"There is no hope, no fear."
"Live in the moment, die in the moment."
"No will to power, no power to live."
Chapter One
I was nobody, yet upon my shoulders I bore the burden of prophecy.
"It is not important who you are, Harry," Dumbledore said. We sat in his well lit office, discussing life over a cup of strong tea. "But what you do, and what you do comes not from the mind, but from the heart."
"That's all well and fine for you to say," I said, "But the fact is, I'm not particularly talented. How the fuck am I going to defeat Voldemort?" I sighed, and thrust my head in my hands.
"Language, Harry," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. Dumbledore looked better today. Voldemort regained his body six years ago, immediately starting a war we were too complacent to manage. Dumbledore led the fight through lean and hard years. His body shrank with every death blasted on the front pages of the Daily Prophet. The flesh melted off his face like butter on a hot pan, and his insomnia showed: his sunken and baggy eyes bespoke a great weariness.
The thought of Dumbledore getting too old to fight scared the hell out of me. I pretended it didn't affect me, but Dumbledore saw through my emotional disguise. "More tea?" He asked gently.
"Yes, please," I said, holding my cup aloft. He poured, but his eyes dissected me the way doctors in training cut up bodies. I saw it on the telly when I used to live with the Dursleys. "So, how's the new year moving along? Have you got a teacher for DADA yet?" I asked, breaking the silence, snapping the tension like cutting a taut piece of ribbon with a pair of scissors.
"I have someone in mind," Dumbledore said. "Though I think we have more important things to discuss than a teaching position, wouldn't you agree?" He put the tea pot on the desk and stood up, walked to the window.
"No, not really, I think education's really important, you know, for the kids." I sipped the bitter tea and sat back. "You wouldn't happen to have a few lemon drops, would you?"
Dumbledore readily brought out a bag of his favorite candy, handed me three of them. Hurriedly unwrapping the lemon drops, I stuffed all three into my mouth and sat back, enjoyed the sour sensation on my tastebuds to drive off the aftertaste of over boiled tea.
"Harry, Harry," Dumbledore said, shaking his head, "Are you high?"
I jerked in my seat, shocked. I spat the lemon drops into the tea cup. "W-what? How can you possibly tell?"
"I not only smell the smoke, Harry, but I also watched you clip the buds off Professor Sprout's plants in the greenhouse." Dumbledore gave me a most disapproving look. I would have shrunk to my seat but the weed had blunted me and I could feel a cold starky amusement at my situation from the back of my mind.
"Hmm, well you caught me, I guess," I shrugged. "It helps me sleep."
"Does it help with the dreams?" Dumbledore said, sitting back down in his chair.
I looked at Dumbledore, hard. "No," I said flatly. I was unwilling to discuss my visions. Voldemort took every opportunity to oppress my sleep with disturbing nightmares. I had learnt the hard way not to trust these dreams. Dumbledore understood my reluctance and we talked about nothing in particular, like two old friends catching up, until eventually he told me a story about his youth. I lived for those stories.
"When I was seventeen, My friend Gel and I-" (pronounced with a hard G sound like gangster or golden) "-once sneaked into a brothel. We had no money to pay, you see, and we wanted to amuse ourselves. The night was cold and there truly was nobody on the street except for a few hags and homeless men roaming for change. I told Gel we shouldn't do this, we would get caught -because this is a wizarding brothel, with a lot better guards - but he wouldn't listen. We crawled through the side window into a tiny closet filled with brooms and wash rags. Opening the door we met face to face with the most beautiful woman in the brothel, Madame Emilia." He leaned back and slowly unwrapped a lemon drop. I was on the edge of my seat in anticipation.
"Yes, go on," I said with a laugh. The high was coming on strong. I felt as happy as a ten year old flying a kite.
A sober look invaded Dumbledore's silent laughter. He peered at his desk keenly, as if listening for something. He tapped his wand on a chocolate frog card with a picture of himself plastered on it. "Kingsley, are you alright?" He asked, eyes wide with anxiety. "I heard the alarm." The portrait dissolved into Kingsley Shacklebolt's terrified face.
"Voldemort led a raid on our base of operations," Kingsley reported with forced calm. "I escaped. I was the only one."
I felt cold. My mind urged me to escape while my legs were two heavy boulders. Kingsley's face was covered in blood.
"What's your position?" Dumbledore said, "I'll come-"
"No, not necessary," Kingsley said, "I'll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes."
I hurriedly left without saying a word. War was not my forte.
That night I smoked three bowls behind Hagrid's hut. My pipe was a native american piece of art, auctioned at three hundred pounds. I was drawn to the intricate carvings of dragons, etched with utmost care into the glazed wood. Each hit I took burned my lungs. I coughed plegm and spat on the ground. The marijuana intoxicated me fully now. I ventured into locked vaults held in the basement of my mind. Memories surfaced: of the zoo where I first talked to a snake, of all the magical incidents of my childhood, of the time I turned my teacher's hair blue.
I slept in a bed that was foreign to me. I could smell the difference. My bed back home had a pine scent. This one smelled like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
Sleep came to me like a snail covering a vast distance, taking me by surprise. I fell into a tunnel of light, a place I knew intimately. It was the bridge that connected my mind to Voldemort's, the twilight zone where we could interact with each other at a level that transversed mind, body, soul.
I felt his presence like the pungent aroma of death upon an icy breeze.
Voldemort took control of the mindscape. My struggle was futile.
My memories and thoughts laid bare: drinking tea with Dumbledore, saying goodbye to my girlfriend, Becky. The pieces of my consciousness floated to my awareness as I witnessed the fight between my spirit and his spirit. I watched a feverish haze enter me, a black poison seeping into my bloodstream. How could I fight this? Pure misery asaulted the fortress of my mind.
"Your weakness repulses me," a hiss rose up within my skull, a slow upward journey like the spiralling upward movement of cigarrete smoke. "You hang on to life by using others to shield away from your only fate."
"I am the Prophecy's chosen," I answered back, thinking of the articles written about me in the Daily Prophet. My heart felt he was right, I was a boy with a mark on his forehead, not especially significant in the wide scheme of things.
"It is not what you are but what you do…" Dumbledore's voice, an echo, filtered through the haze. The wisp of memory seemed saturated with a blinding white light. I rolled and struggled, but the dream held me in its grasp and although I could smell peanut butter and jelly I was still a caged animal.
