Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Bleach or any associated content.
Master of the Hollows
When Harry Potter left the dubious safety of Hogwarts and walked into the Forest of Death with only his wand and his convictions for company, he did not expect he would return alive.
That wasn't to say that Harry wasn't expecting a great many other important things—he wasn't thrifty at all when it came to expectations. He expected Voldemort would send him on his way to the sound of his own screams and the jeers of Death Eater lackeys, just as he expected that Voldemort would channel his death through the magic of the Elder Wand—in fact, he was counting on it. Only Voldemort could properly destroy the horcrux implanted within him all those years ago, and until it was destroyed, Voldemort would remain the immortal monster of nightmares.
And so Harry walked into the forest, alone, wand clutched tightly in his right hand, through rank after rank of sneering, jeering, spitting Death Eaters who parted for him, grudgingly. He walked into the clearing where Voldemort waited trying very hard not to think how unfortunate it would be if one of his Death Eaters got it in their heads to cast an Avada Kedavra his way.
Fatally unfortunate, he decided. For he would die, and Voldemort's horcrux would undoubtedly survive. But Voldemort isn't the sort who would let anyone other than himself finish what he started seventeen years ago. And it was that hope that he clung too while Voldemort gloated his magnificent victory; as he was subjected to the cruciatus curse again, and again, until he was dizzy and shaking from the pain, and the dark outlines of the trees blurred and the world became a nebulous upside-down thing.
When the curses stopped, Harry lay there, trembling uncontrollably in a cold sweat, and he realized something very important. Voldemort…no…Tom Riddle wasn't making a big show of things just because he was a figurehead for the Light, Tom Riddle was stalling because Tom Riddle was afraid. That night that haunted Harry, the night his parents were killed, it haunted not only him but Tom as well. Harry could see the hesitation, lurking half-formed thoughts inside the sunken sockets of the twisted figure towering over him: what if it happens again? Will my curse work? And Harry, stupid and desperate, pulled himself to his feet and told the red-eyed monster standing over him as much:
"Go on, Tom. Kill me!" he said in a voice that was pitiful to his own ears, standing on his own two feet and trembling like a leaf about to take flight. "Unless you don't think you can. Unless you're afraid."
But Voldemort wasn't afraid. Voldemort still had Nagini, safe in his cage, his last horcrux and security net. And so it was Voldemort who sneered, Voldemort who raised his wand, and Voldemort who, reassured of his own immortality, cast the soul-destroying curse straight into Harry's chest just like Harry wanted.
There was a green light and a loud whooshing sound that filled Harry's ears just before the impact. And, although Harry had no idea what would happen next, what did happen was so completely opposed to any of the expectations lurking around inside his head, that for a few moments, Harry wasn't sure if he was imagining the whole scene.
The spell hit him and his vision filled with a blinding flash of green light. Harry stumbled backwards several steps with the impact. There was this sucking and cleaving sensation as the roar of the spell dissipated, a blistering pain from his scar that made him cry out and clutch his forehead, a ghastly icy sensation of something leaving his forehead, and the sound of brittle metal snapping. Harry recovered his balance only to find the world had become crisp and focused (even though he had long lost his glasses) and this was well because it allowed him to see himself tottering and then falling much like a piece of deadwood, to rest motionless in the long grass of the clearing.
So Harry stood there, looking at his body. The other Harry lay at his feet, glassy-eyed, staring up at the leafy ceiling, and twinkling stars beyond. And if that wasn't strange enough, the circle of Death-Eaters and even Voldemort himself didn't appear to see him at all, (well not him him, they saw the other him just fine). They had all fallen into a strange sort of silent hold-your-breath reverence, and they were one and all staring at the other Harry, there on the ground.
A tentative cheer arose, quickly silenced by the furious glare Voldemort scythed the clearing with.
"Make certain he's dead," Voldemort ordered.
It was Narcissa who moved first. She stepped from the ranks and knelt at the other Harry's side and pressed two fingers to the pulse-point at his throat. She paled, and even though she whispered, it could clearly be heard through the stony silence of the clearing. "He is dead, my Lord."
Voldemort laughed, and puppet-like, soon the entire ensemble had joined him.
