Harry knew this was the final moment of reckoning. It was either him
or the basilisk. One of them would serve the other.
With magic running through his veins as poisonous as mercury, he stilled his will and sharpened it into a sword, and drove it
through the creature's mind. "I am your master," Harry whispered in parseltongue, his voice as cold as a winter storm. "You
will obey my bidding."
That was it, the ritual had worked. Helplessly, the basilisk agreed and asked for more information, for more directions,
totally subversive to Harry's will. For a few moments Harry lay still, confused and bewildered. But he gathered himself up
and filled by his own success he confidently told the basilisk of his plan. The basilisk in turn bowed its head and said, "I
shall obey, master."
Harry swallowed as the basilisk took to a hidden passageway, shrouded in the shadows of darkness. Then, his face white and
feeling light headed he slowly stumbled out of the chamber and made sure to close the door way with a single parseltongue
word.
He went to the kitchens, tickled the pear fruit and found himself amid the hustle and bustle of house elves cooking dinner
for the aurors, for the centuars, for all the witches and wizards who refused to bow to Lord Voldemort and his forces of
evil. The house elves were indespensable as cooks, and they fed the brave warriors who would not succomb to fear, who would
not let evil take hold in their country.
Harry asked for a sandwich and a glass of pumpkin juice, but he recieved a platter full of chicken broth, pastries, pies,
roasted slabs of beaf and pork, and a chilled bottle of Odgen's Finest firewhiskey. Harry drank a gulp from the bottle and
feeling hungrier than he ever had in his life - and exhausted from sleep deprivation - he dug into his meal with gusto,
eating heartily and without thought to the battle outside. He had done what he set out to do, but he knew that the basilisk
alone would not suffice. He needed one more, a balance had to be made. For every dark ritual he did, he would have to even
the scales by a light ritual. That was the way to walking the tight rope over the heights of darkness, of balance that only
few great men knew well.
He had a plan within a plan, and a plan for everything in between. He knew that was the only way to win the war, to make
plans, to make preparations in case of any event.
He would not lose Hogwarts to Voldemort. Ever.
Not even if he had to sacrifice his own soul. Hogwarts was too meaningful to the Light side, too respected by those who did
not bend to the ways of evil.
If Hogwarts fell, Voldemort would win. It was almost set in stone.
Hogwarts was the only thing that kept Voldemort from achieving his goals, because the very presence of the great magnificent
castle kept fear from spreading. The very institution that had taught numerous witches and wizards had a mind of it's own, an
ambience and an intellegince that evolved from remnents of magical spells cast over the centuries. Harry could feel it's
presence all around him, feathering his occlumency shields lightly, gently, lovingly.
For Hogwarts, Harry was it's champion.
And Fawkes was the messenger.
The phoenix came to him suddenly, and trilled in the air, filling the kitchen with phoenix music, which added a lightness to
the steps of the house elves and a joyful heartiness to Harry's own being.
Harry felt good, cleansed from the dark magic he had performed. He gazed softly at the phoenix and said, not knowing if the
magical animal could understand him, "I love Hogwarts, I cannot allow it to fall."
Fawkes cocked its head and beckoned him to come closer. Harry knew Fawkes wanted to take him somewhere and agreed. He was
done with eating anyways, full and feeling bloated. He grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey and lightly touched Fawkes' tail of
red feathers. In a flash he was whisked away. When he opened his eyes he looked down and saw he was on the edge of the
Astronomy tower, watching the battle from a great height.
Outside, everything had gone to hell. It was madness.
Only one fact drilled itself into Harry's heart: they were finally winning.
The tables had turned and Voldemort's army was in for a beating.
-------
Twenty Four Hours Earlier....
The crack of dawn, a time when all was still and at peace. A blue mist hung in the air at Godric's Hollow, Harry's home for
the past five years in the fierce turmoil of the war. His house was under the fidelous charm and his secret keeper, Ginny
Weasley.
They sat together on a large couch, watching from a giant window the rising sun outside. He turned to her, and kissed her
lightly on her lips, watching the trace of her smile, and the red hair shining in the dim light of dawn. "Ginny, I never
thanked you for what you do for me, have I?"
Ginny got up, the smile gone, replaced by a hint of fear and insecurity in her eyes. Harry willed himself not to use
legilimency on her, to respect her privacy. "What do you mean, Harry? I love you."