Voldemort recoiled, as if burned, "Dumbledore poisons you against reality, Harry," he said seductively, his voice a mesmerizing hiss. I drowned in the voice. Hypnotic words pressed against my brain, compelling me to accept them. I resisted, barely. "He is an old man, and failing in life, he wishes to impart upon you his weaknesses. But I can give you something different."
I waited, listened. "We are two of a kind, Harry..." His voice faded away, and the scarlet glow of the tunnel faded also.
There was nothing further. I woke up to a hideous looking woman pouring herself over me.
"Awake, Mr. Potter?" Madame Pomfrey said, handing me a glass of green liquid. The steam rising from the potion stung my eyes and face. Putting the potion aside next to the bed lamp, I sat up and surveyed the Hospital Wing. Beds lined the hall in neat rows, their sheets pristine white. The walls were painted a dull greenish blue, and the aroma of sanitary disinfectent made me nauseous.
"Sleepy," I murmured, "Where-" I caught sight of my glasses.
"You're in the Hospital wing," she said, "You were screaming. A house elf found you bleeding from your scar, so the Headmaster decided you should have a brief stay here." She put a strong emphasis on the word brief, dragging it out. I knew she would want me to stay for at least a week or two, confined to a bed. She handed me the potion.
"What the hell is this?" I asked, curling my lips at taste.
"Just drink, boy," Madame Pomfrey said, practically snarling as she hurriedly lifted up the covers, thrust it to my shoulders, laying me back down on the bed after I gulped the potion in three mouthfuls. Then, walking briskly to the bed beside me, she knelt, flicked her wand and muttered a diagnostic charm at a body.
I craned my neck, getting a brief glimpse at the face before she pulled the curtain to block my view. Kingsley didn't look too good. He had cuts across his cheeks that still bled and his eyes were puffy and blackish.
I turned away from him and closed my eyes, letting the glass fall to the tiles with a clamor. Madam Pomfrey didn't notice. My heart thudded beneath my chest. I wanted to crawl out of my skin.
Because I knew it was my fault.
I wasn't strong enough to stop Voldemort. Others fought my battle, paid for my weakness.
The tunnel of light found me again. I walked along a road, empty and endless, that morphed into a stream of golden rays that gently held me up, carried me across the tunnel, and at the end of the tunnel I saw Voldemort's scarlet eyes gleaming down at me from beyond the mountains that lined the horizon. This is a dream, I told myself, wondering I should wake up since I knew it was a dream. But I didn't wake up. I was stuck here until someone shook me awake or Voldemort let go of me.
I could try occlumency. I counted one, two, three, as I tried to nudge my mind into stillness. Clear your head, Harry, clear your mind!
My dream world dissolved into black mist. I woke up.
The early morning light roused me. I felt refreshed. Deciding to take a walk down the halls of Hogwarts, perhaps eat something, I grabbed my wand off the bedside table along with my glasses. Blurry vision turned crispy clear.
There's something special about Hogwarts in the early morning, the way the dawn light seemsed to brighten up the portraits and wake up the metal suits of body armor. Life teemed in the morning, arising out of a natural slumber. Twitterings of avian creatures grew in a symphony as diverse species called out to the sky, the sun, their mates, their enemies. The Forbidden Forest unfurled into wakefulness.
I felt at home in Hogwarts. The walk exercised my tired body, smoothened the anxieties of the previous night. I came across a parapet overlooking the lake. Standing there, I got bored and reached in my robe pocket for my pack of cigarettes. Surprised that Madame Pomfrey had not searched and confiscated this item (she was probably too busy fixing up Kingsley, the poor auror), I took it out and gazed at the carton with longing. I promised Becky I would quit today. I licked my dry upper lip. The early morning was too rich to pass up the experience of a few drags. My whole body craved nicotine. I was a junkie, and I could admit it freely. I doubted I would die of cancer anyways. The war was too real, too close for that kind of thinking.
"Beautiful, is it not, Harry?" said a deep voice behind me. I turned, slowly, the identity of the person already known to me.
"I suppose so, sir," I said to Professor Slughorn. He was a fat man who resembled a walrus. "Do you remember the time I won the Felix Felicis potion during our first class together?"
I took out two cigarretes and handed my old Potions professor one, which he accepted with a look of amusement. Using my wand to spark his and mine, I took a deep drag on it and blew out a plume of gray, waiting for his answer.
"Yes, I do," He said, taking an experimental drag, "Best in the class, hmm?"
"That I was," I said with a laugh, "I still have the potion. I never used it. I've been waiting for the right day but it never seems to come."
He laughed, "This is good, muggle made, is it?"
I shrugged, "I go to London sometimes. I take Becky there, you know, the Minister's daughter? She likes to shop."
"For what, muggles?" Slughorn muttered, smoking his cigarette.
"Clothes actually," I said. "My mother was a muggle-born."
"Brilliant witch," Slughorn said, looking at the rising sun. He turned to look at me.
"Hogwarts is…"
"Magical," I finished for him.
It truly was too.
My stomach rumbled in hunger, to my chagrin. We headed to the kitchens. As we walked at a slow and steady pace, he talked about his research with Mong potion to fight plant diseases. I liked the theory. "So do you think you can perfect it in time for the beginning of the school year?"
"Probably not," Slughorn said, "It takes a while, and a lot of work. I honestly don't have the energy. I'm getting old Harry and the war is truly in its hay-day. I am too busy with the Order work." He sighed and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, what can you do?
"I suppose you have no choice but to hold off," I said, "Research isn't too big right now with people dying left and right." We tickled the pear that opened the entrance to the kitchen. Everything inside was clean and porcelain white. House elves worked vigorously. I wondered if they would chant a song like Oompa Loompa. My mind drifted to the years of reading I had done in various libraries around the world. I was a hermit now just beginning to get out of my shell. Becky helped with that. She was a pretty girl with a ready smile and could always make me happy, no matter how shitty my day. I'd met her a year ago at a Minister hosted party that I got invited to (I usually got an invite to mostly everything) and decided on a whim to attend.
I was lonely that night because it was the anniversary of the night Hermione and Ron were killed in the Department of Mysteries. I wanted to get drunk out of my mind, but my friend Dean convinced me I should go, meet a few girls, have a few glasses of champaigne. "Don't waste your life, HP," Dean had said. He's a squib. He doesn't care about my fame. I met him while kayaking in Australia.
