DISCLAIMER: The following story is based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: :) Here's the next chapter. Enjoy.
Chapter 29: Farewell, Better Half
His invisibility cloak was hidden inside his robes' pocket, away from Riddle's eyes. He'd also taken his Rowan wand with him. Nevertheless, with Riddle now patiently waiting for Harry in order to take him to Nurmengard, there wasn't much he could do. Delaying it all was not an option.
His nemesis wouldn't take no for an answer.
Of course, they could duel it out, but Harry didn't delude himself into thinking he could possibly overpower the Dark Lord in this state.
Sometimes it still boggled his mind how that 'thing', a fragment of his parents' murderer could have lived inside him for so long. The implications of that alone should have petrified Harry. But cowering in fear and waiting for the inevitable just wasn't his thing. Those days were behind him.
Riddle's time was running out, though. The body he'd taken was growing rapidly weaker with the onslaught of foreign magic, not stable enough for a Horcrux that had been forcefully ripped out of its container. For a moment, Harry had considered trying to overpower Riddle physically, before dragging the dark wizard to Dumbledore. But luckily there was another solution. A much easier one that didn't involve as many risks. Or so he hoped.
Harry's lips curled up.
Honestly, being enslaved to a Horcrux, practically forced to do his bidding, sucked. Curling his hand around his wand, Harry took a deep breath, stepping outside. He wanted to end this.
The air inside the castle was blissfully cool against his skin, keeping his mind relatively clear. He needed to focus, if he wanted to beat both Voldemort and the Horcrux in their twisted game.
Leaning against the wall, Riddle was already assessing Harry, dominating and insistent in a way that was still frustrating to the younger wizard, although he'd somewhat gotten used to it. Perhaps it was a necessary requirement for Dark Lords these days to be broody and impatient.
"Took you long enough," the Dark Lord stated calmly, eyeing Harry's stiff form, his expression veiled as usual.
Harry shrugged, tiniest smirk in place. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Tom."
There it was. That twitch of his lips, the raised eyebrows. The man certainly liked to pretend he wasn't affected. If all it took was Voldemort's real name to rile him up, Harry would oblige, of course.
Grinning, the young wizard followed the man outside.
As of now, Harry had a good idea what would happen, although he'd initially wanted to postpone his visit to the famous wizarding prison. It was necessary to play along, for now, to make himself appear eager to get answers. It's what he had always done. But Harry had learned his lessons after those disastrous times where he'd been forced to visit Voldemort. Or that time he'd intentionally confronted the perpetrators during his hearing, only to fall prey to the association. It was never good to rush into things, despite the fact that his instinct rarely betrayed Harry. He always knew when a trap was set up. Still, he'd often been too arrogant for his own good, assuming that a bit of planning and direct attacks against his opponents would make it easier to navigate around these traps.
On top of that, he'd always envisioned that his contract with Voldemort would make things difficult for him. Perhaps the thrill had enticed him, luring Harry into this idea of total control over something that couldn't be controlled. It had been fascinating, really.
Still, he needed to have a clear position in this war, outside of Voldemort's influence. Outside of anyone's, really. And for that to happen, he would also have to make it clear once and for all, that he wasn't Voldemort's minion. This contract, a lifeline really, had given him a couple of months, at most. But in the end it turned out that Voldemort planned to kill Harry right after sorting out the mess with the association, which could take years, really. Or a few days, depending on the strength of his Death Eaters. Harry had never truly been threatened, up until now. Voldemort had simply considered it necessary to get rid of other people first, even more so with the revelation of the prophecy. Apparently, the "power he knows not" part wasn't that strong of an argument for the man.
At the same time, he'd shackled Harry, forced him to put his life on hold until the very end. A life that had so far only consisted of training, school work and a bit of scheming that hadn't done him much good.
Unfortunately for Voldemort, the Horcrux had added another layer of conflict, making Harry aware that he'd have to die as a sacrificial lamb anyway. Really, that was all the power the prophecy had talked about. Disappointing.
He'd need to get rid of the contract and the Horcrux link. And Riddle.
Walking across the courtyard, Harry had a hard time keeping up with Riddle's stride. Eyes narrowed, he observed the confident steps. The bastard was eager to get to Grindelwald, wasn't he?
The glance in his direction made him smile and confirmed Harry's impression. A Dark Lord, whose existence depended on Harry was no fun, really.
"You know. I could force those secrets out of you," Riddle said, quickening his steps. "The only question I'm asking myself now is whether it's worth the effort." Pale lips twitched. "Though, perhaps calling it an effort is a bit exaggerated, don't you think?"
