Dark Mirror X
In the canon books, Harry Potter did not destroy the Elder Wand as depicted in the movie. His intention was to put it back in Dumbledore's tomb, and to die a natural death without ever using, or having the Elder Wand won from him. It was Harry's belief that this would break the Wand's power, and put an end to the legend. The Resurrection Stone was lost, but Harry did keep the Invisibility Cloak. This was Harry's plan. However, things seldom go as planned...
A new Dark Lord is now rising in the years following The Final Battle.
It's a brave, new world - and it isn't going to be pretty.
That Dark Lord is Harry James Potter...
And I saw one of his heads as it were wounded to death; and his deadly wound was healed: and all the world wondered after the beast. - Revelation 13:3, KJV, Holy Bible.
"That wand's more trouble than it's worth," said Harry. "And quite honestly," he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower, and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, "I've had enough trouble for a lifetime." - quote, Harry Potter & The Deathly Hallows, pp. 749. Hardcover, USA edition, first printing, July 2007. ©JK Rowling, Warner Bros., and Scholastic Books.
-1-
Gryffindor Tower
It was not only unusual, Kreacher the House Elf thought, it was confusing. No, the old Elf told himself, it was downright unheard of. In fact, it was a scandal! He wasn't sure how to take it, really. In all his life, serving The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Kreacher had been told what to do. True, Master Regulus, especially when he was a little boy, would ask him politely to do things. But Kreacher had always known that the boy knew that the House Elf had to do what he was told to do. It didn't matter that the boy was being genuinely kind, and really was asking him to do it. Kreacher would never have dreamed of saying no.
But now, things were different.
His noble old house, while it still stood, was gone. There were no more Blacks to serve, and that pained Kreacher. Master Sirius, even though he'd loathed him, had been the last male heir to die childless, and in doing so, had left everything to Harry James Potter – his Godson. Kreacher was now the bound servant of this Halfblood Wizard, who was friends with Blood Traitors and Mudbloods.
But all that had changed, hadn't it? Hadn't his time with Dobby shown him that?
That wasn't really the problem, though. In the past few months, Kreacher had undergone a change of heart about his new Master and his friends at Grimmauld Place. Master Harry was doing exactly what Master Regulus had done – seeking to bring down the Dark Lord, who was certainly no friend to House Elves. Master Harry had given him the locket, praised him, even trusted him when Kreacher thought him a fool for doing so. And even though he'd never known him, Master Harry honoured Master Regulus, dearly loved Master Sirius, and even wanted to stay in the old house.
And he wanted Kreacher to stay as well.
If he wanted to...
And THAT was the problem.
Master Harry wanted Kreacher to do what Kreacher wanted to do! He'd said that Kreacher was a good Elf, a brave Elf, for rallying the Hogwarts House Elves to fight in the War, and that no such valiant being should have to be a slave to anyone. That was what they'd fought for. That was they'd died for.
Freedom.
It wasn't as if Master Harry had presented Kreacher with clothes, no no! Master Harry had asked Kreacher to decide what he himself wanted to, and then to do it.
"Kreacher, you can stay with me, in the house – your old house – and do what you do. But only if that's what you want to do. You don't have to stay, but you don't have to go. I'd like it if you'd stay?" Master Harry had told him, nodding. "The choice is yours, my friend."
Almost thunderstruck, Kreacher was at a loss for words. His new master wanted to treat him as an equal, and call him his friend? "Kreacher thinks he understands Dobby better now," he finally managed, "Master Harry is a good man, Kreacher thinks?"
For a while, as they climbed the stairs up to Gryffindor Tower and repaired them along the way, fixing whatever they could, Harry seemed at a loss for words as well. The upper floors on that side of the Castle had taken the least of the damage, and some broken windows and holes in the walls were the worst of it. While neither one of them knew a thing about architecture on a magical scale, it seemed that the important-looking supports and such were not damaged. It wasn't like the roof was going to fall in on their heads, they decided. Even the staircases, those not broken, seemed too tired or traumatized to move.
"I don't know about that, Kreacher," Harry finally sighed, as they greeted the Portrait of the Fat Lady. She was all over weeping, thrilled to see Harry, and opened right up without so much as asking for a password.
Several floors below, the dead body of Lord Voldemort lay in a dark, dusty alcove under heavy guard. The War was over, the Hospital Wing filled with injured, and the dead lying in state in a makeshift morgue in an unused classroom. All throughout the damaged halls, Portrait Residents were finding space to share with their peers in undamaged frames. Gryffindor Tower itself was pretty much intact, and a snap of Kreacher's gnarled old fingers patched the hole in the roof and reassembled a few broken windows.
It pained Harry to see his beloved Castle in such a state, and he desperately wished that there was some method, some secret hidden by the Founders, that might magically repair it.
Unbeknownst to the pair, however, and when they weren't looking, this was exactly what was happening. Broken stones found their own way back to where they'd been blasted from. Dust formed up in small whirlwinds, vanishing back into cracks, and busted timbers and broken panes seemed to be healing of their own volition. Neither of them noticed the odd little symbols carved on each stone or timber, Ancient Runes, that briefly flashed into existence – then vanished again. Quietly, secretly, Hogwarts Castle was healing Herself.
At the top of the last short flight of stairs, Harry paused at the door that he'd never really paid much attention to for the first six years of his school days. It was only a door, but now, he felt the need to savor everything in the Tower that he laid eyes upon. It had been almost a year since he'd seen it, actually. He remembered the trick that Percy had once shown him when he was eleven or twelve, he didn't recall. He winked at the door, and a sign appeared:
Welcome to Gryffindor! A Weasley had probably already slept in your bed!
Harry remembered how Percy had been so upset that he couldn't Curse the silly sign off, and he was just certain that Fred and George had put it there to annoy him.
The proper sign read:
Gryffindor Boys' Dormitory – Seventh Years
As they entered the room, Harry was filled with a sense of homecoming. The room never changed; the boys never changed rooms. Only the sign on the door changed, until all of its residents were gone and a new batch of Firstie boys would come. For so long, this was where he'd felt he'd always belonged. This was home – not #4 Privet Drive. This was where he should have been for the past year. Not hiding in a tent in the Forest of Dean, or hiding at the Burrow, or hiding at #12, or running for his life in any number of locations. A flick of his wand, and a broken window flew back into place.