Becky was warm and soft and the match was perfect because she accepted me for who I was, just a boy, not the boy who lived. I didn't know why I couldn't accept responsibility for who I was. My weakness compared to Dumbledore and Voldemort hindered my progress in life by derailing my self esteem.
Ron and Hermione passed away in my fifth year when they came with me to the DoM, an acronym the Minister used in his speech to announce the return of Voldemort. Over a hot cup of tea Sirius told me it wasn't my fault, and then Dumbledore told me the prophecy and then Sirius took me for a broom ride but I never got over their deaths. Objectively I could see I was hurt inside, and the scar remained a fresh wound.
I could only hope, deep in my thoughts, while eating a bagel, that the wound would not become infected. A house elf brought us a plate of apples, plums, and orange slices.
I nibbled on a piece of fruit and drank some hot coffee. Slughorn put away two sausages and a pan of eggs as well as a cup of mushroom, tomatoe and cucumber salad sprinkled with honey. "It's my favorite dish," he told me while chewing. "I just love the taste, the texture, the aroma. Food is magical, Harry, there's something in it that's beyond every day spells. It's a subjective experience, like music, like dancing, like reading."
"Your potions create subjective experiences too," I reminded him, "Like the Felix Felicis luck potion, its all in your mind really, isn't it? That's why I never felt the need to use it, because it just affects your mind to behave in a different way."
"But what directs that behavior Harry? Nobody really knows, some believe it might be the streams of luck, as if there are invisible rivers of good and bad luck."
"Then I must be at a crossing of the two rivers," I muttered.
"I think we all are," Slughorn said.
After breakfast I went to the owlery to pen a letter to Becky. She expected me to write to her every day for the week I was staying at Hogwarts. We weren't quite living together, but we dated often, and my evenings with her were relaxing. I didn't bring any parchment but some was already there, along with a quill in the owlery. A low table and stool in the corner allowed me to sit and write, looking out the owlery at the shimmering lake view. I wanted to take a fly there later in the day on my firebolt. Dumbledore had invited me to stay at Hogwarts for a week or so this summer, no students around to bother us. Just me and him and the teachers. When I asked Dumbledore the purpose of this visit he told me had some important things to show me.
I sat there waiting but no words would come. Why would they not come? I didn't know. My thoughts jolted when a brown eagle passed me, a letter attached to her legs with a piece of wool string. Was it… the Malfoy bird? I recognized it vaguely. Flicking my wand at the circling bird, I shouted, "Impedimenta!"
The eagle slowed down and dropped to the ground. "Stupefy!" I said. A bright flash of red stunned the bird into unconsciousness. I waited to see any signs of twitching, and when their were none I decided it was safe to get the letter.
As I reached down to untie the string, the eagle lifted her eyes open with alertness and clawed my arm as quick as lighting. "Fuck," I swore, looking at the dagger cut on my arm. The eagle tried to fly away, but moved with a drunken haze that made it easy to strike her down with another stunning spell. This time, very carefully, I said, "Accio!"
The letter broke from the string and flew into my palms. It was made of old parchment, the kind that sits and waits in the darkest of chambers, aging respectfully. And the paper was thick too. I get lots of letters and I could always separate good quality from bad quality, in terms of paper anyways. That helped me make decisions. Anything of high quality meant the writer was trying to rope me into some party or some public event. I burned the letters without reading them.
This I did not burn but opened it carefully, gently. Wizards don't have envelopes, only folded parchments they tie on their owls and eagles with string. Unfolding the parchment I read the flowing handwriting carefully, as if each word held a secret.
"Dear Dumbledore,
I am sorry to hear about the attack on your Order of the Phoenix's base. Truly I did not know in time to warn you. I heard through the grapevine over ten of your best had been killed. I feel their loss just as you feel them, and I say this because I too am losing something, losing my mind. My son has been impenetrable. Bella taught him occlumency, and I can't touch him anymore with my thoughts, emotions: he has become a block of ice. I don't think I will be able to convince him to leave the path he is treading, any more than I can convince He Who Must Not Be Named to give himself up to the Aurors.
Anyways, if Lucius caught me writing you this letter he will have me butchered but there is a key piece of information I want to pass on, that you must hear! Lucius and the board of governors are going to push the ministry into passing a bill that allows them to select Professors to teach if a post is available. I fear the Defense Against the Dark Arts position will fall into the hands of the unqualified or worse, unworthy. The power to hire should be in the hands of the Headmaster, but Lucius has bribed the Minister of Magic into passing this bill with a promise of support to extend the financial aspects of his next campaign.
Draco is doing well however, he is about to marry soon and is keeping his activities subtle. I will keep trying. Hopefully marriage will soften him, but I know he has done bad things. I only plead, as a mother can, to be gentle with him when the time comes for justice to act.
Yours truly,
Narcissa Malfoy
I folded the letter and closed my eyes. A cool breeze rushed through my hair. Relaxing my tense shoulders I took a deep breath and walked to the eagle, tied the letter back as quickly as I could and after taking ten or fifteen steps back I casted, "Ennervate!" The eagle groggily took flight to Dumbledore's office.
The letter had given me inspiration for my own letter as I felt a touch of anger at the Minister for taking the bribe. I couldn't expect Becky to know about it of course, she didn't care about politics all that much and I liked that about her.
Sitting down at the stool I penned,
Hey Becky,
Kisses and hugs and all that stuff. I'm having a good time at Hogwarts, it feels like home to me. Can you believe I haven't even completed my seventh year? Maybe I should go back but at my age I would probably stand out… then again, don't I always? I like it here. No press, no media, no damn newspaper reporters cornering me for a hasty interview or asking (and then answering) questions.
I want to get the DADA position. I asked Dumbledore but he refused to discuss it. I think he'll change his mind soon.
I couldn't think of anything more to say so I ended it with a 'See you soon' and sent the letter off.
The day went desperately slowly. I was bored, even though I wanted some time for peace and quiet. I wondered through the library and found a book in the restricted section about 'Violent Spells' which I decided to read. The library was abandoned, and the stuffy old librarian had gone on vacation. Lucky me.
I didn't practice any of them but skimmed through the pictures and the incantations, and I did read one that I found interesting – a spell that rips the skin off the victim. It was used to cure boils and pimples but even the best of things can be used to do harm. The incantation, "Ellesuro," seemed easy to manage as was the wand movements, which consisted of a jab to the direction I wanted the spell to go and a clockwise twirl. I tried it, shot a beam of blue light at the table. The wood singed.
