CHAPTER 116: THE MAN WHO LIVED
Sunday 14 July, 1pm local time. Not that time had much of a meaning here.
Harry looked down at the almost-nondescript piece of ocean floor he was standing on. It was only half a kilometer deep here, so you could survive with only the minor kinds of spells that could be learned from books. As long as you knew the location where Ignotus Peverell was hidden, you would be able to get there, even if all the powerful magic in the world had been lost.
He had gone to the grave and done as Cadmus had told him to. There had been a burst of magic and he had fallen unconscious, and when a severely dismayed Dumbledore had finally managed to wake him up, he had crystal-clear memories of a set of instructions, including pointers to a location. Dumbledore had half-heartedly suggested sending someone else in first, but Harry had not been willing to allow another to go in his stead, sensible though it might be. For all the possible risks, this was his destiny, his family, and even his father had been more eager than concerned when he finally returned from Australia and Harry told him what he was up to.
Then, while a trustworthy witch historian set out to deciphering and confirming the location (the reference points had changed a lot since the time of the Peverell brothers, and to find an exact spot in thousands of square meters of random ocean floor was decidedly non-trivial), Harry had spent his free time with a Muggle Medievalist, studying Old English to hopefully be proficient enough to hold a conversation. The historian had also developed a translation spell for him, but there was always a little delay in the translation and a small risk of inaccuracy; more importantly, since it might not be polite to cast the spell on Ignotus Peverell, Harry really wanted to be able to say his own parts directly in Old English.
And now, here they were. Harry was excited and a little nervous, but he wasn't really afraid of what he would meet. Albus Dumbledore stood beside him, the phoenix on his shoulder, looking very strange with a large bubble around its head. Beside him, Hermione with Xare and Dad were looking around with curious expressions and, in Dad's case, gleaming eyes. Neither they nor the phoenixes could accompany him – only one person was permitted entry at a time, and animals, even magical ones, were not – but they had wanted to be there all the same. Hermione and Dad would go back home if he didn't return or contact them in an hour; Professor Dumbledore would wait for days in case his help might be needed.
Hermione and Dad both gave him a hug, while the old wizard just looked ahead. "Good luck, Mr. Potter. We shall await your return here."
Harry stepped forward, to the exact spot where a tiny crack could be seen in the floor. This was the place which the vision from the grave had shown him.
"Alacrillgo Miakueep."
The floor shuddered, and a field of something surrounded him. And then the floor disappeared, or he himself disappeared, and he was lifted down, into the ground, and everything went dark and bright and all colors at once, until suddenly the movement stopped and he found himself standing on the floor of an ancient chamber.
Harry drew in a sharp breath as he stepped off the dais where he had appeared, and looked around. He was in a large stone room. The air was clear, air-freshening charms apparently still active. There was light, although it had no obvious source. The stones felt warm beneath his feet, and there was no dust anywhere. This room had withstood the centuries unharmed.
And alongside all the walls were shelves upon shelves of books and scrolls. There must be thousands here, untouched by the hands of time. Professor Michael Verres-Evans would have felt right at home, and Harry felt a twinge of regret that his father was out there, just outside the entrance, and unable to see this.
Harry didn't touch the books. There was history here, he knew, and a tremendous amount of knowledge, but he would have time to look at that later. First, he must do what he came for.
In the very center of the room stood a large pillar, made from some unidentifiable transparent material. It reached up to the domed ceiling overhead. Harry approached it. This, he suspected, was the final resting place of his ancestor.
"Cloak," he whispered, reaching into his pouch, and drew forth the Cloak of Invisibility. One of the Cloaks of Invisibility. He threw it around his shoulders, and willed himself to see what was hidden behind all such cloaks.
And there, inside the pillar, stood a stone bench. A figure was stretched out upon it, asleep or dead, while a transparent cloak covered the whole.
The man on the bench looked very, very old. Older than anyone had any right to be. He was bald, spotted, and his skin looked so dry as to be almost mummified. His hands were crossed over his chest, a wand still held in his right hand, which was marked with spots and cuts and had bone sticking out of it.
Harry carefully reached out a hand to touch the pillar. It felt... weird. Not glass, nor any substance he recognized. It was more like a wall of force, separating the outer room from the tiny chamber that hid the living body of Ignotus Peverell.
