The Second Chance
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing of J. K. Rowling and Kurinoone's universe. This story is written with permission from Kurinoone, and is based on Kurinoone's fabulous, beyond awesome story- "The Darkness Within" (which was inspired by Project Dark Overlord's wonderful story- "The Shattered Prophesy").
Chapter 3: Spinning A Lie
At Riddle Manor, Harry Potter awoke from an extremely bizarre dream. He raked his memories, but his efforts to remember his previous night's dream proved fruitless. Already the details were slipping were slipping from his grasps.
There was a quiet, hesitant knock, and Lucius entered the room, holding a Potion.
"Har- Prince!" Lucius exclaimed, his face relaxing into a smile. "You're awake."
Harry looked at him, surprised and suspicious. "Thanks for stating the obvious."
Lucius nodded, as though accepting a compliment. "Your potions are here, Prince."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Potions?"
"You were hurt severely, Prince," continued Lucius, not looking at Harry. "You will require some Potions to replenish -"
Harry was staring at Lucius as though he had grown another head. "Hurt severely?" he repeated, looking disbelieved. "I think you were having a hallucination, Lucius. I am in perfect health condition."
Harry gave Lucius another withering look and literally bounded off his bed into the bathroom. He emerged a second later to confront a wide- eyed Lucius.
"Why does my bathroom smell of smoke?" he asked, his gaze piercing.
Lucius looked on the verge of panic. "Smoke?" the Malfoy repeated, looking appropriately horrified. "I guess I didn't clean it thoroughly enough yesterday. I'll just- "
"Never mind," Harry said, waving him away. "I've already got rid of it. What I'd like to know is the reason why my bathroom smelt of smoke."
'Oh no', thought Lucius. 'Barely five minutes since the Dark Prince woke up and he's already suspicious.' Lucius seemed to struggle on the verge of speech, but Voldemort arrived to his rescue.
"Harry, come to my study after your breakfast," he said. "We have much to discuss."
Harry gave Lucius one final suspicious glare before nodding in acknowledgement. He then entered the bathroom and slammed the door behind him, leaving Lucius to inhale deeply and carry out the tray of Potions to face the Dark Lord.
"My Lord, he didn't even need any of the Potions," Lucius said as they descended the stairs. "He was totally unhurt. How?"
Voldemort did not answer immediately. "Harry came of age yesterday night," he replied.
Lucius was stunned. "His magic healed himself? That means, it was the reason why he was able to throw off the memory charm temporarily-"
"I must remind you to refrain from using his name in other's company," said Voldemort, cutting across Lucius. "Once we step foot out of the North Wing, Harry's name must not pass from our lips."
"Yes my Lord," said Lucius immediately, the saucer rattling as he carried the tray. "But are the House Elves allowed to serve Harry?"
"No," said Voldemort. "Not in person. I do not trust them not to let slip something as important as this."
Lucius nodded and followed behind dutifully. "But when Harry starts asking me about the potions, what shall I answer him? And what of Bellatrix?" The flaws in Harry's memories seemed impossible to overcome.
Voldemort smirked. "As for that, Lucius, you can leave it to me."
Ten minutes later found Harry following the familiar corridors to his father's study. After knocking once to announce his presence, Harry grasped the golden handles and turned them.
Lucius was already present. He was seated on Voldemort's right, but when Harry entered the room, he leapt up immediately and moved over to the Dark Lord's immediate left.
Harry closed the door behind them and sat across Lucius. Malfoy squirmed a bit as he saw Harry's expression. The Dark Prince's confident and annoying smirk was not playing on his lips as usual. On the contrary, Harry looked a tad worried and suspicious.
"What was your last memory before you passed out, Harry?" asked Voldemort, his ruby red eyes scrutinising Harry.
Harry rubbed his forehead and concentrated on his memories. Somehow, it seemed so long ago. It couldn't just be yesterday, could it? "Bellatrix's red alert," he said suddenly. "I arrived at the building... there were figures in black strewn over the floor. I reached Bellatrix, but she was unconscious. After that... I don't remember anything else." Harry looked defeated as he failed to recall what had happened.
Voldemort nodded. "You were knocked out by five Stunning spells from behind," he said. "Lucius arrived shortly after that and hauled you to safety. Unfortunately, Bellatrix never made it. The figures in black strewn over the floor were actually Order members in disguise."
Harry's face was white; he looked anguished. His fists were clenched tightly by his side. "I failed," he said, as though he couldn't believe it. "I failed everyone."
Lucius felt guilt gnaw at his heart as he saw Harry looking so defeated in front of him. It hadn't been like that! Bellatrix was killed by Voldemort himself.
"The Order killed Bellatrix?" asked Harry, looking directly at his father. "Didn't they capture her instead?"