"Having fun, Harry?" Dumbledore asked as he stepped into view.
I gave him a guilty look.
He merely smiled. "As you know, Lucius is going to try his usual politicking to interfere with my school."
"I read the letter," I said casually. "Very interesting."
Dumbledore didn't react. I expect he had some sort of crystal ball to watch me. Or perhaps a portrait told him. I didn't know how nor did I particularly care. I knew Dumbledore wouldn't judge me. Because his mistakes far outweighed mine and he gave me a lot of leeway to do what I wanted.
"Then you must know I have no choice at the moment except to offer you the post of DADA," Dumbledore said. "You are my best candidate."
"But…?"
"I have reservations. Hogwarts is a safe place for you. However I do not want to draw Voldemort's attention to the castle more-"
"I understand," I said coolly. "I attract trouble. People might get hurt because of my presence."
Dumbledore nodded, looking like a wet dog left in the rain by an uncaring owner. "The truth is hard."
"I can't accept."
"Harry, don't make me ask Gildory Lockheart."
"Okay I accept."
Dear becky, my lovely…
I just came back from a fly around the lake, the wind on my face… I could smell the water, and the salt and feel the coolness of the droplets as it touched my face. Flying is my heart, Hogwarts my home. My father's animagus was a stag, you know, a sort of big deer. He had horns and a large strong body, I know this because my patronus has the shape of the stag, and looks exactly like my father's animagus. It has me wondering, what did my father pass on to me beside the stag form, held within my mind.
I don't know… wild messy hair perhaps. I got your letter last night, and yes my hair is messy but I do clean it, honest. It just never combs, no matter how hard I try. Your sister said I should try this soap… it just made my hair frizzy and I looked like a lunatic.
My mother didn't have any animagus form. She was… special in her own way. I think Prof. Slug (haha, nice nickname) says it best, brilliant witch. But I am not that kind of material, at least I don't think so. I have to be there on my mother's level: I am teaching soon, kids… or perhaps young adults because when I was their age I was as adult as anyone, having been through some violent experiences. Now I have to teach. I hope the lack of a seventh year education at Hoggy-Worts doesn't screw me in the face.
We're going to see each other often too. I arranged a floo meeting – private, totally private and away from the ministry network – between us tomorrow night. This way we can chat face to face, because I miss seeing your pretty face. Send me a photograph with your next letter. Your father, the Minister of Magic, is being false to his office. I have heard, confidential sources of Dumbledore's have informed me that he has taken a bribe from Lucius Malfoy and intends to pass a bill giving the Malfoy family more power over Hogwarts.
Becky you must not let this happen, no matter what.
I don't think I can teach these kids. I am a danger, a chemical attractant to trouble. Voldemort won't rest until he'll find me and then what will we do? What will the children do? I won't let them fight death eaters and basilisks or face werewolves and acrumantelas (those giant spiders). It ruins the soul.
The rain outside is creeping into me, making me think such somber and hard thoughts. I am not jovial right now, despite my awesome flight outside by the lake.
I feel annoyed, and relaxed also but annoyed. Dumbledore won't accept my decline of his offer – threatened me with that ponce Lockheart. I had to act so I said I'd take the job.
Fuck I am in a dilemma.
Send me pictures… everything… I want to see you having fun, eating an ice cream cone, swimming in one of those muggle pools I showed you and naked on the bed with nothing on but the foam of a strawberry shake…
I may visit you through the floo, no matter what your father thinks of it. He told me to stay away from you.
I am sorry for disobeying your father, sweat Becky, but I will not.
See you,
HP
I went to the Hospital Wing after lunch because Madam Pomfrey gave me a handwritten note sent by a house elf. She required my presence to facilitate healing.
Okay, I said, Okay, and in my mind I counted backward from ten to zero, sent the letter by owl, and followed the jittery elf.
He was kind enough to allow me a detour to the kitchens. I had a slice of pumpking cake with tea and biscuits. The food helped me concentrate better. My mind was clear and my stomach full. It readied me for the rest of the day.
The hospital wing had an aroma of medicine, like muggle hospitals, but it was corrupted by the scent of potions, corked and kept neatly along rows of shelves. I saw one that made me pause as I passed a few empty beds. It was called: Organsium Palanisum and it meant restorative. I had heard the potion was a stronger version of coffee. Its street name was magical amphetamines.
I grabbed three bottles and stuffed them in my robes. They were small glass bottles that fit difficultly into the smaller pocket. As I kept walking I put my finger on the pocket and casted, "Engorgio." That felt more comfortable.
"Harry Potter!" Madam Pomfrey screamed, her voice piercing the silence of the wing. I heard some shuffling. Madam Pomfrey slid into my view, a woman of enormous girth supported by a thick cane and a pair of horn rimmed glasses. Her eyebrows frowned at me, and her lips twitched disapprovingly as if she was trying to glare and growl and frown at the same time. "Why did you abandon your bed? You could have caught a cold, or pneumonia. You must stay in bed to heal," she said pushing me toward it. She smelt like bitter almonds. I heard that was the smell of cyanide. Had she killed someone? Something? An animal?
I saw it then, a brief glimpse through the curtain of a bed. It was a body. The body had a face I recognized: the face of a death eater, Anthony Rockwood.
So… Dumbledore raised the stakes of the war, responding to the attack with… this?
I didn't know what to think. So I tried to forget it and contemplate the enormosity of the idea later. "Erm, I am fine," I said, stopping her dragging. "Really."
"Stay until I check you over," she urged, "Please, Harry, it won't take long."
She put me next to the bed with the auror from last night. It was my old bed but I didn't feel like being in close proximity to Shacklebolt. He creeped me out. What he had been through… I knew… and I wanted nothing to do with it.
I settled into the bed, relaxing slowly, closed my eyes to see pictures and bright colors. That was okay, lack of sleep caused these things and over the last few months I had little sleep.
Madam Pomfrey came back a few minutes later, jabbed her wand into me a few times, muttered some things and left me to take a nap. Voldemort didn't bother me and I woke up refreshed twenty minutes later.
Kinglsey was staring at me. I saw him looking from the corner of my eye, and while turning to face him, he looked away suddenly.
"Hi, Kingsley," I said.
He didn't answer me, just stared at the ceiling. As if he was waiting for me to leave before farting.
