The Demons Hidden Within
Chapter 9: Forbidden Entrance
Posted: 1/2/04
"Know ye, now, Bulkington?" - Herman Melville
~*~*~*~
I stared at my reflected image, black robes around me. Snapping at the charmed mirror earlier prevented any current comments from it as I did not wish to hear any more remarks on how my long hair managed to "perfectly cover that beautiful scar." All of Hogwarts's mirrors must have personality problems, probably due to its current headmaster.
The clock also possessed a bit too much energy. "You're still early, but leave now for all I care." Damn magical clocks; all I wanted was the time, not inane opinions.
The Welcoming Feast was tonight. Too soon, though the clock proclaimed early. The students, innocents, would soon arrive with their careless nature. I would be revealing myself.
How would they react? To them, what were their pre-ordained opinions on The-Boy-Who-Lived? I had heard rumors in The Leaky Cauldron, endless babble and speculation on my own fate, but that had mainly come from the older populace. Those whose opinions were passed to their children. . . . Everything just came down to an uncertain factor of how much they believed and presumed to know.
And why did I care? I could soon disabuse them of any ideas of my supremacy, possibly even show them an understanding on the gray aspects of the world before they have to discover it for themselves. Maybe, just maybe, I could actually influence. But these possibilities were too positive, too controlling . . . too Dumbledore. I could not change them, just as I could not change the articles in the Daily Prophet.
The Daily Prophet. Oh, tomorrow's issue would be interesting. What speculations would they get from "exclusive reports"?
I sighed, too much speculation. All I had to do was sit there as Dumbledore announced my name and I could do nothing to influence the impending reactions. Whispers, probably, hissed into an eminent silence as if I couldn't hear them. Another sigh.
Twitching, I pulled my hand through my hair, but the preceding slice in my finger did nothing to calm. Jerking my hand away, I pinched the minor womb and took out the offending piece of glass.
Glass?
I scanned the room, and on the dresser lay the shattered remains of a mirror beside its square frame, placed almost reverently on top of a black cloth. Sirius's mirror. I had refused to fix it in my unrelenting grief, instead wrapping it in my cloth and keeping it in my trunk. There it had remained a constant reminder for that which I was so afraid I would forget. Yet, now it was on my dresser, a haunting of my past.
So much for reminders. No memory came to me of his laugh or his infrequent smiles, tarnished by Azkaban. All thoughts of him centered on my final glimpse as he fell through the veil and all my childishness to put him in that position.
They had all tried to tell me it wasn't my fault, but they knew nothing. And I knew even less.
"Reparo." I said with a wave of my wand before any thought crossed my mind at my first time to use magic since I dropped my wand in that graveyard.
I felt his shadows within me, and the darkness surged, feeding off of the magic that stirred within at the utterance of a spell. It constricted around my heart and I gasped for air. Dropping to my knees, I attempted to push it back to the levels I could control but as the internal battle of wills raged my scar suddenly seared with pain. Wand fell from unsteady grip as my hand reached up to massage the scar and I made another attempt to push back the darkness. Yet this attempt yielded another pang which sent me falling into gray clouds and an unintended dreamscape.
I walked the halls of Hogwarts, treading my lonely path as had become my custom within a mere week. Yet, I did not haunt the usual dungeons now; in my dream my steps led me elsewhere in the castle, to a corridor I could not recall somewhere near the Room of Requirement.
I turned the corner, revealing silver stones, ethereal in the moonlight. And the Gray Lady was there, at the end of the hall, silently calling me forward. Her surreal dress flowed around the silent form, refracting silver-gray from the light filtering through the window behind her. I took a step towards her, but then stopped suddenly upon thinking.
She was dead, and the dead do not freely call out to the living. A chill went up my spine and I retreated the few steps I had taken, questioning her with my actions.
The glow seemed to retreat as my will faltered, and the silver in the figure faded to white. The dress stilled its sepulchral dance and she stepped forward into the light of the torch, a woman of flesh. Though still unnatural, still beyond mortal blood.
My head cocked to the side, this beauty before me was the same as that which haunted Hogwarts in eternal grief and she appeared as any human would, but my soul warned me that she remained far from humanity. Slowly, I quelled my fears and stepped forward, the fall of my boot echoing as if the whole castle were quiet save for its solitary clamor.
She closed her eyes and bowed her head, bidding me to continue. Still apprehensive, I approached while she waited, unmoved. Every step resounding off the watchful walls.
