Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me
The Death and Life of Harry Potter, Chapter Four
"Deck the halls with elves and holly, fa la la la la, la la la la!"
Harry groaned as he rolled over, shoving his head between the pillow and the bed. He so very rarely took time to relax, and Sirius was ruining his nap with his horrific, off-key, and incredibly loud butchering of Christmas music. It wouldn't have been so bad if Sirius didn't bloody sing all. the. time.
He knew he wasn't the only one put off by the constant crooning. Hermione took to walking around Grimmauld Place with fluffy pink earmuffs (which she emphatically told everyone were a present from her parents, thank you very much), while Ginny decided that speaking in shouts at all times was the most passive-aggressive way to make Sirius understand how ridiculously loud he was.
It didn't work, and now the house had two people constantly screaming at the top of their lungs.
But as much as Sirius was driving the residents of Grimmauld insane, no one had the heart to tell him to stop. It finally felt like the hardships of the last few months, hell the last twenty years, were almost completely over, and a post-Voldemort life was something that brought a kind of giddiness to everyone.
It was doubly impactful for Sirius, who traded years of suffering hell on earth in Azkaban to constantly worrying over a godson who found himself facing off against his mortal enemy time and time again. No one would dare begrudge Sirius this newfound happiness and relief, even if their eardrums suffered for it.
Deciding that falling back to sleep was a lost cause, Harry got out of his bed and went to the dresser to grab a shirt. As he was about to put it on, he stopped and looked at himself in the mirror, still surprised every time he caught his reflection.
It was amazing what a few months of hard work could do for the human body. He was always thin and wiry before, but now there was a layer of muscle that made him look more man than boy. Plus Astoria certainly seemed to like his new physique, which made his face heat up just thinking about.
He decided to visit the kitchen to see if there were any breakfast leftovers, or if Mrs. Weasley had any pre-Christmas dinner treats available. If she was there, she'd tut and titter that he would ruin his appetite, but would eventually give in with a chuckle and a swat to his shoulder.
Harry was thrilled that Sirius invited the Weasleys to stay over the holidays while they finally made some much-needed repairs to the Burrow. Though Harry was less thrilled by the increased training he needed in order to work off the loads of delicious but rich food Mrs. Weasley cooked up.
"God rest ye merry hippogriffs!"
Harry grimaced and rubbed his ears.
As he walked down the hall, the bedroom door next to the stairs opened slowly, and out popped Hermione's head. When she saw Harry, she actually 'eeeped!' and slammed the door.
Her reaction probably had something to do with the fact that the bedroom was the one Ron was staying in.
Harry stood stock still in the hallway, when a Cheshire grin split his face from ear to ear. He whistled as he knocked on Ron's door, hearing frantic whispers and rustling.
A few seconds later Ron opened the door, a fake smile painted on his face. His clothes were rumpled and wrinkly, and his shirt was tucked in haphazardly, as if he made the quickest attempt possible to look presentable. Further into the room Hermione sat at the desk, her hair so big it now possibly had its own gravitational pull. She was staring at the pages of the Quidditch magazine in front of her with such intensity that one would be forgiven for thinking it was a first edition 'Hogwarts: A History'.
"Well this is cozy," Harry said with glee.
Ron grimaced as Hermione froze, still refusing to look up. "Oh hi Harry. What's up?" Ron asked, his nonchalance so completely forced.
"Oh nothing, just making my way to the kitchens." Then like a shark sensing blood in the water, he added, "I was practicing a little while ago, and you know how it is; all that physical exertion really works up an appetite. I mean, nothing makes me hungrier then when I'm done with all those lunges and thrusts, not to mention the constant pounding…of the practice dummies."
Harry barely held it together when Hermione groaned and rested her head on the desk. Ron laughed shakily. "I can believe that, mate. I think I'll join –"
"Watcha reading, Hermione?" Harry asked as he slipped into the room.
Hermione's head shot up in panic. Finally she stuttered out, "Errr, I was just reading," she grabbed the magazine and brought it up to eye level, "about quidditch?" she said in confusion.
"Oh, finally learning to understand its appeal?"
"…Yes? I mean, of course! It took me awhile to appreciate the finer intricacies of the game, I must admit, but now I find it utterly fascinating. Anyway, if you're going downstairs – "
"What's your favorite part?" Harry asked.
Hermione stared at him with such burning anger that if he wasn't enjoying himself so much, Harry might be afraid of her retaliation.
"Well?" Harry prompted.
"The strategy," she blurted out.
"Like what?" Harry did his best to pretend he couldn't feel Ron wildly pantomiming the whole history of quidditch behind him.
"I really like how…" She went from looking at Ron to frantically riffling through the pages. "Holyhead! Yes, Holyhead utilizes the…" There was more frantic riffling. "hawkshead formation."
"They do?" Harry feigned ignorance. "I thought they had to go to more of the 2-1-2 formation with their star chaser Quigley injured."
Hermione laughed nervously as her fingers twisted through her hair. "Well, of course they initially made a change when Quimby – "
"Quigley."
"Yes, yes, Quigley was injured. But just recently they decided that since no one would expect them to do the hawkshead formation because of the injury, that actually made it the best time to implement it. If you think about it, it's truly strategy on top of strategy. Quite brilliant, really."
Harry stared at Hermione, who to her credit maintained eye contact. The only sign of something being off was her slight quivering, possibly in rage at Harry or fear that he would call them out. Knowing Hermione, it was most likely rage.
"Are we really going to keep doing this?" Harry asked in bemusement.
Hermione erupted out of her chair. "No we are not!" she yelled as she repeatedly punched the laughing Harry in his arm. "You complete prat! I can't believe you!"
"I never knew how much you loved quidditch," Harry chuckled.
"I hate it!" Hermione shrieked. "It's so stupid! All anyone cares about in the magical world is flying around on brooms wearing tights and chasing little balls while trying not to die!"
A confused Harry mouthed, "Tights?" to Ron, who shrugged his shoulders.
"You would think the fact that we can break the laws of physics with a little stick would interest people more. HA! Maybe I'd get more attention if I tossed balls off your heads as I explained how 'Arresto Momentum' wreaks havoc with the Gravitational Constant!"
Rant over, Hermione bent over to catch her heaving breath. "Feel better?" Harry asked.
Hermione nodded her head yes. "Good," Harry began, "now that that's out of the way, maybe we can talk about how long you two have been together."
Ron moved to stand next to Hermione. "Are you mad at us?" he asked, as he unconsciously slid his hand into hers.
Instead of blurting out just another glib response, he actually studied his best friends. They stood in front of him, both exuding so much hope and weariness at his possible reaction that he didn't have the heart to continue his joking tone.
"Of course not. Can't say I'm too surprised, either," he said, and they both let out a breath of relief. "But how long has it been going on?
Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. "Umm, about two months," Ron said hesitantly.
Harry reared back in shock. "Two months! You hid this from me for that long?"
"It wasn't just you," Hermione elaborated quickly. "We haven't told anyone about us. We just wanted some time to figure out if this would work before we let everyone else know."
That made a little more sense to Harry. "And?"
Ron and Hermione smiled at each other with genuine affectation, and Harry had his answer.
"Well, then let me be the first to say congratulations," said Harry. "Though the fact that you somehow kept this secret from the twins the entire holiday break is a real Christmas miracle."
