The Demons Hidden Within
Chapter 6: Home
Posted: 11/16/03 Re-posted: 11/24/03 ~*~*~
~April 1997 (6th year)~
*And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives . . . *
The prophecy's lines have haunted me since I first heard them. Nearly two years from the fact, they ring now as clear as they had when I heard them in Dumbledore's office.
* . . . The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord will be born as the seventh month dies . . . *
I jerk out of my absent-mindedness as I hit the dungeon floor, hard. Snape stands above me, twirling his wand in a way I've come to see as disappointment. Like always, he does not offer me help up. I wonder, not for the first time, why Dumbledore entrusts me to Snape's training. Surely he has a reason, but I am still unable to direct my thoughts towards it.
Whatever the reasons, I've spent three days a week with Snape since the beginning of my sixth year. One day given to Occlumency, one to countercurses . . . and the third dedicated towards the curses themselves. At first I struggled against this reasoning. Curses? I was too high minded in the black and whiteness of the world to study that which I was fighting against. Needless, I finally set to questioning my belief system after the death of Ron. He sacrificed himself, and something snapped inside of me, a cord of reality that I had never even felt the presence of.
After a long month of dread I finally emerged stronger for my struggles. I questioned my beliefs, found that there is, indeed, that gray area, and with that revelation the world took on a whole unfamiliar array of colors.
I woke up one day, to see the world with that different view, and found myself to be claustrophobic in the Great Hall. All those students, every single one of them, had no idea what happened outside of these walls. All of them still held obstructed views of reality, and none that knew differently saw fit to tell them otherwise. A stereotyping Slytherin curse from Ginny finally tipped me over the edge of feasible thoughts and I rushed from the Hall, unable to control my emotions that freely ran from my body. Snape always calls them my greatest weakness, but I . . . I cherish them as my greatest strength: they remind me that I am still human.
It was Snape who found me that night, sitting in the astronomy tower, trying to make some sense of these new revelations, trying to force my emotions into the way things used to be . . . a way which was forever gone. The world was not divided in lines of black and white anymore. There was no good and evil, nor any right and wrong. And somehow, without saying a word, Snape became more of a human that night and less of the purely evil Potions Master that joyed in taunting Neville. No spirit can be inherently good or inherently evil.
Snape, of all the wizards in the school, had also come to terms with this. It was that night, when he led me down from the astronomy tower, not saying a word, not taunting me for being out of bounds, not scathing me, but, most of all: not offering any false consolations that were so freely given off the lips of others. . . . It was that night that my respect for him came.
It was also then that I understood the reason for studying curses. For the power of the curse lay not in itself, but in the intentions of the caster.
*. . . And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . . *
But, understanding the reasons behind studying and actually studying are two separate concepts. And so, I currently kneel on the dungeon floor, trying to catch my breath, as Snape stands poised, twirling his wand in disappointment.
"What happened?" Snape's cold voice rings through my thoughts, his calculating method of teaching me defense. With the underlying question: 'What did you do wrong this time?'
I shake my head, trying to clear it, running the events through. My mind has been wandering all day, lack of sleep taxing my mentality and the words from the prophecy endlessly echoing. What actually *had* happened? The drill was simple enough: curse Snape. Hell, put like that it should be fun . . . if it weren't for his damn shields.
"Distracted," I say, finally rising, as Snape looms, bidding for a quick solution to my problem. I'm not about to go in depth to say what I was actually thinking of: that damned prophecy.
"No, Potter. As far away as your small mental capacity may be tonight, that infliction was not of your own derivation. Just like your father, so ready to believe everything is in direct influence of your own actions. You take the griever's fault--"
If Snape has taken to learn anything of me, it is that he can get a rise easily by bringing up my father. But tonight, I am not taking his mental games. Tonight, I do not want to play along with his calculated equation. "You would take care to note that I am not my father," I interrupt him. My voice is calm, an eerie resemblance to the quiet anger that he also possesses. It's slightly frightening, how during these lessons I've begun to unconsciously pick up some of his traits.
"You are right: you are not your father. He, at least, possessed a mediocre amount of skill to support his arrogance."
Defeated, I shake my head. He still does not understand. I neither wanted nor asked for this to be placed on my shoulders. Yet, I sit here and know that the wizarding world has placed all their hopes in me. Snape was right, I have no extraordinary skills, I possess no overwhelming intelligence.
*. . . The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord . . . *
But what "power?" What is this magnificent weapon that I am supposed to yield against the man who lurks in the shadows of my waking dreams, whose face is one wrought from children's nightmares? I hold no ultimate power. Yet, still, people place their trust in me.
