Notice:
Keep in mind that this chapter isn't polished. It's a draft for an idea I played around with. If people want this to become a story, I'll consider making it one. But understand that I didn't try that hard at this first chapter, and it's likely that anything else I post in this "Collection" will be similar, so if the writing quality dips in certain areas, that's why. If certain parts feel rushed, it's likely because I rushed it. Should I actually continue it, the idea/premise would stay, but this first chapter would likely be rewritten.
Summary:
Jasmine Potter has been abandoned by both Ron and Hermione, leaving her with nothing but a tent, a rude painting, a conversational Horcrux, an apparently useless Snitch, and desperation, the last of which leads her to the discovery of her second Hallow — the Resurrection Stone. The dead come forth, and their knowledge comes with.
Possible Pairings:
Gabrielle, who's a bit obsessed with Jasmine and stays at her safe house rather than Fleur's after Voldemort makes his move on France. Once she learns of how broken Jasmine is, her obsession fades, and genuine care and concern replace it. Four years younger than Jasmine.
Tonks, who finally gives up on Remus, duels with Jas to help out. They eventually fall for each other. Tonks wouldn't have been married by this point.
Questions:
Should Jasmine learn from the spirits or "download" the knowledge of those spirits willing, like in Taure's story The One He Feared?
o
Jasmine Potter and the Stone's Summons
o
Chapter 1
A Conversational Evil
Jasmine leaned back in her chair, blinking hard, appearing determined not to ruin her slightly dirt-stained cheeks with tears, all the meanwhile clutching the very object that had just completely shattered two friendships. She was sure she could feel it beating against her palm, with vigor it seemed, as though it was pleased with what had just happened.
The rain hadn't let up. If anything, it was pounding down upon the tent with greater force. There was thunder in the distance, moving closer, and it all seemed to reflect Jasmine's mood so well; the rain's monotony, her unwavering stare at the tent's entrance; the approaching storm, her building fury; the bitter wind forcing its way into the tent, her urge to find her best friends and force her foot up their —
There was a loud clap of thunder. The storm was here now, and after an hour of hoping, almost begging, they had not come back. After frantic pacing, furious thinking, and anger that was ready to spill over the top of the barriers of her Occlumency, she accepted it.
They had given up.
She flung the pulsing Horcrux at the wall and screamed in fury. She ran her hands through her red hair, not wincing as her fingers pulled numerous hairs out. She couldn't believe them. Hypocrites, the fucking both of them. They had the audacity to tell her, of all people, that she shouldn't give up, that she shouldn't take a break to get her mind sorted out.
You can't take a break, Jas, especially now. What we're doing is far too important, you know that.
Hermione's words rang around in her head like one of those old, oscillating, obnoxious telephones.
"Rich, Hermione," Jasmine said, her voice full of bitterness. "Real rich. Can't take a break, Jas, it would be irresponsible. Un-fucking-believable."
She picked up the Horcrux and tossed it into her bag. The pouring rain drowned out the clunking of the locket as it clattered its way through Jasmine's belongings. If there was one thing she couldn't be angry at Hermione for, it was drilling important spells into her. The Undetectable Extension Charm was one of the more difficult spells to learn, but she had done it in the end anyway.
Ignoring the sputtering of Phineas Nigellus Black's portrait, she put him in her bag too. She packed up everything she could. If they wanted to leave her, she wasn't going to be around should they come crawling back. A bitter thought, perhaps, but it felt good to be furious now. It was preferable to the murky depression that had begun clouding her mind in the past few weeks.
"Bloody best friends," Jasmine muttered under her breath, "dumb war, moronic Ministry, fucking Voldemort and his ridiculous —"
There was a loud crack outside.
"— stupid lightning," Jasmine continued. "Can't even pack in peace, can I?"
There was another crack, and another, then two more came, and before she realized what it meant, a total of nine Apparition cracks sounded outside her tent, echoing throughout the forest.
Her wand was out of her sleeve, into her hand, and aiming at the entering wizard in a second. The man froze. His eyes widened in shock as his eyes flickered to Jasmine's scar, and as he opened his mouth, before he could really say anything, Jasmine dove into his mind.