Finally, two steps from touching her face to assure me of her presence being more than an apparition, she looked up to me and our eyes met. Or, rather, my eyes met her soul, stirring where her eyes should be. And she spoke to me without words or sounds. In a moment she told me all of her past, gave me all her unwavering reasons for staying bound to these halls. And I would record the whole story down to the very last sigh, putting to history all her woes and losses - if only I could recall her words. But no words were spoken; no sighs ever passed her lips. I knew what she said without her ever saying, and I knew her message though none was contained. And try as I might, I cannot convey that knowledge passed to me, now wavering on the brink of my consciousness, through ink or any other mortal means.
After her eyes passed over me, she turned away and parted the stone of the outer wall, revealing yet another silver corridor. She walked through it, open doors on either end slamming shut as I passed them, following her. My steps made no more noise as we neared the end of this passage where an arch stood covered by a black veil.
The Gray Lady made a motion with her hand, pushing the veil aside without ever touching it.
"We cannot enter here." Her motions conveyed, as she stepped away.
Through the archway lay a vast expanse, with souls teaming through it in a brilliant dance. Steps that never touched the ground, always moving so that I could not discern one dancer from the next. All of them appeared to be living, but, like the Gray Lady, that spark of mortal life did not inhabit them. They passed by the doorway, nameless faces all, though some seemed to strike a familiarity that I could not place.
"They are there, not far away at all, just behind the veil." The Gray Lady had actually spoken, her voice soft yet firm.
I turned away from the arch to face her. "But ever unreachable," I replied with a note of bitterness.
"No," She shook her head at my words, closing the veil with a motion. "One day you will have entrance, but you cannot live while searching for it as I was forced to see."
I turned back to the veil. One day? And when would fate determine that day to be? I wanted that day to be this day, to reach through and become a part of the dance . . . to be able to hear the music that flows through their spirits. I made to step through against her words, but she held me back. "One day," She said again. Voices now began to filter through, just on the edge of my hearing, the same murmurs which had drawn my attention in Hogwarts's halls.
"They will not abandon you, and you will not be forced to the same fate as I," She assured, but sadness filled her eyes. She would ever be forbidden entrance through the veil from a fate weaved with her death, always trapped as a forsaken spirit. Yet, here she talked giving me hope - hope for death so that I may take my chance to live.
A simple door to my right opened. And the Gray Lady once again spoke without speaking. "It is time you return."
Before I could form any coherent thought, I stepped through the door. Yet, there was nothing inside. My muscles spasmed as I fell . . . and woke up on the floor, next to Sirius's repaired mirror.
The Darkness was still there, as it had been before the spell - ever on the edge of consciousness, though it seemed slightly more intrusive into my reality.
Groaning, I pushed myself up and checked the clock on the wall. "You're late . . ." Well, that was helpful.
But I had to check something, first. Preparing myself, I cast a simple levitation charm on the mirror. I felt his shadows pulse, constricting slightly while still remaining within my grasp, perhaps only because I had been prepared for it. I ended the charm quickly, wanting to grasp what exactly had happened. Maybe nothing, Maybe more.
I left it to be dealt with later as I left my rooms, taking several unused shortcuts on my way to the Great Hall. I turned the final corner to glimpse black robes disappearing behind my intended entrance. Apparently I was not the only teacher arriving late. One final breath before I entered, unnoticed, behind the staff table. Most eyes fixed upon the sorting hat and a handful of first years unfortunate enough to have names near the end of the alphabet.
Snape, though, took care to notice as I sat down beside him with a resound snort. I rolled my eyes as he had only sat moments before.
I took fleeting notice of my gray robes, too intent upon what would come to register that they had been black beforehand. I was also too self-absorbed to notice the last of the sorting or Dumbledore's quick welcome before the house elves sent up the food.
But the feast did not last as long as I would have liked, and it disappearance was accompanied by Dumbledore standing. I couldn't listen to the announcements, canceling them out I focused on my own fears. Yet, soon enough the dreaded statement came. " . . . Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Potter."
And it was met by a fractional second of shocked silence before the whispers began, just as I had known would happen.
"Potter?"
"*Harry* Potter?"
"*The* Harry Potter?"
"But he died."
The whispers were not so much concealed as I would have expected them to be. Clearly, I could snatch up the conversations in the array of emotions. Apparently these opinions were of much the same diversity; and they were sadly of much the same cookie cutter style.