"I love you too," He said, and kissed her lightly on her forehead. "I never believed in divination, but today I have one of
those feelings... I might not come back home."
Ginny grew alarmed, and stood up, went to the kitchen to start making morning tea for the both of them. Harry just sat on the
couch, and contemplated the peacefulness of the situation, the rising sun and the early morning freshness that seemed to
pervade Godric's Hollow. He loved her, he realized a long time ago, he loved her with all his heart and he was almost
surprised - but not too much, he had always realized Ginny had a fancy for him - that love was returned in full.
But now, something happened, a chink in their love, a dent that bespoke of a seperation, one that Harry did not want, but
knew it had to be done.
He had put Ginny through enough, and she would be happier without him. With someone safer, someone who could provide for her,
spend time with her. Lately auror work had kept him so busy, as well as the Order work, which was completely secret, most of
it even to her. Only Mad Eye Moody and McGonnagall knew the full extent of his plans. And he hadn't shared all of it. Some
things he would take to his grave, because they were too horrible, too inhumane to comprehend.
"Ginny," he called, walking up to her. She was clad in a white silky gown, and she wore no underwear. He recalled, with a
flush in his face, the frantic and desperate and extremely pleasurable night they had spent. Those nights were few and far in
between. Usually when he came home he was so tired all he could do was go straight to sleep.
She turned to look at him, her eyes wet with tears. "Harry, I don't want to lose you," she said, her voice cracking. She
turned away from him, and looked out the window at the rolling fields and at the orange purple glow in the sky, at the chilly
breeze that blew through her shiny red hair.
"I-" He couldn't do it. He was selfish. He wanted to break up with her, to leave her and let her enjoy her own life in peace,
in happiness and prosperity, not like this. Not with the looming danger of death eaters and Voldemort. He told her all of
this, it poured out of him like a waterfall. They sat together for two hours, talking and drinking endless amounts of tea. A
few times Harry almost started to cry but he willed himself not to.
He told her all his fears, that he would lose her, and that they would never get married, have children, live happilly ever
after and so on. She just sat silent and numb, because she was in a quandry. Here she could choose a man she loved with all
her being, a man that made her quiver with joy and lust and happiness, a man who was noble and kind. But there was another
choice.
Leave him.
Leave the danger that plagued him.
Harry told her he wanted her to go to America, to start a new life there away from the war in Britain. She disagreed
venehemntly and started a row, which ended with Harry screaming at her, tears flowing down his face, "You will die if we
continue this madness any longer."
"Then I'll die," she responded back, her voice a mere whisper, "I will die happy, and fulfilled. I don't care about the
danger. I love you too much to let Voldemort get in our way."
All of Harry's vitality and energy seeped out of him. He held her, when they went back to bed, he held her as if it was the
last time he would see her again. She meant everything to him.
Then she told him. A secret she had been keeping for the past two weeks. "Harry, I'm pregnant. Madame Pomphrey says it's
going to be a boy."
Harry swallowed, but he knew something had happened, something big, that immediately solidfied their already unbreakable
bond. Permenantly. Harry wondered if he should stop seeing Tonks in secret now, but knew he couldn't. He was at a crossroads
and he loved both girls with all his heart.
Since when was his life ever normal. Why couldn't he just stick with Ginny? Why did he keep seeing Tonks' face when they made
love... He clenched his eyes shut and willed his mind to be empty of thought, but found he couldn't. A haze of despair rose
in him. He felt angry, at Voldemort, at Dumbledore, at everything that had shaped his life such.
"Oh Ginny, what are we going to do," he said as he clenched hold of her with all his love, all his desperation and anger, all
his emotions rolling into one turbulent cloud that he transfered to her.
Ginny started to cry. She cried for fifteen minutes, not pausing a single instant as tears flowed down her face like rivers
and she held him gingerly, gently as if he were a fragile piece of glass that would break any instant.
She kissed him on the forehead.
Harry dressed in his auror robes, took one last glance at her.
"I'll be waiting," she said. "Come home to me... please."
Her eyes grew wide and luminious and filled Harry's world with a haze of love and pleasure. But an icy feeling washed over
him as reality struck unhindered, creating an unsurmountable gap between them. "I'm sorry, Ginny. I don't know what's going
to happen today. I might not make it back."