Kidnappings, collected bounties, murder, rape —
A silent Blasting Curse connected with the man's chest, sending him flying out of the tent, half his body engulfed in flames and his ribs no doubt crushed — Jasmine doubted he lived. She heard shouts from outside, incantations right after, and her Full Body-Shield Charm was up instantly.
Spells ripped their way through the tent, most missing, a few hitting her shield, which absorbed the hits. She pushed as much magic as she could into the shield as more spells crashed into it, and then, grabbing her bag with her free hand before she did it, she pushed —
The shield burst outwards, and the tent did the same, its own Undetectable Extension Charm failing with the explosion, and really, only adding to it. As it happened, Jasmine placed a Disillusionment Charm over herself, and stood in place. She looked around.
Six figures were getting up. One remained on the ground, on fire. One was impaled to a tree with a piece of wood, wood she recognized from the tent. She hadn't a clue where the ninth one was, and as much as she wished she could not care about that, she couldn't afford carelessness. Not now.
She was surrounded.
Six people had their wands out, pointing vaguely in her direction. A single thought, Levicorpus, and one of the men was lifted off the ground by his ankle — he yelped — Jasmine raised him higher, let him go, cast a Summoning Charm on a rather sharp looking stick from behind the man, and then, he had been impaled.
Five were left.
The spells she had cast had no visual effect, and they remained clueless as to where she was. They could guess, of course, and that's exactly what they did. Jasmine's Shield Charm intercepted the three spells that had sped towards her — a Smoke Charm stopped any chance of them seeing her now, even if they had clearly seen their spells splatter against her shield. She dove to the side as more spells flew towards the spot she was in, her Disillusionment Charm failing.
"It's her!" came a rough, but loud voice. "Potter! We've got her!"
The smoke cleared, and the five remaining men advanced on her, their wide smiles instantly vanishing at the sight of Jasmine Potter on her knees, a look of pure determination plastered on her face, and her eyes blazing… blazing, just like the tip of her wand.
It was quite remarkable how a deep, hidden flicker of fury could so quickly become a raging inferno, and indeed, the small flicker of flame that sparked from the tip of her wand so quickly became a whirl of Fiendfyre, a tornado of uncontrollable rage, that the men stood no chance, not really.
As Jasmine zigzagged through the trees, ignoring the torturous screams from behind her, she considered tossing the Horcrux into the flames, but as this was quite literally her first successful casting of Fiendfyre, she very much doubted her spell was as powerful as Fiendfyre ought to be.
She sent spell after spell into the stormy clouds above her, hoping to find where the Anti-Apparition Jinx ended. The screams became no more, and the sound of the fire became more distant. She looked back, and even through the heavy storm, through her long, wet hair, she could see the red glow.
She closed her eyes.
The storm raged around her, the rain drenching her, chilling her to the bone. A completely different chill filled her too, and a hollow feeling; she had just killed nine people. The storm thundered its agreement.
It was self-defense, and that's all there was to it.
The storm shook the tree she was leaning against, and the thunder was louder than ever before. It boomed around her, shaking her very bones as it rampaged across the land. It was as though nature itself was disgusted with her — wanted nothing more to do with her, as though she was the one who attacked first. And in a way, she was.
Kidnapping, bounties, murder, rape — it was self-defense, and it needed to be done.
She opened her eyes, and Disapparated.
Hermione and Ron opened the door to Shell Cottage. They entered the home. They felt almost empty. Guilt rushed through every vein of their body, and the amount of hope they had for Jasmine still being alive seemed to be nothing, for they felt as though they were being swallowed by misery.
"Did you —" Mrs. Weasley began, but seeing the devastated look on Hermione and Ron's face, she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. "Please, don't say it…"
"We…" Hermione began, tears pouring down her cheeks. "We found the campsite…"
"Was she not there?" said Mr. Weasley quietly. The Order members leaned forward.
Ron shook his head, staring at nothing in particular. "There were so many bodies."
"Some of it was definitely Jasmine's work," whispered Hermione as she sat down in one of the seats at the table. "I think she must've said You-Know-Who's name while she was in the tent —"
There were small gasps around the table. Tears began streaming from Mrs. Weasley's eyes. Remus closed his eyes in pain, hoping against all hope that Jasmine was still alive.
"It looked as though the tent exploded from within," continued Hermione. "I think she was surrounded, but she blew the tent outwards to surprise the Snatchers. We found nine total bodies —"
"Nine?" exclaimed Fred and George.