Snape leers at me, as I stare off into the shadows. Well, not all people. At least there is one man who believes there to be nothing special in this Boy-Who-Lived. With that thought, I came back to the lesson with my full concentration.
"Thank you," I say, looking him in the eye. He looks confused, but I don't care to explain father. I need someone there to not place any trust in me. . . .
*~*~*~*~*~*
A carriage awaited me when I apparated to the edge of Hogsmeade the next morning. The Thestral pulling it reminded me too much of what I had tried to run away from, telling me in its silence that I had never succeeded in escape. As the carriage pulled onto the grounds, I felt the power radiating off of them. Raw magical power, that I had not been attuned to before, perhaps because I had been too used to its presence. I connected with it now as the castle appeared before me, and those dark windows brought on a word that I had not dared to associate with any other place but this: Home. I was finally home. The magic pleasantly greeted me, surged through my brains, and I let out a breathe I had not been aware of holding.
The carriage stopped all too soon for my nerves. I sighed, half in desire and half in anguish. My home, yes, but I had also forsaken it. Yet, this was not the same place as it was before. Hogwarts was not still filled with the warmth and isolation from my youth, rather it was quite the opposite. By entering this building, I was giving up any isolation that I now possessed. But, then again, that wasn't any different than the decision I made when I first entered these walls. Perhaps Hogwarts had remained as unchanged as it was in my mind. It was myself, now, that held a new perspective.
Despite my hesitations, I couldn't find any regret in my decision to return. My home still, indifferent to the time and motivations, Hogwarts remained to be. With one final glimpse towards the high turrets of the castle, I emerged from the carriage. It was indeed time to give up my freedom and return to the world that I was an inherent part of.
Dumbledore awaited me in the Entrance Hall. The twinkle in his eye still defying any ailments of age. Along with his school, he remained resilient to the years. Though he had manipulated me into this, I found that in his presence I was powerless to hold any grudge or raise any complaints. And at his warm greeting I knew his heart held no ill desires.
As we walked up the stone steps, the portraits looked on curiously.
Dumbledore talked on about a topic that I hadn't quite grasped. I heard the words, but they didn't pass on to comprehension. I merely walked, in awe of the stones surrounding me and the moving paintings that I had nearly forgotten about. Diagon Alley had brought back many memories, but none so striking as the halls of Hogwarts.
I stared dejectedly at the paintings as I passed, my eyes connected with a portrait that brought back vivid memories of isolation, Violet, the wizened witch who looked on as I was named the Fourth Champion. She looked into my green eyes, gasped dramatically, jumped back in her frame, and without a polite word to me scurried off. I could see her running down the hall through neighboring paintings headed in the direction of the Gryffindor tower. So much for secrecy, within five minutes the gossip had already begun.
Hogwarts remained the same as always as we took a short cut that led towards the Defense hall. The walls carried the whisperings of the past, to feint to be properly heard but still insistent on my ears. The Gray Lady passed, a timeless beauty, saying nothing to us as she remained lost in her forlorn grief.
"Harry?" Dumbledore was staring at me, concern apparent.
I came crashing back to the world at hand, my fantasies of a past Hogwarts left behind in the shadows. "Yes?" I asked with a bit of Snape-ish touch.
"I suggested that Poppy look at --"
"It's nothing," I cut him off, nervously twitching my hand. I would not have magic fiddle with my lost fingers. I did not want to yet deal with that part of my past nor did I want to take chances with unknown levels of magic.
"Surely there can be something done." Damn that twinkle. If he had not been standing there, I would surely have scoffed off his concern as curiosity, but that twinkle showed no sign of personal want. My mentor's ever-telling eyes showed only concern for me.
"It was a small blood price," I said shortly. "It would not be wise to meddle with settled bargains."
I knew he meant well, but I did not want to wake these demons so early in the day. They were meant to live only in the shadows, and I did not want to pull them up. Perhaps eventually I would have to, but not quite yet.
Dumbledore nodded his head in understanding to my wants. As manipulative as he was, he would not argue needlessly.
He stopped suddenly and turned to the obsidian statue of a Hebridean Black. The Defense hall lay around the corner, but as a student I had rarely come this way.
"Mephistopheles." Dumbledore said, and the dragon jumped aside revealing a door that was not listed on the Marauder's Map.
I refused to take in the irony of the password, as I entered the room.
