Chapter Forty-Six
Of The Seven
It is a fearful thing to be haunted by those who loved us once. It is a fearful thing to haunt those one loves.
Destruction in World's End
Harry laughed silently under his Invisibility Cloak, standing next to the body on the forest floor.
Lots and lots of things begin with D, Harry thought.
D…
Destr...
Destruc…
(Harry couldn't finish the word. Not that one. So he tried again.)
Damage.
Damage of the Brain?
Harry knew that there was something wrong. Something was terribly wrong or it was terribly right or it was both. It had to be both.
Something had broken (his brain?) and Harry was very aware of the things in front of him, and yet not. Because as he watched Hagrid chase down Draco under the light of the Dark Mark in the sky, he could see other things well. Harry was aware, that perhaps at another time, he would have watched Dumbledore's death in horror.
Harry was aware of the grains of sand that were still stuck on his fingertips, the sand of Dream tossed on Draco that brought Despair. Dumbledore was Dead because Destiny Demanded it so. Harry could see the paths of Destiny's realm that wound round and round and they all became one path.
And even though Harry could see these truths, he was more concerned with the odd music in his head. He had heard it before, the ringing, clinking music ripped from somewhere.
Got to keep the loonies on the path
The music ended and began with the steady beat of his heart, the rhythm set by Desire's games. And Harry had wanted revenge so much it was all he could do to keep from screaming. Dumbledore had to go, there was no other way. And with a few words, and a handful of sand, Harry had made it so.
You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me 'til I'm sane.
The sand had shaped the world, making ideas reality, and everyone would know that Draco killed Dumbledore. There was no room for Doubt, and even if Harry admitted it, most people would not believe him. But the sand used on Draco has affected him as well.
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There's someone in my head but it's not me
Despair.
Harry had his revenge.
His actions were beautiful.
But why did he feel so empty?
And if your head explodes with dark forebodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the…
Death approached.
The noise in Harry's head was silenced, her black hair unaffected by the howling wind.
She gave him a look of chastisement as he stood above Dumbledore's body.
"I have work to do," she said.
Embarrassed, Harry stepped away and slipped deeper into the forest. The old trees creaked in the fierce wind, a side effect of an approaching storm. But other than that the Forbidden Forest was silent, absent of any centaurs, thestrals, or half-brother giants. He was alone.
Unsettled, Harry wrapped the Cloak around him tighter. The certainty of his actions was now fading, and now all that was left was his exhaustion and the truth. He had killed Dumbledore.
"Fuck."
Harry struggled to wrap his mind around the idea,
"Why are you still here?" Death called out to him a few moments later.
"I wanted to explain," Harry mumbled. "It wasn't personal. I was so angry and I saw what could be... I… It was so beautiful, you see." Harry was aware of the stammer in his words. "Because of Delirium, you see… I could see. Delirium, so I could see Destiny and that brought Death, and the Destruc… Destruc… broken Dreams. And broken Dreams are things of Despair, which lead to Desire. All of you were in my head, in my head and it was so beautiful, all seven of you at once, and I couldn't fight it…I couldn't fight you. I can't."
The weight of his actions was beginning to horrify him. It was rare for him to act so impulsively, maybe if he had known what to do, how to mourn, then maybe he wouldn't have been so stupid.
Harry laughed in his head, was there was proper way to mourn?
And now he was thoroughly screwed over, because now there was nothing left that the Dark Lord feared. The Ministry would crumble, people would lose faith, and the Dark Lord's next priority would be to hunt him down.
Harry took a step forward to Dumbledore's body, There was something under his foot and Harry bent down to pick it up.
"Is this the Elder Wand?" he asked as he looked at Dumbledore's old wand. It was an inappropriate question, but it was better than trying to figure out the meaning behind Death's gaze.
"Yes. I know you used the Resurrection Stone as well. That makes you Master of Death." She withdrew the Stone from her pocket and handed it to him. "What do you say to that?" Her face was still kind, but something else as well. Harry wasn't sure if he was imagining the steely quality in her voice, the pity in her eyes, or the fear in her body.