"Don't hold back on my account." Harry grinned, briefly meeting Riddle's inquisitive look. "Your better half wouldn't do it either."
"You tempt me," Riddle murmured, shaking his head, expression oddly serene for someone who was in a hurry. "Be careful with that, child."
They had almost reached the edge of Durmstrang's wards and no one had bothered them on the way out, which Harry thought was suspicious. Classes weren't over yet, but some students and professors should already be heading for dinner. Riddle must have done something.
Once outside, Harry looked up, wondering whether the rapidly approaching darkness would look the same in the southern part of Germany, where Nurmengard was located.
Maybe he was just fooling himself, treating the Horcrux with forced cockiness the way he was doing now. What Harry was about to do could change his life. Or end it, depending on the outcome. The older wizard would be furious, no matter what.
Just like before, they walked past another group of trees and Harry felt the magic around him fade away, leaving both wizards defenseless against any potential onslaught from outside. In a minute or so, the headmaster would be alerted to a missing student and a professor. But at this point, Harry thought that the school should get used to it, what with him disappearing all the time.
And perhaps they should also start looking for a new Dark Arts professor.
Pity.
Voldemort had been a good Dark Arts teacher, efficient and knowledgable; much better than Regulus Black with his disregard, unstable attitude and all. And while it had taken considerable effort to convince Minister Farnes and the school board to let an unknown man teach at Durmstrang, with her none the wiser, it had paid off in the end.
Finally they stopped, hidden in the shadows. The stifling atmosphere of Durmstrang's castle fell away to even stronger, oppressive darkness. Riddle had swiftly taken Harry's hand, forcing him into a Side-Along apparition.
Bloody hell.
Reappearing in a forest, Harry tried to get rid of the nausea temporarily taking his breath away. It was always the same. The adrenaline inside him made it difficult to focus. He should have created a portkey in cases like this, since he was now basically stranded with a Dark Lord in the middle of nowhere. Though, he was certain that his house-elves would be able to take him away, should he land himself in a tight spot.
Which arguably was the case now. He grimaced.
Despite the unknown surroundings, Harry could already guess they were in Germany, though they would still have to get to Nurmengard by foot due to the extensive Anti-Apparition wards surrounding the area. Or maybe they would be using broomsticks. Merlin knows what kind of scheme Riddle had concocted.
Harry turned around, inhaling the slightly humid air and sensing the emptiness that seemed to swirl all around the forest. No signs of life whatsoever could be heard. No birds, no whispering of the forest's inhabitants. It increased his unease, false cheerfulness falling apart as quickly as it had come, a sandcastle swept away by waves of anxiety. Fear of the unknown.
Nurmengard prison was legendary, although Harry couldn't recall ever having read a more extensive account of the place. While Azkaban and other wizarding prisons around the world had fascinated a great deal of people, making them write tons of books about the enchantments and guards such as Dementors and even meremaids, as was the case with one prison in South America. Nurmengard however remained bleak, an empty chapter in history with only a footnote saying that you couldn't visit the place. Perhaps that had been intentional. The German wizarding government had been notoriously tight-lipped about it all. Those that had visited the outskirts of the building had reported that the very air you breathed seemed to contain evil. Harry had found it funny at that time. They must have taken their inspirations from Mordor.
Now there was nothing funny about the situation.
Grindelwald must have been all for drama and striking terror in the hearts of his enemies, which is why nothing in this area seemed to be natural. Still, Harry wouldn't let such mind games affect him. He couldn't allow himself to be affected, especially not in Riddle's presence.
Speaking of Riddle, the man seemed to feel right at home, inspecting the area with a nonchalance that both irritated and frightened Harry.
"We'll fly," Riddle spoke suddenly.
"Excuse me?" Harry looked up, catching Riddle's wry amusement. Looking around, he noticed that no brooms had appeared or anything like that. "And how are we supposed to-"
Harry stopped, staring at Riddle's outstretched hand.
Oh no. No.
Just no.
He would not fly with Riddle. He would not put his life in the hands of an unstable Horcrux.
Riddle, seeing Harry's reaction, barely refrained from rolling his eyes. "I thought you liked flying?"
"On a broom," Harry said, deadpan. "Not with you flying around like some sort of vigilante. I don't have a death wish."
"Really?" That raised eyebrow again. Tom stepped closer, invading Harry's personal space without warning. The younger wizard opened his mouth, but Riddle's unrelenting stare seemed to choke him, breath taken away. "Unfortunately for you, I don't take your concerns into account," he hissed. Harry's eyes widened.
Strong arms encased him, cutting off any protests. He cursed internally. He hadn't taken Voldemort's ability to fly into account, though he'd yet to see it for himself. Merlin knows, where the bastard had learned to do something like that.