"Bellatrix was maimed badly," said Voldemort calmly. "She was hit by the Markalline Curse. There was no hope left. She begged me to relieve her of her pain, and I granted her her last wish."
Harry sat back, his head reeling. Bellatrix was dead! She would never be around anymore. No one to pester him. No one to force feed him his meals. No one left to bicker with him.
"Harry," said Voldemort firmly. "Harry, look at me."
Harry did as he was told, his mind still a whirl.
"It wasn't your fault," began Voldemort. His tone was stern and brooked no argument. "I forbid you to blame yourself. Grief is just another weak humanly emotion which I wish you to forget. Do you understand?"
Harry nodded absently, though even Lucius could tell that Voldemort's speech made no difference to Harry. Nothing would stop Harry from blaming himself, from experiencing guilt at disappointing both his father and Bellatrix.
"Answer me, Harry," said his father sternly.
"Yes, father," said Harry, his expressionless mask falling into place.
"Good." Voldemort placed a copy of the Daily Prophet on the table. It showed a Black Tomb, with the glinting golden words 'Harry James Potter' on it. "You have been unconscious for a long time, so I shall fill you in on the details- what is the matter, Harry?"
Harry was staring at the date of the Daily Prophet, disbelief etched on his features.
"31st July 1998?" he said.
Voldemort was stunned, but he quickly covered it with a sigh as though Harry's question was understandable. "You were Imperiused, Harry, by Dumbledore himself. Naturally, you do not remember anything of that period. You managed to fight him enough, and you did not disclose our greatest secrets and location. We only managed to snatch you back and relieve you of the curse yesterday night."
"Dumbledore found out your true identity at once, undoubtedly, after he removed your mask. The Wizarding World was an uproar. After I managed to snatch you back, however, I wanted the Wizarding World to believe that I had killed you. That way, it sways their hope from Dumbledore. So I made a Black Tomb in the middle of Hogsmeade yesterday night and pretended to kill you in front of all of them, before lowering a fake corpse into the coffin. The Wizarding World believed that you had turned to the Light when Dumbledore Imperiused you, so they imagine I killed you for the reason of betraying me."
Voldemort stopped and studied Harry's broken expression. "You should have killed me," said Harry, his face taut and white. "I failed you, not once but many times."
"I forbid you to blame yourself Harry," said Voldemort in a harsher tone than before. "Do not force me to repeat myself. I want you to concentrate on our project to seek revenge, and I expect only the best from you to make up for your past failures. Understood?"
This time, Harry did not answer. There was a loud crack, and the table suddenly split in half, causing Lucius to jump in his seat. Harry's emerald eyes were now a dangerous black.
"For how long?" he asked, his fists tightly clenched by his sides to prevent his accidental magic from inflicting more damage in Voldemort's study.
Just for a few seconds, Voldemort was reminded of the time when Harry regained his memories, and guilt stabbed him again.
"How long was I Dumbledore's mindless puppet!" snarled Harry, his eyes showing no sign of emerald.
"Since the day Bellatrix died," answered Voldemort, his eyes boring into Harry's. It was necessary that his son developed a strong enough hatred towards Dumbledore and the Order for Voldemort to ensure his lies were never discovered.
Harry had to clench his teeth to prevent himself from destroying Voldemort's study altogether.
"I'll be back later," Harry said, jumping to his feet and he practically ran from the room.
Harry followed the familiar road leading to his training grounds. Once inside, he bolted the door behind him, before letting magic burst out of himself. Bolts of power smashed through the ceiling overhead, and debris rained down Harry, but he paid no attention. Angry tears were brimming in his eyes, but he brushed them away quickly. Tears were a sign of weakness, nothing more.
He allowed anger to radiate out of himself, letting his magic course through his every pore. It would never happen again. He'd never be controlled like a mindless puppet by anyone else anymore! He would rather die than betray his father. Another bolt of power shot through his fingers, and the strengthened ceiling started to crash downwards.
Harry stared at his fingers in surprise. He had never been that powerful before. He had damaged the ceiling before in his fits of rage, but nothing that exaggerating. The ceiling had never crashed.
Then the answer came to him. He was already seventeen! Yesterday night had been his seventeenth birthday. But he remembered nothing of it. Thanks to a certain Albus Dumbledore. He now had his full power at his disposal.
Watching the blue sparks playing around his fingers gave Harry certain satisfaction, and enabled him to calm down. His father was right. He was merely wasting energy shooting his power around, damaging his training grounds. He needed to plan; to plot against Dumbledore and turn the full force of his powers on that manipulative old man.