I sighed, settled back into my bed and said, "Look I know Madam Pomfrey doesn't like anyone smoking in here, but you're probably dying for a cigarette?"
Kingsley looked at me then, an eyebrow raised. I took out my pack and handed him one, lit it for him with my wand and then lit one for myself. We dragged on them for a minute or so before Kingsley said, "Voldemort came first you know. He just charged right in."
I looked at the cigarette slowly dying away, took a puff, before answering, "Is that so?"
"Two death eaters followed him. He took out ten of our best aurors."
I took another puff, "Were you the only survivor?"
Kingsley nodded grimly, his cheeks clenched. "I survived because my partner sacrificed himself to save me."
"Just like my mother," I said. I started to take off my dragon skin boots, one at a time, before stopping and hearing clenched teeth grinding against each other. Kingsley, mad?
He closed his eyes when I glanced at him, taking a deep thoughtful drag. Opened them, and tossed the cigarette out a nearby window.
"That's right, just like your mother, and your friends."
"My friends came because I led them there. They had no choice-"
"They always had a choice Harry, their sacrifice meant something because they chose for it. That's why you can't feel guilty. I don't feel guilty about my partner. I respect his sacrifice."
"It's a-" I choked, "hmm, good philosophy."
I coughed and got up, tossed the stub to the ground, crushed it underneath my dragon leather boots. "I'll see you around, Shacklebolt."
Madam Pomfrey asked me where I was going. I just walked out and didn't say anything to her. I went straight to Hagrid's hut. He was away, doing business with his giant friends. I kept walking. My foot hit an overgrown root. Tripping, I fell to the ground, my knee hitting a sharp rock.
"Damn," I said angrily, getting up. "Fuckin' A!" I rushed to the forest, the outskirts that marked Hogwarts land and the Wild. Trees trying to reach the sky blocked my view of all and everything that lay beyond the wild line. Fog rolled from thunder clouds. It started to rain again, the ground already wet with a previous shower not long ago, filled up, puddles appearing everywhere almost at once.
Rushing into the forest for shelter from the rain, I trudged through puddles, water reached up to my knees wetting my robes even more than the shower on my back. I reached dry land under the safety of the canopy. I walked further into the darkness, cast a lumos charm with my wand. Bright white light stretched out from my wand in all directions, illuminating twigs and the trunks of large oak trees, the black eyes of an owl watching me from its nest, the silver sleek fur of a wolf rushing past a tree. It was a small wolf. I wasn't scared.
I reached into my pockets where I kept the cigarretes. I looked in the box and saw it was empty. Throwing the carton away I grumbled about my luck to the trees nearby. "If Voldemort were dead, all my problems would be solved," I said, ending my mutterings and crazed rambings.
I sat on one of the bigger trees, using the trunk as support for my back. Leaning toward the hardness of the wood, I heard the jingles of glass bottles in one of my other pockets. The engorging charm had still held. Reaching with my fist, and then my elbow, into the pocket I removed three of the vials.
Magical amphetamines. Dare I try it? They would help me stay awake certainly, keep me talking and acting up like a raving lunatic. Becky had once given me a muggle tablet of benzadrine, the muggle's amphetamines. I had tried it, kept me awake all night and alert. I felt like I was in the trenches of world war I, playing hero with a faulty gun. I downed the three potions one after the other in quick succession, thinking of Becky and the state of my life.
I didn't want to sleep, not tonight, not out here in the forest. The rain peltered the canopy and a few drops fell on the glass bottles I had cast to the ground. I watched it, my wand lighting them… the thousand colours of the rainbow blending white, the moonlit night, the twinkles of the stars, freshness of the pines, this is the night, sing a song, dance along. Move about, throw your wand away!
I threw it far, as far as I could, feeling the enhancing restoration take a hold of me. Drunkenness mixed with the alertness of a fighter pilot got me drumming my fingers to a beat only I could hear. Minds eyes and newt's ears, I felt the world mix and blend into the tears on a little girl's face. Blue eyes glowed brightly, calling out her innocence. "Why didn't you save me, Harry," said the voice of the little girl who hid in my mind, my guilty conscious.
Kingsley the Auror, big black and bold, stood in front of my path to hell. "STOP HARRY, FEEL THE MAGIC AROUND YOU! YOUR RESPECT DISTINGUISHES THEIR SACRIFICE!" His voice was so goddamn loud. I closed my eyes, closed my ears.
My heart was about to burst out of my chest, thundering at a thousand beats a minute.
I collapsed on my knees and wished this would stop. What had I drunk, what had I done, my body went crazy, my mind soon to follow. I was jerking, a seizure taking hold of my brain in her reptilian claws. I lay there on the damp and dry undergrowth, fully conscious and aware and awake, unable to move a single muscle as my life drifted in front of my eyes. I saw myself sitting in the cupboard, hungry and jealous of Dudley's birthday presents, I saw Ron laughing with me and Hermione scowling playfully on a sunny day as we walked around Hogwarts, sandwiches in our hands.
I saw the restoration of Lord Voldemort. Cedric's death replayed in my mind.
This that all and everything flashed, like strobe lights memories pulsated in my brain until I could take no more and fell to unconsciousness.
When the brew of amphetamines drowned my brain in magic juice I felt truly amazed at the oversensitivity of what I felt – the texture of the grass, smooth to the highest degree, the feel of the twigs underneath me, the extreme end of the sensitivity spectrum red alert.
"Whahtaffaa!" I couldn't make any sounds that resembled language. My tongue was swollen. Parents say never take candy from strangers. Why did nobody warn me never to take potions I didn't really know about. I tried to get up and I did, shakily. As I took in lungfuls of air the energy hit me, and I felt myself as high as a kite, full of dynamite explosive power ready to take on the world as only the young could.
I had to find my wand. Cursing my stupidity I tried to summon it to no avail. All my attempts at wandless magic failed me. The potion interfered in some way. A brick wall stood between me and my mind's ability to do wandless magic. The euphoria hit me harder and I reeled at the pleasure pressure underneath my eyeballs. Skull muscles contracted, ears perked as I listened to all and everything, the entire quadrant of auditory hallucinations jumping at me from all angles. I heard dragons roaring and blizzards crushing trucks stranded on abandoned highways. I saw muggles fighting muggles with guns and sticks and wizards fighting wizards, flashes of spellfire abounded in my vision. A prophecy ball crashed into fragments as I tried to reach for it but fell on twigs and dried leaves. The fragments turned to sand, the sand poured out of my hand and I felt my life flash before me in a single second. Futility rose in me, storms of broken self esteem. I walked a broken road to the destination of a failed life.