Hermione nodded, and held back a sob. "Five were definitely men. The other four… we couldn't even identify the gender… It was… Fiendfyre — we don't even know if one of the charred bodies is her or not."
Hermione couldn't hold herself back anymore, and she broke out in sobs.
After everybody let this news sink in, Kingsley spoke up with his deep voice. "This is Jasmine. If there isn't a body, I don't believe she's dead."
"But Kingsley," said Mr. Weasley, comforting his sobbing wife, "she was outnumbered, one to nine possibly. How —"
Kingsley stood up. "Jasmine held her own against twelve Death Eaters, all of You-Know-Who's inner circle —"
"They weren't aiming to kill then."
"And they aren't now. You-Know-Who wants to kill her himself. If she could hold her own with only Neville Longbottom by her side against twelve Death Eaters when she was fifteen, she can hold her own against nine Snatchers now — especially now — you know how much focus she's put into dueling over the last year. If there's no body, I don't believe she's dead. Now, if you'll excuse me."
Kingsley left the room, leaving the rest of the Order with only the smallest hope.
"I can't believe we left her," said Hermione once she had enough breath to speak.
"How did it feel, Tom? Did you feel guilt? Satisfaction? Pleasure, even?"
Jasmine rested her chin on her folded hands, eyeing the locket, her breath visible with every breath she let go. It had been — truthfully, she wasn't really sure how long it had been since she had been abandoned. Weeks? Months? The snow had begun falling, so sometime in the winter. Her watch was broken, and she hadn't been that bothered to go out in public and check a newspaper.
She pulled the woolly hat on her head further down to completely cover her ears.
"I felt nothing."
Jasmine nodded to the Horcrux's words, not at all surprised. It had been weeks ago when she had opened the locket, had been tempted by the soul piece to — what was it exactly that the Horcrux expected to happen if it taunted her? All she did was laugh at the ghostly figure of Tom Riddle. It had taken many more openings, but eventually, she was able to have a normal conversation with him — or at least, as normal of a conversation one could have with a locket containing a piece of soul.
"You know I'm going to destroy you, right?"
The Horcrux didn't respond, but Jasmine could feel the magic it surrounded itself with. It was trying to make itself menacing. It was rather amusing, the little locket. It had nothing to tempt her with. It had nothing it could truly offer her, nothing she would believe the fractured little soulshit could really give her.
Over the lonely weeks, Jasmine spent half of her time simply thinking: where the rest of the Horcruxes could be; if practicing casting Fiendfyre was worth it; if Hermione and Ron were still alive; if everybody else was still alive… and much more. She had mastered almost every spell she knew, even nonverbally, and the few books she carried didn't offer her any new knowledge. She had tested her newly founded mastery of certain spells against any Death Eaters or Snatchers she came across.
She had lost count of how many Death Eaters she had killed, but she knew it was over thirteen. It was the same with Snatchers, except she hadn't killed most of the ones she came across. Most didn't mind tossing a muggleborn to the dementors for a paycheck, but some of them weren't completely evil. Instead of killing these ones, she often snapped their wands… and arms, legs, fingers — with spells, of course — often Dark ones with the arms and fingers, so those would never recover.
She didn't use Dark curses with the legs. She wasn't a monster.
"Say, Tom," she began again, "you think I could use you to find the other Horcruxes?"
She was sure the eye inside the locket twitched.
Jasmine sighed. "Probably not. Dumbledore would have done it with the ring. I'd have got rid of you already, you know, if I didn't want to burn this barnhouse down."
"You do not have the skill to cast Fiendfyre."
Jasmine scrunched her face in indignation. "But I literally used —"
"Weak, basic, rudimentary Fiendfyre," the Horcrux said. "You are nothing. I will kill you. I will disembowel you and —"
"Does your memory reset after an hour or something?" Jasmine asked, not expecting an answer. "You've threatened me with disembowelment sixteen times now; death by fire nine times; death by Killing Curse only twice, surprisingly; decapitation a staggering thirty two times."
The Horcrux was silent for a full ten minutes. Jasmine grabbed a book once she realized it wouldn't respond and began reading — she thought 'Death' had a bit of a point in killing those who mocked death.