Twelve hundred years old. Of course, Peverell had been asleep for most of that time. Not physically dead and kept under preservation charms, as Harry had expected at first; there were no anti-decomposition charms powerful enough to stop degeneration for centuries. So the enchanted sleep Ignotus Peverell had placed himself under more than a thousand years ago actually kept his essential functions active – just very, very slow. In a sleep like that, he could last for two or three millenniums before his life finally ran out completely and his body would start to fall apart.
Harry cleared his throat.
"Ignotus Peverell," he spoke loudly, his voice echoing hollowly all through the room.
From the ground beside him, a golden pillar rose up, on top of which stood a marble bowl, a gleaming sharp pin in its center.
The magic might have kept Peverell's body functioning on a base level, but after a thousand years he could not have enough life left to be conscious, let alone speak. This – or so Cadmus had explained, after Harry had watched the vision on the grave and asked him for clarification – was why he had supplied a way for visitors to help him. A sacrificial ritual, which would take the visitor's own life force and pass it to Ignotus. The ritual was costly, requiring the sacrifice of far more life than the recipient would obtain; the visitor would have to spill half a liter of their blood into the bowl and sacrifice ten years of their life just to provide Ignotus with enough strength to speak.
Fortunately, Harry had other options. He held his hand over the pouch. "Bottle of Elixir." Flamel had been very interested in this development, and had gladly supplied the necessary amounts of Life Elixir. Harry carefully tipped the contents of the bottle into the bowl. This would be the moment of truth. Would his great-great-and-some-more-great-grandfather still be alive?
At first, nothing happened. But then the figure started to glow. Harry sat down on the ground, waiting, until finally the eyelids slowly opened.
"Who are you?" The whisper came out like a sigh in the wind. The man's lips had hardly even moved.
"My name is Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres." Almost without thought, Harry's voice fell into a reverend tone. The surroundings just seemed to require it. "I have been told that I am a direct descendant from you."
Immensely slowly, the ancient head turned to look at the boy.
"You are very young."
"I am. But I have done much, for my age."
"What is the year?"
"1992 in the Christian calendar."
"So long... Tell me, Harry with the long name. Has our family completed its sworn mission at last?"
The voice was so brittle, so dusty, that it made Harry wince to hear the old man speak more than a few syllables at once.
"No," he confessed. "Our family... has forgotten its quest." Had someone in the line, like Harry's father, died too young, before he could tell his children? Passed on the cloak and all other possessions as inheritance, but not the meaning behind it? "I do not know when or how. I never knew my own father; he was killed when I was a baby. But for what I was told, he did not know what our family's motto meant anymore. I fear... I suspect the knowledge was lost early on. Someone died, and didn't pass it on –"
The man of tissue paper let out a deep sigh. It could have been his final breath, if he had not still been lying beneath the cloak, unable to die until he removed it. Would he even have the strength to do so if he wished it?
"And so Death wins at last," the ancient wizard breathed. "By taking those who would fight Him first. They were right, then, those who called us fools, when we wasted our lives trying to achieve the impossible."
"No!" Harry exclaimed. "You were not fools, and Death has not won." He stepped closer to the pillar, willing the man to believe him. There had been pain and resignation in the voice, and he couldn't bear the idea of the ancient wizard giving up after so long. "While there is life, there is hope. I might be your last descendant, but I am still here, and I am still going to fight. I've sworn months ago that I will never cower in fear of Death, long before I even learned of my ancestry, and I'll swear it again."
Some muscles moved in the ancient face. It was hard to tell, but Harry thought that the man might be smiling.
"Time leaves strange echoes," the papery voice whispered. "How did you find me?"
"I... inherited the resurrection stone. Cadmus told me about you."
"And so you came here. To seek immortality."
"Not just for myself! I want to stop everyone from dying. And bring back those who have died in the past, as well. I have some issues with this whole death thing, and thinks it's beyond time to fix it."
"And what have you done about it?"
It was only a soft, almost inaudible whisper. Harry didn't know whether it was a challenge, or a simple question that Ignotus just assumed he would have an answer on. Had children, or maybe even adults, in the Peverells' time, not been allowed to approach their superiors unless they had proven themselves first? Or did he assume that his brother would not have told Harry where to find him if he hadn't had any achievements to his name?