Ron puffed up. "You don't even know how careful we've been."
"What happened today then?" Harry smirked.
Ron's face turned flaming red. "It's Christmas, and we, uh, wanted to celebrate."
"Ah. 'Tis the season, as they say," Harry said with an exaggerated wink.
"Oh ha, ha, Harry," Hermione said. "It's not like you don't do the same with Astoria."
"I will neither confirm or deny, Hermione, because above all else I am a gentleman. That said, if you two ever accidentally walk in on us during 'private time' like I almost did with you, take notes: my girlfriend and I are both incredibly creative, talented and, dare I say, quite fanciable," he finished, his voice the height of posh.
Hermione and Ron burst out laughing, quickly followed by Harry. Eventually the laugher faded, with the three best friends just enjoying the silence.
"We were afraid to tell you," Hermione whispered.
"Why?" he asked, reminding himself to stay calm.
It was Ron who answered. "We were afraid you were gonna feel left out." Then much more hesitantly, he added, "And, well, you were just starting to get better, and we didn't want to ruin it."
Harry grimaced at their concern. Since meeting Astoria and fighting those Death Eaters in the alley, he'd made a conscious effort every day to both work on his magic, and try to let go of his anger. To help with the latter, he'd met with a mind healer Sirius set up for him twice a week in the hospital wing once school started.
While he was making strides every day to get ahold of his emotions, especially his anger, he still occasionally had moments where he felt like he was losing control. Luckily, he was being taught the tools to handle those episodes, and they were now growing fewer and fewer.
Much more common were the days like today, filled with happiness and cheer. After it really sunk in that Voldemort was gone, and once his legal troubles were behind him, a crushing weight Harry never realized he'd been carrying just disappeared.
"I'm sorry you guys felt that way," Harry replied, "but I can understand why you did."
"We know, Harry," Hermione said, reaching out and clutching his hand. "And you're doing so much better. But like Ron said, it's always just been the three of us, and yes, you have a girlfriend now, but we didn't want you to think that your best friends were abandoning you."
"I still can't believe you're dating a Greengrass," Ron sneered with faux disgust.
"Neither can her sister," Harry chuckled. "And I get what you're saying Hermione, but there's nothing I want more in this world than my two best friends finding happiness, and if they're able to find it with each other? Even better."
Hermione wrapped him up in a hug. "Thank you, Harry. You don't know what this means to us."
"Yeah mate, this is a load off our mind," Ron said.
"Of course you guys." Harry broke the hug, and started backing up to the door. "But I do have a confession to make. While you two being happy is the one thing I want most, the thing I want second most in the world is to be the one to tell everyone downstairs about you two hiding your relationship for months!"
Harry took off through the door, cackling merrily while Hermione and Ron chased after him, screaming his name.
Harry did not spill the secret to the people staying at Grimmauld Place. He felt he was a better friend than that, and more importantly, Ron and Hermione both knew where he slept. That's not to say he didn't get in at least some friendly harassment by asking Mrs. Weasley, in front of Ron and Hermione, her thoughts on couples living together before marriage. Needless to say, with her rather 'old-fashioned' views on the subject, Ron and Hermione may need to keep the lid on their relationship until they're at least in their fifties.
"So Harry, it's unfortunate that Astoria couldn't be here tonight," said Miranda Coventry. It was a festive group enjoying the excellent roast turkey around the expanded Christmas dinner table. The Weasley's were there, minus Bill, Charlie, and Percy, along with Remus, Tonks, Hermione, Sirius and his aforementioned girlfriend Miranda, and finally Harry.
"That's because she finally realized Harry's a specky git – ," Fred began.
" – And decided to cut her losses," George finished.
"Fred and George!" Mrs. Weasley roared over the laughter of the table.
"It's fine Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, as he then spoke to Miranda. "Astoria's spending Christmas with her family, but she'll be here for Boxing Day. She can spend the whole day tomorrow explaining to these two in her own special way why I am definitely not a specky git."
The twins both comically widened their eyes, turned to each other, and yelled out, "Oh no, run George!", and then tried to escape the table. Mr. Weasley, with what Harry could only imagine was the result of years of practice, was able to grab a hold of an arm on both twins and told them to sit down to the chuckles of most of the table.
Ginny was not laughing so much, as one of the twins bumped a glass of pumpkin juice into her lap in their hasty escape attempt. She was admonished by Mrs. Weasley for her colorful response in letting her brothers know what she thought of their actions. There was no forgiveness in Ginny's stare at Fred/George while she tried to dry her red skirt. The only Christmas gift those two could now expect from their sister would be painful retribution.
After everyone calmed down again, Harry turned his gaze back to Miranda. She was a witch in her late twenties, currently employed at the Department of International Magical Co-operation as a liaison to the ICW. She was intelligent and kind, but enjoyed a bawdy joke more than anyone Harry knew. She was also incredibly attractive: with high cheekbones, and a blinding smile and light brown eyes that contrasted so nicely with her caramel-colored skin. Harry had joked with her many times that she was way too good for Sirius, in which she would always laugh and say, "I know, but I think I'll keep him anyway."
The two had met at this year's Ministry New Year's Eve party, where they both immediately hit it off. Sirius was enchanted by her beauty and wit, while Miranda had a bit of a girlhood crush on the Black lord, seeing as she was a first year Gryffindor when Sirius was a 'dashing rogue' of a seventh year.
While they dated casually for the next few months, Sirius was always hesitant to take the next steps. He feared that if Voldemort somehow returned, his entire focus would need to be on protecting Harry, leaving no time for a personal life. Miranda understood, but made it clear that she wanted to live her life, and wouldn't wait forever for just the possibility of something more between them.
Once the dust settled on the night of the third task and Harry was fully recovered physically, Sirius apparated straight to Miranda's flat and asked her out for, in his words, 'this weekend, actually the next several weekends, or maybe all of them, who knows?', and they'd been inseparable ever since.
"So Tonks, you heard from Mad-Eye recently? How'd he enjoy his holiday?" Sirius asked.
Tonks, who had been entertaining Hermione and Ron by sporting the mouth of a giraffe, turned back to normal before responding. "Ah, you know old Mad-Eye, not happy unless everyone's out to get him." Tonks turned his face into a passing facsimile of Moody's, including an extra-large eyeball and dour expression. "Ya think you're safe sitting beside the pool, when BAM!," he shouted, smacking the table, "the next thing you know the fella next to you sippin' on that pina colada turns out to be a dark wizard out for your blood!"
"That man," Mrs. Weasley said with a disapproving tut, "Merlin knows Alastor was a wonderful auror, but I still can't believe they let him be a professor. He must have terrified those poor first and second years with his 'constant vigilance' nonsense."
"Don't know what you're talkin' about, mum," Ron said absentmindedly as he speared some brussels sprouts. "Moody was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor we've ever had. Hey!"
Ron's cry was from another brussels sprout impacting him in the cheek. It was thrown by Ginny, who was nodding her head toward Remus. It took Ron a moment to understand her point, but once he did, he began to sputter. "Not that you weren't a great professor, Remus! It's just that you only talked about dark creatures, but Moody let us duel and stuff."
Hermione, who was sitting next to Ron, rolled her eyes in fondness while Remus raised his hands good naturedly. "No offense taken, Ron. I understand that a year studying dark creatures is not the most exciting."