And then: "I want it to sink in."
Jasmine startled, losing her page. "What?"
"I want it to sink in, that I will kill you."
Jasmine frowned. "Are you talking about what I said literally ten minutes ago? Close," she hissed in Parseltongue. The locket closed with a small clang. "I must've dropped the poor bloke on his head last time we moved locations." She looked up, eyes unseeing, face blank. "God, I'm losing it."
Several more weeks passed by. Not much of interest happened. Jasmine did visit Godric's Hollow, fight a venomous snake, bring Bathilda Bagshot's home down in her impromptu duel with Voldemort, but for the most part, she spent her time moving from place to place, practicing magic, pleasuring herself, thinking, diving into Voldemort's mind in an attempt to find something. It was all a rather pointless search, really.
Whether it was January or February, Jasmine wasn't sure, but she was sitting against a tree, writing out a list of the best places she could put Phineas Black's portrait (she was fairly certain she was going mad), purely to annoy him, when a doe Patronus wandered in the clearing in front of her.
After briefly wondering what reason she'd have for casting a Patronus, and just why she was losing her memories now, she got up, tipped Phineas Black's portrait into the snow, muffling his ramblings, and walked up to the doe, leaving the magical tent she had created herself behind.
It fled, and she chased after. Eventually, the doe stopped on top of a frozen pond. Jasmine looked down at the ice, clearing off the frost with her wand, and saw her blurry reflection. She Transfigured a part of it into a mirror, and seeing her reflection, she grimaced.
She looked terrible. Dark circles lay under her bloodshot eyes, as though she hardly ever slept, and she hadn't, really; she was lucky to get two or three hours of sleep a night. Her red hair was now dirty, messy, and just unkempt in general. She looked like a woman who had given up, and she wasn't even sure if she had or hadn't.
She blinked hard several times and forced her eyelids to stay open. The doe had disappeared. She stepped onto the frozen pond, wondering if she had hallucinated the entire thing. And then she was looking down, through the ice, at a familiar looking sword.
She considered swimming down to it, but thought that was a bit ridiculous. If a Summoning Charm didn't work, she would just place a Sticking Charm to the end of a long stick. But first, she'd need to deal with the ice. She aimed her wand at the ice below.
"Diffindo!" Jasmine shouted, putting as much force as she could into the spell. The ice beneath her cracked, and then broke apart. Jasmine fell right into the water, cursing her own stupidity as the ice cold water instantly woke her fully. She twisted in the water and began swimming down — what would be the point of not getting the sword now that she —
Something tightened around her neck, and she reached up to feel what it was — the locket. She hadn't even realized she had put it on. She had left it in her bag, hadn't she? But now, the sword was getting further and further away… or was it just her vision blurring? She tried to swim up, but she was being pulled to the side rather than up, and she was only vaguely aware of a bright blue light, a whip of some sorts, reaching into the water, wrapping itself around her…
And a moment later, she was on the snow, and a very familiar voice was berating her for her stupidity.
"Stupid girl!" shouted a voice.
Jasmine looked up, brushing her wet hair out of her face, and her blood ran colder than she thought was possible given how cold she already was. Severus Snape stood above her, looking down at her with incredulity.
"Potter!" Snape said. "A Cutting Curse right under you, and jumping into the pond with that locket on — fool!"
Jasmine shook her head, sure that this was a hallucination. Snape sounded angry that she had nearly died. Isn't that exactly what he wanted? Wasn't he on Voldemort's side?
"Y-you," Jasmine coughed, "you saved my life…"
"Your life shouldn't need saving in the first place!" Snape snapped. "No, Potter, I do not wish you dead," he added when he saw Jasmine's face. "And you look more terrible than usual."
"B-but you killed —"
"I killed Dumbledore because he asked me to. Is your mind closed?"
"What?"
"Your mind! Is it closed? Have you closed it off? Has the link been reopened? If he sees into your mind and sees this conversation, I must know, Potter!"
Jasmine nodded tiredly. "You know he hasn't been able to get in for over a year now. Was it his hand that really killed him?"
"Yes," Snape said. "He was to die anyway. Get up. You have a Horcrux to destroy."
Jasmine's eyes widened only slightly. "You know?"