But something was wrong.
The room was chilly. The curtains were pulled on three of the five beds. Dean Thomas', Ron Weasley's, and Harry Potter's beds had gone unused for a year. Two of the beds showed signs of use, but they were made up neatly. No one had slept in them for a while, Harry guessed. That wasn't right. Of course, he realized, the two remaining Gryffindors had been hiding out in the Room of Requirement for a while now.
How long had it been since anyone had slept there?
Harry sniffed. The room smelled fresh, though, if not a bit smoky from the air that had drifted in through the broken window. The normal funk that he was so accustomed to was gone. There were no clothes or shoes or robes scattered about the room. Two sets of textbooks were neatly arranged on their shelves. Clothes were pressed and hung up. Spare sets of polished black shoes sat at the foot of the two beds. Harry knew these belonged to Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan, one pair so small that they might have fit a Third or Fourth Year boy.
Seamus' shoes.
Harry looked closer. There was a bit of dust on the pillowcase. No, no one had used these beds in a while. There were old stains on the white pillowcases.
Bloodstains.
Harry felt his temper rising, clutching his holly wand. Sparks shot from the tip, angry red sparks. He recalled Neville's scarred and swollen face, Seamus' black eye and swollen lip, the chipped teeth, the bruises, and how they had both limped a little.
We should have been here, fighting alongside them, Harry thought to himself, cursing, but knowing full well that they could not have been. Even Dean Thomas, suspected Muggleborn, had had to go on the run because of his disputed Blood Status.
Going toward his bed, which seemed to be calling his name, Harry began to realize just how sore and tired he really was. He waved off Kreacher's offers of help and first aid, wondering if there might be at least a pair of pyjama trousers or a dressing gown left in the bureau. Maybe Neville wouldn't mind if he borrowed one of his?
Neville was taller, though, Harry remembered. The roly-poly little round-faced boy that he always pictured in his mind had grown up. "Neville, you have got to start standing up for yourself!" They'd all told him in First Year, when Draco Malfoy had used a Leg-Locker Jinx on him. And he had done just that, standing up to the Carrows, and even Headmaster Snape. He'd finally grown up and destroyed the last of the Horcruxes, Nagini.
Grown up far too quickly...like the rest of them.
Harry flicked his wand again, the restored holly happily doing his bidding without a spoken word. He remembered Professor Snape's words: Keep your mind open, and you mouth SHUT! The bed curtains opened, and Harry placed his beloved repaired wand carefully on his pillow. In his pocket, he felt the Elder Wand.
He ignored it.
Then he pulled out Draco Malfoy's hawthorn wand, and placed it on the night stand. He thought he'd return it when he was rested, after everyone had had a chance to rest. He didn't know if the Malfoys, whom he'd seen at the far end of one of the tables in the Great Hall, would even stay, though. For all he knew, Kingsley Shacklebolt and the Aurors might arrest them. One way or another, though, he'd return Draco's wand to him. After what Madame Malfoy had done for him – for them – they deserved that.
It was the right thing to do.
They deserved a bit of dignity.
Harry Potter, of all people, understood what it was like to have to face losing one's family.
He understood what the Malfoys had done, and why they'd done it.
Narcissa had offered her life to protect him, to send him on, and for the sake of her own son as well. She had betrayed Voldemort. Perhaps Draco's welfare was the only reason she'd done it, but Harry knew full well (even if Narcissa hadn't) what kind of powerful, what kind of undefeatable old magic she'd summoned only hours before.
Narcissa Malfoy had risked forfeiture of her own life for the sake of her son – an act of love.
She had done what his own mother, Lily, had done...whether she realized it or not.
"The power the Dark Lord knows not," Harry mumbled, realizing that even if he'd been wrong about who was the Master of the Elder Wand, that Voldemort would still have never owned it properly. No, even if he'd known (which he wouldn't have, couldn't have), Voldemort would have then killed Narcissa Malfoy, thus rendering Draco impervious to any Killing Curse he could have cast on the boy.
But would Draco have then challenged Voldemort?
Harry thought he might have, which surprised even himself.
No, he would speak to the Ministry on behalf of the Malfoys. He at least owed Narcissa that much.
"Sir?" Kreacher asked, as Harry sat down hard on the bed. There was a creak, and a tiny puff of dust.
"Kreacher, could you do something for me, please?" Harry asked, his voice betraying how very exhausted he was.
"Of course, sir!" Kreacher gasped, "What else is Kreacher to do, sir?"
And that was when he'd said it. That was when Master Harry had thrown Kreacher for a loop: "Kreacher, you can stay with me, in the house – your old house – and do what you do. But only if that's what you want to do. You don't have to stay, but you don't have to go. I'd like it if you'd stay?" Master Harry had told him, nodding, "The choice is yours, my friend." He paused. "But could you...see if the kitchen is OK, and maybe bring me a sandwich? And something to drink? Get yourself a bite, too, if you're of a mind? Please?" Harry blinked at him. "Kreacher, are you quite all right?" He asked, concerned. "You're looking almost...ill?"
"S-s-sandywiches, y-yes!" Kreacher managed, as he snapped his fingers and vanished in a puff of smoke.
He reappeared in the undamaged kitchen, where the other Elves were tending to their wounded. Given their powers, unleashed as they been, there had been no fatalities. There were, however, a great many injuries.
"Kreacher, what's is being wrong?" An older Elf, Blinky, Kreacher thought, asked him.
"You's is not looking goods," Winky agreed.
"S-sandwich, Master wants a sandwich!" Kreacher managed, rummaging about for meat, cheese, and toppings. "Whats does he like? Hams? Cheeses? White or dark breads?" Kreacher used a slice of each. He grabbed up a knife and summoned an onion, which he began to chop. His eyes watered. Winky grabbed his wrist.
"Stops!" She squeaked, "You's is hystorical!"
"'Hysterical,'" another Elf corrected her.
"That too!" Winky gasped, "What's happened?"
"Master says for Kreacher to do...," He paused, feeling ashamed, "Master ASKS us to do what we wants! He says stays or goes, and says 'pleases'!"
The Elves all gasped in shock.
"And he...he shakes our hands, and calls us friends!" Kreacher confessed. Then he put his head down and screamed into his folded arms. The others moved to comfort him, some of them knowing Kreacher's history, and all that he had lost. After all, an Elf without a House was serious matter for them.
