Hey everyone. I was having a hankering to do something mildly productive for a change and here we are. The beginning of a new project. I hope you like my work and I hope it brings some light to your life in this strange year.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Chapter 1: The Boy Who Lived?
It was an exceptionally lazy Saturday morning for the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. With no classes and the thick rolling fog outside, the halls of the usually bustling castle were filled with an air of lethargy which encouraged even the most studious of students to just sleep the day away and certainly to avoid heading out to the grounds.
Outside, the dim rays of the sun shimmered through the thick mist and cast the expansive castle grounds and the Great Lake in disturbing patterns of shadows.
Argus Filch, the ageing caretaker of the castle grunted with effort as he rowed his ancient row boat across the lake's ripple less surface, an almost vacant expression on his face and a dreamy look in his eyes.
"Nice weather we're having sir..." The greying man said in a dopey voice seemingly speaking to himself for he appeared to be alone in his rickety row boat.
'Appeared to be' being the key phrase there, for things were rarely as they appeared to be whenever magic was involved.
A second voice, much younger than Filch sighed and it's owner shimmered into existence on the opposite side of the row boat. The man was in his mid to late twenties, wearing a set of patterned grey robes which blended in with the mist along with a strange hooded silver cloak which made no noise as it moved. His face was quite handsome and his build relatively fit; however, his jockish charm was ruined quite a bit by his unkempt hair, the thick pair of glasses resting on his crooked nose and the distinct lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.
The man, Harry Potter, placed his unfinished book 'Noteworthy Dark Rituals and their Roles Throughout History by Arcturus Black' inside his robe and released his wand into his hand from a wrist holster.
"Imperio." muttered Harry, watching as the curse re-strengthened its hold on the squib caretaker, the man's nearly vacant expression turning into an entirely vacant one.
Harry shook his head morosely. "That's three." he muttered, counting the number of times he would be sentenced to Azkaban if he decided to put himself under arrest. Narrowing his stormy, green eyes, he raised his wand towards the sky and gave it a small flick, causing a feeble stream of dull crimson sparks to fly out of it. Harry sighed, lowering the wand and looking at it, an expression of gloom etched on his face.
Holly and Phoenix feather, 11 inches. This wonderful wand had welcomed him into the British wizarding world and it was the one he had used continually throughout his entire life. In a way, it was an old friend of his...so to feel its magic be so feeble and conflicted...It was heartbreaking, like a betrayal of trust. Whilst its allegiance still undoubtedly lay with Harry, with each day its power felt more inconsistent than the last. To him, it felt almost as if the wand wanted to lose its allegiance but also felt obligated to faithfully serve the master it had already seen countless battles with. It was the strangest thing.
"It can see what you really are..." A tiny part of his mind called out in a voice which sounded suspiciously like Voldemort.
Harry shook his head, crushing that errant thought. "That's not it." he thought stubbornly, even though the words felt hollow even in his mind. "And it doesn't matter anyway." Harry thought solemnly, putting the thought to bed. He couldn't afford worry about himself right now. He needed to make a decision and...he needed advice.
"We're here sir..." The voice of Filch shook Harry out of his thoughts as the boat brushed against the miniscule island's lone dock.
Harry looked at the weathered dock, the sound of his heart beat echoing through his ears. He took a deep breath to ready himself for the unpleasant task ahead of him. Steadying himself against the row boat, he stood up. Looking back at Filch who stared at the sky with a vacant look; Harry's gaze softened, reaching into his pockets he pulled out a single golden galleon which he placed into the greying caretaker's pocket as a small apology for making him unwillingly ferry him across the water on a cold Saturday morning. One Obliviation and Imperius later (four times to Azkaban), the man was on his way back to the castle, none the wiser.
Harry shivered slightly as a cold lake breeze passed around him and the dock creaked underneath him. The whole island looked and felt abandoned which made sense considering it was off limits with the threat of life imprisonment in Azkaban ("That's five" Harry thought with a hint of irritation). In front of him, he could see a faded old dirt path leading up a small crest of land.
Harry set off across the dock, shimmering out of existence as the Cloak Of Invisibility called forth its true magic with his mere thought. With each step he took, The Cloak silenced the sound of the wood and the dirt underneath his feet and every single footprint he left disappeared as soon as he took the next step; leaving no discernable trace of his presence. Harry could also feel magic shift and warp around His Cloak as he slipped undetected through the numerous wards designed to severely deter any intruders as well as the subtle detection wards designed to alert the Headmaster's Office as well as the Auror Office at the Department Of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE). Thanks to The Cloak however, the trek up the hill was quiet brief and; thankfully, uneventful.