Instead, he clutched the Elder Wand. "I don't know," Harry admitted. "I don't know what to do." There were lots of things just about to leave his mouth. Things change, and Dumbledore's death was just one more thing that would bring a new beginning. That there is meaning in colors and shapes, and patterns in the sand that can't be seen. That hearts break, and ideas shape reality. But all those words failed to answer the question.
Death took a step forward, her eyes narrowed in observation. "Oh, Harry. Are there any thoughts of your own in that head of yours?"
Harry blinked at her. And to his surprise, she came forward once more, only to wrap his arms in embrace. He jerked back, but her arms did not yield.
Harry strained his mind trying to remember the time when this had last happened. Perhaps one of the girls in his class, but that might have been followed by an inappropriate grope. Perhaps it was back in his second year, the day he first met Mrs. Weasley.
"What do you want Harry?" she asked again.
This time the words came to his lips easily. "I want to be normal. I'm tired of the games and the fighting. I know I'm good at it, but it doesn't mean I have to like it. Why won't they leave me alone?" Harry's words were muffled as he spoke into her jacket. He could love her.
That had to be a bad thing, to fall in love with Death. It was bad to fall in love, because love belonged to Desire, and she would break his heart and send him tumbling back into Despair. And then…
"Stop it." Death's firm words stopped the whirlwind of his thoughts. "You shouldn't be aware of Desire's actions. And it's fine to love me because I love you." Death planted a kiss on his cheek. "I think it's high time that this nonsense ends. I'll speak with the others."
"Thank you," he whispered as she withdrew from him. He looked around in astonishment when he saw that he was now in the Entrance Hall of the school.
"Hmph… You just wait until the others hear from me. I've been so busy I haven't kept up with you. Mortal's lives aren't normally on my list of duties. If I had known what my family was doing to you, I would have told them to knock it off."
"I don't want to start an argument," Harry replied as he saw Hagrid crash through the doors and go up the staircase.
Death laughed. "Everyone argues with me, Harry. But nobody wins."
Harry clutched the Stone in his hand as he went down to the Slytherin Common Room. When he looked over his shoulder, she was gone.
The next few days were a mixture of numbness and fear.
Dumbledore was buried on Hogwarts' grounds, in a large ceremony in which half of the wizarding world were present. The wizard in charge of the ceremony spoke of the many great qualities of Albus Dumbledore. It didn't take very long for Harry to get impatient with the service, just as he had when Sirius was buried. Harry had never been the overly sentimental type, but it was definitely strange to be present at the funeral that he caused. It was another example of his hypocrisy, a new hobby he was not fond of.
The argument whether Dumbledore deserved it or not was moot. It some ways Dumbledore deserved it, and in others he did not. The reason Harry's stomach twisted because of how easy it had been for him to mutter the Killing Curse. He remembered the vague amazement that Tom Riddle had managed to frame Hagrid for opening the Chamber of Secrets and Myrtle's death. Yet, Harry had done the same thing, using an untalented Malfoy as a scapegoat instead. Quirrell, Umbridge, and Dumbledore; all were teachers gone by his own hand.
Death is the force of equality, look into its eyes and stand proud.
In some ways, Harry was worse.
He was distracted from his thoughts when McGonagall approached him. "Potter, a word?"
Harry nodded and followed her to her office. The school board had elected to keep the school open until the end of April, giving the school year a few more weeks before closing. McGonagall was placed as Headmistress, much as she had been the year before after Umbridge's death.
"Now then Harry. I am aware that you were discussing something of the utmost importance with Dumbledore. The Order of the Phoenix would like to know what information he gave you."
"Mmm… I don't think I can tell you that."
"And why not?"
