Disclamer : J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter, I do not own Harry Potter, therefore, I'm not J.K Rowling. The main pairing is gay. Don't like, don't read.
Summary : A prophecy. Going trough the Veil to be with Sirius again. A twinkle that won't die. Puppet Potter is no longer.
English is not my first language. I proofread myself but mistakes can slip through. If someone is interested in being my beta, please contact me in PMs.
Twinke, twinke, won't you die?
CHAPTER 1 : Through the Veil
Harry was standing in front of the archway. The same archway his godfather had disappeared through that night on his 5th year at Hogwarts. He could still see him. Mistaking him for James but proud nonetheless, a cheeky grin stuck on his face as he was battling Death Eaters with ease. And this moment where the green light had been rushing towards him. His look of surprise and then his empty eyes as he was falling through the Veil. And then nothing. Nothing at all. No goodbyes, no body to mourn, no time for it either. Nothing. Just this cold emptiness that seemed to have taken permanent residency in his body. Everything was a blur after that. He had been possessed by Voldemort who had brought back his worst memories. It was like having a dementor inside of his head really. So he had conjured all his good memories, fighting him with happiness and love as hippy as it could sound. He had won this battle but he had lost everything else. As Voldemort retreated, the cold emptiness inside him didn't. It was a stain and he knew there was no getting rid of it. He thought he had with Ginny. Ginny. He felt anger rising and filling his whole body, its heat washing over the ever-persisting cold. He thought he had been in love with her. How could he have been? He was mourning, having nightmares and crying silently in his bed every night. How could he have possibly thought he had noticed her. How he hated the girl that had wanted to manipulate him. How he hated everyone for constantly trying to tie strings to him to make him a puppet. To them, all he was was a convenience. A boy with money, a title, power, and kindness. A boy to use and then to dispose of. He remembered when Slughorn had introduced them to Amortentia. The smell emanating from the cauldron. Leather and gunpowder, petrichor and a little bit of musk. How he had silently wanted to bury his nose into the cauldron. It had nothing in common with Ginny's scent. She smelled of broom polish, butterbeer and the distinct smell of what he associated with the Burrow. He loathed that smell he had been forced to breathe in as if his life depended on it as if it was his oxygen. Because it wasn't. It was a trick.
"This book is dangerous Harry," he remembered her saying. And yes it was, but this was not the reason why she pushed him to get rid of it. It was to get her hands on it. It was for the page 64. The recipe of Amortentia. The half-blood-prince, Snape, had annotated the page thoroughly and you could sense the longing in the writing. It had been too easy on Ginny. Brewing the potion was a child's play with the Potion Master's instructions adding to her eagerness to make Harry fall in love with her. For a while, he couldn't pinpoint when she could have given him the potion. He was careful to check for potions that year, as Romilda Vane had already tried to trick him into a potion-induced love state.
And then it struck him, the horror of it and its poetry. Their first kiss had been when. He could remember how she attacked his lips in the Room of Requirement and how he had loathed it and her gloss. It was in the gloss. He remembered now how it had smelled exactly like in Slughorn's classroom for a second. But then his mind had been crowded with fake feelings and happiness trying unsuccessfully to hide the cold from him. And it was what had saved him in the end. This cold he had loathed for so long. this emptiness. It had told him that whatever he was using to fill the void was not the right piece, the right shape. It didn't belong there. And he had been split for awhile. His head telling him the redhead was the one he loved while his heart. his whole body even was fighting the invasion. He was grateful for this void inside him or else he would have been doomed. He remembered the bitch's frown when he had refused to sleep with her. He remembered the hushed conversation she had had with Hermione in the comfort of the Common Room and how Ron had tried to talk him into it. He had tried to talk him into sleeping with her sister for Merlin's sake. And then somehow, something had snapped in him. He had broken free of the influence of the potion the same way he had fought the fake Moody's Imperius curse back in year four. It had been more difficult this time around because it was coming from inside of him. It was not like an external attack, no, this was far more insidious. And then it was like he had broken free from more than the potion. He could see it all now. The manipulation of Dumbledore. How he had been forced to go back to the Dursleys every summer even when Sirius had a perfectly suitable house under the Fidelius Charm. How Dumbledore had not intervened in favor of Sirius when he had been arrested back in eighty-one. Damn, the old fool was Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and he hadn't even flinched at the lack of a trial for his former student, a former member of the Order of the Phoenix. He even had defended Snape who had actually took the dark mark back then. But he understood now. What a better way to ensure Harry would look up to him than to rescue him from an abusing home and endorsing the role of a benevolent grandfather. If Harry had lived with Sirius, there would have been nothing to save him from, no way to have such a malleable boy at his disposal. He would have been cared for and confident and as powerful as he should have been. But Dumbledore had been a master in crafting his plan. He had cut Harry from the wizarding world, ignoring his parents' will and left him with muggles he knew abhorred everything that was remotely out of the normal range. Then he had had Hagrid to show Harry around. Hagrid! Harry loved the groundskeeper but he was nowhere capable enough to introduce him to the wizarding world. The semi-giant regarded magic with as much awe as him. He had certainly introduced him to his foe early on, but not to his heritage. He had not told him about what being a Potter meant. It meant being the Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House Potter, having a seat in the Wizengamot, political power. How he had raged when he had learnt that Dumbledore had been the proxy for the House Potter in Wizengamot sessions. It meant being the owner of multiple vaults and not just his trust fund. And it meant manors with real bedrooms he could have lived in instead of a cupboard under the stairs.
