Act Two Chapter Four: The Moon IV
Look at this, an upload within two weeks. This has not happened since chapter 4. Well, I had a week off work and my girlfriend was a close contact (of the CV19), meaning we could not see my family. Don't expect another one for about a month. In better news, happy New Year everyone. May it be better than 2020 before. I will beg for a beta here and below.
Reviews.
Urgazhi: I hope this chapter resolves most of your questions.
I fixed that error as soon as you pointed it out. This is why I need a beta. No amount of software will help when a dyslexic uses the wrong form of a noun.
I hope yours was well.
Procrastinatey: I knew the time skip (I assume you are talking about the epilogue of act one) would be ill-received. I was getting tired of year one and had felt I established all I needed for the characters. I still wanted to write the climax, however and sprinkled it into each of the last chapters. This one will hold the last of it.
I am glad I still have you as a reader, and I hope to continue writing something you enjoy.
Normal stuff time.
Please review. I do love to get those reviews; they make me feel good. As always, I need a beta.
Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think!
Isolation.
A feeling that Harry had always known. To be separate, apart from the mass. That defined isolation. To live with a fear that the next word uttered may be that last you ever speak to someone, for you pushed them away.
Isolation was a thing Harry knew well.
He found it within the thoughts of another.
Harry had known about being alone. The dark, the creeping nothing. When they talk about you in passing. He understood the looks better than anyone.
Still, The Flower never weltered. Though pelted, she stood strong against all slight. Why? What gave her this strength?
He needed to know.
He dug, flipped, and forced his way in. Breaking her from herself, digging for what he needed. How did she get so strong? They had isolated her as he was. Hated by more than he did. Yet she smiled. She smiled and lived without fear of her classmates, of rejection.
Of Tracy leaving.
She resisted and fought. She pushed against his pressure, exerting her own, but it crumbled against his onslaught. He crawled beneath her head and took as he wished; she was powerless against that. She tried hurting him again, magic against his own, but her struggle withered against his practiced form.
He found why.
He found her strength.
Like always, he was incapable of grasping it, of drawing on it, of using it himself.
She had love.
He felt the emotion, strong as any Petunia had shown Dudley. It wrapped around her, protecting her from the world. The evil world which sought to destroy them.
Someone like her and someone like him. Unnatural. Unwanted.
But she was.
Someone wanted her. And she had someone at home.
A father, a sister, a mother. They cherished her, cheered her, and loved her. When she spoke, they listened, they cared. When they smiled at her, it was real, not fake. They held her. When she cried, they took her into their arms. When happiness came, they celebrated it together.
She stopped struggling. As he tapped memories of family, care, love. Her resistance faded, lulled by the past masking his evil.
She should not have stopped.
Her magic remembered, it felt as he did and responded.
For while the path is open, it is easily traveled.
He saw himself.
The cupboard.
The dark.
The spiders, his only friends.
The work.
The burns.
The pain.
The belt.
The laughter.
His first day.
"Harry."
"Harry."
"It's you, you dumb boy. Think you are funny?"
The talking.
"His clothes."
Alone.
"I will be your friend."
"Leave that loser alone."
"Ok."
Hope.
"The Book. Take it off my hands."
The letter.
"I would like to take you shopping today."
Hope.
Contact.
Harry's heart fluttered at the touch.
The Hat.
Harry Potter.
The-boy-who-lived.
The whispers.
The isolation.
Alone again.
Death.
He killed her.
He was why.
The spell.
Two words.
Avada Kedavra.
Red.
The Moon.
Fleur was crying. From his view on the floor, he watched them fall. His body felt stiff, and his arm felt bruised. The pain of her presence disappeared, but no longer did they stand alone.
"Hey, Nic, did you get your books?" He went to stand but his legs were stiff, with unpracticed motions he wiggled to sit.
"Harry, I left you alone for ten minutes."
"I read this awesome book on Magic Theory." He gushed.
"Poor act, Harry."
"Not even passable?"
"Not close." His eyes were stone. They bore into his own, challenging him to fail again, to let his instincts run. To take advantage.
His stomach turned, threatening to wretch again. "I am sorry, Nic."
"Why are you sorry to me? I am not the one you violated. She is not like your normal victims. She felt you."
"I am sorry I broke your trust."
"Apologize to her now."
"No." The word came out strong. As if speaking magic, he let the word fall. Intent mixed in and fueled the word of truth.
"Harry," Fleur spoke. He did not meet her eyes, focusing instead on the rivers that flowed to her cheeks. "Harry, I am sorry." She cracked in simple French. Like ice breaking on the shore of The Black Lake, her bitter voice shattered. She had lost, but he faced defeat as well.