He looked up to McGonagall, her face white and tired. He felt a stirring of sympathy; people were demanding answers that she couldn't provide. But it wasn't as if he could tell her anything either. If the Dark Lord was aware of that people were searching for Horcruxes, he would chuck them out to sea, rather than leaving them in important places that held meaning. The other reason was because he did not want people misconstruing his role in the war. He wasn't a hero, a savior, or anyone to look up to.
There is no right or wrong, there is only power and those to weak to see it.
Harry had power and had chosen accordingly. It didn't make him wrong. But it did make him screwed over. He was a ticking time bomb that would self-explode, and he was going to make certain that part of Voldemort came down with him. It would be best if they did not pin their hopes on him.
"He told me bits and pieces of history. He said that people might rely on me because I'm the one responsible for his first defeat, even though I didn't even do anything. But most of it was personal, and I don't feel like sharing."
"Dumbledore didn't tell you how to defeat You-Know-Who?" She looked at Harry suspiciously, not fooled by his words.
"Oh he told me. Trust, perseverance, justice…love. All those things that inspire people in a speech, bet nothing you can actually do. You know how he was."
McGonagall sighed. "Yes, that does sound like him. Very well, thank you for your time Potter."
Harry left the office with some frustration. His talk with McGonagall reminded him of something important. He still needed to discover where Voldemort's Horcrux was hidden in Hogwarts, and he only had a few weeks left.
That night Harry was sorting through his trunk and tossing out old items that he was fairly certain that he didn't need anymore. Most of his belongings were for school purposes, and he had no interest in keeping them any longer. Near the bottom of the trunk was a rubber duck with his name written in faded ink. Harry stared at the duck in amazement, he hadn't thought of it in years. It was a reminder to him; one day he would be able to belong somewhere, and he would no longer have to worry about things that were out of his control.
He used to be such an idiot.
It was then that he found the tiny bottle of Felix Felicis he had won at the beginning of the school year. He wasn't certain if he still had the bottle or if Blaise had taken it out of curiousity. The amber liquid glistened, a promise and happiness. The temptation to use it was fierce, to forget his troubles and not worry about fate.
But it was too late in the day to try, so Harry placed the bottle on top of his things.
The next morning, Harry woke up, his body sluggish and tired. He rolled over to look at the time.
Six o clock.
A few minutes later, he uncorked the bottle of Felix and gave in.
A wave of contentment washed over him, easing the worry and guilt that had plagued him since Dumbledore's death. It was a familiar sensation, on those rare occasions that Harry could trust his instincts implicitly, like when he faced the dragon in the first task. But unlike Harry's destructive instincts, this was more controlled.
It was a taste of possibility.
Pleased, Harry went for a morning jog around the castle. Most of the annoying portraits were still asleep when he passed them by, and he avoided them. When Harry was done he looked out the window and saw the storm that had raged through the night had ended during his run. Deciding it would be nice to watch the sun rise, Harry went to the Astronomy Tower. Opening the door, he saw the Bloody Baron.
"Good morning Baron," Harry said cheerfully. "Were you out rattling the chains again last night?"
The Baron observed him with somber eyes. "Last night was a night for sorrow."
"Well, they say April is the cruelest month." Harry seated himself on the railing, his feet dangled over the edge of the tower. He had always wanted to sit there, but was far too paranoid that someone would push him off.
"Do they?"
"What?" His feet dangled high above the ground. Harry had the urge to jump, fairly certain that he would not fall to his death. Perhaps he would fly instead.
"Do they say that April is the cruelest month?"
Harry shrugged. "Yes. It has something to do with life coming out of mud after winter. I can't quite remember." A small part of Harry's mind wanted to shut up, alarmed by his comfortable conversation with the ghost.
"And yet, you are in good spirits."
"Oh yes. I feel astonishing today. I haven't felt this good in a while."
The Baron approached him. "Are you in love?"
Harry nearly fell off the tower. "What?"
"You carry that look on your face, the one that adorns the face of many boys your age."