"Is it about the attack?"
"Voldemort's ammassing an army on the outskirts of Old Hogsmeade. Trolls, giants, vampires, werewolves, all sorts of dark
creatures."
"Remus," Ginny said, "Remus is not dark."
"That's not what I meant," Harry said with an annoyed glance. "Remus is different, an exception to the rule. The other
werewolves are vicious and filled with hate. I fought one of them a few years ago."
"You fought a werewolf?" Ginny asked, shocked.
"He was sent to assassinate me. I was investigating the magical properties of a configuration of stones assembled in a remote
area with a team of aurors. The werewolf came out of nowhere and..."
Harry swallowed. "I lost two of my men, Ginny."
She had never seem him like this, so angry and desperate, eyes filled with total hatred toward Voldemort. It scared her.
With one last glance that she couldn't read or understand he walked out and slammed the door shut behind him.
--------------
As soon as Harry walked out of the main doors of Hogwarts he was attacked by a troll. With his duelling skills and training
as an auror he barely managed to dodge the club thrown at him as the troll leaped into the air to pounce on to the hapless
wizard.
Harry crouched and rolled to the side, bringing his wand up. "Avada Kedavra!" He shouted, a bolt of lightning green light
tumbled out of his wand, and exploded into the troll's heart, instantly killing him.
Harry crouched to the ground and put his left hand on the earth, to feel the vibrations of the battle. He closed his eyes and
tried to feel for Voldemort's presence through the scar link. He felt nothing. He looked up and was instantly greeted with a
horrendeous sight. In mid air, floating on a platform made of bones that were still dripping red with blood, though some of
it had coagulated, and hanging drips of flesh still on the bones. It was a gigantic and totally flat platform and in the
center sat Voldemort, on a throne made of gems and invory and gold, a beautifully decorated throne with the dark mark
hovering in the sky above the platform. Dark cloaked death eaters surrounded Voldemort. Harry counted five, six if he
included Snape. But Snape was a special sort of death eater, a betrayer, a traitor who only cared about himself. Harry
promised that when he got a hold of Snape he would pry into all the secrets the man had, no matter what devices and methods
he had to use. The information Snape had about Dumbledore, about Voldemort, about everything was too valuable to lose.
If Harry was going to win the war, he needed Snape in his custody, in private. He knew the perfect place, Godric's Hollow.
Ginny would be a problem but Harry could handle her, he thought. Snape's information could help Harry win the war. Harry
swallowed a bitter liquid taste in his tongue and realized it was troll blood. He looked for a moment at the dead creature
and quickly surveyed the numerous bites on the body - fang bites, as if a giant snake had bit the dark creature.
Harry grinned and looked up at the field, taking a glance at the horizon where he could see a black creature wreathe through
Voldemort's army, charging at all in it's way. The basilisk was wreaking havoc in Voldemort's ranks, as vampires, werewolves,
trolls, and giants fell to it's onslaught. Some were instantly turned to stone, and others who were a bit smarter hid their
gaze from the basilisk's golden orbs. But they were struck down by large strokes of the basilisk's body or bit to death in a
frenzy of feeding. The basilisk was the king of serpents and nothing could stop it.
Harry looked upward to search for Voldemort. He could see the bone platform hovering in the sky and he could feel Voldemort's
gaze boring into his own. He searched and found two red eyes glinting from far away, covered by a grey mist. Harry wondered
briefly how exactly he could see those red eyes from such a distance but he knew without a doubt that Voldemort was glaring
at him. Harry could feel the dark lord's pulsating rage eminate from his scar and he knew that finally the tables had turned.
To the left of him, near the quidditch pitch a group of hundred aurors formed a compact turtle formation, hurtling spells and
creating shields at a rapid pace into the vangaurd of Voldemort's army, the death eaters.
Harry mentally willed himself for the legilimency mind control battle that was about to ensue and turned his attention to the
faint thread that connected him to the basilisk. "I have a command for you," Harry said, and wondered if the basilisk would
keep going in its rampage or actually obey his commands. In truth he did not know. He had found the dark ritual to summon a
creature from the dead provided it's body was well cared for - and the basilisk's body was fully preserved. The dark ritual
was very simple, just draw the runes, say the words, wave your wand and prepare to battle the creature's mind.