Right now, he didn't feel like Riddle's control over that young man's body was waning. In fact, his feet lifted off the ground and Harry began to panic.
"Hold onto me," Riddle whispered in his ear, his head turned down, hair brushing against Harry's cheek. And then they were flying.
The trees became small and the air around them sharpened, wind clashing against the speed of Riddle's abilities. As they flew on, above them Harry could see the sky darkening further, stars scattered like glowing, eyes, looking down at the unlikely pair. It was strangely peaceful, reminding Harry of his own love for flying, those innocent days when Viktor Krum used to nag him about Quidditch.
Inadvertently, Harry felt his own limbs moving without permission, fingers tightening, gripping the material of Riddle's cloak with such force that blared uneasiness. He couldn't forget the company he was in, the situation that would escalate soon. He couldn't force himself to focus on pleasant memories when everything around him screamed that this was all over.
As they flew toward a towering building, standing forbidding and grim, casting a dark shadow over the trees and hills, Harry braced himself for the inevitable. Sooner rather than later, they began to loose height and Harry closed his eyes, burying his face in Riddle's cloak and savoring the calm before the storm.
The arms around him tightened for a moment.
Rather than landing somewhere near the entrance, Riddle chose a small pathway leading to a high wall somewhere on the east side, where the trees grew dense. Harry nearly stumbled, when those arms let him go abruptly, but he hurriedly tried to put some distance between himself and the Dark Lord, somewhat unsettled.
Running a hand though his hair, he looked around, finally noticing that the silence around this place was even more unnatural than before. If there were any Death Eaters or association members inside the building, they were obviously clever enough not to make any noise.
Now the only thing left to figure out was how well protected the prison was.
He waited and waited. And looked around further, heart beating so fast Harry thought it would burst out of his chest.
Then he felt it.
A wand was pointed at him, digging firmly into the back of his head.
Of course.
Harry steeled himself for the confrontation, refusing to turn around or reveal that he'd purposefully turned his back to Riddle, lowering his defenses. The wand briefly caressed his neck, warm with the magic threatening to strike him.
"That isn't very polite, Professor," Harry began, staring at the wall. He knew he wouldn't be fast enough to reach for his own wand, so he didn't even try. Besides, it wasn't the right moment. Not yet.
He hadn't sensed the original master soul yet, wondering if maybe Voldemort wouldn't come at all.
"I strongly suggest that you move, Harry."
Pressing his lips together, Harry remained still, hands loosely at his side. Riddle tsked and the magic inside his borrowed wand crackled, making the black strands of Harry's hair even more disorderly.
"You won't kill me, Riddle," Harry began. "You need me alive, remember? There's nothing short of torture that you could do in order to make me comply. So why don't we get it out of the way?"
Turning his head sideways, he let Riddle's wand graze his cheek, waiting for his next move. Riddle, just like Voldemort, was unpredictable, although his emotions often presented a sharp contrast to the Dark Lord, calmer and dare he say, gentler?
There was nothing gentle about having a wand pressed against his skin, of course, ready to blow his head off or something like that. But from the corner of his eyes, he spotted the insistent yet pacified nature that seemed to permanently define the man's posture. Riddle was confident that Harry would obey.
Well. Let's see then.
The wards around the fortress fell, suddenly throwing the entire area into a sharp light of red and white, pulsing with energy, before everything disappeared completely.
"Right on time," Riddle whispered, smiling lazily. Then everything turned into chaos. Shouts could be heard, explosions and the beginning of what sounded like a multiple battles occurring at once. Murmuring a spell, Riddle's wand briefly pointed at something in front of Harry. The younger wizard saw the stone wall disintegrate and knew without a doubt that this was his chance.
"Fawkes," Harry called, his hands curling around the holly wand inside his pocket.
Just as the word left his mouth, he felt Riddle's arm curling around his waist, forcing him closer to the Horcrux. But that was not enough, Harry thought, smiling in satisfaction, even though he was trapped.
A burst of fire erupted, appearing out of thin air. The magic was gentle, and the impressive phoenix let out a loud trill, taking another passenger with him.
Harry's smile grew twisted and he felt Riddle's grip on him tightening even more.
Albus Dumbledore stood in all his glory, hideous robes, wand in hand, facing the two of them with a sharp look, before his expression settled into one of utter seriousness.
"Very clever," Riddle murmured, cool fingers tightening around Harry's throat, while his wand was pointing straight at his neck. "You truly decided to put your faith in the old man. I must say I'm disappointed."
"Hello, Headmaster," Harry greeted, completely ignoring Riddle. "Thanks for coming."