"Dobby always saids that Master Harry was different," Winky reminded him. "Dobby loved him, and he thoughts that Harry loves him back."
"What's you gonna DO?!" Another Elf gasped.
"Make a sandwich," Winky shrugged, patting Kreacher's back. "Dobby said two years ago that Master Harry likes anything, but not horseyradishes sauces!"
When she was done with making her club sandwich, secured with toothpicks topped with olives and truly a work of art, Winky implored Kreacher to take it to Harry. Then she went to a cupboard, and retrieved a sealed enveloped. The wax stamp bore a symbol of interlocking C's, three of them. "You's is to give this to Harry Potters, too," She added. "Someone's left it for him."
Kreacher snapped out of his funk and grabbed the envelope, running his glowing fingers over it, searching for signs of Curses or Hexes. "Clean!" He declared. "What's is it?"
Winky shrugged. "Some little Gryffindor boy leaves it for him, when school starts this year, when the baddies came!"
Several of the Elves groaned. "We dids what we could, sneaking foods, they never sees us, them Dark Wizards," Blinky explained, "We sneaks, we heals, we gets them foods and medicines, potions," he went on, "And when it's bad-bad, we hides them here, under the sinks, or in the ovens!"
"We hid the boy many times," Winky added, urging Kreacher out the door. "You goes now! We has to cook early lunches, or late breakfastses! Many witches and wizardses here needs to eat!"
"Hurry, before they invades us!" Blinky exclaimed.
Kreacher found Harry nearly dozing, still sitting up, when he returned. Harry gratefully accepted the small meal, then patted the bed beside him. Kreacher nervously sat down next to him.
"If he may, sir, Kreacher thinks this is being highly unusual?" He asked, noting how dirty Harry's hands were as he clutched his sandwich.
"I'm an unusual sort of fellow," Harry mumbled, his mouth half full. Kreacher conjured a napkin. "Kreacher, I want you to consider my offer," Harry went on, "Grimmauld Place may be my house now, but it's your home. I won't have you forced into serving me, Kreacher. I'll admit, when we first met, I couldn't understand why Sirius hadn't done away with you," Harry grinned at him, "But I'm glad now that he didn't. I think we had a lot of misunderstandings. I don't want you to have to go." He took another bite. "This is really good," He added, "But I think we also understand a lot more things, now. Life is a gift," Harry turned to stare out the widow. For just a moment, he was taken aback.
Hedwig was pecking at the glass, a letter tied to her leg. Harry jumped out of bed, carefully opened the window, and the white bird hopped in to mount his arm. She playfully nipped at his ear, seeming happy to just have a job. Harry almost never got mail, and the underworked and somewhat plump owl was looking quite pleased with herself. He just knew the letter had to be from Sirius...
Harry sniffled. Didn't the window used to sit higher? He looked down, and realized that his feet were touching the floor now. The canopy didn't seem to be so high anymore.
"There's something else, too, Kreacher," he continued. "Andromeda Black, Tonks, that is, now has her infant grandson to raise. His parents were killed last night. He's only months old, Kreacher, and I'm his godfather. I don't know a thing about babies, but I want to be a part of his life. I want to be there for him, Kreacher. I don't want him to grow up without a family. I want...I want to give him all the things I never had. I want him to have...to have everything...everything he deserves. I want him to be ...to be safe. I want him to be loved." Harry finished his sandwich, his eyes distant. Kreacher vanished the plate and napkin.
"Kreacher loved Mistress Andy, even when they made her leave the House," the old Elf sighed, "Mistress Andy was always kind to old Kreacher. Is it a little boy, we wonders?"
Harry nodded.
"Teddy Lupin," he informed Kreacher, "The last bit of the House of Black, other than Draco Malfoy, and I think Andromeda is older than Narcissa, so that makes Teddy it?"
Kreacher's ears waved, and his eyes went wide. "Kreacher would like to see Mistress Andy and her grandson," he admitted, "If she will have us." Then he snapped his fingers, and a small framed photo appeared in his hand. It was a baby with dark hair. Kreacher sniffled once, then Vanished the photo. "Kreacher can change a nappie [diaper] just like that!" He declared, as if applying for a job.
Harry yawned. "I'm sure they'll be delighted, Kreacher." He offered his hand, and Kreacher took it, looking stunned.
And with that, both Harry and Kreacher knew that the old Elf would be staying on.
It pleased the both of them.
"Master will forgive old Kreacher being blunt, but Master looks like hell," Kreacher said, "Perhaps a bath, then bed? Master could uses a shave? Kreacher will make sure that Master Harry is not bothered."
Harry raised an eyebrow. As tired as he was, he could smell himself. His clothes were wrecked, his shoes ruined, and he could feel the stickiness of drying blood here and there on his body. "I might like having a beard?" He mused, feeling at his chin.
"Uh, no, Master." Kreacher said honestly.
"Kreacher, please don't call me that. My name is Harry."
"Kreacher will tend to his Mast-...friend," the old Elf seemed to order Harry, as he urged him towards the bathroom.
But there was no water. "Must be a busted pipe somewhere, I wonder?" Harry sighed, finding that he'd really been looking forward to a hot bath. "Guess the bath's out?"
"Does we have magic, or not? We has a tub, we has a window, we has a lake," Kreacher snorted, as the window flew open and a jet of water came flying up to fill the tub. Another snap of his fingers, a generous pour of a bath potion, and pleasantly scented steam rose from the bubbles in the tub. Kreacher averted his eyes as Harry disrobed, but as he sank into the water, the old Elf caught a glimpse of him. For just a moment, he saw a laughing little dark-haired boy who was delighted to share his bath toys with Kreacher.
But this was no little boy. The young man before him was lean and chiseled, the months of living off the land and being on the run having hardened him. Numerous small scars, and one ugly larger one on his front, covered his muscled body. He must have been in pain, Kreacher knew, and when Harry handed Kreacher his glasses, the old Elf let go with a carefully placed blast of magic that soothed away Harry's aches. Tiny cuts and burns healed, and bruises vanished under his gaze. Under no restriction to use his magic, as he now understood it, Kreacher began his work.
It wasn't as if he weren't experienced. Master Regulus had given him plenty of practice in the art of first aid.