As people went back to eating, Mrs. Weasley continued her previous conversation. "But I will admit, Albus hiring Alastor as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor last year ended up being a lucky stroke with everything that happened." Several people at the table shifted nervously at even an indirect reminder of the third task.
Mr. Weasley jumped in. "Speaking of Albus; do you know where he's spending his Christmas, Sirius? I thought for sure we'd see him this evening."
Harry grimaced as this topic was not a welcome one, as evidenced by the Sirius' glower before he schooled his features.
Not long after his blow-up with Dumbledore in the hospital, Harry, even with his emotions out of control at the time, realized he had been completely unfair towards his mentor. Yes, Dumbledore had held back information when he asked him not to; but Harry had literally just woken up from a coma, and even he eventually realized that wasn't the right frame of mind to potentially be overwhelmed with difficult truths.
Thus when Dumbledore had asked him and Sirius to visit his office at Hogwarts a few weeks later for a full explanation of what the M.T. Enigma letter's reference to 'items' meant, Harry had apologized as soon as they sat down. Dumbledore had thanked him graciously, but told him the apology was premature.
Before Harry could ask why, Dumbledore started talking about horcruxes, and one horcrux in particular.
Sirius raged at Dumbledore for keeping the information to himself. While Sirius was threatening to smash every 'pretentious bauble' in Dumbledore's office, Harry sat their silently, feeling both furious and numb at the same time. If he was honest with himself, he also felt a little relieved as well at finally having an explanation on why his death didn't stick that night.
Sirius eventually stormed out of the office, cursing the entire way. Harry got up to follow, but looked back before he left. Dumbledore was slumped at his desk, weary in a way that made him seem fragile. It appeared as if the conversation had taken a piece of Dumbledore that he would never get back.
Since that day, interaction with the headmaster had been very sparse and impersonal. Sirius couldn't stand to even be in the same room with him, but Harry was much more conflicted.
Dumbledore had been his guide to the world of magic since he'd arrived at Hogwarts. He taught Harry to be inquisitive, to respect magic for the wonder it is, and to always use his abilities to benefit others.
And most importantly, for a lonely boy who had such a prodigious gift with magic that it sometimes alienated him from his classmates, having someone who could relate because they experienced the same exact issues growing up was a comfort beyond measure.
Now everything related to Dumbledore felt tainted by his silence on the horcrux that had infected Harry's head. It was such a violation of the trust he had believed they'd built that Harry felt their relationship was now untethered.
On an intellectual level he understood Dumbledore's actions didn't wipe out all the good he'd done for Harry in helping him be a better wizard, and frankly a better man. Harry even understood some of Dumbledore's reasoning in not telling them before: he was only sure of the horcrux after Harry's second year, and he wanted to exhaust all potential avenues of resolution before burdening Harry with the terrible truth.
But in the end, understanding someone's reasons for the way they acted didn't mean you had to agree with them. Harry hoped that someday he'd feel comfortable enough to sit in Dumbledore's office, sipping tea and discussing some esoteric piece of transfiguration. But even if that happened, the kind of closeness they once shared would be gone, and that grieved Harry tremendously.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shot each other concerned glances as they waited for Sirius to respond. The only reason they had even brought up Dumbledore's name was because they were unaware of the rift. Harry and Sirius had only told a few people about the horcruxes, and with how much Mr. and Mrs. Weasley admired the headmaster, they didn't have the heart to ruin their image of him.
"I'm sure he's off doing something important and vital to the safety of magical Britain," Sirius mocked bitterly, cutting into his turkey as if it was his mortal enemy.
Remus jumped in, shooting his friend a look. "Albus informed Harry that he was spending the evening with friends."
"Ah, yes, of course," Mr. Weasley replied awkwardly.
After a lengthy stretch where the only sound in the room was the tinkling of silverware against plates, Miranda asked, "So you three, are you ready for your O.W.L.'s? All these years later I can still remember how stressful my fifth year was."
"Well Harry and I have been studying every night like we're supposed to, but Hermione's really been slacking in her responsibilities," Ron joked.
"Yeah," Harry added, "it's a shame when a prefect sets such a bad example for the other people in our year."
Hermione was so scandalized that anyone would impugn her study habits, even when only pretending to do so, that she couldn't sputter up a defense, much to the table's amusement.
"That's an interesting approach to take, Ron; antagonizing the girl who I know for a fact helps you with your coursework, and happens to be one of the most intelligent people in her year," Remus said innocently.
"Yes Ron," Hermione gritted out with a forced smile, "since I'm such a bad influence, who do you plan on asking to help you finish your transfiguration work when, and I quote, 'McGonagall will throw a wobbly if I don't get this turned in on time!' Hmm, Ron?"
"Well now Hermione, let's not be hasty," Ron sputtered with a nervous laugh. Then he grew indignant, "Wait, Harry was the one that said you weren't a studier, not me!"
Hermione sniffed with her nose in the air and turned away from Ron, but Harry didn't miss the wink she threw at him as she did so.
Fred and George looked at each other with mischief brewing. One of them, probably Fred, said as they both stood up to further embarrass Ron, "Come along Ronniekins, we need to talk to you in private about the finer points of wooing –"
That was all the one twin got out before they both collapsed to the floor in a heap, knocking over their chairs and toppling their plates onto their heads. It was pandemonium as Mrs. Weasley shrieked and everyone else at the table was moving to help them. Harry saw immediately that the cause of their fall was that shoe laces were tied around each other's ankle about a thousand times.
He then noticed out of the corner of his eye that Ginny hadn't moved, and was in fact intently buttering a roll.
"Oh no, run George," she said dispassionately before she took a bite.
The table was silent as everyone stared at her, until Sirius tilted his head back and let loose with the laughter. Everyone else began to laugh as well, even Mrs. Weasley who was doing her best to shoot her daughter a disappointed look that fooled no one. Fred and George, who always appreciated a good joke, clapped at their sister's quick and thorough revenge, even as gravy dripped down both their foreheads.
Harry took in the scene of these people, his family, and felt his heart swell. Best Christmas ever, he thought to himself…though he would have to remember to not upset Ginny anytime soon.
Harry eventually crawled into bed just before midnight. It was a long but overall fantastic day, even with the minor conversation hiccup at dinner. But tomorrow was a return to schedule, which meant waking up at five-thirty in the morning to begin two plus hours of intense physical and magical training. Ron of course thought he was barmy for waking up so early every day, but even he couldn't argue with the results.
He was in that state between awake and asleep when there was a loud 'pop' in his room. Harry immediately shot up, swiping his wand from under the pillow. He waited quietly for several seconds, when there was another 'pop', this time originating from the large fireplace on the far side of the room. He slid out of bed as quietly as possible to investigate.
"Hominum Revelio," he said, casting the human-presence-revealing spell as he moved forward, along with another half dozen standard and obscure charms used for detecting human or animal presence. They all came back negative.
After another 'pop' and creak, Harry was about to send a patronus to Sirius for backup when the fireplace doors burst open and a cloud of ash flew into the room. Before Harry could even cough, a white blur shot out of the cloud toward him. He flicked his wand up in reflex, halting the item inches from his face. He encased what he now realized was a small envelope in a protective bubble, which he stuck to the wall so he could focus on any other flying projectiles. Nothing else came out of the fireplace over the next several minutes, so Harry eventually let his guard down and sat on the end of the bed in a bit of a stupor.