"Any time, my boy." Dumbledore smiled at him, before his gaze fell on the Horcrux, pupils widening slightly in the light that his familiar produced. "Tom," he whispered, his brilliant mind having come to the right conclusion.
Riddle didn't flinch, didn't show any outward reaction, but the link between them told Harry that the dark wizard was a bit...unsettled. Good.
Behind them, the smoke and lights flashed, throwing both Harry and Tom's profiles into sharper contrast. Fakwes trilled in distress, settling down on Dumbledore's shoulder. Harry still couldn't feel Voldemort's presence nearby, but shouts, both in German and English could be heard. It could be possible that German Aurors were already fighting with Death Eaters, or even members of the association. Right now, he couldn't see much, though, what with Riddle's attempt to choke him.
"Let him go, Tom," Dumbledore said, the magic around him flaring to life. "Harry has nothing to do with Gellert. There's no reason for him to get involved in this."
A sharp laugh escaped Riddle, hot breath fanning Harry's cheeks. "On the contrary, he has everything to do with this." Tilting his head, Riddle considered Dumbledore with a frown. "But perhaps you like to delude yourself, old man. Perhaps you don't want to acknowledge that your old lover is after the boy's life force."
Harry stiffened, prepared to strike. His left arm free.
"Or perhaps, you can't see past your own hypocrisy. After all, we both know there really isn't that much of a difference between the two of you when it comes to Harry Potter's life."
Dumbledore paled considerably, before his blue eyes sharpened further. Harry had a hard time breathing, trapped between these two powerful wizards. Their magic was saturating the air with opposing, yet frighteningly similar power. Rarely did Harry feel threatened these days, but seeing and feeling the evidence of his own inadequate strength compared to that was hard. Difficult to accept.
The very idea that Riddle's magic somehow survived inside Harry's body, growing and overpowering the body he was currently inhabiting, disturbed him.
Dumbledore's wand was now pointed at Riddle, but he couldn't and perhaps didn't want to cast a spell, with Harry being entrapped like this, used as a shield.
Just as Harry was about to hit Riddle, Fawkes let out another sharp cry and from behind them Harry heard it clearly. The Dark Lord was here. Many more voices joined the battle.
"He's attacking the cell's wards," someone shouted. "Stop him. For Merlin's sake, stop him."
Dumbledore's gaze wavered, indecision briefly crossing his expression. Harry watched in disbelief as the old man's head turned to stare in the direction of the prison.
It was all the distraction Tom needed.
With a sharp pop, they both Disapparated, leaving an alarmed Headmaster and his phoenix behind.
"Hurry up, Jon." The burly, bearded guard sneered at him, before turning away to inspect his colleagues' work, his demands still as unpleasant as ever. Not that it mattered. Everybody was too focused on their job, preferring to do everything at the same slow pace when transferring magic. The guards were only figureheads, really. They had no clue what it meant to do such exhausting, intellectually demanding work.
Watching dispassionately as the last bit of blood drained away from the victim, he held his syringe in steady, confident hands.
Jonathan Foss wouldn't call himself a sadist.
No, that term was reserved for people who possessed no clear vision, had nothing to offer other than their lust to hurt others. The guards, for example. Simple-minded, brute force. He could understand why they succumbed to it, of course. But he wasn't one of them. In fact, he despised sheep like that; he loathed people who occasionally acted on their impulses only to disappear in the herd, once their desires were fulfilled. Cowards. Addicted to violence, nothing more.
No, he was more than that. Better.
And that's why he had no qualms about doing what was necessary, even if it crossed certain...boundaries.
Boundaries were man-made, after all.
Some might say he was playing God. But then so was everyone else around him.
The corpse was displayed like an offering, limbs rearranged to make the transfer easier. The skin was cold and oddly soft, though perhaps the most grotesque thing about it was the fact that dozens of cables were puncturing the man's chest. Jon wiped his brow, before continuing.
The needle broke through the surface like a knife through butter, easily finding its target. Frowning a bit, he leaned over the body.
Hatred simmered beneath his own skin, while he continued to dissect his victim.
It was governments that called for social order. It was churches that played with people's minds. Muggle scientists who wanted to explain a world that couldn't be explained. Financial sectors that enslaved humans to their own greed, capitalists who spanned a tale of wish fulfillment, medical industries that pumped humans full of drugs. And yes, wizards and witches who strived to emulate Muggles while at the same time claiming superiority over them.
He'd been young then, only another face in a crowd of people at the ministry, thinking... no, hoping that he would contribute to this society in a meaningful way.
He'd been wrong, of course. But luckily, it was all in the past.