"What'r you doing?!" Harry gasped, as Kreacher leaned him forward.
"You's is all twisted up," Kreacher told him, feeling at his back with one hand as he wielded a back brush with the other. "Master Regulus was getting like this a lots, needs a chiro-prakky charm, he does!"
"I don't really think you should..."
POP!
"Owww, shite!" Harry yelped.
"Holds still," Kreacher said.
CRACK!
Harry groaned in a mix of pleasure and pain as his vertebra realigned.
"Kreacher can fix most of these damages," the old Elf observed, "All buts for the big scar on your fronts."
"That's where...where the last Killing Curse hit," Harry mumbled, sinking down into the bubbles, now totally relaxed for the first time in what felt like years. "I don't think you can heal it, Kreacher."
"Prob'leez not," Kreacher agreed, "Harry Potter lives through two of them?" He wondered.
"Two of them," Harry agreed, "Let's hope, no more."
"Lets us hope," Kreacher agreed, shoving his elbow into Harry's spine, which cracked and popped some more. Anyone walking in might have thought that Kreacher was trying to murder him, the way he held Harry.
"Oh, God, that's good," Harry groaned again.
"Kreacher gets lots of practice," Kreacher agreed, "You gets clean, this is all Kreacher can do," the old Elf yawned. He got up and left, but later returned with a thick, terrycloth robe. It was red and gold. Harry was nodding in the tub, but managed to rouse himself and let Kreacher wrap him in the robe. Wouldn't that be a headline? Harry wondered, Hero survives battle, drowns in bathtub!
"Where'd you get this?" Harry asked.
"From Neville's things, the boy with the sword. He will not mind, Kreacher transfiggers it to fits Harry Potter," Kreacher explained. "Now you sleeps," Kreacher urged him towards the bed.
"You should get some rest too," Harry yawned again, slipping out of his robe and into the bed, finding himself suddenly warm and dry and somehow wearing pyjama trousers. "Pick a bed." The last thing he saw before drifting off was Kreacher's smiling face.
A few hours later, when the door opened, Kreacher roused himself from Ron's bed. He knew that she was no threat, even though she held her wand and carried herself in a defensive posture. Kreacher offered his hand, beckoning to her to come in. For a moment, she looked unsure. Then she moved across the room silently, almost drifting, as if rising up above the floor. At some time between the end of the end of the world as she'd known it, and now, she'd cleaned up. Kreacher smelled lavender and roses, and as she took his hand, he sensed that she had not slept either.
He also felt the sadness.
As he took her hand, her robe transfigured into a nightgown. She gasped, but said nothing as Kreacher led her to the bed. For a moment, she stared down at him. A mop of black hair in need of a trim hid half of his stubbled face, but the eye that she could see was closed yet moving.
Harry Potter was dreaming.
Kreacher gently pulled back the blankets. She gasped, shaking her head.
"He will need you, Miss Wheezey...Weez-lee, I mean," Kreacher whispered. "Go to him, Miss."
And Ginevra Weasley joined Harry Potter in his bed.
"Thank you, Kreacher," She whispered back, as the old Elf secured the bed curtains and cast a Privacy Charm so that no one would know.
No one but him.
Harry's arm moved, pulling her into a protective embrace, although he did not wake up. Ginny smiled, laying her head on his shoulder. She noticed that Harry was smiling, ever so slightly.
Kreacher closed the bed curtains and Charmed them for privacy.
It was later when the others arrived, quietly taking their beds. For the first time that year, all the beds in the boys' dormitory were filled.
"Sleep well," Kreacher wished them, retiring to the kitchen, as his need for only a few hours of sleep had been fulfilled. "Do not disturb Master Harry," he said in parting, and Ron, Dean, Neville, and Seamus nodded.
"Do you smell roses?" Ron wondered, but he was fast asleep before anyone could answer him.
Roses.
Through the mists, he could smell roses. Harry wondered if he might have died again, as all he could see were the mists. It wasn't unlike when Voldemort had killed him, or rather, killed the Horcrux inside of him. This time, there was no bench. There was no train station. And although he half expected to see him, there was no Dumbledore.
More importantly, there was no flayed, raw, childlike monstrosity squirming and moaning under said bench.
"What is this place?" Harry wondered, unable to see even his own hands and feet. Was he under his cloak, then? No, because he didn't feel it. He realized that he was neither hot nor cold, and that his sense of motion was odd. He thought he was moving, but the sensation wasn't right either.
"Just because it's taking place in your head, Harry, doesn't mean it's not real!" Dumbledore had said, or something like that. Harry smiled, or rather, felt as if he did, and just decided to go with it.
He was drifting, almost flying, without benefit of a broomstick. It was the best he could describe it, really, as he had no prior frame of reference.
"You are the last," a strange voice suddenly announced, and Harry flinched.
"Sorry?" He attempted, finding that he didn't really have a mouth to use.
"You are the Inheritor," the voice said, "Greetings."
"Who are you?" Harry asked, feeling strangely safe and secure. He found that he didn't like that.
"I have many names, but that is not important," the voice explained, "You are the last, and the latest to inherit my gifts. You are the one whom I cannot affect. What you do with them will shape the destiny of this world."
"I'm sorry, I don't get you," Harry apologized.
"You are tired, Harry Potter, and you need to rest. I understand," the voice said from everywhere, yet nowhere, all at once. "But choose wisely, Master. What is to be will be, unless you change it. It is our choices, Harry Potter, that define us. Perhaps we shall meet, someday?"
And with that, the mists all spun away. Harry thought he smelled roses, and although he called out for the owner of that odd voice again, it did not answer him. He reasoned that he must be dreaming, so he concentrated on waking himself up. With so many years of nightmares, he was highly skilled at this.
He awoke with a start, and realized at once that something was wrong. Someone was in his bed! He flinched, blinked, but didn't need his glasses to be able to see an object so close to his face.
That object had a gingery color to it, and it smelled of roses and other nice things.
"Ginny!" Harry nearly choked, suddenly terrified at the thought of Ron, the others, or anyone for that matter, finding him in his dormitory bed with Ginny Weasley in it with him! Harry thanked all the Deities he could think of that his curtains were shut!
How did Ginny get in my bed? Well, how the hell do you THINK, you idiot? He argued mentally with himself. Now what do I do? What do you THINK you should do?