What just happened shouldn't have been possible. One late night he, Sirius, and Remus had actually debated the possibility of someone trying to break into the Grimmauld Place. The consensus was that it would take an elite team of cursebreakers a week of constant work to crack through enough levels of the houses' magical protections just to determine that Grimmauld place existed. To go even further and know which chimney led to the fireplace in Harry's room, and then actually get an item through the wards? Again, shouldn't be possible.
But the academic part of Harry was piqued by the innocuous envelope hanging in the bubble. Whoever had sent this had to be near mythic in their knowledge of arithmancy, runes, and charms. He stood from the bed and ran another bevy of spells on the envelope hanging from the wall, all of which came back negative again. When he was within arm's reach, he studied the envelope one more time, and then proved himself a Gryffindor by grabbing it and popping the bubble.
He really should let someone else know what was happening, but surely it was fine to investigate the actual envelope first before alarming everyone. What if it turned out to be a prank from Fred and George? He would feel foolish if he got everyone worked up on Christmas night for some harmless fun.
The front of the envelope had his full name written neatly in calligraphy, which actually seemed vaguely familiar. He broke the unmarked red wax seal on the back, and pulled out the plain white card stock. One side of the card had the same handwriting as the envelope.
Happy Christmas, Harry! I wrote back in Diagon Alley that I would soon tell you the rest of what happened the night of the third task. I know it's probably taken longer than you hoped, but just remember; patient boys get nice presents from Father Christmas!
Ho Ho Ho!
-M.T. Enigma
Harry frowned at the note. The name M.T. Enigma had reached folk-hero status in the wizarding world, their incredible actions that night and mysterious background striking a fancy with the population. But not to Harry; for him, Enigma had always felt like a threatening presence. How could they be anything else when every time he heard from them, some painful life-altering act was about to take place?
Suddenly Harry could hear something large sliding down the chimney. He had his wand aimed and ready to strike when a big red bag plopped down onto the grate. Before he could even form a thought on what just happened, more sliding was heard. Like out of a dream, a pair of legs with two black boots landed heavily on the bag. The legs were covered with red pants and white trim, and Harry could just see the bottom edge of a similarly designed coat on the person as well.
"What the hell…" he muttered.
The person in the fireplace spun around, as if searching for an exit, only their bottom half visible through the fireplace opening.
Harry finally snapped out of his mild shock. "I don't know how you got in here," he exclaimed, surprising 'Father Christmas' who jumped straight in the air, "but come out of there right now."
'Father Christmas' legs slowly turned toward the fireplace opening. Harry, feeling more and more unnerved by this whole experience, was about to shout again when the person finally complied. He stepped out of the fireplace bent over as he patted the soot off his pants with his big green gloves. 'Father Christmas' then reached back for his bag, swung it over his shoulder, and gave Harry his first true look at him.
Except there was no one there.
Oh, there was the shape of a jolly fat man under the pants, coat, and cap, to be sure. But there was no body to go along with it. It truly appeared as if the entire outfit was held up with nothing more than air.
Harry's mind whirred at the sight. Either there was a person in the outfit who had discovered some unknown method to make just themselves invisible, or someone had worked enchantments like he'd never seen. Harry fired a very minor tickling jinx at where the face should be, and it went right through and hit the wall. 'Father Christmas' raised their hand to 'tssk' Harry.
Harry laughed in delight, walking around 'Father Christmas', examining every facet of the spellwork. He knew he should be weary, but he was too impressed with the magic to be cautious. For his part 'Father Christmas' was somehow able to give off the impression that he was enjoying the attention, and even shook as if he was letting out a giant belly laugh when Harry poked his stomach.
"A wind charm trapped inside a containment field could provide the invisible structure needed, but it would never allow for the dexterity you've shown," he said, standing in front of the suit and tapping his chin in thought, "not to mention maintaining the wide range of shapes needed to mimic the human body."
He tapped on his chin for a few more seconds when he exclaimed "Aha! I bet the inside of those clothes are just laced with runes. Probably using Elder Futhark as a base, anchored with ehwaz as the focal point, since that would work best in combining motion and structure."
Harry reached out to see under the coat when 'Father Christmas' slapped his hand away hard enough to sting.
"Sorry, didn't realize Santa was so shy," he said sarcastically, shaking out his hand.
'Father Christmas' reached into a pocked on his coat and pulled out another white card stock, which he gave to Harry.
Who better than Father Christmas to deliver my present, huh Harry? Without spoiling it, I'll say that my gift to you is the knowledge you've desired. Now I must warn you, this knowledge is powerful, terrible, difficult to believe, life altering, and about a dozen other adjectives that I couldn't be bothered to find in a thesaurus. But most importantly, it's necessary.
One last thing: I would say that on my honor this present is safe to you, but since you don't know me, who's to say I'm honorable? So I will instead put this question to you: what's life without a little risk?
- M.T. Enigma
Harry's adrenaline spiked, and his hands shook from the overload. Was it really happening? Was now the time? The mystery of what happened after the third task had become such a fixed point in his life that not fully knowing what occurred burned at him like missing one single piece in a puzzle.
But he also thought that perhaps there were worst things than not knowing. Now that he was to find out the truth, an ominous feeling of dread had settled over him.
Normally when he guessed on what happened that night, he liked to imagine some miraculous event saving him; some sort of long forgotten magic that delivered divine justice to the ones that truly deserved it. But sometimes his mind travelled to a darker place. What if between his death and return to Hogwarts something sinister happened, something ancient and evil in a way that he couldn't possibly fathom.
While his thoughts were running wild, 'Father Christmas' had reached into his bag on the floor with both arms, rummaging around for something. The bag obviously had an undetectable extension charm as 'Father Christmas' next threw half his body inside when he couldn't find what he was looking for.
Eventually he eased back out, pulling along a pedestal which he stood upright. It was a bronze and incredibly old, with various runes running up and down the sides. 'Father Christmas' then reached back into the bag once again, and pulled out the real gift: a pensieve.
'Father Christmas' stepped back after placing the pensieve on the pedestal, and then waived enthusiastically at Harry. Then without warning the air went out of the outfit and it crumbled empty to the floor, leaving Harry alone in his room.
He stared at the pensieve for what felt like hours, uncertainty weighing on him. But the one thing he was certain of was that this was a moment, maybe the moment, that would define the rest of his life. There was a chance Enigma may be screwing with him, but he was right in his note: this was worth the risk.
Eventually he took several deep breaths, made a silent prayer begging that what he was about to see wouldn't ruin him, and dove in.
He landed between two headstones, just outside of the circle of Death Eaters. Even if he hadn't known what he was walking into, he would have known instantly where he was. The details of this night were seared into his soul.
He moved closer to the circle of Death Eaters, and through a shifting of bodies he saw Voldemort, tall and thin and smugly watching a fight as if he was a hyena toying with its prey before striking. Harry felt his breath quicken, and panic began to rise within him. If he thought fighting those Death Eaters in the alley months ago was like being in a nightmare, then this was truly reliving his worst fears.