The hard part was in the mind battle, and in a short note at the end of the page there was an ammendum that Harry remembered
from memory, because he had purviewed the ritual in detail and at length. "The creature can at any time restart it's mind
battle with the summoner. For the summoner be warned, if not sufficiently skilled in mental powers, the creature can take
control of the summoner."
Harry knew it was a big risk to summon the basilisk, the king of serpents but so far he had no problems. Suddenly he felt an
icy cold mist wash over him, as if Peeves had thrown a bucket of ice water over his head. He could feel the cold seep into
his bones and he could hear the laughter - the hissing laughter of evil incarnated - ring in his mind, resonate in his very
soul.
"You think you can control me? Puny human!" Harry felt a sudden rush of pain from his belly and the top of his scalp, so
strong was this pain that he was forced to his knees, gasping for air. But he couldn't breathe. His lungs and back hurt too
much, as if there were a thousand swords poking into him. He started to shiver in the cold and tried to wait it out, tried to
out wait the pain but there was so much of it, coming from different angles with different qualities attached to it. The tips
of his toes started to burn while at the same time it felt like the tips of his fingers started to freeze. He looked at his
fingers and a wave of confusion hit him. They looked perfectly fine!
He immediately realized it was an illusion of some sort, and though the pain had taken it's toll on Harry, he tried to
concentrate and focus on his occlumency anchor: a glass of water. That was his shield against mental attacks, to take the
image of a glass of water and hold his mind to that one object, not straying so no legilimens could penetrate his mind, his
inner secrets. It had worked against Voldemort and his inner circle numerous times, saving the lives of both himself and his
fellow aurors.
He held his mental attention to the glass as the pain hit him again and again and slowly he smiled to himself when the pain
reduced and then stopped completely. Focusing his willpower toward the glass of water he sharpened it into a sword, changing
the shape of the glass of water to the sword of gryffindor. It was the same sword that had felled the evil beast when it was
alive. Using the sword, he directed his attention to the mental link the basilisk shared with him and cut it, severing it
completely. He knew he couldn't win against the basilisk in a mental battle - the occlumency anchor barely held the creature
at bay. He only hoped that the creature wouldn't come after him, or his aurors.
But there was no need to fear. As soon as Harry cut the link the basilisk went psycho. It seemed that with the link severed,
the basilisk had lost it's mind as well and began an assualt on it's surroundings, not caring who was there, not caring where
Harry Potter was, not caring about anything except killing everything around it.
Harry pointed his holly wand at the basilisk, and summoned all his magical energy to the tip of his wand in a little blue
sphere that glowed faintly, and he focused on a simple spell: the banishing charm. He aimed it at the basilisk and let loose.
The charm pushed the basilisk even further into Voldemort's ranks, wreaking even more havoc upon Voldemort's army of dark
creatures. Harry started to laugh at his success as he jogged in a relaxed fashion toward his aurors, who were now winning
the fight against death eaters. Killing curses flew from both parties. The unforgivables had been authorized just minutes
before the aurors learned of Voldemort's invasion of Hogwarts by an emergency wizengamot meeting. Harry knew there would be
hell to pay for it since he had practically forced the members of the wizengamot on threat of death to sign the authorization
form.
As he jogged, he was suddenly hit by a giant club. Another troll, perhaps the brother of the one he had killed, came running
at him and bang! The club hit his head, and everything went black.
----------
24 hours earlier
After Harry left Ginny in Godric's hollow, he went to the edge of the apparration wards behind a line of orange trees. The
grove was peaceful. There was a small lake where the geese flew in the spring time, and here and there Harry had planted
lillies. For his mother, for her memory and what she had done for him. She had given her life to save him and Harry tried to
remember her sacrifice and thank her every day. Every day that he survived the hideous war with Voldemort. Remembering his
mother gave him resolve and courage when things became tough, energized him when he was too tired to get out of bed, filled
him with love when he would have fallen to hate, and gave him the necessary motivation to lead the Light side to war after
Dumbledore's death.