He repaired the ceiling with a flick of wandless magic, then noted the absence of his wand. He planned to ask Voldemort about it when he first entered his father's study, but after learning Bellatrix's death and his being Imperiused, the thought of his wand had completely slipped his mind.
Harry took a deep breath and wrenched open the door knob. Almost at once, he nearly collided into Lucius, who was standing nervously by the doorway. Lucius immediately leapt clear of Harry's path when the Dark Prince approached. Then Malfoy noticed Harry's emerald green eyes and relaxed visibly.
"The Dark Lord was worried about you," he offered. "A-Are you alright?"
Harry looked dishevelled and sweat ran down his face as he turned to face Lucius. But he managed to quirk a small smile in Lucius' direction. "I shall be, after Dumbledore's demise."
Lucius smiled. "It's good to see you back, Prince."
Potter Manor
Since the moment of his waking, the day passed excruciatingly slowly.
Damien woke groggily some time after eleven, praying fervently that yesterday night had only been a dream. But the emptiness in Potter Manor was real, and the sight of his brother's empty and unslept bed snuffed out the small ray of hope he had.
Molly Weasley arrived by the Floo Network some time at noon to provide him lunch. She said Ron and the others were still asleep. However, Lily remained in the confines of her room for the entire day. When Damien asked Molly about the Order members' safety, she had merely replied they were all fine, except for a few casualities. So far, Tonks, McGonagall, Draco Malfoy, Mundungus Fletcher and Kingsley were still at St. Mungo's, but their injuries weren't serious and would heal quickly. Molly assured him that they would be discharged within a day.
Just for something to do, Damien took to packing up Harry's things into boxes in the evening. Since his mother was obviously not up to it, and James was currently hospitalized, it was up to him to clear away his elder brother's things. The sooner he finished packing up the better; delay only proved to be both cruel and hurtful.
Harry's Hogwarts robes. Harry's Muggle wear.
All clothes in the box.
The Hippogriff toy. The miniature broomstick.
All presents in the box.
It hurt him no end to stash away his elder brother's things, and more than once tears stung his eyes, but Damien assured himself that those were just because of the dust.
There were pictures too. One of them showed Harry and him chasing each other on broomsticks in the Quidditch Pitch of Potter Manor. Another: Harry was eating ice- cream and scowling at the camera. Harry looking guilty. Harry opening a Jack- in- the- box present.
There was another photograph, which Harry kept in his jeans pocket. It showed Harry as a cute one- year- old, held preciously in the crook of his father's elbow. James threw Harry up into the air and caught him, laughing as he did so. Lily reprimanded him in the background. Damien picked up the photograph and kept it in his robes.
An hour later, Damien had finished clearing up the room. He laid down on Harry's bed and exhaled a long breath. It felt weird to open the dusty cupboard downstairs again. It was the same cupboard where Lily and James had stored Harry's birthday presents before they learnt of Harry's survival a year ago. Damien sighed. It must have been really hard for his parents, to lose Harry twice in a lifetime.
Suddenly, from behind him, a very heavy something pounced, punching the air out of Damien.
"BOO!" barked a familiar voice.
"Uncle Siri!" gasped Damien, struggling out from beneath Sirius, who was grinning madly from ear to ear.
"I see you have found him," said Lily's voice outside the door. Damien looked up and saw his mother smiling.
"Prongsie's awake!" squealed Sirius in dramatic excitement. "The Sleeping Stag has finally pried open an eyelid! Let us go and pry open the other one."
Damien massaged his sore ribs. "Was that really necessary?"
"Aw, come on. I just wanted to enlighten the dreary atmosphere," replied Sirius, pulling Damien to his feet.
"Dad's really awake?" asked the youngest Potter, following his mother and Sirius out of the room. "Can we go see him now?"
"Why do you think I dropped by?" said Sirius.
"I don't know, maybe it's because you just remembered me? Nobody dropped by to see me since yesterday night," said Damien, pretending to pout.
"Ah, don't you get dramatic," said the elder man, grinning widely. A bit too widely, in Damien's opinion. Sirius had to mask his feelings too. Harry adopted the expressionless mask; Sirius grinned to hide his feelings and Lily turned away to hide her tears. Somehow, everyone found the need of putting on a brave front.
"Says the forty year old man who squealed and pranced about," retorted Damien, hurrying to keep up with his father's best friend.
Sirius gave him a playful cuff on the head. "If James were here, he'd support me," he said, reaching for a handful of Floo powder.
Damien grinned back. Maybe things would go right after all.