"I'll leave you to sort your things. There's a staff meeting at one, I trust you'll be there." Before I could reply, he was out the door.
Sighing, I skimmed over the quarters. I stood in a sitting room, decorated in red and gold. I cringed at the colors, bereft of any house pride. The rifts between houses had nearly become our downfall, as the sorting hat had warned. I thought of changing them, but that was pulled from my mind as my eyes wandered to the twin trunks lying in the next room. One I had bought in Diagon Alley only yesterday, but the battered edges of the other struck a recognition deep inside. My old trunk that I had left at Hogwarts and forgotten the existence of had apparently remained in Dumbledore's hold.
I bent next to the trunk and opened it. Slowly, deliberately, taking in the musty smell of time, I looked down into my past. The rush of memories that hit me were not born of darkness for once, they held no connection to my sleepless nights. Rather, they told of the bittersweet sunrises over Hogwarts and my enchanting dreams.
Despite all the paths I had taken and all my sleepless nights, all my wanderings and all my doubts, Hogwarts remained, indeed, my home.
~*~*~*~*~
A/N: This was written mostly while listening to large amounts of Nickelback, so forgive if my current obsession shows through at all. I'm not to secure about the first part, I feel I may have killed Snape. Course, I fear that I killed DD too. . . .
This is really only half of what I wanted in this chapter, but I've had this part done for a while and I wanted to post this weekend. The rest will come eventually. . .
Remember that "real life" I mentioned last chapter that suddenly showed up? Well, it decided to disappear and shred itself into oblivion. . . . little tiny bits of oblivion . . . Twice. ::shakes head:: Never fall in love, its easier that way. . . . Anyways, its made me think about this fic more (though it may not seem that was, as this chapter's long overdue) and I've finally decided that this will NOT be romantic whatsoever. (Based on a combination of recent experiences and what I want to do with the plot) So that HP/SS possibility I mentioned at the beginning is gone (as is any HP/RL that may have popped up). This is definite. My sincere apologies to anyone that was reading this just to see Harry get it on with someone.
And cake to all the reviewers. :-) A big yummy chocolate cake.
Re-A/N: just fixed the parts I didn't much like. Nothing major, just flows a bit better now. Next chapter's partly written but I don't know how much time I'm gonna get to work on it. (Shhhh . . . I should be studying now)
Chapter 6: Home
Posted: 11/16/03 Re-posted: 11/24/03 ~*~*~
~April 1997 (6th year)~
*And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives . . . *
The prophecy's lines have haunted me since I first heard them. Nearly two years from the fact, they ring now as clear as they had when I heard them in Dumbledore's office.
* . . . The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord will be born as the seventh month dies . . . *
I jerk out of my absent-mindedness as I hit the dungeon floor, hard. Snape stands above me, twirling his wand in a way I've come to see as disappointment. Like always, he does not offer me help up. I wonder, not for the first time, why Dumbledore entrusts me to Snape's training. Surely he has a reason, but I am still unable to direct my thoughts towards it.
Whatever the reasons, I've spent three days a week with Snape since the beginning of my sixth year. One day given to Occlumency, one to countercurses . . . and the third dedicated towards the curses themselves. At first I struggled against this reasoning. Curses? I was too high minded in the black and whiteness of the world to study that which I was fighting against. Needless, I finally set to questioning my belief system after the death of Ron. He sacrificed himself, and something snapped inside of me, a cord of reality that I had never even felt the presence of.
After a long month of dread I finally emerged stronger for my struggles. I questioned my beliefs, found that there is, indeed, that gray area, and with that revelation the world took on a whole unfamiliar array of colors.
I woke up one day, to see the world with that different view, and found myself to be claustrophobic in the Great Hall. All those students, every single one of them, had no idea what happened outside of these walls. All of them still held obstructed views of reality, and none that knew differently saw fit to tell them otherwise. A stereotyping Slytherin curse from Ginny finally tipped me over the edge of feasible thoughts and I rushed from the Hall, unable to control my emotions that freely ran from my body. Snape always calls them my greatest weakness, but I . . . I cherish them as my greatest strength: they remind me that I am still human.
It was Snape who found me that night, sitting in the astronomy tower, trying to make some sense of these new revelations, trying to force my emotions into the way things used to be . . . a way which was forever gone. The world was not divided in lines of black and white anymore. There was no good and evil, nor any right and wrong. And somehow, without saying a word, Snape became more of a human that night and less of the purely evil Potions Master that joyed in taunting Neville. No spirit can be inherently good or inherently evil.