The smell in the air was of smoke, a rancid disgusting smell that made Harry retch as he apparrated out of Godric's Hollow
and into the main entrance of the Ministry. He wondered what caused the smell as he moved his way through a group of ministry
officials crowding around the Lobby. He looked around, watching for the source of the strange scent and his eyes rested on a
stack of books. There was a witch lighting fire to it on the floor. He moved closer to her, and squinted, having forgotten
his glasses back at home. The rush and the alarming news that Hogwarts was under attack had caused him to forget, and he
cursed himself for his moment of weakness. Hastily he pulled out his wand and conjured a pair of rectangular glasses with
black frames. He put them on and could see clearly.
Tonks. She was the one lighting the books on fire. "Tonks, what are you doing?" Harry asked as he walked up to her. She
looked at him for a moment, her eyes puffy and red from lack of sleep. She looked like crap despite her abilities, or perhaps
she hadn't bothered to mask it.
"Dark books, Harry," Tonks said, "Dementors attacked the Ministry three hours ago. Azkaban's gone. Voldemort broke out his
death eaters for the attack."
"So where did you get the books?" Harry asked. She looked at him, eyes hardened, and said, "On the dead bodies of the death
eaters."
"Dead?"
"Dead." She said, her voice flat and emotionless.
"Shit, Tonks," Harry said, and looked around the lobby at all the commotion. It was obvious this was Voldemort's move, his
big plan brought into fruition, through months of quiet preparation. The end of the world was coming, and it was Harry's
responsibility to stop it. The memory of the prophecy was painfully clear in Harry's mind, as clear and sharp as a sword.
He swallowed and said, "I heard Voldemort's ammassing an army near Hogwarts, report?"
"Commander," Tonks said, "It's true. He's got death eaters, vampires, werewolves, the whole works."
"How many, Tonks?"
"At least ten thousand fighters," Tonks said, "According to my sources anyways. Knowing Voldemort, it's probably twice that
number."
Harry cursed. "Tom's always been a charismatic figure, he draws them like a magnet."
"Let's go somewhere private," Tonks suggested. "We need to plan out the defences. My sources say that the attack will comence
in an hour and a half."
"Okay," Harry said, nodding. They walked through the ministry halls to the empty office of Tonks. A golden plaque that said
"Tonks, Auror" stood on the door. Tonks opened the latch and walked into the darkness. Harry followed her. Once they closed
the door behind them, they looked at each other in the dim light that came from the open window. The moon was full.
"We might die," Tonks said. "It could be our last night." She laughed nervously. "Does death scare you?"
Harry simply looked at the floor, and with a sigh he met her eyes and said, "Yes. Yes it does."
She kissed him. Or he kissed her. He wasn't sure who made the opening move but it simply happened. They started kissing,
intensely, passionately. They always had a bond, a bond that was strange, different from the love he shared with Ginny.
Tonks, for Harry was a stress reliever. He hated to think of her in these terms but she was a fuck buddy to him, a sex toy, a
woman to take the edge off.
He kissed her passionately, letting his tongue slip into her mouth, and he let his hands roam across her breasts, around her
thighs. She was wearing a short black skirt and a white top. Soon it was on the floor and they were naked, gazing in lust at
each other's bodies.
"T-turn into Fleur," Harry said. Tonks' eyes flashed in dissapointment for a few seconds but she did as Harry ordered. Harry
leaned in closer to her and put her hand on his dick, letting her stroke it. His breathing changed, erratic and harsh as he
felt her hand, her soft hand gently stroking him. She lowered herself to her knees and took him in her mouth, sucking on the
head of his penis.
He groaned in pleasure as he let his hands run across her blonde hair and he pushed her head closer and closer, until she was
almost choking on his dick. Then with a groan he leaned back, resting his hands against the desk. Tonks increased her tempo
and sucked all the harder.
Gasping, he came into her mouth and held her there, letting her swallow it all. Then, breathing hard he pushed her away and
started to dress, not turning to face her.
"Don't tell anyone," Harry said. "Anyone at all."
"I don't want to be the other woman anymore, Harry," She said softly, knowing that she would be the one who would have to
take a hike.
Harry turned to her, and gently kissed her on the lips. "I love you." He said.
He walked out the door, a little bit more relaxed and happy, with a slight bounce in his steps from the high of getting some
adulturous nookie.
They went down the halls to the department of magical law enforcement, meeting several aurors readying up for the battle,
dressing in their gear of newly acquired dragonhide cloaks.