"No," Harry responded shortly. Then he thought about the statement again, and of Death's gentle kiss on his cheek. "Well, maybe a bit."
"Love is a fearful thing, fickle and fleeting. No good comes from love."
"Well, someone is bitter. Is that how you died? In love?"
The Baron did not respond immediately, his chains clicking in agitation. "No one has had the courage to ask me that question before."
Harry snorted. "I'm not brave. You're a ghost. Whatever happened to you was the worse than any annoying question I ask."
"I was sent by Lady Ravenclaw to fetch her daughter. They had a parting of ways after she stole the diadem from her mother, and I was asked to find her once more. But my beloved was obstinate, and in my anger I made a grievous mistake. In my heartache I chose to follow her."
"You followed her. Does that means she became a ghost as well?" The Baron's silence was all the confirmation that Harry needed. "So you didn't even see Death?" He squinted in the Baron's direction, the rising sun making the ghost difficult to see.
"I do not know of what you speak of. But I heard something, perhaps the sound of wings."
"Oh. Well then." Harry didn't quite know what to take from that so he reached inside his pocket and pulled out the watch he had borrowed from Blaise. It was so hard for him to keep track of time now. "It's been nice talking to you Baron." Harry reached for the door handle and paused.
"Ah… I remember another saying from the poem. I will show you fear in a handful of dust. Could you imagine what that would be like? To have so much power that even dust could cripple someone in fear?" Harry mused.
The only response from the Baron was the rattle of his chains.
Harry drifted through his classes, completing the spells in Transfiguration easily, and contemplating the Baron's story. He approached the Grey Lady during lunch hour.
"I spoke to the Baron this morning."
She looked down at him. "I fail to see how the past concerns you."
Harry leaned against the wall, munching on the apple he brought from the Great Hall.
"Eh, it doesn't really. I was wondering a few things. Why didn't you go with Her? Why didn't you move on instead of becoming a ghost?"
The Grey Lady observed him with an expressionless face. "I refused to believe that my life had ended. There was more that I wanted to see."
"Did Tom Riddle ask you about the diadem?"
Her mouth opened in quiet surprised. "Yes," she whispered.
"Did you tell him about it?"
"Yes."
Harry nodded and began to walk away.
The Grey Lady called out, "Is that all? Most inquire of its location."
Harry smiled at her. "I don't care about the diadem. Tom Riddle liked the idea of finding something that was lost through time and making it his own."
"And you?"
He looked at the Grey Lady, her beauty apparent even in ghostly form. It was easy to imagine the Baron's infatuation with her, and a violent argument that led to death, and a life that never faded. He still didn't know how to feel about ghosts.
"I don't know. But I'll know it when I see it."
He walked away, taking a left at the next corner. He felt like going to the Room of Requirement. He had a very good feeling about it.
Ten minutes later, he left with the diadem Horcrux tucked in his pocket. That was easy, he thought. He tossed it in his trunk and headed to Defense class, arriving at the same time as his classmates. Snape was already in the classroom, standing at the front of the room with a typical sour look on his face.
"I have graded your essays on Dementors, some of you did well, but most of you would clearly fail if you were ever attacked."
Snape went around the room handing out the assignments.
Blaise leaned over to whisper at him. "Harry, where are your things?"
Harry shrugged. "I left them in our dormitory. I had a feeling I wouldn't need it." His graded Defense assignment flopped in front of him. Harry opened up to see his score: T
"What is this?" He asked as he stood out of his seat, waving the sheet in mock anger.
"Your score, Potter," replied Snape in a bored tone.
"No." Harry tossed the homework at Snape's head. "That's a fucking insult. My essay was perfectly valid and it deserves a higher score than T." Harry was faintly amused. Snape was an unjust man, and Harry always wanted to argue with him. Today he didn't care about the consequences, and the Lucky Potion was all the encouragement he needed. For good measure, he insulted Snape once more. "You're a bastard."