She attacked him and violated him. Maneuvered her perverse magic into his soul.
He responded in kind.
Then she flipped on him.
She saw.
No one should see that.
He once had to, that was enough.
"For what it is worth, I don't care."
She burned the bridge. With fire to the very stone.
She saw his secrets. How could she? It was private.
Hypocrite.
It does not matter; she is less than you. He tried rationing.
An object thumped the back of his head, bringing him into the present.
"Don't be an idiot. Now, behave, you two, or I will talk to the Headmistress." With his sword book in hand, he wandered back into the restricted section, leaving the two alone again.
Why did she stay?
He hurt her. So why did she stay?
"I am so sorry, Harry." She stayed away. Firmly rooted to the floor, her shaking form hugged itself. "I was wrong, I am so sorry." Why did she care? Did she wish to use him? Was Henri that wrong in his assessment of her?
"Harry, don't panic." He tensed. A classic example of 'do not think of pink elephants.' She rushed him, pressing him tight against her. Her skin burned against his, akin to sitting near a fire. She smelled of her namesake. Her grip was tight, her lean muscles hiding surprising strength. She pulled his face into her growing bosom as his face tomatoed.
He forgave her instantly.
The Moon.
She appeared accepting of his attack against herself. Understanding how, despite trying to temper the urge, he still drifted unconsciously into the minds of others. How Albus had called it the art of Legillimency.
"It is from my lineage," she explained, "my family has mated before with magic creatures which have empathizing powers. I have inherited it." She frowned. The look did not fit her face. "It, like your mind reading, is hard to temper. The feeling is unnatural to stop." She brought a finger to her face and peered beyond the conversation. "It also makes others hate me. Whether or not, I use the power, they hate me for being a mixed-race... thing," she spat the word like a slur. Like how older Hufflepuffs would speak of mudblood.
"I am sorry. I know it was hard."
She laughed like a summer breeze or Erised. "I know you know. I saw it all happen again." Her face deflated once more. "I know you saw it." She gazed into his eyes, almost daringly so. "And I saw you."
"I am sorry."
"For what I glimpsed, not looking, correct?"
"Yes."
"Harry, what happened to you..."
"It is fine. It's done."
"But."
"I have Nic now. It will be different."
She paused. Then she withdrew a scrap of paper and jotted down a note, sliding it to him. "It's my address. I wish to speak more, but unlike Hogwarts, we still have school left. Goodbye." She leaned forward to grace his cheek with a small kiss, flushing him once again. Then ran from the library.
"You'd better write to her, kid," Nic shouted from the restricted section. Keenly pointing out, he heard the entire conversation.
"Shut up."
The Moon.
They took brooms to leave Beauxbaxtons Academy. The freedom of flight overtook any anxiety that flushed through Harry as Nic guided him north. The sky washed his hair as the sun flew ahead, passing from the center to a fading set. With an aching set of thighs and core, Harry landed before a new gate. This one set low with moss and viny growth amongst the surrounding fences. The gate had a simple iron lock over a wooden door, one which Nic opened with a key from his pocket. The magic of the gate passed as Harry stepped into the unknown land, stretching past the horizon with the gentle sparkling of water in the distance. Magical life sprang forth as the forest that stood evolved into one of magic.
Plants he never seen layered into the tall trees and small critters outside the pages of his primary school text wandered in them. He even saw a glimpse of the pale white of a unicorn.
"Welcome home, Harry." He spoke with a smile.
Seeing the small cottage ahead he could only respond, "It is, isn't it?"
The Moon.
By now he should be used to special magic. It should no longer surprise Harry when he enters a place to find the outer shell was deceiving.
When walking into a normal cottage, he should expect a normal cottage. Right? In the realm of magic, that thinking is incorrect. Instead, one should expect the smallest of spaces to be too large to comprehend.
Walking into the small cottage revealed... A small cottage. It had a small sitting room, a kitchen, a washroom, and stairs leading up.
And down that stair, a twenty-something in a low tied robe came rushing. She was blonde with blue eyes, very short, and beautiful.
"Nicolas, you are two hours early," she yelled at the man causing his face to pale, "I have yet to finish getting his room set up." She spoke in French and pointed at the man with her wand forward. Harry stumbled back at the fury on the witch's face. The motion instantaneously calmed her as she dropped her arm, holding the weapon, looking at him with calm and hopeful eyes.