She was snuggled up against him, her head on his shoulder. Harry could see the half healed bruises, little wounds, a scab here and there. He suddenly felt an emotion rising in himself, and it was one that he had felt before. However, it was one that he had always blamed on having been connected to Voldemort.
Harry Potter was feeling a lust for revenge.
Someone is going to pay for this, he thought, noting the little defects in an otherwise flawless beauty. He thought of the others: Dean, Neville, Seamus, Luna, Ernie, and any of the others that he'd left behind. He thought of Ron and Hermione: Ron's Splinch-damaged arm, Hermione's arm scared with the word MUDBLOOD.
"Someone is going to pay for this," Harry said aloud, and he could have sworn he felt a small tremor. He looked at the curtains, but they weren't moving. If there had been a tremor, something should have moved, or at least shown signs of it. But nothing did.
But Harry swore that he'd felt movement, as if with a small earthquake.
The room was suddenly cold, but then it passed.
"Wh-what? Pay...how much?" Ginny mumbled, slowly coming awake. She yawned and stretched, seeming certain of herself and knowing exactly where she was. "Oh, Harry!" She then said, becoming coherent at last.
"Did you feel that?" Harry asked, surprising them both by not asking something like, "Ginny, why are you in my bed in that sexy, negligible nightgown?" Harry suddenly realized why they called them 'negligees'.
"I'm feeling a few things," Ginny smiled at him, moving to kiss him. She brushed the hair back from his face, her lips finding his.
"No, no, didn't the bed just shake?" Harry asked, a few minutes later.
"I don't know, but I think we could arrange it?" Ginny smiled at him.
Harry felt himself going hot, and imagined that he looked a great deal like Ron, color-wise. He wondered if she were joking or not. Something told him that she wasn't.
She's in your bed, you idiot! He argued with himself, his hands seeming to move of their own volition. There's a nearly naked girl in your bed, and you're worried about an earthquake?
He felt warm skin, and when he opened his eyes, he saw hers. For once, he appreciated his awful eyesight; Ginny's face was sharp, but behind her was a blur of the curtains. It was like staring at the perfectly printed portrait, carefully colored to render life just as it should be. He felt her hands on him, and Harry wondered what she saw. He'd never spent too much time looking in mirrors, save for one.
He wondered what that mirror would show now, were it at the foot of his bed? Would it show him only a regular reflection? Would it show him more?
What else could it show me, at this moment? He wondered, thinking himself a fool.
"I had the strangest dream," Harry managed, when their lips parted for just a moment.
"Tell me all about it," Ginny gasped, between long and passionate kisses.
"We'll have to stop," Harry pointed out, her hands moving down his sides, feeling at his ribs, to his abs, as he gently and tentatively touched her breasts.
"Bad idea," Ginny disagreed, "Maybe later?" Harry pulled his hand back. "Not that idea, you silly man!" She moved his hand back.
But 'later' came much later. In fact, when it did, Harry forgot all about his dream. The only choice he had at that moment, right after waking from it, was fairly obvious.
And he made it.
They both made it.
As nature took Her course with the two inexperienced young lovers, their flesh becoming one in the act of making love, neither stopped to ponder silly things like dreams. Or things like whether there was a soundproofing charm on the bed curtains. Or if there weren't, would they be interrupted? Or any number of other things...
For them, there was no aftermath of a war. There was no damaged castle. There were no dead friends several floors below. There was no problem of what to do about the surviving Death Eaters, or the traumatized children left behind. There was only that moment.
The entire world, for Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley, ended where the bed curtains began. It was as if they were of one mind, one flesh. He moved within her, and she moved around him. It seemed natural, perfect, as each of them lost track of the line where one ended and the other began. They were one, and that was the beginning, and the end, of the world.
But even that little world eventually came to an end, although it seemed to last forever. When they came back to themselves, they realized that, yes, there was still a world beyond their curtains to face.
"What have we done?" Harry breathed.
"What we had to do, I think?" Ginny replied sweetly, "What we've wanted to do for so long?" She paused. "Do you see that?" She gasped, as tiny little sparkles of multicolored light sparkled all about them. Harry nodded.
"I've heard of this. Mum mentioned it once, when we...we had the talk," Ginny offered. "She said only Magical folk can see it; it doesn't happen with Muggles."
"What is it?" Harry wondered, finding it almost as beautiful as she.
"Mum called it 'The Bonding'," Ginny said softly, her voice filled with wonder. "She said she saw it, the first time she and Dad...well, you know?"
Harry realized that he really didn't want to think about that.
"Regrets?" Harry asked sincerely, looking again at her lovely face.
"No," Ginny replied honestly. "You?"
"Your brothers, not to mention your mum and dad, will murder me," Harry fretted, and he wasn't joking.
"Oh, they love you," Ginny reminded him.
"I know, but...but I can't just walk up to your dad and say, 'Mr. Weasley, I've just shagged your daughter!'" Harry replied, "Or something like, 'Mrs. Weasley, we did it, and we got this color-cloud of magic dust!'"
"Then how about something like, 'Mr. Weasley, I'd like to run away with your daughter?'" Ginny supplied.
"Do we want to run away?" Harry almost laughed.
Ginny looked serious. "I suppose we can't," she conceded. "There's a hell of mess out there to clean up."
"We could run away after we clean it up," Harry suggested playfully, drawing her near again.
"We could make Ron clean it up," Ginny grinned.
"Ginny, love, did it occur to you that we've just shagged, for the very first time, not six feet away from your brother, my best mate?" Harry asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
"That does sort of ruin it, doesn't it?" Ginny laughed a little. They both had to laugh at the thought of it.
Harry then turned a bit pale. "Ginny, what if I've...I've gotten you...?" He fumbled.
"Contraceptive Charm," Ginny interrupted him, to save him from saying it. "Madame Pomfrey's been passing them out to all the girls. I...I mean, there was talk of...you weren't here, Harry," she seemed to be evading it, looking at his shocked face, "This last year wasn't exactly a party. You've heard about the lessons, the punishments, the torture. But there's more. There's been talk of rape, and a few girls left and didn't come back this year."
Harry's face went hard, and he clenched his jaw so hard that he swore a tooth cracked.
"Harry, I'm sorry!" Ginny added quickly, pulling back just a little, "I wasn't one of them, if that's what you're wondering!"