Harry closed his eyes, knowing that he would never see some of those faces again after the battle was over.
Chapter Two
Harry looked around him at the battle field as he awoke from his slumber, feeling as if he had been mangled and crushed and run down by a train. His whole body ached, from the tips of his fingers all the way down to his toes and running up through his spine came crackling bolts of electric like pain. It was obvious to him with his meager medical knowledge that he had broken something in his spinal cord, something to do with the nerves which caused this tingling feeling of pain that spread all over his skin, his face, his body. He ached and felt like he just wanted to drop down to the wet muddy earth and lay there, rest, be at peace and at one with the world, like the few brief moments he had experienced when meditating by the lake side in Godric's Hollow.
He tried to get up but faltered. Sighing, he took out his wand from his wrist holster, thankful it was still there and he muttered a healing charm which eased the pain a little and allowed him to function better. Taking a look around at the situation all he saw was a chaotic bloodbath on both sides. Aurors who had lost loved ones chanelled their anger and hate toward the death eaters, attacking with a vast repertoire of dark spells that Harry wondered how they knew. Certainly he had some notion that most aurors studied the dark arts in secret, just like Harry did. There were many times in Harry's career where a dark spell saved his life, and the lives of his comrades.
Harry trudged toward them, limping on his right leg which was where he had landed on. He took in a deep breath of fresh air, a breath that was tainted with smoke and fog from the rain, from the fires all around him, from the very foundations of Hogwarts which were under attack.
His mind drifted to the foundation stones, three crystal clear pebbles lying in an abandoned chamber, one which held many more secrets than even Slytherin's Chamber of secrets. It's doorway was the room of requirement and Godric Gryffindor had ensured that only those of pure heart could access it.
Harry admitted to himself that he could not access it any more. He was tainted by his study in the dark arts, but after Dumbledore's death he needed the power of it to survive, and thrive against Voldemort's forces. A phrase came to mind from his past, a ghostly voice of Dumbledore that reminded him it was all for the greater good. But sometimes he slipped, sometimes a cruelty he did not know he possessed raged out of him. He had cast the crucio curse six times in his career.
Six times. Six life sentences.
Harry sighed, tired beyond belief as he surveyed the fight, making sure to move out of the way to a safety zone, near the chairs of the quidditch pitch where he could watch up top the destruction lain before him.
Where was the basilisk… he looked around and immediately his eyes rested on the snake, on the gigantic monstrous creature that cared not for any loyalty, that had not listened to Voldemort's commands or his own. The creature was not a mere zombie, but a live thing. It had experienced a resurrection and from that all forms of bondage were broken. The basilisk was finally free of Salazar's compulsion spell and he raged havoc on all who crossed his path, aurors and death eaters alike.
A giant rolled down from the hilltops, the setting sun shining purple clouds over his back. It was a humungoes beast and he carried an axe the size of Harry's body, with steel as shiny and sharp as if it were made in the best of blacksmiths, and armor solid and sound.
It tackled the basilisk from behind, being sure to avoid the gaze of the cursed eyes and struck his axe on the basilisk's neck. It embedded itself deep into the basilisk's flesh. With a screeching howl, the basilisk waved to and fro with frightening blinding speed and threw the giant off its back as if it were a nuisance and not a dangerous enemy. The giant tumbled to the ground but rose up quickly, yet not quickly enough to avoid the basilisk's golden gaze. Slowly, he froze, and dropped his axe to the ground. His eyes grew listless and still, glazed as if it were under the effects of the imperious curse. And then, a creeping granite captured his fingers from inside out, and then spread like some plague, spreading across the giant's body, creeping along it like a snake. The graphite made it's way to the giant's neck. Frozen in terror, in magical thrall, the giant could only watched as he was slowly and painfully turned into stone.
Another giant, dressed similarly, attacked the basilisk as it entranced the first giant into stone. This time, the giant had a bit of luck as he threw his axe straight into the basilisk's eye, keeping sure to lower his gaze from the golden orbs of evil magic. The axe struck the basilisk's vulnerable spot, and it's most valuable spot. Red blood, mixed with greenish plegm sprouted out of the basilisk's damaged eye. The basilisk roared with rage.
Harry knew it was time to act. Although the basilisk was currently attacking Voldemort's army, he might retreat into the far more vulnerable section of the aurors who duked it out with the death eaters.