Meanwhile, Harry was waving his hand in front of Narcissa's face. "Mrs. Malfoy?" he asked experimentally. But she ignored him, and now she was looking through his hand at the other Harry. She looked … disappointed maybe. Not sad. Not happy either. Worried, maybe.
Harry withdrew when Voldemort decided to bounce his body around the clearing like a stringless puppet. That should have made him angry. But Harry couldn't seem to work up any other emotion other than shock. He stared down at his hands, thinking they might be ghastly white and misty like the ghosts of the castle. But it was still his hand. It was still the same colour it had always been. He could still feel the damp grass between his fingers, still smell the clean air of the forest, still touch everything he could touch before Voldemort had cursed him, and his skin was still as warm as ever. None of his senses had dulled, and they should have if he were really a ghost, according to Nearly Headless Nick. In fact, if his vision was anything to go by, they were sharper.
It was an entirely confusing experience, only compounded when he discovered a chain, eight links long, emerging from his chest where his heart should be. He fingered the cold metal experimentally. Stranger still was the fact that he didn't feel at all queer with a chain hanging out of his chest and he should because it wasn't as if people had chains hanging out of their chests.
"This isn't quite what I had in mind," Harry muttered to himself dryly. He pulled the links up to observe them better. "What in Merlin's name is this anyway?" he asked. It appeared as though the lowest link on the chain was eroding—slowly, mind, but fast enough his newly sharpened eyesight could pick it out—and as it did, his chest began to ache. The feeling came and went quickly. Harry tugged on it experimentally, wondering if it came off, and winced when a sharp jolt of pain afflicted his entire body.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a voice said, so close that Harry could feel hot air hit his neck. "Your chain of fate will disappear soon enough without you helping it along."
Harry dropped his hold on the chain as if scalded, and twisted his body sharply. A man was leaning over him, dark blue eyes examining him critically within the depths of a white bucket-hat, a spread fan covered the lower part of his face. And, like Harry, Voldemort and his Death-Eaters went on as if neither of them were in their midst. For a wizard he was dressed strangely in foreign green robes that wrapped around his chest and were tied with more fabric, and wore overtop of that a coat-like cloak of grey decorated with large white diamonds near the hem. His feet were bare of socks and clad in wooden sandals, and the hand not holding his fan supported itself upon a strange cane that appeared innocuous enough.
But then…Lucius Malfoy's cane looked harmless too. Harry eyed it warily.
"You…can see me?" Harry ventured.
"Of course. I have to admit, of all the ways of destroying the foreign soul stuck in your body, I hadn't imagined you would go to such extreme lengths." The man snapped his fan closed and tapped his chin. "Still…it was interesting Harry Potter. Interesting and impressive. It takes a certain kind of soul to knowingly walk to its own death." The smile the man gifted him with was creepy and his eyes twinkled eerily like Dumbledore's had once upon a time, and set Harry's nerves on edge.
Harry climbed warily to his feet. "We haven't met, have we?" he asked suspiciously. "I'd remember someone like you if we did. Who are you?"
"Urahara Kisuke, a handsome and honest businessman," the man said, proffering a deep bow, "you may call me Kisuke, if you like." He squared himself and planted his cane between his legs, his gaze turning to observe Voldemort. "As for how I know of you…let's call it 'professional interest'. I've been watching the two of you for some time now. It isn't everyday that I get to observe a man who voluntarily split his soul into seven different pieces. He's fascinating, too, but in a different way. If Soul-Society ever caught on that there existed a group of Ryoka with the power to split their own souls…" Kisuke trailed off and shook his head. "It would be the Quincy all over again. No, better the man just die and his knowledge fall into the abyss where all forgotten knowledge ends up."
Quincy? Soul-Society? The man might as well be speaking another language. Harry licked his lips and decided to focus on what he did know.
"You know about the horcuxes." Harry was distracted then, watching the procession leaving the clearing. A tearful Hagrid carrying the other Harry. Kisuke used the head of his cane to turn Harry's head back to face him, making Harry frown.
"I told you, I've been watching. But never mind that now," Kisuke said, "we have more important matters at hand. Namely, that," he motioned with his cane off to one side of the now deserted clearing. For a moment, Harry wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to be finding interesting about that particular piece of real-estate (there was grass and trees and dirt, and what was interesting about that?) until his eyes spotted movement on the ground.