" . . . A dark wizard . . ."
" . . . Voldemort himself . . ."
"My mother said . . ."
It would not take me long to disillusion them of those facts taught by their parents. I would merely need to show that both Dark and Light can be found in the same person. Merely. That would most likely end up being the yearlong lesson. Not long at all.
"Killed the Dark Lord . . ."
"Became a Dark Lord, more like it."
Apparently there would be no polite applause coming for this teacher. Dumbledore raised his hands, restoring order as the students took notice of his commanding presence and the chatter died down. A brief note on Quidditch trials, and they were dismissed to their respective common rooms.
As they left, the conversations started up right where they had left off with many glances up towards the staff table. Some did not even care to hide the glances or conceal the emotions contained within. One would think they'd be a bit less obvious with displaying their fears . . . or admirations.
"*The* Harry Potter?" The girl's voice echoed in my mind, reducing me to seem less of a person. Yet, that was my figure in the wizarding world. Or, at least, to half of it: A savior. The Savior. The Harry Potter. My name was my definition. Had a made a mistake in coming back with it? Needless to think of that; there would be no changing it now.
Deep in warding off regretful thoughts, I walked a long way towards the Hebridean Black statue. I took care to note that there was no such thing as that silver corridor near the Room of Requirement.
--It's just a name, not your ultimate definition.-- Janis's words.
Yet they sure pressed it to be.
They gave the name expectations without the thought that I remained to be an actual person. I lost Sirius and could not grieve for the "escaped Death Eater" because I was not expected, and thereby not given the chance, to. I lost Ron and was expected to get over it and quickly so that I could fulfill my purpose of killing Voldemort. I even killed Voldemort and they expected me to not survive.
I didn't survive. Well, *The* Harry Potter didn't, at any rate. Yet, here he tried to stand.
~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: Yay, I got it done before I go back to school and have some actual work to do! Well, I was excited about that . . .
Musical obsession (if you care): Sigur Ros
Thanks and freshly made fudge to the reviewers: Kristine Thorne, snifflesaboutsnuffles, Rathien1, Lady Lightning (Snape will be showing up a bit more), Fujizahra, HoshiHikari4ever, BlackDiva, john
Chapter 9: Forbidden Entrance
Posted: 1/2/04
"Know ye, now, Bulkington?" - Herman Melville
~*~*~*~
I stared at my reflected image, black robes around me. Snapping at the charmed mirror earlier prevented any current comments from it as I did not wish to hear any more remarks on how my long hair managed to "perfectly cover that beautiful scar." All of Hogwarts's mirrors must have personality problems, probably due to its current headmaster.
The clock also possessed a bit too much energy. "You're still early, but leave now for all I care." Damn magical clocks; all I wanted was the time, not inane opinions.
The Welcoming Feast was tonight. Too soon, though the clock proclaimed early. The students, innocents, would soon arrive with their careless nature. I would be revealing myself.
How would they react? To them, what were their pre-ordained opinions on The-Boy-Who-Lived? I had heard rumors in The Leaky Cauldron, endless babble and speculation on my own fate, but that had mainly come from the older populace. Those whose opinions were passed to their children. . . . Everything just came down to an uncertain factor of how much they believed and presumed to know.
And why did I care? I could soon disabuse them of any ideas of my supremacy, possibly even show them an understanding on the gray aspects of the world before they have to discover it for themselves. Maybe, just maybe, I could actually influence. But these possibilities were too positive, too controlling . . . too Dumbledore. I could not change them, just as I could not change the articles in the Daily Prophet.
The Daily Prophet. Oh, tomorrow's issue would be interesting. What speculations would they get from "exclusive reports"?
I sighed, too much speculation. All I had to do was sit there as Dumbledore announced my name and I could do nothing to influence the impending reactions. Whispers, probably, hissed into an eminent silence as if I couldn't hear them. Another sigh.
Twitching, I pulled my hand through my hair, but the preceding slice in my finger did nothing to calm. Jerking my hand away, I pinched the minor womb and took out the offending piece of glass.
Glass?
I scanned the room, and on the dresser lay the shattered remains of a mirror beside its square frame, placed almost reverently on top of a black cloth. Sirius's mirror. I had refused to fix it in my unrelenting grief, instead wrapping it in my cloth and keeping it in my trunk. There it had remained a constant reminder for that which I was so afraid I would forget. Yet, now it was on my dresser, a haunting of my past.