He had to destroy the monster he created. He felt something akin to the sensation of being in Frankenstein, a book he had read in his leisure time to relax from the pressures of normal every day life.
With a sigh that bespoke of infinite exhaustion, Harry climbed to his feet and held his wand straight as an arrow, pointing it at the basilisk's forehead. He only hoped the basilisk wouldn't look in his direction, or else he was a dead man. Or rather, a stone man.
Harry closed his eyes gently and recalled his most destructive spell in his repertoire of magic that he had learnt from Slytherin's chamber of secrets. An ultimate spell of vast destruction, calling upon demon fire.
He chanted the first syllables and felt a force arise within him, a force that spread it's taint all over Harry's soul, filling his mind with rapid pictures of grisly scenes, filling his heart with an unnatural mindless hatred for all living things. Harry chanted the last of the spell's words and fired loose, making a noise of something similar to a canon. Harry watched as a brilliant blue ball of lightning coursed it's way around a fighting giant and hit right in the center of the basilisk's eyes.
He watched as the head exploded into a million pieces, spilling blood and poison all around. In a way he was lucky that the basilisk was in Voldemort's ranks, because the poison that gushed out was as corrosive as the most acidic substances known to wizard and muggle alike. It ate away at the skin of half turned werewolves, tearing the dead flesh of inferi and turning to ashes the faces of vampires. The giants were dead before they hit the ground as great dollops of poison flew into their mouth from the spray of gore that Harry's explosion created.
Harry sagged in his seat, tired and lethargic, experiencing a feeling of intense lassitude. He did not want to move, did not want to think. He simply waited and waited for slumber to take a hold of him, as it had done many times in the past when Harry performed his dark spells.
Sleep was the best healer of evil hearts, Harry had found. He could worry about the consequences of his soul later, his tainted and dark soul. He had never stooped so low as to make a horcrux, though he knew the ritual and mechanics of how to do so.
But this was the height of darkness, the height that few men reached, Voldemort, Grindelwauld, even Dumbledore had seen the heights of this sort of darkness in his infinite experiments over the course of his long life and with good reason he shunned away dark magic.
But Harry was not like Dumbledore. He was not a protégé of the great wizard and he could never replace him. For one he did not possess the innate talent and gift of genius, and another reason, a petty reason perhaps, was that he did not have the energy to pursue the far slower progress of Light magic. Dark magic was easy and quick to learn, but had a terrible price to pay. The tainting of the soul was a serious affair, because through it one became docile and insane after a period of time. One only had to look at Voldemort and his intense mood swings, his irrationality, his rage and hate pouring out of his being to see it was true.
Harry knew that if he ever tried to make a horcrux, he would forever succumb to the dark. As it was he was on the brink, on the middle line and he could fall any second, any minute, any day. His love for his friends, for Ginny and Tonks, kept him from succumbing to the temptation of making a horcrux. And there were temptations… may times he had experienced the most intense craving imaginable to create the horcrux, to go deeper to the very depths of the dark arts, and he resisted magnificently, calling upon all his experiences in Hogwarts, all his love he possessed for Hermione and Ron and the Weasleys and every friend around him to resist.
It worked.
But not any longer.
Harry got up suddenly, filled with a startling amount of energy pouring into his being. With a horcrux, he reasoned, he would be unstoppable. With a horcrux, he would wipe the floor with Voldemort, because he would never die… he would keep coming back, keep attacking without reason, without sanity, without cause, just to see the day when Voldemort was vanquished.
He had thought about these things long and hard on sleepless nights. He made plans in his imagination of the perfect object, the perfect location to hide it, and the perfect live sacrifice. The sacrifice was the hard part as it required an innocent, someone pure of heart.
He was repulsed by the idea, but looking around him, at his aurors dying by the minute, hopelessly outmatched by Voldemort's army, he knew it had to be done. Mentally planning it out he could probably make one in half an hour at the most.
It was easy and simple but that simplicity was a deceit because when playing around with souls, nothing was simple and easy. The ritual was simple, but the inner esoteric workings of the magic was not. Few had ever mastered the art of making a horcrux, and undoubtedly Voldemort had reached the peak of mastery in that subject.