There was this…thing there, lying in the shadow of the trees, nearly invisible. No bigger than a fat cat, only vaguely taking the shape of a deformed child, made of some dark globulous substance that reminded Harry of the nether-space under a dementor's cloak. Harry approached cautiously, standing well back. It had a head, at least, it resembled a human head…sort of…and was half-covered by a white mask that reflected the moonlight. The creature's deformed eyes were red like Voldemort's. When it caught sight of Harry they rolled like a frightened animal, and it let out a gurgling wail that made Harry cringe and cover his ears.
"It's disgusting," Harry said. "What is it?"
"A sort of Hollow," said Kisuke, drawing even with Harry.
"What's that?" Harry had never heard of a creature called a Hollow.
"Simply put? A Hollow is a creature that has devoured its own soul. A creature of malice that feeds on the spiritual energy generated by Human souls."
"And that…thing…is a Hollow?"
"Well…not exactly. Technically speaking it's a piece of soul that's stuck mid-way though the process of hollowfication. It's not quite human anymore, but not quite Hollow yet either." Kisuke's eyes gleamed as he spoke, and Harry got the impression that Kisuke was for some reason, very passionate on the subject. "When the man you know as Voldemort began splitting his soul, he created a magnificent paradox. Generally speaking, souls cannot survive apart from their mortal containers for very long without their now broken chain of fate degrading, leading ultimately to hollowfication."
"Hold on…chain of fate?"
Kisuke used his cane to tap the chain resting in the grass at Harry's feet. "This here. The spell he used, Aveda Kedavra, appears to break the chain of fate when it hits a living organism, essentially separating the physical shell and the soul permanently."
Harry looked down worriedly, but hesitated to voice if he was going to turn into a hollow now that his chain appeared to be broken. Kisuke didn't seem concerned as he continued speaking:
"The paradox I spoke of exists because in order for a single hollow to be born, a single soul must undergo hollowfication. Now, since Voldemort always keeps one part of his soul in a living physical container, even if all the other pieces of his soul were to undergo hollowfication, he wouldn't actually turn into a hollow until all the pieces of his soul underwent the process. At one point, six of the seven pieces of his soul were partially hollowfied but one always remains in a mortal container, safe from hollowfication."
Harry looked down at the flailing and crying creature before him in horror. "You mean, every time we destroyed a horcux one of these things was released?"
"Very good," Kisuke said. "But you don't have to worry. That's why I was observing you. Once you destroyed the horcrux, I cleaned up the bit of hollow later and disposed of it."
"But…why didn't I see them then? Why didn't any of us see them?"
"That is the question, isn't it: Why couldn't you see them? But perhaps that is something you must contemplate another time." The man prodded the ghoulish creature with his cane. "This one was the piece of soul inside your scar."
Harry's hands unconsciously migrated to rub his scar, but all his fingers encountered nothing but smooth skin under his fringe. "It's gone," Harry noted, surprised.
"Physical scars won't affect your spirit. When Voldemort hit you with the killing curse, he ejected both you and his horcux from your physical shell."
Harry felt his stomach turn, but he felt lighter all of a sudden. He really had fulfilled the prophecy. Once Nagini was killed Voldemort would be well and truly alive. Well and truly mortal.
Kisuke was watching him again over the top of his fan and it was making him uncomfortable.
"How do you destroy it, then?" he asked. "You destroyed all the others."
"You don't want to do it yourself?" Kisuke hedged.
"It's not like I've got my wand on me," Harry said impatiently, eyeing the lightshow that had started in the distance, "I'm dead." The battle of Hogwarts had begun. His friends would all be there fighting for their lives. Harry yearned to stand beside them. And Harry didn't like the narrow-eyed look Kisuke was giving him; Harry was certain he was plotting something—it was just that sort of look.
"Well, it's lucky then that I just happen to have this spare zanpakutō with me, isn't it?" Kisuke tucked his fan away in his belt before he reached into his coat and pulled out a sheathed Japanese sword of some sort. He tossed it at Harry who fielded it out of the air and stared at it blankly.
"A what?"
"A zanpakutō, otherwise known as a soul-cutter; the weapon of choice for those who hunt hollows." Kisuke had his fan out again covering his face, but the way his eyes glittered revealed how intent he was watching Harry examine the sword. "Cut the mask of a hollow and you purify it, allowing the soul trapped within to return it to where it belongs, be it Soul-Society or Hell depending on the nature of the Soul."