But to his surprise the panic never overwhelmed him, and eventually his breathing slowed down. He realized that the memory was missing a vital component of this night that allowed him to retain his calm: the smells. There was no coppery tang of blood in the air, no whiff of the freshly churned earth beneath his head as he lay defeated. It was such a minor aspect in the grand scheme of things, but it kept Harry tethered to the fact that this was just a memory, and it couldn't hurt him.
He slipped between two Death Eaters to get a better look. The fight with Avery and Malfoy had just started, and the Death Eaters were already cheering like animals, braying for the blood of the past version of Harry Potter.
He tried to watch dispassionately as Avery and Malfoy bombarded Past Harry's shield charm. It was certainly a powerful shield, but it was not the best choice to handle this particular situation. Even with just six months of additional training, Harry would fight these two completely differently today.
"It's all going to be over soon!" shouted the Death Eater next to him. Then the Death Eater turned his head toward the exact spot Harry was standing. Harry unconsciously reached for his wand, which didn't exist in the pensieve. He couldn't see the Death Eater's eyes because of the mask, but for some crazy reason Harry believed he was looking right at him, which was of course impossible since he was just a memory. The Death Eater turned back to the fight, but did not cheer like his compatriots.
Harry's attention was drawn by the sudden jeers from the crowd, where Past Harry had just taken out Avery with a bone breaker. He shook his head at his younger self, wondering why he didn't make sure Avery was down for the count. To be fair, it was easier to judge mistakes through hindsight than make the right choices in the moment.
Harry was impressed though with the spell fire his past self exchanged with Malfoy. He laughed loudly when past him called Draco a 'twat', which he was thrilled to hear caused some minor laugher from the crowd. He had to admit that overall his younger self put up a hell of a fight, but of course in the end it didn't matter.
As Past Harry fired spell after spell at Malfoy's shield, he knew what was coming, and found himself absurdly hoping for a different outcome. It was like watching a movie where you know your favorite character dies, but you still hold out hope every time that the ending has somehow changed. It was a wish for the good guys to always win, and the just to always prevail. It was a good desire, but it didn't make it any less impossible.
When his younger self cried out like a dying animal after his hand and wand exploded, Harry thought about turning away. What right minded individual could watch himself be tortured? But the possibility that he'd miss some clue was too great, so he forced himself to once again endure the worst moments of his life.
Voldemort stood over Past Harry, taunting him with his failures before using the torture curse with glee. Harry scrubbed at the tears rolling down his face, feeling like he was experiencing that pain all over again.
Voldemort grew more furious and used the imperious to get the answer he wanted, and then reared back when he didn't. Cruel actions followed even crueler words as Voldemort's wand carved Harry's face like a cake. Harry traced the now healed scar, and pushed back on the overwhelming emotions he was feeling in order to remain objective and aware.
Because the answers he needed were coming soon.
As a final whisper on the wind, Voldemort said to Past Harry, "Good-bye, Harry Potter. Die knowing you never had a chance, as you are an insect when compared to Lord Voldemort. I look forward to personally explaining your final, pathetic moments in detail to Black and the blood traitor Weasleys!"
Harry braced as Voldemort raised his wand into the face of his younger self and shouted, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" The instant the green light touched younger Harry, a sound like the tolling of a bell rang out, and Voldemort was launched into the air, crashing in a smoking heap in an open area a dozen meters back.
Cries of "Master!" rang out as a portion of his followers ran toward their fallen master, while the rest moved at a more cautious pace.
All except one Death Eater, who was standing right next to Harry.
The first group of Death Eaters got within a few feet of Voldemort when suddenly they crashed into an invisible dome that flared red when contacted. As the downed Death Eaters tried to pick themselves up, some were firing spells at the dome, while others were so desperate to gain entry as to go muggle and bash it with their fists. Each method was ineffective, the dome easily keeping the Death Eaters away from their fallen master.
All except one Death Eater, who was standing right next to Harry.
Once again, the silent Death Eater next to him turned his head to face Harry, and this time he erased all doubt of his superhuman awareness when he definitely gave Harry a small nod. Then the Death Eater's wand slid into his hand, and Harry received another major shock in a night full of them.
The wand was Dumbledore's.
Harry wanted to spend hours trying to figure out how this Death Eater knew he'd be watching this memory, and how he came to own that oh-so-familiar wand. But he forced himself to remain in the moment. Observing as many details as possible was the most important thing right now; the examination of events could occur after, when he had more time and a shot of whiskey.
The Death Eater next to him raised the wand and fired off a cannon blast, drawing the attention of the remaining Death Eaters.
"What the hell are you doing?" one of the Death Eaters yelled. His hands were bloody from striking the dome encasing Voldemort.
The Death Eater next to Harry tilted his head like a dog, but didn't answer. It was such a bizarre action that the hairs on the back of Harry's neck rose. Each second of silence that ticked by increased the degree of strangeness in air. The mood felt foreign and off-putting and was growing thicker, and it all centered around this silent Death Eater who was becoming more and more terrifying in his stillness.
Then bloody hands stomped toward Harry's direction, unaware of the rising unease amongst the other Death Eaters as he parked himself chest-to-chest with the Death Eater holding Dumbledore's wand. "I don't know what you're playing at, but if you want to keep your head attached to your body, you'll get your arse over there and help. RIGHT. NOW," he said, the last two words punctuated with pokes to the chest.
The silent Death Eater slowly looked down at the finger on this chest. When he raised his face back up, Harry was certain he was going to fire a spell at 'Bloody Hands'. But his wand never moved. Instead his other hand rose up, and then he snapped his fingers.
The sound echoed throughout the quiet graveyard. The Death Eater with the bloody hands opened his mouth to threaten once again, but stopped. His finger on the chest began to tremble, and his eyes almost bugged out of their sockets. 'Bloody Hands' dropped to his knees, crushing his palms against his temples as he screamed in utter terror.
Harry watched horrified as the Death Eater screamed until his voice went raw, and then toppled over as if his strings were cut. The Death Eater could have easily been mistaken for dead with his face frozen into that rictus of pure fear, if not for his almost silent mumbling.
"What the fuck," Harry whispered, afraid to shatter the quiet even knowing this was a memory. No one moved. No one made a sound. There was no wind, no animal noises. It was as if a spell of silence had been woven over the crowd.
The silent Death Eater next to Harry raised his non wand hand, and pointed to the left most Death Eater across from him. He then slowly moved his finger right, pointing at each and every one the men and women in black. When he reached the end, he slowly brought his hand back, and dragged his thumb across his throat.
There was no confusion in his message.
"Who the fuck are ya?" a Death Eater with a cockney accent yelled out. With the spell broken, others began to yell too, and the crowd was growing animated. Then the cockney Death Eater turned to the two Death Eaters on his side and said, "Come on!" All three let out a war cry as they ran toward the silent Death Eater.
The three men grew closer, and the silent Death Eater didn't move. Ten meters, eight meters, six meters, and still the silent Death Eater gave no indication he even noticed. All three death eaters drew into striking distance and let loose a coordinated attack of reductor spells, aiming high and low to maximize area. The silent Death Eater didn't flinch or raise a shield. In the blink of an eye the spells were going to impact.
That's when the silent Death Eater moved.