Snape's nostrils flared in anger. "I explicitly detailed how one must defend against Dementors and there are books written on the subject. You chose to write on a method that has never been discussed before."
Harry scoffed. "There is more than one way to fight a Dementor."
There are ways around everything, but perhaps not in the way you desire.
"And yet, I find it hard to believe that a Dementor would choose to listen to a story. It was by far the most dismal essay in the class, even surpassing Finnegan's lofty tale of a golden patronus."
"It's not a story, it's a sentence. Find a purpose and say it out loud when they approach. It's a thought that the dementor's can't suck out of a person and they fade away. Sirius used it to escape out of Azkaban."
"Oh yes. Perhaps I should Floo your godfather for a more detailed explanation."
Harry's fist tightened and there was a gasp from Hannah. Harry took a deep breath and went around the table to pick up his fallen essay at Snape's feet. Then Harry punched Snape in the face.
Hard.
People shrieked and he heard Ron give a whoop in encouragement. Snape looked at him angrily from the floor, a welt on his face rising.
"Detention for the rest of the year Potter."
"No," Harry laughed, "I don't think so. You've got nothing over me."
He couldn't help the smug tone that came to his voice. He was so tired of planning and the careful control that he always practiced. The quite façade he kept in class that made him unremarkable. As far as anyone knew he hadn't led the DA, the discovery of the Chamber of Secrets was luck and Draco killed Dumbledore. He was the Dark Lord's next target and there was no point like acting like an incompetent first year. It only took him a few weeks and a bottle of Felix Felicis to come to the realization.
"There is a war outside of these walls and soon enough it will bleed into this school. It's already begun and you know it. I'm not coming back next year, not with the Dark Lord after my blood. And I'm not going to spend the last nights that I'm here trapped in another one of your irritating detentions."
Snape snarled. "Do you think you can do anything you want Potter?"
"Now you're catching on! I can. Oh, you have no idea what I'm capable of." He gave a sigh as the adrenalin shot through his veins, the confession lifting his spirits. He was sick of school, assignments, and pandering to people beneath him. "I could make you. I could break you. I could unmake you. It would be tricky, annoying and bothersome, but I'm certain I could do it." He was aware of the silence in the room and reveled in the attention.
"I'm not haunted by ghosts, not when there is something to live for. I can do anything. You just wait."
He left the class all of his classmates gaping at him in shock. Harry went outside and headed for the lake. Hagrid was teaching off in the distance, a small crowd of students around him.
A few minutes later, he heard a soft rustle. Creaking open an eyes, he saw a halo of blonde hair.
"Hello Harry," said Luna in a slightly misty voice. "You look well today."
He smiled. "I feel well." He heard her settle next to him, her body blocking the sun from his face.
"I'm glad. You looked really bad these past few weeks. I was worried about you. You took Sirius' death awfully hard."
Harry winced, her blunt understatement, feeling a bit ashamed. He rolled onto his back so he wouldn't have to face Luna.
"It's not so bad; he's waiting for you on the other side."
Harry sighed. "I know. But it doesn't help me now. There's a war going on and I'm not certain if I can keep myself together."
Luna tilted her head. "You're not alone."
He raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Can you see people in my head?" Even as he asked the question, he was apprehensive of the answer.
Luna blinked. "No, I was talking about them." She pointed behind him and he looked over his shoulder to see his classmates approach.
"That," said Ron as he flopped to the ground, "was the best thing I've ever seen. I'll think I'll use that memory to make a Patronus."
"Memories of malicious intent don't work as well as a thought that has a strong emotional reaction tied to family members," replied Anthony, who stopped when he was nudged in the shoulder. "That said, well done, Harry."
"Thank you."
"Still, won't you get in trouble?" asked Parvati in worry.
"Nah," replied Ernie. "Harry's right. There are only a couple weeks left in the school year since they shortened the term. And they aren't even certain if it's going to open again. We probably couldn't get away with it though."
"Probably not, but since I can't return next year, I am an exception to the rule," said Harry.