Soul-society? Harry almost asked. That wasn't the first time Kisuke had used the term. Harry shook himself mentally to refocus himself on what was important in the now. It doesn't matter. Destroying the horcrux is what really matters.
He stepped over to the undulating mass, which wailed with renewed intent having seen what Harry wielded. The sword was difficult to unsheathe, like pulling it out of thick molasses, and by the time the gleaming tip cleared the wooden sheath, he was panting from the exertion.
What's wrong with me? thought Harry, inexplicably tired after such a simple act.
"Cut through its mask," Kisuke directed.
The terrible shriek the hollow emitted when Harry raised the sword over his head made him flinch. His grip tightened on the leather bindings and his arm came down, slicing cleanly through the hollow's mask, cutting short the awful noise it was making. The hollow dissolved into hundreds of small black motes that eventually faded away entirely.
"Good. Now let us hurry to the castle. Don't bother sheathing the sword, you'll never get it out again if you do." Kisuke preceded him out of the clearing, and Harry struggled to keep up. He didn't quite remember walking being this difficult before.
"Why…not?" He said, breathing heavily. "Does it have something to do with why I feel so…bloody…tired?"
"Right you are!" Kisuke said brightly. "It's not everyday a human spirit yet to pass on has enough reiryoku to wield a soul-cutter." He stopped briefly only to note: "Actually, I can't recall a recorded case of it ever happening, but … never mind that now." He resumed his pace. "I sense the bit of soul stuck in that snake has been released. We should hurry."
Neville must have been successful, Harry thought, heartened, even as his feet continued to feel like two gigantic blocks of lead-weight beneath him. By the time they reached the steps of Hogwarts, Harry was about ready to topple. He was standing behind Kisuke wobbly-kneed, and he was grateful when the man grabbed his bicep.
"Be careful. We might be invisible to the average person, but that doesn't mean we can't interact with the physical world."
"But…ghosts…" Harry tried to protest and was silenced by Kisuke.
"Later."
They passed fallen and unmoving bodies on the way to the great-hall where most of the fighting seemed to be concentrated. Inside the tables were overturned and shattered, and the noise from screams and shouts and spells was almost as overwhelming as the lights that flashed back and forth across the room. Harry couldn't hold back a horrified gasp when he spotted Mrs. Weasely duelling Bellatrix. In the centre of it all, a rumpled Minerva and a soot-stained Kingsley were tag-teaming Voldemort with dubious success.
"There," Kisuke said, drawing Harry with him as they edged around the room, avoiding the bunches of fighters still standing. When Harry hesitated, Kisuke reminded him gently: "Your friends have their part to play and we have ours."
"Right," Harry said, tearing his eyes away. "Right."
They found the hollow near the shattered cage and headless corpse of Nagini. It was every bit as wraith-like and helpless and ghastly as the one Harry had previously disposed. It whined pitifully as Harry stabbed its mask and twisted his sword, not having the strength to raise the weapon over his head for a proper swing like last time. The mask shattered, and like before, the hollow faded grudgingly from life.
Harry tottered, but with a strong arm from Kisuke, remained standing. The sword clattered onto the blood-slick floor when his fingers lost their strength entirely.
"Hmm. At your limit already? Still…" Kisuke muttered and drew Harry close so he could use his body to keep him upright.
"Now what?" Harry said, his voice hoarse, almost too tired to even keep his head upright. He felt drained in a way he had never experienced before.
"Now…we trust that together your friends finish him off," Kisuke said. Harry jerked when a spell flashed their way, but the man simply batted it away with his cane, directing it to safely impact the wall behind them.
I knew it wasn't a normal cane.
It was probably then that Harry appreciated how hard it must have been for his friends to watch him walk off towards the forest, knowing what awaited him and being unable to help. Harry could only watch helplessly as the final battle raged on; Mrs. Weasely finally subduing Sirius' killer with the righteous rage of a bereaved mother; Minerva being knocked across the room and smashed into a wall as Voldemort retaliated furiously with the power of the Elder Wand.
The Elder Wand…the elder wand should have lost its power when he died, Harry suddenly realized. All the hollows should have. He was the master of all three, and when he died, their power should have faded. Was it because he was still here? Because he hadn't passed on?