Someone clapped me on the shoulder. I whirled around to see a centaur who had grabbed a hold of me. He looked old; fur seemed to whiten with age from the dying light of the torch the centaur held with the other arm. "Come with me," he hissed. "Its not safe for you here!"
In a few moments I was upon his back, drugged out of my mind, riding through thickets of branches, leaves, thorns. Mosquitoes tried to bite me. My wandless magic seemed strong enough to repel them. I was recovering from my ordeal but my heart still thudded in my chest, and I felt pressure there, along with a dull ache seeping into my shoulders, left arm, palms. The tips of my fingers tingled and were numb. Anxiety and frustration poured into me. I had no defense. I threw my wand away when I needed it most.
Perhaps I needed the drugs the most. The amphetamines were kicking in and I felt awake, strong, alert, urged the centaur to go faster. He picked up speed, a surge of happiness flared – "Whoo!" I yelled, laughing in exhilaration. I felt the forest around me as if they were a part of me, and I was a part of it, united in its web of life where all things had their balance and their place in the chains that held the forest together in one entity. My mind was a blaze of light, following the centaurs path with my eyes that had adjusted to the dark I found myself thinking of my dead friends Ron and Hermione and of their sacrifice.
"We'll come with you, no matter what," Ron said, as a matter of fact when they discussed what to do with the vision and the departure to the Department of Mysteries.
"Harry," Hermione had said, placing a hand on my shoulder, "Let us help, we're your friends and we want to be beside you, to fight for you."
Ron nodded somberly and I could say nothing but let them come on a venture he knew deep in the back of his mind would not turn out well.
I rode the centaur well, like riding a fine horse well trained by the owner. But he did not direct the path through the winding darkness of the Forest. "I left my wand somewhere back there, we should turn, and search for it."
The centaur refused, told him it was too dangerous. "Why? What's the matter?" Harry asked.
"Voldemort," The centaur said, "I saw him, three miles from the edges of the Forest, coming directly inward. He is setting up a camp of giants in the forest, where he will use to attack Hogwarts and capture you."
"Voldemort wants to attack the castle just for me?" I marveled, "Why? Why am I so important?"
The centaur stopped its clodding pace and turned, looked at me, said nothing. Then he gazed at the sky where a bright red orb hung on invisible strings and a silver crescent cast moonlight upon his hairy face. "It is naught for me to say," he said at last. "Hurry, Harry Potter, we must get to safety."
I turned away from him and dismounted, "No, I need to find my wand first," I said. "I'm helpless without it."
The centaur snarled, "Its not safe here!"
"Its not safe for me anywhere," I said, and walked in the opposite direction, not knowing where I was going but certain the bluff would make the Centaur aid me in my search for my lost wand. The amphetamines gave me an illusionary bravery, one that I used to sharpen my mind and my senses. The aroma of the forest, from red berries hanging on shrubs to leaves that smelt as sour as limes and spiky thorn bushes all converged into one stink. Competitive twittering of birds died out as the night turned colder. I shivered in my thin robes and wanted a hot mug of coffee desperately.
"Come then," The centaur said gruffly, "I'll try to find your wand for you."
"Thank you," Harry said, "What is your name? I'll remember you."
"Bane," The centaur said. "I used to be chieftain once."
We traveled for at least forty five minutes before I recognized the location of the three glass bottles. From there, another thirty minute search took us close enough that a wandless accio spell could summon my wand. The effects of the amphetamines faded. My mind raced, thinking of everything at once and nothing at all, analyzing things I had long forgotten, remembering the past like a movie picture with absolute clarity. AN ephiphany hit me, then and there, about my 'Voldemort Problem.' I had to get stronger, get wiser, like Dumbledore, that was the goal, and the path was through hard work... or smart work, short cuts. I vowed to myself that I would investigate short cuts to attaining power. Maybe then I could be useless and actually do something about this goddamn war.
Once the holly wood fell within my grasp I felt a lot more confident about myself. "I need you to take me to Hogwarts, to warn Professor Dumlbedore."
"We cannot do that, it would put you in too much danger."
"He needs to know," I protested.
"There are no students there," Bane said, "Do not fear, Harry, the adult wizards know how to take care of themselves. Now we must come and join the rest of the clan who can protect you from the dangers lurking just beneath our noses."
I climbed on his back once again and didn't protest as he led the way deeper into the winding forest, as I felt a nudge of irritation blending with apprehension that twisted in the back of my mind, tingled at the base of my spine. The trees started to grow larger and more oppressing as if a blanket of terror pressured my neck into bending and breaking… "Such morbid thoughts," I said with a laugh, trying to dispel the sheer discomfort I was feeling.
The centaur didn't answer; he led me into grove of trees, with a mound of stones circled around a large bonfire. Centuars… big giant horse like creatures with man hands and man-horse faces, carrying axes and arrows, bows, torches with fires and one of them I saw even had a long piece of metal chain attached to a spiked ball. Medieval warfare among the animals.
The centuar threw me off his back. I fell face first to the ground, little sharp twigs catching on my robes. Got up, brushed myself off, and said angrily, "Look here-"
"Harry Potter," a rough voice boomed through the clearing. A centaur came into view with completely black fur, with gigantic muscular arms and black eyes that held no mercy. He was twice as large as any other centuar, the Hagrid of the centaurs. There was a glint in his eyes that said something. My intuition warned me, gave me a discomforting feeling about the creature before me. "I address you as chieften of my clan, as the sole authority of law and justice, life and death in my lands, the Forbidden Forest to you human wizards. You trespass!"
"Not intentionally," I said, "Your Bane brought me here," I pointed to him. "I would have left to get back to my castle but he promised me safety from Voldemort."
"Then he lied," the chieften said coldly, "Bane is in no position to make promises. By the challenges of the Centaur People, he has lost his cheiftenship and exists merely on my good will." The chieften picked up an axe that had been embedded near the bonfire and threw it at Bane's head.
Bane tried to dodge. The axe lodged itself in his skull. He crumpled to all fours, to the ground and sang an agony cry.