Snape closed his eyes and seemed to be holding back a deep sigh of frustration. "Up, Potter," he said, putting the sword in Jasmine's hand. "Before you ask, I placed the sword in the pond because you weren't mean to know that I —"
"How did you find me?" Jasmine interrupted.
"The portrait. You mumble to yourself, and Phineas Black overheard it."
"Remind me to burn him."
"No. It'll be a decent enough way for me to communicate with you. Keep him with you."
Jasmine nodded as she stood up.
"You're taking this surprisingly well," Snape said, eyeing her. "I killed Dumbledore in front of you."
"Did you?" Jasmine mumbled. "Well, you know, hallucinations are very real."
Snape turned his eyes from the trees to her. "Ah, yes. Phineas mentioned this. He seems to be under the impression that you're going mad."
Jasmine shrugged as she picked up the locket and began walking back towards her tent, not really answering Snape or giving him another thought.
"Just how long have you been alone?" he asked.
Jasmine shrugged again. "I dunno, few weeks, few months — who knows?"
Snape raised an eyebrow. "And you've had no one to speak to other than the portrait?"
Jasmine shook her head, sending drops of water onto Snape's robes. "The locket. It can talk. We have conversations… sometimes… they're rather one-sided," she said, feeling her hair and the rest of her body dry as Snape waved his wand over her.
"You've been having conversations with the locket?" Snape asked, and there was a surprising amount of incredulity in his voice. "Your stupidity truly astounds me."
"My two best friends left me. I'm being hunted down by the Ministry. I've killed more people in these last few months than I could count, and I've the whole world on my shoulders. Tom's inane ramblings about choking me with my own intestines amused me," Jasmine said, and she saw Snape grasp his wand tighter and move slowly away from her. "I won't hurt you. I'm not really crazy. I've just stopped caring. Before, I had something to fight for. Now, the only thing driving me… the only thing keeping me going… the only thing that's still burning inside me —"
"Revenge," said Snape simply. "And I've no worry about you hurting me. It's me having to hurt you that concerns me."
"I suppose so," said Jasmine. They had reached Jasmine's tent now. "Wipe your shoes, Snape. Death Eater or not, I won't have you dirty my place of living."
Snape took a look around, holding Phineas Black's portrait that he had picked up from outside. There was a single large bed in the far end of the entrance. Snape only noticed it was a bed by the very tops of the bedposts. A sturdy looking wall hid the rest of the bed, likely for quick protection, Snape assumed. He looked around everywhere again. "It's clean."
Jasmine snorted as she sat down, running her fingers through her red hair. She locked eyes with Snape, and Snape looked away. She tossed the Horcrux onto the ground below, and gripped the sword.
Snape stopped her. "What are you doing?"
Jasmine looked up and squinted at Snape.
"And I thought you fixed your eyesight," he added. "You're not wearing glasses anymore."
"I did. My vision just goes blurry sometime — lack of sleep, I think. And to answer your question, I'm destroying the Horcrux."
"You've spent months talking with the Horcrux, Potter! You are not going to be the one to destroy it. You'll easily succumb," Snape said, sneering down at her with disgust.
Jasmine narrowed her eyes at him. "Why do you hate me so much?"
Snape didn't answer. He took the sword out of her hands and kicked the locket to the center of the tent. "Tell it to open."
Jasmine frowned at him. "I told Tom I'd destroy him, but whatever, open."
The locket clicked open, revealing two eyes in the glass inside. "Severus Snape. I have seen your heart, what you truly desire," it said.
Jasmine leaned back in her chair, looking bored. "Seen your dreams, blah, blah, blah, fears, desires, you dread this and that —"
"I can bring her back…"
Snape, who had the sword raised above his head, faltered. His face was now pale. Jasmine looked interested now. Snape — her? Who did Snape once have?
"Your heart longs for her. I can bring Lily Potter back."
The sword came crashing down upon the locket, and a long, drawn-out scream tore through the tent. There was a moment of silence.
"Odd," Jasmine said. "I could have sworn he said Lily Potter."
Snape didn't respond. She couldn't see his eyes due to his long, greasy black hair, but she was sure he was staring at the locket still.
"Well," Jasmine said, standing up cheerfully. "Now I get why your Patronus is a doe."
"Potter —"
"Can't believe you were in love with my mother, though."