"I can't imagine anyone even trying," Harry said seriously, "Not with some of the Hexes I've seen you do! Pity none of them tried," he snarled, "I'd pay good money to see your retribution, love!"
"Say that again," she whispered.
"Retribution?" Harry said.
"No, silly, the last word."
"Love?"
"Love," Ginny nodded, kissing him again
"I like retribution, too, though," Harry added.
"So do I," Ginny agreed. "You think we should get up? I wonder what time it is?"
"Time for dinner," Kreacher piped up, peering in through the curtains. They both squeaked in alarm. "Kreacher was wondering if you's wuz ever getting up today?"
They both stretched, but were reluctant to open the curtains. "About eight hours, then?" Harry wondered.
"No, that was yesterday," Kreacher informed them. "You all needed the rest." He looked puzzled. "Oh, them boys is already in the bath," Kreacher added, "We is fixing the pipes first. Don'ts worries, friends, they never knows you's here!"
They'd slept through an entire day!
"Good idea," Harry smiled. "Well done, Kreacher!"
"I think I'll go freshen up, you know, get out of here while the getting is good?" Ginny offered.
"The getting was quite good," Harry was surprised to hear himself say.
"You're cute when you blush," Ginny smiled at him, "Ron's just funny looking!"
And with that, she closed the door.
"You say you've fixed the pipes?" Harry repeated, and Kreacher nodded. "I could use another bath."
Kreacher sniffed. "Yes, you coulds."
Harry still wore a satisfied grin on his face as he entered the showers. Despite his worries, he suddenly found that facing Ron didn't seem to bother him at all. In fact, he couldn't have possibly cared less what his friend thought. That grin fell away, though, when he saw his friends fully naked in the showers.
There's no dividers?
We all shower at once?
So?
Am I the only one with brothers?
Yes!
Harry had to grin. They'd all been shy that first day. It seemed like another lifetime, when they'd all been...undamaged? Was that the word he wanted?
The scars on Ron's left side from being Splinched during their hasty getaway from Grimmauld Place reminded Harry of dents in a car's fender. They were a healed, but were angry shades of pink. He tried to overlook the minor cuts and abrasions on them all, but he couldn't.
Seamus' face was still swollen, his eye still back and his lip split. As he turned, the marks on his back made Harry think that he'd been horsewhipped.
Neville wasn't much better off, as he was trying to wash his hair and had gotten his head to bleeding again. His ankle was also swollen, a very angry shade of purple and ugly yellow.
It was hard to tell with Dean's dark skin, but it looked like he'd fared not much better than his friends. There was an ugly cut around his side.
Someone is going to pay for this, Harry repeated to himself.
"Why haven't you lot had those healed yet?" Harry demanded, dropping his clothes on the floor.
"Scopin' us out, mate?" Seamus laughed at him.
"In fact, I am," Harry replied dryly. "KREACHER!"
There was a POP! Kreacher appeared.
"My goodnesses, you all's looks bad," Kreacher told them.
"Bit brash, isn't he?" Ron gasped, seeming a bit embarrassed to be seen in the showers by the Elf. Kreacher seemed nonplussed.
"Boys, you's is looking awful!" Kreacher pointed out.
"Ya think?!" Dean exclaimed.
"Kreacher, if you're feeling up to it, could you help my friends, please?" Harry asked him.
"We Elfses is good with Charms for cuts, burns, bruises, yes, we is," Kreacher agreed happily, almost sadistically, wringing his hands, Harry thought, as he moved towards Seamus first.
"Does he know what he's doin'?" Seamus fretted.
"Trust me," Harry assured him, turning to show them his own mostly-healed body.
"Looks like he did good work," Dean agreed.
Kreacher began probing a very nervous Seamus, mumbling and shaking his head.
"Madame Pomfrey's too busy, even with the help called in from St. Mungo's, and even with Madame Maxime from Beauxbatons sending help when Fleur called, they can't keep up," Neville informed him, as Kreacher grabbed Seamus and hoisted him up, making his spine pop. Seamus yelled as Kreacher then set into work on his face. "We had to triage, and we decided to wait," Neville went on. "There's a lot of kids worse off than we are, to say nothing of the adults."
"Noble," Harry snorted, lathering up, "Kreacher, if your friends in the kitchen can find the time, I don't care if they cancel dessert. Get anyone who can perform Healing Arts up here and start to work on the students, please," Harry told him.
"This ribby-bone were set wrong," Kreacher observed of Seamus, "When it were broke the first time." Kreacher snapped his finger and poked the boy. Seamus screamed again, doubling over.
"Don' ya know any bloody pain-killin' Charms, yeh daft Brownie?" Seamus insulted him. "Jus' what kinda'r Elf ya got here, Harry?"
"A talented, freelance worker," Harry replied, as Kreacher pressed his palm to Seamus' eye.
"He's murderin' me!" Seamus wailed.
"If it don't hurt, it don't work," Kreacher reminded him. Harry raised an eyebrow at the Elf's tender mercies.
But when he was done, Seamus looked good as new. The Irish boy stared into the steamed up mirror, wiped it, and gasped. For a moment, Harry was reminded of a sandy-haired, crew-cut little boy he'd met on the boats – eyes bright and full of wonder, ever smiling, and amazed at everything.
He doubted he'd ever see that boy again.
"Neville, you're the next victim," Harry said flatly.
"Oh, God," Neville sighed, as Kreacher grasped his ankle.
"You might wants to sits down," Kreacher warned him. "This will hurts – a LOT!"
"I just knew it," Neville winced, as Kreacher went to work.
Several screams later, and he was done.
"You enjoyed that," Ron accused him.
Kreacher nodded.
"It's worth it," Neville groaned in relief. "Damn, he even fixed my face!"
"I'm good, really," Dean waved him off, but Kreacher chased him down.
Ron went last, but in the end, he too had to admit that it was worth it. "Thank you," he said, offering his hand to a shocked Kreacher, who'd been able to restore most of his Splinched arm.
"We wouldn't have lasted as long as we did, if it wasn't for the House Elves," Neville explained, as they dressed for dinner. He tossed Harry a spare set of clothes, and Kreacher set in to Protean Charming them to size. "They were always sneaking into the Room of Requirement, or smuggling kids down to the kitchens for stuff that we couldn't heal."