"We are going to trade you for our protection," The Chieften said, "Voldemort has promised us safe passage in the times to come, as well as isolated lands for our own use, our own lands without human intruders. I have made my decision."
"Wait please," I begged, "Reconsider, I am the boy who lived and the only one who can stop him."
"We know that!" The Chieften roared, spittle flying from his gaping mouth. Harry counted rows of carnivorous teeth. "The stars tell us all, you have failed, and you will not be around for much longer. The stars predict your demise."
"That's not true," said Bane, his voice weak, his eyes dull. "I have read the scriptures and watched the stars, Harry is the champion of the light. We belong to the light! We are his friends."
The Chieften's eyes narrowed. He cobbled to him and with silent eyes, stamped over Bane's head with his hooves three times, crushing the skull. Bane's death made my feet turn to ice and my heart stop beating.
The centuars proceeded to tie me up to a tree with thick rope that would not budge no matter how hard I tried. They tied me up tightly with no room for me to maneouver. I was stuck. My wand, which rested under my belt, had not been touched. They were too stupid, or they underestimated what I could do wandlessly.
They waited, I heard whispered converstations and realized coldly that Voldemort was coming to this encampment to dialogue with the Centaurs, the way a diplomat would come to represent a country. I shuddered: The Centuars had betrayed their land, had betrayed Hogwarts. My anger and rage, combined with the potions I had taken, fuelled my rage. I reached toward my wand, barely touching it, and shouted, "Explodara!"
My wand was pointing to the sky, away from me, as I said that. But I still got hurt in the resulting explosion of the bright black light. The ropes sizzled away instantly, and a tree directly in the path of the spell burst into flames. Using the distraction, I ducked, rolled and sent out a stunner at one of the centuars. It didn't affect him. I had to use harder spells, racking my memory of the training I had spent with Sirius instead of attending seventh year, my old duelling skills arose in my like a lost forgotten friend. I fired several stunners as I took higher ground. An arrow whistled past my face.
I swirled, "Hobestarisa!" The spell swirled into a band of centaurs, coating them with hot lava. Their animal screams filled the night, and gave away my position - The chieften charged toward me.
I didn't have much time left. Ducking under his axe swing, I jabbed my wand into his side and yelled, coiling my hatred of him (and of myself, and of life and everything, because hate unifies a man's whole life) into a pointed spear of magic, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" The green flash of light downed him and a brief period of silence followed during which no other centuar was willing to approach me.
We were at a standstill.
One of the younger centaurs made the first move, fired an arrow.
I dodged yet it scraped my shoulder, drawing a needle thin line of blood. Others soon followed, "Protego!" I exclaimed, allowing magic to shield me from a flood of arrows. My shield buckled under the strain. I backed away, took cover behind a tree and tried to remember my strongest shielding spells, knowing I wouldn't last long.
As the battle raged, a piece of my mind rested on one fact: Voldemort would be here at any moment!
Chapter Five
I raised my wand, swung it in an arc and cried out a cutting spell which severed a tree. A group of centaurs leapt out of the way of the cutting spell, answering back with arrows. One of them hit my shoulder, piercing it, drawing blood and pain that engulfed everything. I moved past it, forcing my mind to hold control and calmness but everything leaked out of me the way water seeps out of cupped hands.
A bright light flashed in front of my face. An arrow lit with fire approached me from the distance, arcing downward toward where I stood. I ran, ducking behind a forest. Several shafts lodged themselves into the wood with a thunk. I felt my heart hammering in my chest as anxiety and tension overtook my senses. I wanted to run away, as far as I could. My logical mind told me this was the wrong idea.
Take control Potter, think.
Regarding my gryffindor instincts: they were all but gone after Ron and Hermione's death. Sirius tried to nudge it back to life with dueling training. That helped as I fired several fire spells toward the centuars, my wand moving in intricate patterns remembered only from muscle memory and the brief times I practiced the fire spells.
Jets of blue and orange flame raced across the ground littered with soft moss, sparking everything around us in a gigantic ball of flame. The distraction gave me a few seconds but I was highly visible.
I felt myself in pain as multiple wounds competed for attention. No time. A centuar ran into me, pushing me to the ground. A hoof hit my head. I blacked out.
When I woke up the first thing I saw was Voldemort. The Dark Lord wore a simple black cloak. His yew wand flashed in front of me, and I felt pain all over my body, mild compared to the cruciatus curse.
"Awake Harry?" Voldemort said, "I do not like to wait."
"Voldemort," I growled out, "Finally caught me, huh?"
"I admit you've been proving very hard to find but... look at us now, hmm?
Two old friends having a night out."
I looked around and saw we were all alone. The centauars had vanished and I had nobody around me who would help me. I was truly by myself and I had to get out of this situation using only my wits and cunning.
"Look, Voldemort, you've offered me an alliance many times during my life. Can I ask you a question?" My voice was weak. My eyes held strength.
"Go ahead," Voldemort said shortly, his red eyes narrowed.
"Why did I never join you?"
That question gave him pause, and he touched a bony white finger to my forehead, my scar, "We're connected, Harry," he said as pain broke loose through my brain.
"Yes, connected by the tunnel of light," I said, "You've noticed it too, the tunnel is getting closer, is breaking apart."
"And that is why I am here, Harry," Voldemort said, moving back. He waved his wand and my restraints fell off me. I was tied to a tree, and when the ropes broke loose I fell on all fours. "We are connected through ancient magic."
"You want to convince me to join you?" I asked. "You know my answer, but do you know why?"
"No, I don't," Voldemort said after a time. "But I do know you are weak, no match for me."
"Then the prophecy is wrong?" I started to laugh, not a wise thing to do in front of the Dark Lord.
He cast the cruciatus at me, his wand pushed deep into my stomach. I screamed, my eyes burned and my skin smoldered. Every nerve stretched and felt as if it would snap like taut strings. I seized and screamed my voice hoarse.
"How does that feel?" Voldemort hissed, his whole body responding to my screams with ecstasy. He shivered. I sobbed from the pain, tears rolled down my face like the Niagra Falls. "Do you remember your father, Harry? Your mother? I killed them, butchered the two like cattle. They were scum, weaklings, and so are you."
His words roused an anger within me that broke the hold of the cruciatus curse. Hurting, on the ground whimpering, I felt for my wand mentally and cried out, "Accio!" The wand hit my palm with a faint smack. I rose up to my feet. Voldemort looked amused.
"Shall we bow?" I said bravely, "Perhaps a duel?"