"Potter, if you know what's best for —"
"Makes sense, I suppose, why I've caught you staring at me sometimes. What I don't understand is why you still hate me."
Snape dropped the sword, gave a glare that could melt steel, and walked to the tent's exit. He stopped at the flap. "Because you're a disgrace to your mother."
Jasmine seemed unperturbed by this. "Or maybe you hate me because you hate yourself."
Snape stilled. Jasmine knew she had him.
"I understand though. I mean, I am half your age. You should hate yourself for finding me attractive —"
"Potter!" Snape snarled.
Jasmine waved her hand at him dismissively. "I won't judge you for that. What I will judge you for, however, is —"
"You're a Horcrux."
Jasmine stopped talking, her mouth still open, her face frozen.
"It's why you speak Parseltongue," Snape said. "It's why you share the connection, and it's why you must die in the end. Do the world a favor and make sure that day is sooner rather than later."
And with that, he left the tent, leaving Jasmine in her frozen state. Perhaps it was the absence of the Horcrux now, or what Snape had just told her, or both, but the spiraling staircase of madness she had been descending seemed to suddenly become like the staircase leading to Dumbledore's office — except it was much quicker.
It sped upwards and tossed Jasmine through the door and back into reality. The countless Death Eaters she had killed, some very brutally, the months she had spent talking to a locket, the fact that Snape was really on her side, that she was a Horcrux —
She did the only thing she could do. She sat down, Summoned firewhisky, and didn't bother getting a glass.
Jasmine woke the next day, surprisingly on her bed, and unsurprisingly with her head pounding. She went to brush her hair out of her face when she noticed she was holding the Snitch, only, it was open — and empty.
Jasmine sat straight up, ignoring the hammer inside her skull trying its best to break out. She had somehow opened the Snitch, even found what was inside — but what was inside? She didn't remember a thing from the night before, unless she was to count wallowing in her own misery.
And then that's when the night before — the months before came flooding back, and wallowing in her own misery suddenly sounded like something she should do now.
Snape was on their side. Excellent.
She had killed numerous people. Not excellent.
She had one Horcrux down. Wonderful.
She was one Horcrux. Not wonderful.
For some odd reason, this last thought didn't really seem to bother her. So she would have to die. What was the big deal? What did she even have to live for anymore? Certainly not any best friends. No special someone to look forward to spending her life with. No particular job or passion. Nothing but the satisfaction of seeing the fear in Voldemort's eyes once he realized he had lost.
It would have enough, if she could even be alive when the time came for him to die.
She wasn't sure if she should be concerned with the fact she wasn't too concerned over the fact she'd have to die. Would she have to die though? Who said? Dumbledore? She had lost nearly all respect for him. There were innocents, yes, but really, if Voldemort were to have his body destroyed again, they would be fine for another decade… unless Voldemort made plans for that, which he would have undoubtedly done.
Still, if she decided she didn't feel like dying, there was nothing to stop her from simply leaving the country. Would Voldemort hunt her down to the ends of the earth? Likely, yes. She paced around, thinking about her death.
She stepped on something sharp. Jasmine looked down once she removed her foot from the sharp object. She bent down and picked it up, bringing it to eye level. She turned it in her hand, examining it.
It was a black stone. She knew exactly what it was. There was no question about it.
I open at the close.
Jasmine cursed Dumbledore under her breath as she turned the stone over in her hand again. This was no doubt something Dumbledore intended for her to use right before she walked to her death… something to give her a little push in the right direction. She turned over the stone once more.
She looked up.
A/N:
I've got a rough idea of where I could go with this story. It wouldn't be long. Maybe 50k-75k words. I'm also leaning towards the Gabrielle pairing. She'd be 14 at the start, but as the years pass by, she would likely be 16 while Jasmine is 20 when they get together. Not a large age gap, in my opinion, with people at war.
If I went down the route of having Jasmine "download" the knowledge of Dumbledore or other spirits, I'd make Jasmine's mind a complete mess at first, for obvious reasons. This would play in with Gabrielle helping Jasmine work through her issues. Doing this also wouldn't make Jasmine instantly powerful. Unless she wishes to have her personality destroyed by Dumbledore's 100+ years of memories, she'd need to lock it all away in her mind, and slowly take out the useful parts.