Then he had conveniently met the Weasleys. And in his young mind, they had been a lifesaver, the embodiment of goodness. Add to that having Molly Weasley as a first mother figure and he was done for. He held everything they told him to be true, especially the anti-Slytherin propaganda that had been comforted by his encounter with Draco Malfoy. His fate had been sealed right then on the station and somewhere, blue eyes had twinkled.
The truth was that Dumbledore was paying the Weasleys with gold taken from his vault and the worst was that the family knew it. That was the reason why Ron had befriended him and why Ginny had wanted to become his love interest. Of course, not all of the family was bad. He was sure, Bill, Charlie, and the twins hadn't known. He couldn't be sure as he hadn't confronted anyone about it. He had had to think like a Slytherin to tackle this treason. Gryffindorish behavior wouldn't have done any good. He had secured his vaults and assets at Gringotts. Since he was of age, Dumbledore was not his guardian anymore but he hadn't been barred from withdrawing from his vaults. It had to be changed. He kind of had emptied his trust fund. He had put all the gold it contained into the pouch he had stolen to Hermione. He had put some charms on it to change its horrendous appearance and he was wearing it, shrunken. around his neck.
He thought about Hermione. She had also been a deception. She had been Dumbledore's spy from day one, making sure that all was going accordingly with the old fool's plans. All of this for what? Private tutors to stay ahead of her peers and a bloody note to be able to access the Restricted Section of the library. Harry could feel his blood boil.
He had also shrunk his school trunk and had put it in the now leather pouch as well. For the Potter's and Black's seat in Wizengamot, he left instruction that they should remain dormant and in no way be at Dumbledore's disposal. He was rather proud of himself on this. He thought again about his meeting at Gringott's. He couldn't understand why wizards despised goblins so much. They hadn't been anything if helpful to him. Patient despite his lack of knowledge, understanding and even upset on his behalf. They had talked him through all the procedures and they had also given the very reason to stand before the Veil. A prophecy. Again.
It made sense when he thought about it. That goblins were notified when prophecies involved their clients. If not, how wizards were supposed to know there even was a prophecy about them? Were they supposed to wander in the Department of Mysteries until, by luck, they stumbled across their name? How he was kept in the dark about the Wizarding World angered him even more.
He had asked his newly appointed account manager, Blordak if it was possible for Gringotts to have the prophecy be sent there—as he would rather not go back to the Hall of Prophecy—and the next day, he was listening to it, sitting alone in one of Gringotts' many offices.
The one who was cursed to bear, a stranger's soul for sixteen years.
Shall to the one who could not die, for the last time Death be denied,
For the one whose name is dark shall bring him light once through the arc.
The one who was cursed to bear, a stranger's soul for sixteen years,
Shall be, when no allies remain, reunited with Death's omen.
He had thought about it a lot. That led him to the Veil through which Sirius had disappeared two years ago. "The one whose name is dark" must have been referring to his godfather's family name and "Death's omen" to the man's Animagus form, the Grim. If he understood correctly, he needed to go through the Veil to be reunited with Sirius but he wouldn't die because "for the last time Death should be denied" to him. Well, he felt rather flattered to be granted so many last chances. The number of times he died but not really would be ridiculous by now. But what was waiting for him on the other side? If not Death, how was he supposed to see his godfather again? Did he care? After all, the prophecy was right to say that he had no allies left. The people he considered to be his family had all betrayed him. Since he vanquished Voldemort, everyone was seeing him as a tool to gain power, or money, or fame. He had nothing left to lose. Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could feel the void inside him be drawn towards the Veil. As if a magnet was pulling him from the other side. Merlin, he was definitely suicidal, he thought.
His hands went to his neck and his fingers brushed lightly over the soft leather of his pouch. He had everything prepared. Even if he was now hesitating to go through with his resolution, he had consciously cut himself completely from his life before coming. He opened his eyes and there was now a flicker of determination in the green orbs. The best moments of his life, if not spent with the traitors had been the short ones he got to spend with Sirius. He let his memories of the man flow through him, feeding the void and the pull in his stomach and with a sharp breath, he crossed the Veil.
Cold ran through him but it didn't bother him as he had been living with the cold for quite the time now. The whispers he could hear when standing next to the Veil were now screams and he squeezed his eyes shut as if it could dim the painfully loud voices in his head. He felt hands, he thought, trying to grab him. He shuddered as what felt like fingers brushed against the nape of his neck. When he thought it couldn't be worse, a stench assaulted his nose, menacing to make him throw up. And then as fast as it came, it stopped. In a second, everything stopped. Only remained a warm breeze against his face, and he could feel what seemed to be grass tickling his ears. He dared to open an eye and was faced with the sky and its million stars. He was laying on his back and stayed in this position for a few minute, catching his breath, before sitting up. He took his surroundings into sight and it was all too familiar. He was on the grass, a few meters from the Black Lake, in Hogwarts. What was he doing here? He was supposed to get Sirius back. It was supposed to be good for once. Going through the Veil to land on Hogwarts' ground was rather anticlimactic. He felt tears rolling down his cheeks and choked back a sob. He was supposed to see Sirius, he kept repeating himself while rocking back and forth, now crying openly. The pain, the deception was too strong and he didn't know if he would ever be able to bury it all in once more. He didn't know if he could keep going. A pained moan escaped his lips and he felt his body shake with sorrow. A growl resonated through the night and he was sure it wasn't his own. In a second, he was on his feet, wand in hand, with tear-stained cheeks and that's when he saw it.
A seemingly very angry werewolf.
Your thoughts dear reader?
I'll establish a publishing schedule next chapter!