"Finally..."Harry thought, feeling the last of the wards warp around behind him. he let out a sigh of relief. It would have been quite awkward if the Ministry had caught one of their Senior Aurors breaking and entering into one of the most secure places in Britain. It would've been doubly awkward when they realised that the Senior Auror in question was the famed "Boy who lived", he could imagine the headlines Rita Skeeter would make out of something like that. It would be pure pandemonium.
Harry shuddered, pushing that thought out of his mind. He'd had enough of his name being dragged through the mud, thank you. Absently releasing the magic of The Cloak with a thought, he walked up the last stretch of the incline.
Harry was pulled out of his thoughts as he laid eyes upon his prize, or rather, the place which held his prize. The White Tomb. The final resting place of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. He narrowed his eyes as a complicated mix of emotions surged through him, ranging from fear to relief and from anger to sadness. In a way it perfectly encapsulated his strange relationship with the former Headmaster...as well as the depravity of what he was about to do.
Harry took a moment to pay his respects to the old man. It was quite strange, despite everything that had happened, a part of him still saw Dumbledore as the once shining beacon of the wizarding world. The man who could do no wrong. He just couldn't help it, the image of Dumbledore was tied far too firmly with the warmth of Hogwarts and its promise of magical wonders, camaraderie, a warm, home-cooked meal and a safe place to rest...or perhaps it was just the naive optimist within him wanting to remember the dead for their accomplishments rather than feel bitter at their darkness.
Of course, there was perhaps no man alive who was more familiar with the darkness hidden within the ex-headmaster's life than Harry. He knew better than anyone that Dumbledore was far more than the kind, buzzing headmaster of the school. The man may have been the champion of the light but he had lead a chequered life. He was caring but also pragmatic. The type of man who would always strive for a course of action which would save the most lives but if it came down to it, the type of man who wasn't above using a child, using him as "A pig for slaughter." as Severus had put it bluntly; if it meant saving the wizarding world. For the Greater Good.
A part of him still resented Dumbledore for that. For tricking him until the moment of his death and even from beyond the grave. For leaving him with the seemingly insurmountable task of killing Voldemort's soul one piece at a time with barely any guidance. For engineering events in a way which would give Dumbledore the result that he wanted without regard for any other lives. Greatest wizard of all time or not, how dare he make decisions like that about the lives of others? How dare he make decisions like that about his life?
That line of thoughts ceased in a single instant and Harry smiled mirthlessly; his resentment washing away abruptly like drowsiness after a splash of ice cold water, the churning emotions in his mind all unifying into a strange feeling of irony, understanding, acceptance and (perhaps) a bit of disgust. He was in no position to think things like that any more. After all, that's why he was here wasn't he? Breaking the rules with barely any regard? Looting the tomb of a man he still respected? Readying himself to make decisions that would change the lives of others, without them knowing? He had no right to play the moral high ground. Perhaps that's why his wand was starting to betray him. He was certainly betraying himself or rather, the person he used to be. For the Greater Good.
His face settling into a hard expression of resolve, Harry raised his wand towards the marble tomb and...nothing. His expression broke for a moment as he looked at his Holly wand which now smoked from the tip, unable; no, unwilling to perform the depraved task he demanded of it. Unwilling to do something that its master, Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the awed child who stood in front of Ollivander's bathed in a gold light; would find unacceptable. Harry closed his eyes for a moment in mourning before replacing his old wand inside his robes.
Fully aware that he was no longer its master.
Harry instead reached out with his bare hand, feeling the wandless magic tug at his core. He furrowed his brow in concentration as the large marble block of the tomb slowly lifted and then shifted aside at his command. Taking a deep breath, Harry raised his gaze towards the horizon, feeling the hum of powerful magic coming from within the tomb; separated from him by only a single, worn, slab of stone.
Harry reached out and wandlessly set aside the final stone slab but refused to glimpse down into the tomb. He might have disrupted the man's final resting place but he wasn't ever going to deny him that measure of dignity. He simply raised his hand over the open tomb and felt his fingers close around his prize as it leapt into his palm with a silent, wandless summoning charm.
Harry's eyes widened and he sucked in a deep breath. "So...You've changed as well..." He muttered, surprised that his voice was steady; his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he felt The Wand abruptly connect with him in a way which it hadn't before. Much like His Cloak, The Wand had also changed. No, that wasn't quite right, Harry couldn't hide behind that paper thin lie any more. It was more fair to say that both The Cloak and The Wand recognised the change which had taken place within him.
Harry could feel it within his mind, much like The Cloak which had suddenly tethered itself to his mind and yielded to his will, The Wand didn't just recognize him as its master, it recognized him as something more...something which resembled its first holder...and with this recognition it gave clarity, humming with a strange magic which beckoned him to take a closer look, urging him to use its power fully and weave spells without restraint like a true warlock of legend.