It didn't matter; Harry, fortunately, did have a pretty good answer to that one.
"I have invented a spell to destroy Dementors. Together with my friends, I have wiped every single Dementor off the face of the earth."
"A good start." The man was silent for a few moments. "How?"
"I could show you... Can you bear more light in here?"
Without a word, the force field darkened. "Yes."
"Expecto Patronum."
The blazing humanoid appeared. Even behind the almost-dark field, Ignotus Peverell must see the shape.
"I developed this spell, by casting the normal Patronus Charm using my absolute rejection of Death as the basis. I did not realize that it was a new spell at the time, but when I did, I taught others. It projects a solid field of life force, which Dementors cannot see behind, and which can destroy them, given enough strength." He lowered his wand, and the figure disappeared. It would be easier for the old man, this way. "I later found that it can also block the killing curse."
"If it can do that, it might well do more," the voice of Peverell spoke, as the force field became transparent again. "This opens many questions. Ah." He paused, breathing deeply what might have been a sigh. "How I wish I were younger. I do not have the energy to research, not anymore. The mind is eager, but the body..."
"But I do have that energy. I am willing to dedicate my life to research." The man's eyes moved over his face, but he did not respond. "Just tell me what to try and I will do it, as long as it's safe. Or teach me what you knew, and I will try to finish your research. A cure for old age might not be beyond reach."
"A tempting bribe." There was a strange repetitive breathing, which might have been an attempt at a chuckle. "So you wish to learn all that I have spent my life discovering?"
"Of course! I mean, I'm going to work on it anyway. I will start over from the beginning if I must, but if I can start where you and your brothers left off, that would save a lot of trouble."
"Look into my eyes."
Harry obeyed, and then a different mind pushed into his own with an unstoppable force. He tried to call up his Occlumency barriers, even just pretending to be a rock, but it was useless, the mind cut right through him. He tried to turn his eyes away, but he had no control anymore, he couldn't move, couldn't even cry out, there were images running through his head, but he couldn't understand them, he was struggling, and failing, and even despite the cloak he thought he might be dying –
And then it was over. Harry fell over backwards and lay there for long minutes, trembling. The mind had gone from him, but the terror was still there.
"I apologize," the thin voice breathed at last. "I had to know whether you were sincere."
Of course. Just because he is twelve hundred years old and dead except for the dying part doesn't mean that he has lost any of his powers. He probably lost some to old age, but he lived about three hundred years before Salazar Slytherin. Even if his magic has faded – and supposedly Flamel's magic never fell below fifth-year levels, so the same can be assumed for Peverell – he would still be extremely powerful for all the forgotten knowledge he has, probably more powerful than Riddle. It occurred to Harry that he was completely at the mercy of the ancient wizard who was lying there, whom he didn't know and had no reason to trust, other than that the man's long-dead brother had said it would be a good idea.
"You looked into my mind?" Harry scrabbled up to his feet, but stayed well away from the force wall now.
"Yes. I might cheat Merlin's Interdict, but I will not risk destroying the world." There was a pause, as the skeletal figure drew a raspy breath. "The knowledge you ask for would be very dangerous in the wrong hands. I had to understand what kind of person you are."
"Did you... see everything?" Harry felt violated. Even if the man would never stir from this place, he had no right to see Harry's thoughts, let alone the things he'd done in private. Even if Harry would have told him everything he'd asked for, that should have been his choice.
""A fair bit. I could not see everything; you are too young to bear my possession for long. But I think I saw the important parts, even if I did not understand it all."
"Possession?"
"One of Antioch's discoveries. I destroyed his notes. That one is far too dangerous to pass on."
"If you can kill someone just by looking at them, I can see why."
"Hardly." Again the strange breathing that might indicate a laugh. "That was common, in my day. Possession is dangerous because it is useful. I could have left my body for yours, if I was willing to let you die. It would drain your body, but that would take long enough. Immortality, in exchange for one wizard death every twenty years or so."
"Ah." Harry swallowed. That had been too close.
Peverell closed his eyes. "Ssssh. Let me analyze your memories."
Harry shifted awkwardly, and sat back down on the ground. Truth be told, he was still shaky, and didn't mind some rest either.
Time passed. Harry allowed the post-possession lethargy to take him, closing his eyes and just controlling his breathing for long minutes; five, ten, twenty.