Snape, of all the wizards in the school, had also come to terms with this. It was that night, when he led me down from the astronomy tower, not saying a word, not taunting me for being out of bounds, not scathing me, but, most of all: not offering any false consolations that were so freely given off the lips of others. . . . It was that night that my respect for him came.
It was also then that I understood the reason for studying curses. For the power of the curse lay not in itself, but in the intentions of the caster.
*. . . And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . . *
But, understanding the reasons behind studying and actually studying are two separate concepts. And so, I currently kneel on the dungeon floor, trying to catch my breath, as Snape stands poised, twirling his wand in disappointment.
"What happened?" Snape's cold voice rings through my thoughts, his calculating method of teaching me defense. With the underlying question: 'What did you do wrong this time?'
I shake my head, trying to clear it, running the events through. My mind has been wandering all day, lack of sleep taxing my mentality and the words from the prophecy endlessly echoing. What actually *had* happened? The drill was simple enough: curse Snape. Hell, put like that it should be fun . . . if it weren't for his damn shields.
"Distracted," I say, finally rising, as Snape looms, bidding for a quick solution to my problem. I'm not about to go in depth to say what I was actually thinking of: that damned prophecy.
"No, Potter. As far away as your small mental capacity may be tonight, that infliction was not of your own derivation. Just like your father, so ready to believe everything is in direct influence of your own actions. You take the griever's fault--"
If Snape has taken to learn anything of me, it is that he can get a rise easily by bringing up my father. But tonight, I am not taking his mental games. Tonight, I do not want to play along with his calculated equation. "You would take care to note that I am not my father," I interrupt him. My voice is calm, an eerie resemblance to the quiet anger that he also possesses. It's slightly frightening, how during these lessons I've begun to unconsciously pick up some of his traits.
"You are right: you are not your father. He, at least, possessed a mediocre amount of skill to support his arrogance."
Defeated, I shake my head. He still does not understand. I neither wanted nor asked for this to be placed on my shoulders. Yet, I sit here and know that the wizarding world has placed all their hopes in me. Snape was right, I have no extraordinary skills, I possess no overwhelming intelligence.
*. . . The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord . . . *
But what "power?" What is this magnificent weapon that I am supposed to yield against the man who lurks in the shadows of my waking dreams, whose face is one wrought from children's nightmares? I hold no ultimate power. Yet, still, people place their trust in me.
Snape leers at me, as I stare off into the shadows. Well, not all people. At least there is one man who believes there to be nothing special in this Boy-Who-Lived. With that thought, I came back to the lesson with my full concentration.
"Thank you," I say, looking him in the eye. He looks confused, but I don't care to explain father. I need someone there to not place any trust in me. . . .
*~*~*~*~*~*
A carriage awaited me when I apparated to the edge of Hogsmeade the next morning. The Thestral pulling it reminded me too much of what I had tried to run away from, telling me in its silence that I had never succeeded in escape. As the carriage pulled onto the grounds, I felt the power radiating off of them. Raw magical power, that I had not been attuned to before, perhaps because I had been too used to its presence. I connected with it now as the castle appeared before me, and those dark windows brought on a word that I had not dared to associate with any other place but this: Home. I was finally home. The magic pleasantly greeted me, surged through my brains, and I let out a breathe I had not been aware of holding.
The carriage stopped all too soon for my nerves. I sighed, half in desire and half in anguish. My home, yes, but I had also forsaken it. Yet, this was not the same place as it was before. Hogwarts was not still filled with the warmth and isolation from my youth, rather it was quite the opposite. By entering this building, I was giving up any isolation that I now possessed. But, then again, that wasn't any different than the decision I made when I first entered these walls. Perhaps Hogwarts had remained as unchanged as it was in my mind. It was myself, now, that held a new perspective.
Despite my hesitations, I couldn't find any regret in my decision to return. My home still, indifferent to the time and motivations, Hogwarts remained to be. With one final glimpse towards the high turrets of the castle, I emerged from the carriage. It was indeed time to give up my freedom and return to the world that I was an inherent part of.
Dumbledore awaited me in the Entrance Hall. The twinkle in his eye still defying any ailments of age. Along with his school, he remained resilient to the years. Though he had manipulated me into this, I found that in his presence I was powerless to hold any grudge or raise any complaints. And at his warm greeting I knew his heart held no ill desires.
As we walked up the stone steps, the portraits looked on curiously.