In a flash he contorted his body and slipped between all three spells, which missed him by a hair's breadth. Even as his body was twisted, he fired off three spells faster than Harry could fire two. All three hit the upper wand arms of the attacking Death Eater's, severing them instantly. As the men were rolling on the ground, screaming and clutching at their phantom limbs, Harry was amazed at the lack of blood. The spell not only severed the limb, but cauterized it as well.
The remaining thirteen Death Eaters weren't stupid or stationary. Without hesitation they fired at the silent Death Eater, fanning out to provide more angles of attack and avoid clumping. It may have been some years since the majority of the group participated in an event like this, but all thirteen had been some of their lord's most talented and trusted during the heyday of the pureblood movement.
The silent Death Eater somehow avoided most of the spells with an almost preternatural ability. The night lit up with innumerable flashes of every color imaginable, and yet the silent Death Eater was never touched.
But the silent Death Eater's hands were not idle, either. Any spell that he was unable to avoid was shielded with his off hand, which immediately raised Harry's eyebrows. But it was his wand that Harry couldn't take his eyes off of. The wand of the silent Death Eater moved so quickly yet elegantly from spell to spell that he looked like a world class conductor. The fighting technique was the same one Harry had been working on for the last few years, but to compare what Harry did to this man was like comparing a first year's spellwork to Dumbledore's.
Then the silent Death Eater began to push forward. The continuous assault of spells never stopped, but it didn't seem to faze him in the slightest. He redirected a withering curse with his off-hand, hitting another Death Eater in the leg. His wand slashed through the air, blowing through a gaunt Death Eater's shield like a bomb going off, sending the Death Eater flying.
The large black snake slithered out of the grass and raised up to strike, fangs glistening in the moonlight. The silent Death Eater didn't even slow down as he hit the snake with a 'bombarda', turning it into chunks of meat.
Avery stepped forward and snarled, "Traitor!". But before his wand tip could even light, the silent Death Eater made a fist with his off-hand, raising it and a terrified Avery into the air. After a beat he threw Avery away, where he smashed headfirst into a headstone.
One Death Eater went down with his mouth and eyes skinned over, while another was pinned to the ground by an invisible force. The silent Death Eater just kept marching forward through the dozens of spells, never stopping, and never faltering.
Harry watched as the silent Death Eater ducked an organ-rotting curse aimed at his head by a fat Death Eater. His wand slashed forward with return fire, striking the fat Death Eater in the stomach. The fat one blurted out a loud 'oomph' just before his stomach turned to stone, which quickly spread to the rest of his body. In the middle of the battlefield now stood a statue of an overlarge Death Eater, frozen in his last act of clutching his big stomach.
"Amycus!" screamed another large Death Eater. Harry realized that she was most likely Alecto Carrow, the twin sister of the statue formerly known as Amycus Carrow. Alecto fired spell after spell at the silent Death Eater, snarling and panting like a mad dog. The silent Death Eater batted each spell away contemptuously, barely paying her any attention as he attacked the other Death Eaters. Finally Alecto began to tire out and slow down, and that's when the silent Death Eater swiped with his off-hand again, and Alecto was launched forward toward her brother. She landed in the arms of the statue with a scream, where she quickly turned to stone as well.
The return fire slowed as more and more Death Eaters were incapacitated. Finally after a Death Eater sunk down into the earth so only his nose and top of head were showing, there was only one left standing to face the silent Death Eater: Lucius Malfoy.
"I'm sure we can – " was all Lucius was able to say before he flew into the air, grasping at his neck for breath. The silent Death Eater stood across from Lucius, off-hand raised and squeezing so tight. As Malfoy's gasps stopped and his face turned blue, the silent one released his grip and Malfoy crashed to the ground, unmoving but still breathing.
Stunned was not nearly a strong enough word to describe what Harry was feeling at this moment. In about forty-five seconds, one man had not only taken down almost twenty top-tier Death Eaters, he had done so easily. The way the man moved, his use of his wand combined with wandless magic – it was everything Harry was striving for, but at such a level that it seemed almost unobtainable.
Over the quiet whimpers and moaning from the still conscious Death Eaters, Harry heard a hissing-like groan. He looked toward the dome to see Voldemort slowly regaining awareness. What a display the silent Death Eater had just put on to make Harry forgot that the dark lord Voldemort was still there, unconscious the whole time.
The silent Death Eater also noticed Voldemort's imminent recovery. He raised his wand and fired out a rope that twisted and turned in the air throughout the graveyard like a snake. When the incredibly long rope finally dropped, it was touching every single Death Eater. The silent one bent down, tapped his wand to the end of the rope and murmured, "Portus," too low for Harry to learn anything from.
As the silent Death Eater made his way toward Voldemort's dome, the rope lit up and disappeared, taking all of Voldemort's captured followers with it. Harry knew based on what happened with the Wizengamot that they were all still alive, but the bloodthirsty and battered part of himself that was once the boy lying dead in the graveyard hoped that wherever they went, it was a living hell.
Voldemort stood, shaking his head to clear it. Harry knew the exact moment Voldemort noticed his now warzone-like surroundings; his snakelike eyes grew wide in astonishment as he took in the vaporized headstones, and he gaped at the grassy areas full of churned earth as if the dead had risen. It was the first time he'd ever seen Voldmort look anything other than completely self-assured, and Harry relished his confusion.
Voldemort finally noticed the silent Death Eater. "You there, tell me what happened!" Voldemort snapped. When the silent Death Eater didn't even acknowledge him, Voldemort swelled up with indignation. "Answer me!"
Voldemort took one step toward the silent Death Eater and stopped abruptly. He searched the area around him, and then his wand was out in an instant firing a spell at the dome, which lit up red once again. Harry begrudgingly admitted Voldemort had discovered the dome impressively quick.
"What's the meaning of this?" Voldemort hissed.
Then to Harry's surprise, the silent Death Eater answered. "It's a cage for an animal," he said.
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "You are not one of mine."
"No shit." Harry was desperately trying to place his voice, but it was too distorted through the mask. "What gave it away?"
"None would ever dream of speaking to me in such a manner."
"Oh please," mocked the silent Death Eater, "I bet most of them dream of telling you what a cockless lunatic you are, they're just too afraid to do it. Admittedly, not without reason.
Voldemort let out an inhuman shriek. "I will strip the flesh from your bones!"
"Promises, promises."
The grass around Voldemort's feet began to blacken from the unontrollable magic rolling off him. "Your mockery will only add to the amount of suffering I cause you!"
"You'd have to get out of there first to do anything, and I don't see that happening for quite some time."
Harry watched as the magic pulsing from Voldemort lessened and lessened as he reined himself back in. Once he had calmed, he fired several probing spells at the dome. "I must admit that this is well constructed, but it won't be enough to keep me from escaping and ending your pathetic life in the most gruesome ways imaginable."
For some reason, the silent Death Eater actually seemed to preen at the comment. "Glad to know my hard work is appreciated," he said happily. "You may be a murdering psychopath leveraging the pureblood cause, which we both know you care nothing about, by the way, to feed your megalomania, but you are a titan of the magical world. If I can create something that impresses you? As one magic user to another, I consider that a compliment."
Voldemort seemed to contemplate the fake Death Eater in front of him before firing a few more probing spells. "It most closely resembles a Norse 'shielð veggr', but it's been modified to keep all magic in instead of out. I must admit, the ability to make an obscure thousand-year-old spell your own shows great skill."