Now, he was more than a faceless slave to them.
No, Jonathan was an idea, every cell of his body vibrating with the need to change this corrupt, weakened. wretched world. Pathetic, that's what they all were. He knew it from experience, after having worked for so long at the ministry under people like Fudge. The wizarding world needed a makeover. A clear vision for the future.
Only then would the Muggle world adjust. Steady hands continued to extract the magic.
One could say his former life used to haunt him, having to put up with incompetent fools, needing to smile and nod every single time the former minister ordered him to do one mind-numbing thing after another. He would never forget the man's face. The clear disdain and arrogance he'd shown Jonathan after reading his request for a transferral to the Department of Mysteries. At that time, he'd been experienced enough, eager enough to join. Perhaps too naive to believe that he could trust the ministry to make use of his potential. Still, his motivation had kept him going for so long.
Fudge had scoffed, telling him in no unclear terms that he'd better get back to work.
He'd never forget that numb, cold shock, the sheer amount of disdain that had taken a hold of his soul at that moment. Three weeks later he'd handed in his resignation letter, after watching one of those incompetent pure-bloods getting the position he'd wanted for so long. Years of hard work turned to dust just because others had the connection, the money. The family name.
Looking back on it, Jon realized that it had been the right decision, although there was still room for improvement, considering who his new "boss" was.
Perhaps he was still a follower, part of the herd and as such not yet ready enough to play God the way he wanted to. But it wouldn't be long now.
Since joining the association, Jonathan had learned a lot about the wizarding world and the people controlling it. His vast knowledge of London's elite had paled in comparison to the stories from other members, people who were not part of the sheep anymore, but despised them all the same. Corruption ran deep all around Europe. Behind polite smiles, generous donations and empty promises, the wizarding world was filled with ugliness, tainted with human filth.
Fragmented governments and nations should have been a thing of the past, really, especially with countless Muggle wars that had been the cause of such overinflated sense of self. The us versus them mentality and class segregation kept people from truly reaching their potential, forever enslaved to the incompetency of their superiors.
Ironic that he was essentially fighting for a cause that put him firmly against wizards all around Europe, clinging to mistakes, living in ignorance of the world around them.
No, unity was better. A unified wizarding world, free of boundaries, departments and ministries, free of these fools would be better for all.
If it took a bit more bloodshed to end this, he was willing to go further.
Injecting another dose into the carcass, he watched in grim satisfaction as the body continued to transfer any leftovers of magical energy into his master. The cables around it were similar to Muggle inventions, penetrating the empty shells of wizards and witches, their corpses harvested for further use.
All around him, Jonathan could feel the green light caressing his being, licking at his senses, before disappearing to join their Lord. Magic, such a unique being.
Lowering his head, he kept his eyes closed, surrendering to his feelings.
Blond hair fell into his eyes, temporarily obscuring his vision. Cold sweat stuck to his pale skin.
Murmurs broke out amongst the crowd, as people kept adjusting the cables, fixing needles and vials. Behind him, he could feel a foreign cold creeping all over his body, the rustling form of the Dementors inside their prison shrieking madly, yet utterly silent to the humans present.
He hoped it was worth it.
True, he had his doubts concerning the leadership of the association. More often than not he managed to overhear people complaining, stating quite clearly that putting Lord Gellert Grindelwald in this position had been a mistake, a betrayal of their own ideals.
There were whispers, of people saying that they should replace Grindelwald. That he was simply too old to carry the burden of the New World. He'd ignored those, probably because the alternative sounded worse.
The name Harry Potter fell, conversations centering around the boy more often these days, after he'd made such a spectacle out of himself.
His survival and subsequent escape from death had sounded like a miracle to all of them, including Jonathan. Potter should have never been able to escape from Bulgaria, but the boy was still alive and kicking, proving to be a thorn in their side.
Yet still people felt that he could take over. Preposterous.
Highly intriguing.
Jon smirked. Looking up, he caught the frightened madness lingering in Igor Karkaroff's eyes, bound and gagged and ready to pay for his traitorous actions. Jon's colleague, an older man called Clarke kept his want pointed at the pathetic mess. Soon, there wouldn't be much left of Karkaroff.
Suddenly, the alarm went off and everyone present inside knew what this meant. The Dark Lord Voldemort was here.
Looking around, he caught one of the guard's eyes, nodding at him. Over the alarm, they could hardly be heard, but Jon picked up the words echoing inside the chamber that made his blood boil in excitement.
Not only was the Dark Lord present, but apparently someone has spotted Harry Potter being dragged off by one of their own to Grindelwald's cell. Perfect. Just perfect.