Then Harry thought of something.
"Neville, how was it that the Creevey boys were able to be here, being Muggleborns?" Harry had to ask, trying hard to not think too much about Colin. Neville, it seemed, felt the same way. He didn't reply at once.
"There wuz some questions o'er their legal status, tied up in court, a real mess o' paperwork," Seamus explained. "Summat about their great-great-grandfather Reeves being an old-world wizard what renounced his powers to live with the Muggles? Kinda strange, if'n yeh asks me."
"Paperwork?" Harry wondered. "Who held up their paperwork?"
"Professor Snape," Neville said softly, and Harry suddenly realized something: the torn picture he'd found at Grimmauld Place, of him riding his toy broomstick in front of his mother: Snape had taken the half bearing Lily's image. The picture of the original Order of the Phoenix: Lily was in it. He'd also had Colin make a backup copy of his photo album that Hagrid had give him.
Pictures.
Colin Creevey's whole world had been about pictures.
Pictures of Lily.
And those pictures had protected him. Lily had protected him, and Dennis, as well.
Harry swallowed a lump that had suddenly risen in his throat.
No, I will not cry! Not here, not now!
"Creevey spent an awful lotta time with ol' Snape," Seamus went on. "Said they were makin' photo potions fer developin' film. We used ter joke that Snape liked little boys," he paused. "Problem was, some of them Death Eaters did. When we found that out, it weren't funny no more."
Harry gasped. First Ginny mentioning rape, missing girls, and now this?
"Wouldn't put it past him, but Colin always said Snape was good to him. He was one of the few kids here who still knew how to smile," Neville added. "It was like Snape was up to something?" He mused, "Like Colin were talking about someone else? You know, I don't think he ever hit anyone?"
"Neville, there's things you don't know about Severus Snape," Harry pointed out. "Things I didn't know, but Dumbledore did. In the end, I...I found out some things. I don't think he would ever have struck a child, given how badly he was treated as a boy."
"He was a spy, wasn't he?" Dean suggested.
"It was planned, weren't it?" Seamus gasped, "Ol' Dumbledore planned fer him to kill him?!"
Harry nodded. "An inside man, and the Order's man, Dumbledore's man, until the end," Harry nodded sadly, as they looked around the Common Room. "God, I've missed this place. I wonder if I can stay here a bit?"
"That explains a lot. We gotta live somewhere, while we rebuild," Neville shrugged. "Might as well be here?"
"Snape was protecting the Creevey brothers?" Ron finally seemed to wrap his head around the idea.
"Colin worked his tail off," Seamus reminded them, "Them Carrow bastards always had him photographin' summat fer 'em. Mostly them," he snorted in disgust, "Wonder they didn't break his camera, they wuz so damn ugly." He thought about it for a minute. "Someone should go check on Dennis. Make sure he comes to dinner. Aberforth told me he hasn't eaten in days." Neville looked hard at Seamus.
Harry saw that look, and he realized its meaning at once.
"Oh, God no!" Harry gasped.
Neville and Seamus nodded at him. Ron looked ill. Dean cringed. "I got nothin' against bein' gay, but what they did was just sick!"
"That one so-called Auror," Neville spat the word, "Jugson, I think? He liked Dennis; he liked him a lot."
"How much is a 'lot'?" Harry snarled, his hands shaking.
"He sodomized him, Harry," Neville mumbled.
"I think seein' you might help bring him out of it," Seamus offered. "By the time we found out and got him hid in tha RoR, it were too late. Tha damage were done. Madame Pomfrey healed his body, but he's bad off in tha head, I think?"
"Anyone would be," Dean agreed.
Harry looked at Neville again. The two Gryffindors nodded to one another, wordlessly agreeing.
Then Neville nearly walked into him. He was one half of a pair that was carrying a body in from the grounds. Harry glanced down and felt another dull blow to his stomach: Colin Creevey, though underage, must have sneaked back just as Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had done. He was tiny in death. [pp. 694, DH]
"You lot go on, we'll be along," Harry said, and the boys flinched at his tone of voice.
Harry went to the door marked Gryffindor Boys' Dormitory – Fourth Years, passing a few others on the way. He recognized one Nigel Wolpert, who had sorted last with Dennis. The boys gaped at him.
"Why haven't you lot been sent home?" Harry had to ask.
"P-Professor M-M-McGonagall ordered us to stay here," Nigel just managed, clearly awed. "Our p-parents haven't c-come yet, sir!"
"Don't call me that," Harry winced, "Is Dennis in there?" They all nodded. "Have the Elves been here to examine you?" They all nodded again. "Good as new?" Merlin's socks, it's like pulling teeth! Harry thought, realizing that the boys weren't awed – they were afraid, standing at attention like soldiers.
"Yes, sir," Nigel, the bravest one, it seemed, answered. "But he won't come out. He just stays in his bed and cries, sir."
"You know what? I can manage him alone, Neville," said Oliver Wood, and he heaved Colin over his shoulder in a fireman's lift and carried him into the Great Hall. [pp. 694]
"Thank you, boys. Now, off to dinner," Harry added, "We've repaired the main stairs, and no banister sliding!" He smiled.
"Yes, sir," the boys all nodded seriously, and off they went.
Harry sighed. There was a lot of work to do here, and it wasn't all about the Castle, either.
Behind that door, afraid to leave his bed, was a little boy who had been beaten, terrorized beyond belief, molested, threatened with death (Harry surmised), had no idea where his parents were, and who had just lost his beloved brother. He steeled himself, wondering if he should go in or not.
"Choose wisely," he remembered that disembodied dream-voice telling him.
Harry knocked.
"GO AWAY!" a boy's voice shouted back, and Harry felt that familiar sensation of being punched in the gut again. I will not cry in front of this child, he told himself.
"Dennis? It's me, Harry," Harry coaxed him, "Can I come in?"
He didn't have to, though. The door flew open, and Harry had just enough time to bend down to catch the sobbing child in his arms. Guilt and grief welled up inside of him as Dennis held him, hiding his face in Harry's shoulder as he wailed, clinging to him as a drowning man might to a life preserver.