Dumbledore talked on about a topic that I hadn't quite grasped. I heard the words, but they didn't pass on to comprehension. I merely walked, in awe of the stones surrounding me and the moving paintings that I had nearly forgotten about. Diagon Alley had brought back many memories, but none so striking as the halls of Hogwarts.
I stared dejectedly at the paintings as I passed, my eyes connected with a portrait that brought back vivid memories of isolation, Violet, the wizened witch who looked on as I was named the Fourth Champion. She looked into my green eyes, gasped dramatically, jumped back in her frame, and without a polite word to me scurried off. I could see her running down the hall through neighboring paintings headed in the direction of the Gryffindor tower. So much for secrecy, within five minutes the gossip had already begun.
Hogwarts remained the same as always as we took a short cut that led towards the Defense hall. The walls carried the whisperings of the past, to feint to be properly heard but still insistent on my ears. The Gray Lady passed, a timeless beauty, saying nothing to us as she remained lost in her forlorn grief.
"Harry?" Dumbledore was staring at me, concern apparent.
I came crashing back to the world at hand, my fantasies of a past Hogwarts left behind in the shadows. "Yes?" I asked with a bit of Snape-ish touch.
"I suggested that Poppy look at --"
"It's nothing," I cut him off, nervously twitching my hand. I would not have magic fiddle with my lost fingers. I did not want to yet deal with that part of my past nor did I want to take chances with unknown levels of magic.
"Surely there can be something done." Damn that twinkle. If he had not been standing there, I would surely have scoffed off his concern as curiosity, but that twinkle showed no sign of personal want. My mentor's ever-telling eyes showed only concern for me.
"It was a small blood price," I said shortly. "It would not be wise to meddle with settled bargains."
I knew he meant well, but I did not want to wake these demons so early in the day. They were meant to live only in the shadows, and I did not want to pull them up. Perhaps eventually I would have to, but not quite yet.
Dumbledore nodded his head in understanding to my wants. As manipulative as he was, he would not argue needlessly.
He stopped suddenly and turned to the obsidian statue of a Hebridean Black. The Defense hall lay around the corner, but as a student I had rarely come this way.
"Mephistopheles." Dumbledore said, and the dragon jumped aside revealing a door that was not listed on the Marauder's Map.
I refused to take in the irony of the password, as I entered the room.
"I'll leave you to sort your things. There's a staff meeting at one, I trust you'll be there." Before I could reply, he was out the door.
Sighing, I skimmed over the quarters. I stood in a sitting room, decorated in red and gold. I cringed at the colors, bereft of any house pride. The rifts between houses had nearly become our downfall, as the sorting hat had warned. I thought of changing them, but that was pulled from my mind as my eyes wandered to the twin trunks lying in the next room. One I had bought in Diagon Alley only yesterday, but the battered edges of the other struck a recognition deep inside. My old trunk that I had left at Hogwarts and forgotten the existence of had apparently remained in Dumbledore's hold.
I bent next to the trunk and opened it. Slowly, deliberately, taking in the musty smell of time, I looked down into my past. The rush of memories that hit me were not born of darkness for once, they held no connection to my sleepless nights. Rather, they told of the bittersweet sunrises over Hogwarts and my enchanting dreams.
Despite all the paths I had taken and all my sleepless nights, all my wanderings and all my doubts, Hogwarts remained, indeed, my home.
~*~*~*~*~
A/N: This was written mostly while listening to large amounts of Nickelback, so forgive if my current obsession shows through at all. I'm not to secure about the first part, I feel I may have killed Snape. Course, I fear that I killed DD too. . . .
This is really only half of what I wanted in this chapter, but I've had this part done for a while and I wanted to post this weekend. The rest will come eventually. . .
Remember that "real life" I mentioned last chapter that suddenly showed up? Well, it decided to disappear and shred itself into oblivion. . . . little tiny bits of oblivion . . . Twice. ::shakes head:: Never fall in love, its easier that way. . . . Anyways, its made me think about this fic more (though it may not seem that was, as this chapter's long overdue) and I've finally decided that this will NOT be romantic whatsoever. (Based on a combination of recent experiences and what I want to do with the plot) So that HP/SS possibility I mentioned at the beginning is gone (as is any HP/RL that may have popped up). This is definite. My sincere apologies to anyone that was reading this just to see Harry get it on with someone.
And cake to all the reviewers. :-) A big yummy chocolate cake.
Re-A/N: just fixed the parts I didn't much like. Nothing major, just flows a bit better now. Next chapter's partly written but I don't know how much time I'm gonna get to work on it. (Shhhh . . . I should be studying now)