His face coloured slightly, and tensing his forearms he raised his wand in a smooth motion, sending a ball of green light toward me. I ducked, and nimbly dodged the spell. It exploded behind me. Showering splinters of wood embedded in my hamstrings. I was getting tired.
I felt no idea how to proceed from here, my mind was a confused tumble of thoughts and images. The duel with Lord Voldemort went quickly, in seconds that felt as though hours had passed. Pain after pain leapt upon my broken and battered body but I held on, dodging spells and sending flashes of magical light back, using every skill in my arsenal.
"Secumdio!" Voldemort casted. A smokey grey light came out of his wand and engulfed us in a circle, as the circle widened it progressively turned into a dome that trapped the two of us in. "The order is trying to find us. They will not succeed," Voldemort said, grinning. "Its just you and I Harry, can you summon your Gryffindor courage and face me like your father did?"
I was hiding behind a tree trunk. I didn't take the bait. Sirius had taught me a spell that he said should only be used in emergencies.
I decided it was time to summon a demon. Working my way through runes which I drew in the air with my wand, I hummed an ancient spell four lines long and as I did so I felt weakness in all my limbs. My arms turned to butter and my legs went soft like a pillow.
I stepped away from the protection of the tree. Voldemort cast a spell I didn't know. A purple blaze of light charged toward me. I released the energy held in the runes and let the demon come out.
The runes glowed red, floated in the air, looked like hieroglyphics written on pyramids, Greek letters and Hindi letters blended together to form an esoteric language as ancient as the human race. Sirius didn't know a lot about it, said it was a black family secret to summon this sort of thing, this demon from the nether world.
I wasn't sure what would happen. I waited with tense anticipation. Voldemort felt the charge of magic building up in the air, crackling with ferocious energy and he too stopped, looked around as if sniffing prey. He looked like a wolf and a snake morphed into one cunning and ferocious predator. I was afraid this would be my lost shot to get out of this mess. The black dome covered us and looked as thick as steel. Fog swirled around our feet. Flames crackled in the distance, burning twigs and dry leaves.
There was a brief flash of light before the runes arranged themselves into a circle, a portal of pure yellow light swirled inside that circle and from within, black eyes that looked like thick triangles watched us. In an instant the creature leaped out, a hideous beast darker than the night, blacker than crude oil.
It looked like an overgrown lion, except its scales were covered in a slimy green ooze, and its eyes glared at us with utmost hatred. Violence leapt from his gaze. I wondered if I had made a mistake. It growled at me, growled at Voldemort who also took a step back, a smirk on his face.
"Dark magic, Harry," he said in amusement, "Very dark. I am impressed. How did you learn this fine piece of rune work, Harry?"
I found myself answering him, even though it wasn't the best of ideas. "The Black library, Sirius told me about it, said its a closely guarded secret."
"Do you know why they guard it closely?" Voldemort asked, almost casually as though talking about the lunch menu. "Because the demon will ask a sacrifice of you, Harry."
Voldemort and the demon circled each other like predatory hungry jungle cats, about to claw each other's eyes out.
"What kind of sacrifice?" I asked hurriedly, going toward the dome on the far side. Let the demon and the Dark Lord keep each other busy while I escaped.
"A piece of your soul," Voldemort said, and then laughed, a hideous chuckle that made my blood turn ice cold.
"W-what?" I swirled around, yelling.
The demon charged at Voldemort, its claws ripping through three spells cast by the Dark Lord like it was butter. It leapt at Voldemort, who blasted the demon with a silent spell that emitted a noise of buzzing bees.
Silence descended over the forest, the demon started to growl as it got back on its feet. Its eyes were supremely active and took in everything at once. Its gaze hovered toward me for a moment, sifting through my thoughts, memories. My occlumency shields, paltry though they were, stood no chance under the gaze of the demon. Memories and emotions, thoughts, ideas, aspirations, all poured into the demon, feeding him, giving him magical strength. Before my eyes the demon grew larger, and what once looked like a grotesque lion now looked like a mutated mammoth with horns protruding out of its skull.
"It can change its shape," I said, marveling and terrified at the same time. I took in a deep breath, got a hold of myself, and tried: "Stupefy!"
The bright light hit the dome, and fizzled away upon touching it. Dissapointed I turned my attention to the ensuing fight between the demon and Voldemort.
The fight was even, with the Dark Lord sending spell after spell to halt the demon's progress, and the demon ripping through them with claws of obsidian. Then, Voldemort hit the demon's belly with a killing curse that sent him flying fifteen feet away. Sweat beads lined my brow. My demon had failed...
Or not.
it stood up.
The goddamn evil animal fucking stood up after a goddamn killing curse.
It charged at Voldemort, clawed him across the chest. Voldemort, not idle, sent another killing curse, this time hitting one of its eyes.
Meanwhile I sent spell after spell on the dome, dividing my attention between the fight and getting out of my prison. It was futile. No good. I was doomed.
The demon fell to the ground, and dissipated into fragments like a jigsaw puzzle, fully connected, falling to the floor. With smoke and a fragrance of ozone mixed with a fish odor, the demon was gone from this world.
And I felt slightly reduced, not physically or mentally, but in my deepest core.
"Do you feel the emptiness, Harry?" Voldemort asked casually as if he had all the time in the world. "The hole in your belly, in your heart, in your whole being? It is your soul, fragmented."
"What's happened?" I asked in confusion. "I don't understand, my soul- how can it break apart? I don't feel that different."
"You will, you will in time," Voldemort murmured. "That is, if I let you live."
"You won't, don't think you can get me to play your games," I spat out. "You murdered my parents, and I'll kill you one day," I said, "I will fucking murder you like you murdered my mom and dad!"
I raised my wand, pointed it at his chest.
Voldemort laughed.
I yelled out, "Avada Kedavra!"
The bolt of green light came from within my very being, pungent and strong and highly powerful. The hairs on the back of my neck, on my hands, on my legs all stood on end. Even Voldemort looked surprised at the strength of my killing curse. Hatred, a new kind I had never known before, poured out of me, through my wand, rushed toward my most hated foe.
I wanted to kill him, I really did.
My soul... torn apart by the demon turned into a godsend. I felt power surge through me, a power that came only from the hatred I felt right now. The feeling was like a chemical buzz, euphoria.
The jet of green death hit Voldemort in the chest and he fell to the ground.