"Why thank you," said the silent Death Eater as he bowed.
"But in the end it won't save you from the horrors you will soon experience."
"Aaand we're back to threats; with sweet talk like that it's shocking you're still single," laughed the silent Death Eater. "But let's be honest with ourselves; you're smart enough to know it would take several minutes of work for even you to break through the enchantments I layered for my special 'shielð veggr', and I don't plan on giving you that kind of time."
"You layered? You didn't use runic slabs to anchor the spell?" Voldemort asked with intensity. "Without the slabs this kind of spellwork would take hours to accomplish. How could you have possibly known ahead of time where the ritual was to occur?"
"Ah, now that's a very good question with a very good answer, but I think we'll hold off on that for the time being."
"You will answer me now!"
"For the second time, No I won't!" said the silent Death Eater in a mocking yell. "Come on, mate, say it with me this time; you're not getting to me any time soon because that shield is way too powerful. Like you said, it would take time to delayer the enchantments, and for as strong as you are, you couldn't even come close to brute forcing your way through either. For god sakes, you could set off an atomic bomb in there and out here all we'd see were pretty lights."
Voldemort's silence provided his acceptance on the matter, though the hateful way he gazed at the silent Death Eater would have cowered most men. "How did you get the mask and robe of one of my followers?"
"Oh these?" The silent Death Eater looked down at his robes as if seeing them for the first time. "Got them off Mulciber. When I went to his house and asked politely for his Death Eater garb, he tried to pretend like he didn't know what I was talking about. Once he realized that I wasn't taking 'no' for an answer, he tried every trick in the book to keep me from leaving with them. Even tried to collapse his wards on us both, the madman! None of it mattered, of course; I still put a hole the size of a watermelon through his chest and took them anyway. But you can rest assured that he fought for your cause until the bitter end."
Voldemort stared once again at the silent Death Eater, giving no indication that he cared about Mulciber's fate one way or the other. "Who are you?" he asked.
"Can't ruin the surprise yet, but I promise you we're almost there."
Voldemort sneered at that response, but moved on. "I assume you removed my followers from this place. Did they also fall prey to some elaborate trap?"
"Oh no," the silent Death Eater said breezily, "I fought them all at once."
"Liar," Voldemort snapped.
"No, I'm not," he replied calmly. "I have no reason to lie. I fought all your best people; the ones who had terrorized this nation murdering, raping, ruining lives and families. I fought them all Tom, and I destroyed them."
Voldemort burst forward so only the edge of the dome separating him from the silent Death Eater. "How do you know that name? Who told you? Are you one of Dumbledore's pets?" he demanded.
"Dumbledore," scoffed the silent Death Eater. "Have you met the man? He hoards secrets like a niffler."
"Then how did you learn that name!"
"You'll find out soon enough."
Voldemort growled in response. "I grow tired of your attempts at intrigue!"
"And I grow tired of all your worthless threats."
"This shield won't last forever, and once I leave, I will show you why you should fear me."
Harry expected the silent Death Eater to reply again with a snarky comment, but instead his tone was much more pensive. "I will admit that the thought of you petrified me for a long time. But probably not in the way you're thinking."
"There's only one way to fear me: totally. Every being with sense knows this."
The silent Death Eaters voice grew quieter as he answered. "You're right, I had good sense enough to fear you and what you could do. But the thing that terrified me the most was the thought of this moment right now; me ending up in front of you. Would I handle it? Would I be enough? I mean, it's not every day you're face to face with the monster hiding under your bed."
"And do you find yourself now faltering in my presence?" Voldemort pounced, his smile malicious. "Did you witness what I did to the great Harry Potter and realize that you are but an ant under my boot?"
When there was no response, he continued. "Come now, there's nothing to be ashamed of. Many powerful wizards have gone against me, and they've all learned the truth in the end: I am the greatest practitioner of magic the world has ever known. You were right to fear me."
The silent Death Eater shook his head, and said softly, "You still don't understand what's happening here."
But the weak response only emboldened Voldemort. "I understand that your fear of me is justified. You see, I will spend the next few minutes dismantling this impressive piece of magic around me, but not before you've had time to flee this place, if you're smart. But in the end running will not save you; no matter where you try to hide, I will eventually find you and kill you, but not before I destroy everyone and everything you love."
Voldemort waited for a response, his sick and twisted smile begging for the silent Death Eater to refute. When he didn't, Voldemort began to laugh before turning his back to him, raising his wand to begin dismantling the trap.
Thus Harry was startled when the silent Death Eater removed his robes, showing the black trousers and jersey he wore underneath. His arms were solidly built under the sleeves, and he had a toned frame and a thick chest for his six-foot height.
"The sheer fucking hubris," he spat, drawing Voldemort's attention. There was no weakness in his voice now. "Mistaking my silence for fear instead of what it really was; me coming to terms with what's about to happen."
"You may be so weak you need to lie to yourself, but don't lie to me," said Voldemort.
"I told you I don't need to lie, but for the sake of argument let's look at the facts: I set an unbreakable trap for you before you even got here, right where I knew you would land, I might add. I fought every single one of your Death Eaters at once and won, and now I'm bantering with you like we're old buddies instead of cowering like a school girl," said the silent Death Eater, as if was simply listing ingredients from a recipe.
But then the casualness in his voice turned into a sneer. "So you tell me, Lord Voldemort: do any of those seem like the actions of a man who has even one iota of concern that things won't go his way tonight?"
At this Voldemort simply lost his mind. "Pull down this dome, coward! Have the courtesy to face me wand to wand, so you can pass from this world like a man after I mutilate your body and crush your soul."
"Funny choice of words, 'mutilate' and 'soul'." The silent Death Eater reached into a pouch on his lower back. He slowly pulled out a broken cup engraved with badgers, held it up for Voldemort to see, and then tossed it to the side. He did the same for the locket, diadem, and ring; each one as damaged as the cup.
"The diary with a big hole in it is still in Dumbledore's office, and the parts of Nagini's body are…over there, somewhere." He waved negligently back toward the field of headstones. "But the best part is the last horcrux, the one you didn't even know about, is over there." He of course pointed to the downed body of the younger Harry. "Thanks for the assist by the way."
For the rest of Harry's life, he would never forget the look on Voldemort's face as he saw his destroyed horcruxes, his great works to ensure his immortality, handled so dismissively. In that moment, every bit of the godlike, unstoppable visage he had portrayed for decades vanished, and all that was left was a wounded man who had mutilated his body and soul in pursuits he never should have undertaken.
Harry watched as Voldemort kept looking back and forth in shock and confusion at his horcruxes and the silent Death Eater, as if he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. But then he stared just at the Death Eater for some time, and then the confusion melted off his face, to be replaced by what Harry could only describe as 'dawning horror'.
"And now it's time," muttered the silent Death Eater.
"Who are you?" Voldemort whispered again.
"You know who." Harry heard the smirk in the response.
"It's not possible," Voldemort said, shaking his head side-to-side.
"It's not likely, but it's certainly possible."
"No!" Voldemort screamed. "You can't have come back! No one could defeat me!"
"Not even someone 'with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord'?"