"We have fallen so far," the ancient man eventually spoke. "I wonder what Merlin would say."
"Wizardry has lost much," Harry felt the need to point out. "But Muggles have grown. They have research of their own now, and thinking machines, and they have traveled into the heavens."
"Yes." There was silence for a moment. Then – "And wizardry we can fix."
We. "Does this mean you will help?"
"Some." He paused briefly before adding: "Death is not the only enemy."
"I know," Harry conceded. "But it's the greatest."
"Perhaps," Ignotus whispered. "The world is malleable now, more than ever before. And you wield influence. There is... opportunity."
"True," Harry nodded uncomfortably.
The papery man closed his eyes again, silently thinking. Harry didn't say anything, just waited, not sure what to hope for. It sounded like the man was prioritizing the other problems in the world, as his brother had said he would. Not that that was necessarily wrong, per se, but it wasn't what Harry had come for, and he also wasn't so sure that he wanted to follow the guidance of a ninth-century wizard on the matter of how to fix the world. But if his help meant restoring ancient magic like the healing spells that could save the Longbottoms...
The silence stretched, until Harry started wondering whether the old wizard had fallen asleep again.
"A lot of my friends died recently," he brought up. "We preserved the bodies. Cadmus said that you might be able to help?"
The ancient eyes slowly opened again.
"I might." Another silence, then: "But you do not need my help."
"I don't," Harry conceded. He was pretty sure he already had most of the necessary ingredients. The bodies could, for the most part, be healed with normal magic and perhaps some Muggle methods; a few drops of Elixir of Life could restore the life force pool while the True Patronus Charm and phoenix tears could fill it; the soul could be returned using the resurrection stone and forced to remain inside the body using the cloak. All they needed was some kind of spell to bind the soul and body together for long enough that the Elixir of Life would have something to latch on to, or alternatively, to restore the body to a "Demented" like state which the soul could easily be returned to. With the help of Dumbledore, Flamel and some of the master healers who had already expressed an interest in the project, they should be able to develop such spells before long. The only problem was the fine-tuning and experimenting. Any mistakes with soul magic might lead to a damaged soul which they had no knowledge to restore, and they could not afford to waste too much Elixir of Life. "But with your experience it would be a lot easier."
"Hmmm."
Easier, Slytherin said contemptuously. That sounded like you just woke up an ancient wizard from a thousand-year sleep to solve your problems for you a tiny bit faster than you could do it yourself.
"I didn't mean it like that!" Harry quickly blurted out. "I didn't just wake you up to save myself some time, but –"
"I know," Peverell breathed. "I have seen your intentions. I do not mind helping. But remember that my help is not free. I cannot function without Elixir of Life."
That was a good point, Harry realized. If, as Cadmus had hypothesized, "reactivating" the life force in someone who had been preserved right after death would take no more than a few drops of Elixir, then every day he kept Ignotus functional might amount to another life he could have saved instead. It was a sobering thought. There was a deadline on saving the Hogwarts children and professors and Mum; if he took too long their bodies would be damaged despite the preservation charms. But wouldn't there always be people dying, important to others even if they were less close to him?
Harry swallowed. He hadn't at all considered that trying to mitigate the war's losses in this way might be the selfish choice.
"I guess... I guess you must spend your time on whatever is most needed." He blinked away the moisture that was threatening to gather in his eyes. No matter what they decided to focus on, the souls of the dead were safe, they could be resurrected in whatever distant future humanity would have the means to do so. "Like teaching people your healing knowledge – Cadmus said that it used to be possible to restore people who were tortured into insanity, and it would be really, really good to get that back. But I did mean what I said: I want to work on the death problem, and I would really prefer to continue where you left off over trying to start from scratch." Standing on the shoulders of giants, as his father liked to say. Very few scientific breakthroughs happened in isolation, and understanding what the Peverells had done would be a key starting point. "I want to learn all that you learned, so I can spend my life doing something better – doing the things you never got around to, I mean. But... maybe a good place to start learning would be to look into resurrection of people with preserved bodies?"
"Hmmm. You may be right about that."
He took a deep, rasping breath.
"It will take time, to understand your memories. Months, likely. And what I took is not complete." There was another pause, then a whisper too soft for Harry to hear, and suddenly the platform Harry had arrived on moved up.