Eleven o' clock, Night- Same day
Two hours after being discharged from the emergency ward, James lay fuming in his bed at the lack of time his being allowed to spend with his friends and family. Lily and protested, Damien tried his puppy-dog- eyes look, Remus put forward an impressive argument, and Sirius wailed like a banshee; but the Healer would not waver from his decision. A smile tugged on his lips as he remembered how Sirius had clutched hold onto his bed stubbornly and wailed at Healer Davis, causing quite an embarassing scene for both. In fact, two guards had to pry Sirius' fingers of James' matress and dump him outside. One of them wondered aloud about Sirius' relationship with James, and sneaking a look at Sirius, James knew he felt as disturbed as he was.
A sudden stir brushed behind the curtains, slightly startling the tired Auror. He blinked again, then, on deciding it was nothing, he averted his gaze and stared up at the ceiling. A long, rattling sigh escaped him; a sigh filled with guilt, sadness.
"Dad! Is the Healer gone yet?"
The sudden hiss from underneath his bed jerked him wide awake, and he would have shot upright if not for his frail and uncooperating limbs.
"Damien!" he whispered, sounding utterly horrified.
"Is he still there?" his youngest son demanded.
"Gods above," whispered James, half- clutching his heart. "Yes, yes- he's gone- really, Damien, what are you- "
With a silent creak from underneath the bed, sure enough, Damien Potter began to crawl out on his hands and feet, wincing.
"Funny I didn't see him go out," grumbled Damien, his back stiff and aching.
"What are you doing here!" James exclaimed. "Lily will worry, Damy. You must go back. Does anyone else know you're here?"
"Uncle Siri," replied Damien, grinning in the semi- darkness. "That was why he started bawling and everything. Although admittedly, I never expected such a big distraction."
"Never ask your Uncle for a distraction again," groaned James, although he himself was smiling.
Damien laughed quietly. "The minute Healer Davis said that time was up, Uncle Siri gave me this... look, and I couldn't resist- so I ducked down beneath the bed when he flung himself forward to hold your mattress."
James laughed, too.
For a minute or two, both were silent; then James spoke.
"How was it at home yesterday night?" he asked, albeit rather awkwardly. "It must have been rather... hard, huh?"
The young boy looked up, his smile slowly fading.
"I mean- what I meant was, it must have been quite lonely... without- without..." James faltered, unsure of what he wanted to say. "It must have been lonely without me."
That came out wrong.
But Damien nodded, agreeing completely. "Of course it was lonely," he said in a jovial matter- of- fact tone. "There was only mum and me around, and the Weasleys, Sirius and Remus were busy with Order meetings. But now it'll be different... because you'll be coming back home with us!" He tried to end his speech with an excited uprise, but it came out as wrong as James' statement.
James shook his head sorrowfully, letting his grief win the battle over him. "Yes, Damien- it will be different, but not because I'm going home. It's not me that makes a huge, big difference at home. I'm a grouchy old fellow that shuts himself up in his room everyday."
Damien fell silent; his facade broken. Silence descended again.
"I'm really sorry, Damy," said James in a lower voice still. "I know I've been a horrible prat to you ever since Harry came back. I...I took you for granted. I mean, like... when Harry first called me 'dad', my heart swelled with such ferocious gladness... and when you called me 'dad', like you did everyday, I was swelling with fury at that time, because you never told me that you were in contact with your brother... I said the worst thing I ever did in my life-"
"You're babbling," said Damien, sounding genuinely amused this time. "Uncle Siri said that the last time it ever happened to you was when you were asking mum out on a first date."
James grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess so. But your mum didn't think I was babbling at all- because she was all nervous herself."
A glint of mischief lit up the younger boy's eyes, a thing that had not happened since a year had passed.
"Uncle Siri told me about the first date," he said solemnly. "I never knew it, Dad. You never told me."
Damien sounded so serious and solemn that James felt instantly alarmed. "What?" he asked, sounding slightly panicky. "What did that stupid Sirius tell you? Everything was fine and perfect. Nothing went wrong."
Damien raised his eyebrows.
"What? Really! We... well, we just went to Honeydukes, and then to Three Broomsticks for a little drink and talked over our recent projects. Really!" said James. "What did Sirius transform the tale into? A lovesick lover going after a maiden who is after another guy?"
"Exactly," said Damien, still holding his serious mask in face.
"Now look here, Damien," said James sternly. "Our first date was NOT forced, whatever Sirius may have said."
Damien gave up his play and started to laugh. "Really, dad, you talked about projectson your first date? Uncle Siri told me that you talked about weatherson the second one, and I thought that was bad. No wonder mum rejected the third."
James made a splutter of indignance, then resorted to lying back down on the bed and squeezing his blanket as though it were Sirius' neck.
"I hate Sirius."
And as both burst into unsuccessfully controlled laughter, with a burst of immense relief and gladness, James knew that he had been forgiven.
A/N: Thanks for all your support! Please drop me a review :D!
Take care,
Epsilon Scorpii