He had to stand up on the bench to see the Staff table, Harry recalled, marveling at how tiny Dennis still was for a Fourth Year. One might have mistaken him for a nine-or-ten-year-old, and a puny one at that. Dennis Creevey seemed to weigh almost nothing as Harry carried him back to his bed. He sat, letting the boy cry it out.
"Dennis, you need to come and eat some dinner," Harry said softly, placing his hands on the boy's cheeks and gently wiping his face. He blinked at the boy's screaming yellow pyjamas, convinced that they must have been powered by magic. Or Muggle batteries. "Will you come down with me?"
"N-no," Dennis sniffled, looking away, but still refusing to let go of Harry. Harry's eyes followed the angle, and there on the bureau was a framed 8x10" print of the Creevey brothers. In it, Colin had his arm around the smaller boy's shoulder, pulling him close, as they both smiled and waved at the camera. "Th-they w-won't let m-me s-s-see him," Dennis choked on the words, and Harry Potter lost his resolve. He felt a hot tear spill down his cheek. I was unkind to him, he reminded himself.
"Dennis," Harry's voice broke, and the small boy flinched. He stared back at Harry in awe. "I...I'm so sorry," he offered lamely, not knowing what else to say. But slowly, painfully slowly, the words began to come. "I'm sorry that I had to abandon you lot here, but please, trust me! I was acting on Dumbledore's orders, Dennis. He set me a task, one that would insure that the Dark Lord could be killed, and never return again. I had to do it, Dennis. Please believe me when I say that I never wanted, never intended, to abandon you! If I could go back and undo it," Harry madly recalled Hermione's Time-Turner... "And you've seen the ghosts, Dennis. Death isn't the end of our existence! You know that. Dumbledore once told me that it was just the next great adventure. Somewhere, out there, I'm sure that Colin is...is watching."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive, Dennis," Harry assured him, "When I went into the Forest to face Voldemort, he tried to kill me again. For a moment, I was dead. I was in the Afterlife." He paused, seeing the fascination in that trusting little face. "It's so beautiful that I didn't want to come back. But I knew I had to."
"Th-they told us y-you'd hid, b-because you w-were a c-coward," Dennis sniffled, "But we n-never believed it! None of us! Colin said...he said you'd come for us, and you did!"
The look of pure innocent trust and adoration on the small boy's face nearly made Harry sick. How anyone could have looked into that face, and then chosen to harm him, was beyond Harry. This could well have been the face of any child there. It could have been the face of Teddy Lupin, Harry realized, sometime in the future.
No, this will not happen again! Harry promised himself, promised Dennis...promised them all. Somewhere deep inside, Harry felt something snap.
Then Dennis reached up, his index finger bandaged, and wiped the tear from Harry's face.
"If anyone ever tells you that a man doesn't cry, Dennis, don't you believe it," Harry told him, desperately trying to be the image of strength that Dennis obviously thought he was. He smoothed the boy's hair, unsure of how he would take it – unsure of how Dennis might now react to being touched by a man.
But Dennis just smiled back him.
"Were the Elves here?" Harry asked, taking his hand to examine his finger.
Dennis nodded. "That one batty old Elf, Kreacher, said he was acting on your orders, sir...I mean, Harry?" And for just a second, the Dennis that Harry knew shone through. Then he was gone. "Him and Winky checked us all over. I...I didn't w-want him to t-t-touch me," Dennis began to stutter again. "Th-they d-did things t-t-to m-me..."
"I know, and I'm sorry," Harry cut him off, not wanting to force him to tell the gruesome story. "You don't have to talk about it, Dennis. But you can sleep easy now, knowing it will never happen to you again. I promise."
"H-Harry, what if...they don't find my p-parents?" Dennis whimpered. "Who'll take care of me?"
"I will," Harry told him firmly.
Dennis hugged him again. "You mean it?!"
Harry nodded.
You're a dead man, Jugson, Harry thought.
Amazingly, only a few minutes had passed. There was still time for dinner. Harry made his offer again, and this time, Dennis accepted. He quickly washed up, dressed, and Harry pulled out his wand to Charm his rumpled uniform.
But his hand closed around the Elder Wand.
"Is that it?!" Dennis squeaked in shock, "Is that the Elder Wand?"
"Yes," Harry said in shock, "But I don't recall...? The last thing I want to do is point this canon at a kid," Harry snorted, pulling out his holly wand and fixing the boy's uniform and hair. "A precarious experience for me, as you can see," Harry joked, pointing at his own perpetually messy hair.
And Dennis Creevey laughed. "You need'a shave!"
"C'mon, you have to come and eat, or you'll be sick," Harry told him firmly, taking his hand. Dennis' grip was firm, and it was clear that he didn't want to let go. Good Lord, I'm channeling Mrs. Weasley! Harry fretted.
"Harry?" Dennis asked, on their way down the final staircase, as they carefully picked their way around some larger rubble, "Wha's gonna happen to them what...what d-did that to..." He paused, staring at the doors to the somewhat-repaired Great Hall. One door was still off a hinge, though, and hung askew. Dennis stopped. "I...I can't g-go in th-there!" He suddenly declared, but Harry still had his hand. He saw the look of shame on the boy's face. How many of the others knew?
"Are you a brave Gryffindor, or NOT?!" Harry asked him, his tone harder. "If you retreat to that room and hide, Dennis Creevey, then you've let THEM win! Don't hand it over, Dennis! Show them the stuff'o'what we're made of!" God, now I'm channeling Oliver Wood! Harry then bent down to look the boy in the eye. "You will tell me, Dennis! After we eat, you and I will talk some more. You'll identify who hurt you, and I – will – make – them – PAY!" Harry snarled, his green eyes going wide.
Dennis stepped back at the manic look that flashed across his face.
But he took his hand again, and Dennis took a step forward.
All journeys begin with a single step, Harry thought, wondering where he'd heard that. Probably Hermione, he guessed, as, still holding that small hand in his, they entered the Hall, only a bit late for dinner.
Yes, Dennis, someone is going to pay!
"Harry, will you sit next to me?" Dennis asked in a very small voice, as slowly, the sounds of applause began.
Neville Longbottom looked up from his plate, and then he stood, beckoning to them.
A/N: wiki/Dennis_Creevey
Nigel from the films is considered a canon character after all. God, the horror!
Gryffindor Tower is habitable, according to the DH-book.
WARNING: If you decide to stay with this story, be warned, it's only going to get darker.