"I have enough magic left for one possession. Call in your teacher, who is waiting outside. I have opened the room for him and his phoenix. I will read him, and pass him the spells he needs to rebuild your school. He should be able to bear my touch long enough. Then, I propose that you go from this place, and study. If your teacher arranges sustenance, I shall return my body to sleep – but not my mind. That should allow me to contemplate the changes in the world, what knowledge can be shared, and what must not."
The brittle old man coughed, at the end of this long monologue, his entire body shaking. Some flecks of blood fell from his mouth, but with just a tiny twitch of the wand they disappeared again.
"Will you be all right?" Harry asked, concerned. It would be a great loss for the world, not to mention rather embarrassing, if the man had lived for twelve hundred years and then died within an hour of Harry coming near him.
"I should last some more centuries, before my voice gives out," the man whispered. "If you supply enough food and water, I may be conscious – if inactive – for three months without harm, even if you do not return with further sustenance."
"Oh, I will definitely come back."
"Good," the voice breathed again.
To Harry's left, a part of the wall loaded with books and scrolls lit up in a golden light.
"Take these," rasped Peverell. "The books discuss the ideas of soul magic. The scrolls are my own notes. You will study them, and design spells and experiments for your mission of resurrection. When you return, we will speak of it."
The living skeleton paused for a while, breathing deeply as though gathering the strength to speak again. A smaller section to Harry's right lit up in red, and a scattering of books and scrolls all around the walls became a bright, shining blue.
"The red works are for your teacher – I will pass him the spells he needs, but have not the strength for instruction, which the books will supply. The blue ones are for your friend, if she wishes it; the girl with the phoenix."
"She definitely won't mind," Harry blurted out. Hermione would be dying to get her hands on the books in this room. There was no doubt she'd go through everything Harry was allowed to take from here, and she'd probably have memorized the books on soul magic before he'd even read them once. "What are they?"
"History, culture, philosophy – useful, no matter what she chooses. Ask her to come with you, when you return. I will speak to her then. And bring a reliable Healer, who can be trusted with forgotten spells."
Harry nodded, a sudden lump in his throat. Teaching a Healer some forgotten spells didn't definitely mean that he might be able to give Neville his parents back, but there was hope, more than ever before. "I'm sure such a person can be found."
"Now call your teacher, my apprentice. There is much to do."
Apprentice. Yes, that was exactly what he'd asked for, wasn't it?
He took the mirror from his pocket to contact Dumbledore. "So... does that mean you're going to teach me all you've learned about death?" It sounded like it, but the man hadn't actually said so...
Harry wasn't sure, but he thought the expression on the papery face might be another attempt at a tired smile. "I will." His eyes turned serious, his gaze piercing. "And in return, will you give me life again?"
Harry stared back, unafraid. "I will."
-o-o-o-o-o-
Author's Note: And that's where the story ends! Thank you all for reading, and for your feedback. :) Your responses have helped to make the experience of writing and online-publishing a story thoroughly exciting, even if occasionally terrifying.
This story is now marked as complete, as it's reached the end of the main story. However, there will be an additional "epilogue" chapter with flashes from the future at some point, probably in 2015.
This story was fully written before the final arc of HPMoR, and has been known to sometimes confuse people as to what was canon and what wasn't. That is why, originally, I posted a short recap of the important things which weren't known at chapter 81 and which, therefore, i completely made up. With HPMoR complete, this probably isn't an issue anymore, but in case people are going for a reread "with full knowledge", or are otherwise curious for the recap if only for historical reasons, I've left it. In HPMoR:
* there is no such thing as life force
* we don't know whether there is such a thing as the soul (and if there is, it probably doesn't work that way)
* the philosopher's stone doesn't work that way
* the resurrection stone probably doesn't work that way
* horcruxes (probably) don't work that way
* powerful spells do not work that way (that is, it's entirely possible that powerful spells do in fact require a lot of power, and that the TPC doesn't count)
* the events in Godric's Hollows, Quirrell's and Dumbledore's motivations, the reason the last war lasted so long and certain people's secret identities are not (all) the same
* Hermione didn't go to Azkaban, didn't get Xare, and might have ended up... quite differently from being a basically normal teenage witch with a phoenix
* nobody but Harry has learned how to cast the TPC