Harry looked at The Elder Wand, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, now that was bizarre. When The Cloak had tethered itself to him, it had done so lightly and subtly and from that moment on it acted on his thoughts and will alone, like a loyal guard who shadowed their master silently and cordially obeyed their orders without question. It had never "beckoned" or "urged" him to do anything. By comparison, The Wand was the complete opposite, It had connected with him abruptly and with a sense of authority, wanting him to respect its power and use it like a true warlock would, casting grand spells and gaining the favour of the people. Harry gripped The Wand tighter. It was strange, unnerving, to feel a wand (especially this wand) talk back to him...It was unnatural.
Deeply wary of The Wand, Harry carefully shifted it underneath his fingers, holding it up in front of his face. No, he didn't want to cast a spell. Not until he understood the nature of what he was wielding. Harry closed his eyes, concentrating on a certain Dark Art he had been forced to armed himself with after...the change had occurred.
Animancy, the technique of manipulating part of one's own soul to deeply inspect or possess an artifact (if done with the prerequisite preparations then a severed piece of soul could be made to possess an object indefinitely, a far less benign Dark magic, a horcrux). Taking a deep breath, Harry reached inwards, feeling his own intact soul within himself. Then, he reached outwards, concentrating on The Elder Wand.
He had tried this technique once before with his old Holly wand when its magic had started to wane. Even when its allegiance felt unreliable and tumultuous, the magic of his old Holly wand felt light, strong and adaptable, in a way it reminded him of how he felt whilst riding a broom during an intense game of Quidditch, it felt like an extension of himself, it felt...right.
As Harry gazed into The Elder Wand however, he could feel himself becoming numb, his soul aching as he foolishly reached for something that he would scarcely be able to fathom.
The magic of The Elder Wand was ancient and cold, like a timeless void. It was deep and almost eldritch in its nature, with an unseen weight behind it. Harry could feel that weight pressing down on him, threatening to crush him flat without hesitation if he made a single misstep. It felt like a glacier waiting to collapse under the slightest tremor, a hurricane about to whirl into existence from the slightest breeze, a volcano ready to erupt with the slightest shift in the earth.
It was a weapon.
A weapon of mass destruction disguised as an unassuming wooden stick. With a single muttered incantation, no, a single flick of his wrist, he would be able to throw the weight of magic around and perform feats that even Merlin himself would be unable to match. That was the true power of Elder Wand. The unfathomable depths of power which it had hidden from him last time were finally laid bare... and Harry felt terrified.
Harry opened his eyes, gasping for breath. He was tempted to drop The Wand then and there, throw it back into the tomb with Dumbledore's corpse and then never think of it again...but he didn't. He couldn't, not now. He needed this power. Even if he didn't desire it, it was a crucial part of The Key.
Harry buried his fears deep within his mind and slowly raised The Wand over the open tomb. He didn't need to mutter an incantation or even think of one for The Wand simply realised his intent and much like the Cloak, acted on it. Magic shifted around him. The stone slab of the grave flew back into its place, looking sturdier than ever. The white marble block settled on top of it exactly like before. The weeds slightly overgrowing the side of the tomb receded. The grass grew shorter and yet also much greener, filled with life, as if it had been trimmed and cared for by a gardener after hours of meticulous work. The small cracks and weathering of the marble disappeared, not being polished or buffered out but rather simply disappearing almost as though time itself had been turned back. Even the dirt path leading up to the grave looked slightly firmer and more coloured, like someone had taken the time to remake it...and yet despite everything...when the spell was complete, when all was said and done, the powerful magic disappeared in its entirety, leaving absolutely no trace or residue. Almost as if no spell had been used at all, like nature itself had bent to his will.
Harry slowly let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He looked at The Wand with an expression of fear and wariness. Shimmering out of existence under The Cloak, Harry slowly raised The Wand and pictured his destination, Hagrid's hut at the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest; in an instant he felt the familiar tug of Apparition. Not surprised, Harry let the feeling take hold and disappeared with a barely audible crack, the Anti-disapparition wards of Hogwarts bending around The Cloak and yielding to The Wand as he headed towards his next destination. Two down, two to go.
A/N: And here we are. I hope you've enjoyed this (admittedly slower paced) first chapter of the story. For some context, this is the first time I've ever sat down and actually wrote something solid with the intent to publish so I'm quite grateful for reviews with any constructive criticism about the grammar, flow or structure of this work. I've made first drafts of the chapters ahead but I'm waiting to see the reviews before I finish the final draft. Thanks for reading and I hope to see you in the next one.