Neville had joined Kingsley in battle, disregarding that one of his arms was limp and bloodied from shoulder to elbow. But he was overmatched, and Kingsley realized it by the way he was shouting at the stout boy to run and throwing a desperate volley of spells at Voldemort that were gracefully avoided.
"There must be something we can do," Harry said.
"The living must fight their own battles," said Kisuke, though it wasn't said unkindly. "Ours begins when theirs ends."
Harry saw the hole in Neville's guard at that moment, just as Voldemort too would have seen it.
If the wand had lost its power when I died, this wouldn't be happening…why is this happening? Harry thought frantically as he watched helplessly as Voldemort began incanting that hateful spell. "NO! STOP! YOU CAN'T!" he yelled.
And with a small pop, the Elder Wand vanished from Voldemort's hand only to reappear a moment later in Harry's.
Voldemort had only a split second to stare at his empty hand, baffled, before Neville and Kingsley's desperate barrage smashed into him and sent bits and pieces of Voldemort flying in all sorts of directions.
Harry stared dumbly at the wand in his hand, a mixture of feelings (and not all good ones) running through him. There was no rush of magic. No influx of power. No nothing. It just felt dead in his hand. A piece of wood. He hadn't felt a drop of magic since Voldemort had killed him. It made him feel terribly empty.
"Ah, well done. Now it begins," Kisuke warned, and secured and arm around Harry's waist. "He'll transform almost immediately and seek out souls with a high concentration of reiatsu. That's us. So brace yourself. I don't want to fight a hollow with so many humans around. They'll get caught in the crossfire and have no idea what's happening."
He spoke as if he wasn't human. "I don't think I can run another step," Harry admitted grudgingly, having torn his attention away from the wand, after a quick self-diagnosis. He wouldn't even be upright if it wasn't for Kisuke.
"Leave that to me."
It was strange hearing that phrase coming from someone else's lips. It was the same thing he was always telling people.
Voldemort's body landed in a twisted heap and lay still. Every battle stopped then and various coloured robes turned to watch the fate of the Dark Lord Voldemort. Death Eaters were already throwing down their wands and getting stunned by Aurors or Order-members. They had won.
Harry's happiness was short-lived.
From the dregs of Voldemort's remains, bubbled a viscous black goo, twisting and churning it rose up and up and up into the air; arms sprouted, then legs, both small and useless-looking, but decorated with claws as if for crawling; a tail was next, sinuous and snake-like; then came the head, it burst forth in a shower of black matter, stringy and wet, sporting cruel red-eyes and an extended mouth sporting fangs of a snake. It exuded this rotten, decaying feeling that stifled the air and made it hard for Harry to breathe.
And yet, even as the abomination was born in their midst, the wizards and witches went about their business caring for the wounded, grieving, counting the dead.
Kisuke stepped forward, Harry clutched securely to his chest. "The curtain falls. But the story isn't quite over." Kisuke's voice was loud and it carried to the Hollow, whose eyes narrowed upon seeing them staring at him.
"You," the thing hissed. "I know you. Potter. Yes, that's your name. And I…and I…" the hollow trailed off, cocked its massive head. "Yes…I…I hate you. No. I loathe you." Its tongue flicked out, tasting the air. "But…oooh…you smell tasty. I want to eat you, yes. But I want to make you suffer first." It smiled, showing a mouth full of sharp teeth. "I'll eat your arms first, yes, then your legs, oh yes…and you'll scream for me…oh yessssss."
"Hold on tight," Kisuke ordered.
"No!" The hollow screamed. "He's mine!"
And the world blurred. Wind hit his face. The castle corridors flashed by. And suddenly they stopped and Harry toppled to the ground the moment Kisuke let him go. The hard-packed ground of the castle courtyard broke his fall. Harry struggled just to breathe.
What in Merlin's name WAS that? Harry thought furiously. It wasn't apparition. That man actually moved that fast.
Kisuke had his back to him, facing the door with his cane planted solidly between his feet.
"Y-you just left it in there with all those people?!" Harry accused.
"The hollow won't bother with mere humans when there are two juicy souls for it to consume."
"What if he takes hostages!"
"Newborn hollows aren't that smart."
"But it's Voldemort," Harry couldn't help pointing out.