He could rifle through Voldemort's mind for the knowledge, but he knew it would be well guarded. And if his intentions were known, Voldemort would instantly destroy him. The horcrux was meant to be a secret, a total secret kept from everyone, even himself. He would have to obliviate himself after making the horcrux, a total and complete erasure of his entire schooling in the dark arts. Then he could start afresh, with infinity beyond him to defeat Voldemort. He could hide, learn from the warlocks in Arabia, or from the witches in South America. He could learn and learn until he was ready to face Voldemort, ready to wipe the floor with him. He would never age, he would never grow old. His body would grow old but to replace a body was a simple task, as easy as picking an apple from a tree. It was called possession and he had experienced its effects at Voldemort's hand before.
He shuddered, remembering the experience in his fifth year so clearly and vividly that he felt the pain, a phantom pain, glow across his scar.
But Voldemort was not to be found. He was somewhere up top, watching the battle with a smirk on his face, confident of an easy victory with his fully trained and well equipped army. He had a good reason to be confident. The aurors were losing badly and Harry had to do something drastic.
He had thought the basilisk would work, that he could control the king of serpents and use it as a weapon against the army, turn the tables. But he was obviously ignorant in mind magic, obviously ignorant in the intricities of a resurrection. It was nothing like summoning a zombie. A zombie had no mind and thus could not fight back but a basilisk had a piercing intelligence as sharp as the point of Gryffindor's sword.
Harry could not have held control of the creature for long. He was glad it was destroyed.
But now, he faced a decision to make, a decision that would change his life forever. Was the defeat of Voldemort worth his soul?
Would he be dishonoring his beloved mother's sacrifice by making himself the evil that she had tried to stop?
Harry swallowed saliva and blood and made his decision. He ran back to Hogwarts, talking the shortest route possible and meeting no resistence surprisingly. He rushed to the infirmary, feeling his heart break in pieces, feeling tears run down his face with no end. A sorrow unlike any he had known before took hold of him. He was giving up. Giving up on Dumbledore, on his friends, on all his ethics and morals he held so dear.
After this how could he face Ginny again. Or his baby? No he could not. He had to abandon everything, abandon his whole world to turn himself into a monster, because only a monster could kill a monster.
The prophecy meant something, something deep, a hint of wisdom. Harry let it run through his mind…. Neither shall live while the other survives…. It offered no insight to him as he ran to the hospital wing, to the empty ward.
Find one of purest heart
Take out its soul and kill
Kill kill kill the soul
Transfer your fragment of your own soul
To your most trusted object
And hide it well
That was the rhyme, the ancient cryptic rhyme he had read in one of his dark art books.
He let the tears run, making no move to stop them as he selected the perfect candidate. They were all lying so peacefully on the bed, making no move. Children, women, men. Brave soldiers all of them.
He picked a little girl he did not know. Her name tag read Diana Ribbons, Refuge.
She was light and easy to carry and nobody noticed him leave with her on his back. What was she, nine years old he wondered.
He could not believe he had sunk so low as he made his way to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
He entered, and grimaced at the smell, which had turned even worse. He had not known such a stench was possible. It reeked of death, pure death, and pure evil. His heart was good, Harry knew, he had morals, he had ethics. He was just a desperate man forced to do a desperate deed, an unforgivable deed.
Far more unforgivable than a simple cruciatus curse.
He was about to make a horcrux and for that he wasn't sure if he could forgive himself. Ever.
He whispered the secret password to the Chamber of secrets and hurried down, feeling his heart beat faster as he prepared his mind and soul to perform the most despicable deed known to wizardkind.
Harry Potter, a hero.
Now…
Harry Potter, a fallen one.
Crying and sobbing with all the pain in his heart, anticipating the evil of what he was about to do, he let the girl softly on the floor, and put a hand over her forehead. He whispered, "I am so sorry," with heartfelt emotion that cracked his voice with inner pain.
Then he began the ritual, laying candles around her in a triangle, chanting in arcane words he had already memorized. He pulled out his wand, and said, "Ennervate." Diane woke up, confusion obvious in her bleary watery eyes. "H-Harry, what's going on?"
"Avada Kedavra!" Harry said, putting all his hate and anger and pain into those two words. The hate inside him turned into a weapon of green light which sped toward the innocent girl, spelling her doom.