Terry frowned. "What are you talking about? That's not what Ernie meant."
"Eh?"
"Snape was scared of you," replied Hermione. "I've never seen him so pale."
"After you left the classroom, he acted normal, but we all could tell."
"Really?" Harry found Seamus assurance doubtful, Snape never gave any emotions away. "How then?"
Hermione brushed at her skirt. "He told us to read out of our books in silence and he reread the essay you tossed at him."
"It was weird. You spooked him," said Dean.
"You know how fast Snape is at casting spells, but he never saw you coming," said Ernie with a grin.
"Not to mention your speech. It was…" Susan gave a sigh. "Wow."
"I hope you can back up all of those words next year," said Terry.
"What?" Harry had a feeling he was missing something very important.
Michael spoke to him slowly. "Well, we're going with you."
"Um…" He had honestly didn't know how to take this. But as he looked around at the ring of eager faces around him, he was flabbergasted by the trust in their eyes.
"You don't have to do that."
Daphne arched an eyebrow. "And her I was hoping that you had become a little less dense."
"It was too much to hope for," replied Blaise.
Susan spoke up. "What else are we going to hope for Harry? Wait for other people to solve our problems? It didn't work last time. You-Know-Who came back. People were too scared to fight and things kept getting worse. We can't let that happen. God, just a few years ago we were eating sundaes in Diagon Alley and now every one is terrified of each other. We won't be happy until that world comes back."
She took out the pocket knife Harry had give to her several years ago. "We made an oath our third year that we would change the world. We knew it then. Something would happen."
Harry frowned. "That's not the same Susan. We were young and it wasn't about life and death. It was about accepting people and…" Change. He clenched his teeth as he realized the verbal trap he was falling into.
"You promised me Potter. Our first year. I asked you if you had power. Our second year I doubted you, and you surpassed my expectations. You do that consistently, you bend the rules to suit your needs. I've noticed. But you can't do it alone. You're too much of an idiot." A small smile graced Daphne's lips.
Blaise continued. "Dumbledore was teaching you something, we all know you had meetings with him. He trusted you."
Harry sank his head into his hands. "It wasn't like that. All we did was talk about the Dark Lord, we discussed his weaknesses."
Ron punched him in the shoulder. "And you kept that quiet?"
Harry snorted. "Yeah, well, this is the Dark Lord. He's ambitious, talented and has more spells in his head than all of us combined. Saying his weaknesses is like trying to describe color to a blind person; it's a bit hard to explain.
"Look I get your point, I do. But people are going to die. Your going to be miserable and everyday is going to be full of empty prayers. Nightmares will follow you." He looked out at the crowed of determined faces and realized his half-hearted argument wasn't going to work because he wanted the company.
But could he trust them? It was easy under the bright sun on the Hogwarts lawn, relatively safe from Death Eaters. But it was so much harder answering that question when you were cold, hungry, and about to die. Who among his friends was Pettigrew in the making?
Was it Anthony Goldstein, the quiet Ravenclaw who was more of an acquaintance?
Was it Lavender, whose gossipy nature made her flighty and indecisive?
Or was it Blaise, an ambitious Slytherin who had nothing to gain from the endeavor?
Did it matter?
"Harry, you can't make our decisions for us."
Harry sighed and stood up to walk back to the castle, the group following him. He could feel the Elder Wand that he had strapped to his leg, the material of the Invisibility Cloak in his pocket, and the Resurrection Stone he tied around his neck.
To know yourself, is to be powerful. To know others, is to be wise. To know both is to be a gift.
He would have to take a risk and trust them. He couldn't predict what would happen, and he couldn't make those choices for them. And if someone did turn out a traitor it was unlikely that he suffer the direct blow. Then he could resolve the matter himself.
He was Master of Death after all.
That had to mean something.
Part Three Complete
A/N: Poetry quotes are from T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland, the astoundingly complex poem in which the footnotes had footnotes.