"Not anymore it's not. A hollow is just a hollow. Memories of its life mostly fade. He probably only recognizes you because he has extremely strong emotions tied to you. It happens frequently. A newly turned hollow always seeks those it remembers from life. Usually those are loved ones, but it can also be those it hates."
The feeling of decay and rot was getting stronger again. Harry's eyes widened. He could feel the hollow approaching. "Look out!"
The wall of the castle exploded outwards, showering the courtyard with fragments of stone and mortar. The snake-like hollow slithered nimbly through the smoke and debris and drew up, towering twenty feet in the air.
The hollow hissed a drawn note of displeasure. "I could have sworn I ordered the buffet, not take-out."
Kisuke twirled his cane several times before letting it rest on his shoulder. "Heh, didn't you know? When the curtain falls there's usually a scene change."
"Keep talking flesh-bag," the hollow spat, venom dripping from its fangs, sizzling when it hit the ground. "I'm going to enjoy devouring you, and then I'll take my time with the little one behind you."
"Ooh…scary." Though if Kisuke actually was scared he wasn't exactly showing it. He pulled the cane from his shoulder and pointed it at the hollow's head. "Awaken, Benihime."
Resembling exceedingly cheap paper, the cane's covering shredded in an instant, displaying the hidden sword within. Benihime, as Harry assumed was the sword's name, was a blade of folded steel that gleamed in the moonlight, it possessed no obvious guard, and the pommel was angled away from the line of the blade, and the piece that attached the blade to the grip reminded Harry of a tuning fork due to its unusual 'u' shape. A great ominous feeling filled the air, and this gigantic pressure suddenly weighed heavily on Harry's shoulders, increasing his struggle to stay upright.
"You know," Kisuke mused, as the Hollow eyed him warily, "it really is a shame. You have quite a lot of potential for being a powerful hollow. Or…should I say…you would have had you not gone and made confetti out of your soul."
"Silence!" The hollow hissed, darting forward, a blur to Harry's eyes. Kisuke moved and blocked the hollow's charge with his sword held vertically, his free hand bracing the flat of the naked blade against the hollow's open and dripping maw. The impact cracked the strange white mask marking the hollow's face, forcing the abomination to draw back.
Kisuke wasted no time. He pointed his sword steadily at the hollow's head and roared: "Cry! Benihime!"
There was a hollow roar, like air being sucked out of a vacuum, that preceded a shriek of terrible pain from the hollow. A giant pink wave of energy flashed from the tip of Kisuke's sword and bisected the frozen hollow neatly.
Harry only caught the beginning of the hollow's steady dissolution into black motes, because at that moment his arms (which had been propping him up from his position face-down on the ground) gave out, and his cheek pressed tiredly into the stone of the courtyard.
"A bit anti-climactic," Kisuke said, as his wooden sandals steadily made their way back to Harry's side. "It might've been a bit more exciting if he hadn't gone and cut up his soul." His footsteps stopped. "Ah…at your limit are you?"
Seeing as breathing was taking most of his energy up at the moment, Harry had none to spare to answer the strange man; he glared at his sandals instead.
"Well, now here normally, I'd send you on your way to soul society, but there is the small matter of services rendered and the debt between us. I am, after all, a handsome and honest businessman and I have provided services that I normally charge quite handsomely for."
Even if Harry could speak at that moment, he didn't have the faintest what to say. Kisuke continued.
There was a tapping noise as if he were using a calculator. "Let's see here. I destroyed five of the seven soul fragments, and lent you a zanpakutō so that you could destroy the other two. I also hid your little cult from the prying eyes of soul society so they didn't come around and…oh…wipe you all from the face of the earth for violating the sanctity of the human soul…that'll definitely cost you extra. You'll probably want me to return you to your living container, and that's another whole bag of trouble so I'll…double the current sum and…hum. Now…factor in a reasonable hourly wage and you should be able to work it off in…oh…about two-hundred and fifty years."
Kisuke grabbed the back of his head and lifted, so that Harry stared at his sinister smile with wide horrified eyes.
"Welcome to the afterlife, Harry Potter."
A/N: Haven't decided if I'm going to continue this. Just a random plot-bunny I typed out this morning. Please excuse any spelling or grammar mistakes. I only did a quick edit…which is about the extent of time I'm actually willing to spend on fan fiction.