So much for reminders. No memory came to me of his laugh or his infrequent smiles, tarnished by Azkaban. All thoughts of him centered on my final glimpse as he fell through the veil and all my childishness to put him in that position.
They had all tried to tell me it wasn't my fault, but they knew nothing. And I knew even less.
"Reparo." I said with a wave of my wand before any thought crossed my mind at my first time to use magic since I dropped my wand in that graveyard.
I felt his shadows within me, and the darkness surged, feeding off of the magic that stirred within at the utterance of a spell. It constricted around my heart and I gasped for air. Dropping to my knees, I attempted to push it back to the levels I could control but as the internal battle of wills raged my scar suddenly seared with pain. Wand fell from unsteady grip as my hand reached up to massage the scar and I made another attempt to push back the darkness. Yet this attempt yielded another pang which sent me falling into gray clouds and an unintended dreamscape.
I walked the halls of Hogwarts, treading my lonely path as had become my custom within a mere week. Yet, I did not haunt the usual dungeons now; in my dream my steps led me elsewhere in the castle, to a corridor I could not recall somewhere near the Room of Requirement.
I turned the corner, revealing silver stones, ethereal in the moonlight. And the Gray Lady was there, at the end of the hall, silently calling me forward. Her surreal dress flowed around the silent form, refracting silver-gray from the light filtering through the window behind her. I took a step towards her, but then stopped suddenly upon thinking.
She was dead, and the dead do not freely call out to the living. A chill went up my spine and I retreated the few steps I had taken, questioning her with my actions.
The glow seemed to retreat as my will faltered, and the silver in the figure faded to white. The dress stilled its sepulchral dance and she stepped forward into the light of the torch, a woman of flesh. Though still unnatural, still beyond mortal blood.
My head cocked to the side, this beauty before me was the same as that which haunted Hogwarts in eternal grief and she appeared as any human would, but my soul warned me that she remained far from humanity. Slowly, I quelled my fears and stepped forward, the fall of my boot echoing as if the whole castle were quiet save for its solitary clamor.
She closed her eyes and bowed her head, bidding me to continue. Still apprehensive, I approached while she waited, unmoved. Every step resounding off the watchful walls.
Finally, two steps from touching her face to assure me of her presence being more than an apparition, she looked up to me and our eyes met. Or, rather, my eyes met her soul, stirring where her eyes should be. And she spoke to me without words or sounds. In a moment she told me all of her past, gave me all her unwavering reasons for staying bound to these halls. And I would record the whole story down to the very last sigh, putting to history all her woes and losses - if only I could recall her words. But no words were spoken; no sighs ever passed her lips. I knew what she said without her ever saying, and I knew her message though none was contained. And try as I might, I cannot convey that knowledge passed to me, now wavering on the brink of my consciousness, through ink or any other mortal means.
After her eyes passed over me, she turned away and parted the stone of the outer wall, revealing yet another silver corridor. She walked through it, open doors on either end slamming shut as I passed them, following her. My steps made no more noise as we neared the end of this passage where an arch stood covered by a black veil.
The Gray Lady made a motion with her hand, pushing the veil aside without ever touching it.
"We cannot enter here." Her motions conveyed, as she stepped away.
Through the archway lay a vast expanse, with souls teaming through it in a brilliant dance. Steps that never touched the ground, always moving so that I could not discern one dancer from the next. All of them appeared to be living, but, like the Gray Lady, that spark of mortal life did not inhabit them. They passed by the doorway, nameless faces all, though some seemed to strike a familiarity that I could not place.
"They are there, not far away at all, just behind the veil." The Gray Lady had actually spoken, her voice soft yet firm.
I turned away from the arch to face her. "But ever unreachable," I replied with a note of bitterness.
"No," She shook her head at my words, closing the veil with a motion. "One day you will have entrance, but you cannot live while searching for it as I was forced to see."
I turned back to the veil. One day? And when would fate determine that day to be? I wanted that day to be this day, to reach through and become a part of the dance . . . to be able to hear the music that flows through their spirits. I made to step through against her words, but she held me back. "One day," She said again. Voices now began to filter through, just on the edge of my hearing, the same murmurs which had drawn my attention in Hogwarts's halls.
"They will not abandon you, and you will not be forced to the same fate as I," She assured, but sadness filled her eyes. She would ever be forbidden entrance through the veil from a fate weaved with her death, always trapped as a forsaken spirit. Yet, here she talked giving me hope - hope for death so that I may take my chance to live.