Then the silent Death Eater removed his mask, and Harry's world tilted on its axis. He could feel his mouth opening and closing, like an automatic bodily function gone haywire. The analytical part of him felt that he probably should have figured this out, that the facts were actually staring him right in the face the whole time. But what were facts and logic worth in the presence of insanity? Because 'insane' was the only way to describe the identity of the silent Death Eater, who was now smiling at Voldemort.
The silent Death Eater was Harry Potter.
Or rather, it was an older version of himself. This future Harry's dark hair was sprinkled with gray around the temples, and the skin around his face looking looser and more worn. If this future version of him was a muggle, Harry would say he looked to be in his late thirties. Since he was a wizard however, that could mean he was anywhere from thirty-five to seventy years old.
For a second he wondered if this was some elaborate hoax. That's because, once again, the idea that he'd somehow grow up to travel decades into the past, capture seventeen Death Eaters, wreck the Wizengamot, and, oh yeah, kill Voldemort was insane.
But in his heart, he knew that was really future him facing off against Voldemort. What sold him was the way Future Harry wore the scar on his face; it was definitely less pronounced and raw than the one he sported today, but there was no mistaking that unique 'Z' shape.
Someone faking this situation in order to hoodwink Harry would have tried to diminish the scar's impact on his future version's face, or remove it altogether. They would think any reasonable person would want the hideous deformity gone.
But Harry knew he would never do such a thing. He may not be truly comfortable with it now, but it served him as a reminder of what he almost lost that night, and why he needed to keep fighting. It may be hideous, but it was his, and he would tell anyone who disagreed the same words Astoria used for people who commented about it around her: 'you can fuck right off'.
"Hey Tom," said Future Harry.
Voldemort stood there poleaxed, but slowly regaining his wits. "How is this possible?"
"It's super complicated, with enough high level arithmancy equations to fill ten notebooks. I mean, I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," replied Future Harry, who then started laughing. "Not a 'Top Gun' fan, no? Bah, it doesn't matter. Anyway, the truth is I'm not going to tell you, because I am one-hundred percent going to kill you, so why waste the time?"
"How do you plan to do that?" Harry noticed that Voldemort had a sneer on his face once again, but it was much less convincing than before this revelation. "Are you going to keep me trapped in here while you fill this dome with poisonous gas?"
"No," Harry said surprised, "but I'm both impressed and disturbed with how quickly you thought of that."
"It makes sense; you dare not have the courage to face me man to man –"
"Man to man?"
"- so you would try and find some craven way to defeat me. Why else would you place me in a dome where I cannot strike back? You've spent what appears to be decades preparing to kill me without facing me, because you know that while the mindless public from your time period probably heaps praise on you for all your supposed talent, I would still come out victorious in a duel."
Future Harry began to slowly clap. "You are the most self-centered chap I've ever met, but that was an excellent attempt to goad me into fighting you."
"Stop joking!" snapped Voldemort. "It's a pathetic deflection. Face me, Harry Potter; otherwise you'll always know in the back of your mind that you were my inferior."
"You just want me to fight you because you're so sure you'll win and be able to change the future."
"I know I'll win, Potter."
"Then that doesn't give me much incentive to fight you, does it?" Voldemort went to respond when Future Harry waved him off. "No, don't bother to say anything; I know you'll challenge my manhood once again, and that's just tiresome. The truth is Tom, I was never going to gas you to death, though I'll have to keep that one in mind for my next fight against a formerly immortal dark lord. No, I'm going to give you what you want; we're going to battle."
Harry didn't know who was more stunned by that answer, him or Voldemort. Voldemort recovered though, and threw his head back in laughter. "Oh Potter, do you truly care so little for your life?"
"No, I love my life: great friends, great job, an amazing wife. It's almost perfect, except for you, my own personal millstone that's been hanging around my neck since I was eighteen months old. You're right; I could get rid of you easily enough in that dome, but that doesn't feel right. No, you and I need to end things with our wands; that's the only way our story should finish."
"Then by all means, tear down this dome and let us begin," Voldemort bowed.
"Tear it down? And waste showing you the best part of the modifications?"
Future Harry's wand moved in a complicated fashion as he said, "kompress". The shield now remained red and wobbled in place. Voldemort shouted out and raised his wand, but before he could do anything the dome shrunk down in an instant, enveloping Voldemort like a second skin. He gave out a cry and buckled at the waist, but just as quickly as the red dome crashed on him, it disappeared.
"What did you do?" Voldemort wheezed as he stood up.
"Nothing much, except restrict your travel. You see, for the next ten hours you are unable to apparate or use a portkey. Not to brag, but that modification to the shield won me an 'Abbott-Fosey Prize' in applied Charms a few years ago."
"And what else does it hinder?" Voldemort demanded.
"Nothing else. Only your travel."
"Why? If you have such control over this shield, why didn't you impede my ability to cast?"
Future Harry began to stretch out his arms as he answered. "Because I want you at peak ability when we fight, and I don't want to hear you bitch and moan with your excuses. And as for why it stops you from traveling anywhere magically? Because when the moment arrives during our fight when you realize that not only can you not beat me, but that you're going to die, you'll be unable to run away like the craven you are."
Voldemort sneered as he dropped into a duellers stance: presenting a side profile, arms lose but ready. "It will be my greatest pleasure to watch the light leave your eyes."
Future Harry gave a small smile as he adopted a similar pose. "Enough talking. Now, let's see if the powers of Lord Voldemort, heir of Salazar Slytherin, can match against the famous Harry Potter."
A/N: Surprise…?
Whelp, there's the big reveal that I'm guessing a large percentage of you figured out already. Though, I would be interested to see if you figured it out just based on similar plotlines in other HP fanfictions, or if there was something specific in the story that tipped you off.
*So the idea of having a time traveling Harry came about because of one of my favorite guilty pleasure tropes: OP Harry, and specifically, two aspects you often see in those stories.
(Come on, a story with a Harry Potter kicking ass and taking names? Sign me up.)
The first aspect you sometimes see is one I actually have trouble getting over: a school-age Harry defeating Voldemort in a straight fight. I don't care how talented or how hard Harry works, you'll never convince me a sixth or seventh year Harry is beating Voldemort, who has decades of top level experience and is still at peak performance, fair and square.
The other aspect of the OP story I actually love is when the author shows a first or second year Harry working hard to improve his magic, which means dueling and suffering his lumps from older classmates who know more than the young Harry. When I read these dual scenes, I can't help but think, "That fifth year opponent is all smug now, but how well would they do if a seventh year Harry suddenly showed up out of nowhere and put this cocky fifth year student in their place."
Then one day I had the brilliant idea to kill two birds with one stone, thus this story. It still has the OP school-age Harry who is talented but not up to the level of strong adults, but also includes a Harry Potter in his prime who can wipe the floor with virtually anyone alive, and often several anyone's at the same time. A win-win, if you will.
*For Future Harry's fight scene with the Death Eaters, I was trying to go for an 'overwhelming force' vibe. In fact, I based the fight on two scenes from recent 'Star Wars' productions: Darth Vader stomping through the rebel ship at the end of 'Rogue One', and Luke mowing down the droids in 'The Mandolorian'. Along with those two scenes, I wanted Future Harry to almost be like a Michael Meyers or Jason Vorhees here, where he's unknown behind a mask and completely unstoppable. Hopefully I got somewhat close.
There is officially one chapter left, which I will be working on directly. I'm hoping I can get it out sooner rather than later.