A simple door to my right opened. And the Gray Lady once again spoke without speaking. "It is time you return."
Before I could form any coherent thought, I stepped through the door. Yet, there was nothing inside. My muscles spasmed as I fell . . . and woke up on the floor, next to Sirius's repaired mirror.
The Darkness was still there, as it had been before the spell - ever on the edge of consciousness, though it seemed slightly more intrusive into my reality.
Groaning, I pushed myself up and checked the clock on the wall. "You're late . . ." Well, that was helpful.
But I had to check something, first. Preparing myself, I cast a simple levitation charm on the mirror. I felt his shadows pulse, constricting slightly while still remaining within my grasp, perhaps only because I had been prepared for it. I ended the charm quickly, wanting to grasp what exactly had happened. Maybe nothing, Maybe more.
I left it to be dealt with later as I left my rooms, taking several unused shortcuts on my way to the Great Hall. I turned the final corner to glimpse black robes disappearing behind my intended entrance. Apparently I was not the only teacher arriving late. One final breath before I entered, unnoticed, behind the staff table. Most eyes fixed upon the sorting hat and a handful of first years unfortunate enough to have names near the end of the alphabet.
Snape, though, took care to notice as I sat down beside him with a resound snort. I rolled my eyes as he had only sat moments before.
I took fleeting notice of my gray robes, too intent upon what would come to register that they had been black beforehand. I was also too self-absorbed to notice the last of the sorting or Dumbledore's quick welcome before the house elves sent up the food.
But the feast did not last as long as I would have liked, and it disappearance was accompanied by Dumbledore standing. I couldn't listen to the announcements, canceling them out I focused on my own fears. Yet, soon enough the dreaded statement came. " . . . Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Potter."
And it was met by a fractional second of shocked silence before the whispers began, just as I had known would happen.
"Potter?"
"*Harry* Potter?"
"*The* Harry Potter?"
"But he died."
The whispers were not so much concealed as I would have expected them to be. Clearly, I could snatch up the conversations in the array of emotions. Apparently these opinions were of much the same diversity; and they were sadly of much the same cookie cutter style.
" . . . A dark wizard . . ."
" . . . Voldemort himself . . ."
"My mother said . . ."
It would not take me long to disillusion them of those facts taught by their parents. I would merely need to show that both Dark and Light can be found in the same person. Merely. That would most likely end up being the yearlong lesson. Not long at all.
"Killed the Dark Lord . . ."
"Became a Dark Lord, more like it."
Apparently there would be no polite applause coming for this teacher. Dumbledore raised his hands, restoring order as the students took notice of his commanding presence and the chatter died down. A brief note on Quidditch trials, and they were dismissed to their respective common rooms.
As they left, the conversations started up right where they had left off with many glances up towards the staff table. Some did not even care to hide the glances or conceal the emotions contained within. One would think they'd be a bit less obvious with displaying their fears . . . or admirations.
"*The* Harry Potter?" The girl's voice echoed in my mind, reducing me to seem less of a person. Yet, that was my figure in the wizarding world. Or, at least, to half of it: A savior. The Savior. The Harry Potter. My name was my definition. Had a made a mistake in coming back with it? Needless to think of that; there would be no changing it now.
Deep in warding off regretful thoughts, I walked a long way towards the Hebridean Black statue. I took care to note that there was no such thing as that silver corridor near the Room of Requirement.
--It's just a name, not your ultimate definition.-- Janis's words.
Yet they sure pressed it to be.
They gave the name expectations without the thought that I remained to be an actual person. I lost Sirius and could not grieve for the "escaped Death Eater" because I was not expected, and thereby not given the chance, to. I lost Ron and was expected to get over it and quickly so that I could fulfill my purpose of killing Voldemort. I even killed Voldemort and they expected me to not survive.
I didn't survive. Well, *The* Harry Potter didn't, at any rate. Yet, here he tried to stand.
~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: Yay, I got it done before I go back to school and have some actual work to do! Well, I was excited about that . . .
Musical obsession (if you care): Sigur Ros
Thanks and freshly made fudge to the reviewers: Kristine Thorne, snifflesaboutsnuffles, Rathien1, Lady Lightning (Snape will be showing up a bit more), Fujizahra, HoshiHikari4ever, BlackDiva, john