"Hello, Harry. My name is Perenelle Flamel, but you can call me mom." She closed in but noticed the flinch her motion created, drawing a downcast expression forth. "I am sorry, I have dinner cooking, but it is not just ready yet. Why don't we have Nic show you your room?"
"Thank you, Perenelle. Thank you for everything."
"Upstairs we go before I unleash her fury again." The second half of the statement came between only the masculine pair. Nic then, depositing his broom on a small rack, motioned for Harry to follow.
Every step Harry believed would reveal a larger home. Each doorway he expected to show a vast room. Instead, the washroom on the home's second floor fit with the two bedrooms. The home was built, and on the inside, it stayed that way.
The room denoted "Harry Potter" in a flawless script had a bed slightly smaller than Hogwarts, but larger than The Hogs Head. It faced west, meaning Alistair's nightly flights would no longer cause Harry to wake with the rising sun. A bookshelf, desk, and wardrobe decorated the walls, all empty save stationary on the desk. The room had a closet, smaller than his first bedroom, missing all clothes. Sitting on the bed he grazed his fingers over the emerald sheets, with the silver trim it was obvious how they chose such a comforter. He toppled over, spreading out over the comfortable bed, shutting his eyes and relaxing into it.
Harry could only describe the feeling as home.
"What do you think?" Nic asked, leaning on the doorway.
Wiping the shadow of a tear Harry sat back up, "It's wonderful."
The Moon.
"You should have seen the fury of Per when she heard of Charlies' refusal to pay," he took a long sip of wine, "he ran from the castle hailing his court wizard, Malrock, and his first sword, Colin, to fight her. My wife caused the King of France to flee his own castle."
Perenelle for her par blushed, "Why must you always tell that story?"
"I could tell the rest, where you beat the two bloody."
As Harry watched the two fight, he could feel the love. The trust they held for each other. He devoured the light food they ate, an unnamed recipe the woman wishing to be called mother cooked. "Was that really what it was like?"
"Hmm?" They both glanced at him.
"Before the statute?"
Nic stopped. "I often forget how no one else remembers," he stared into the blackness outside the cottage. "We helped; you know. We both helped craft the ritual."
"Near the end, it was bad, frightening." Perenelle offered, "The muggles became weary of us in ways we could never imagine. They killed children who they suspected of magic, fathers would kill sons and mothers would smother daughters."
"Why, what caused it?"
"Him." Nic pointed to the toad as his wife backed away from the thing on Harry's shoulder. Her wand was gripped but not pointed at him. "A being known only as the Conjuror brought forth a hoard, from the realms beyond, to doom humanity. Only this time lacked Artorijos and Caledfwlch to defeat the devils."
"Demons," Alastair corrected, "that event had nothing to do with devils. Why would we wish to kill humans? We only grow by contracting them."
"Are you truly so different?"
"We don't mercilessly kill."
"Did you contract Harry?" A quiet voice entered the conversation. A fury unlike any Harry had seen surrounded her.
"Not yet, no."
"How dare you bring that thing in this house." Her eyes bore into Alastair, but it meant the venom for Nic.
"He saved my life," Harry interjected, "He used your stone and my blood saving me, fixing my broken body. He let me live. Please Pere... no, mom. Let me keep him. He will hurt no one. I promise."
Her warpath ceased. "He saved you?" Harry nodded.
"Why?" She looked to the toad.
"It was the right thing to do."
They ate the rest of dinner in silence.
The Moon.
The next day comprised shopping with Perenelle, or as she insisted to be called, mom. She forced him into shop after shop in a small wizarding district, an hour's flight away, for essentials. She had taken one look at his attire he wore to breakfast that morning and decided they would do shopping. Nic thought the plan wonderful and apparated on the spot, leaving a fuming Perenelle to pick up the clutter the vacuum had created.
"Never Apparate in someone's home. It's rude." Harry helped clean the best he could, earning a smile and thank you from the witch.
Of the selection, he noticed her attention on stronger attire. A robe made tougher, as well as a formal one. Dress boots and dragon leather ones. Formal silk gloves and tough leather, preferably manticore. A wide-brimmed hat and a small, classy one as well. For every formal and normal occasion, she grabbed for him a rough version was purchased twice.
She dotted on him at every moment. Cooing over how handsome he appeared. Pinching his cheeks when he dressed for her. Every time it brought a smile to his face, not forced, but happy.
"I am going to miss you; you know that Harry?"
"Mom," the word tingled foreign on his lips, "Hogwarts is still a few months away. You aren't getting rid of me yet."
"Right, a few months still."
"Please don't hide it from me."
"What?"
"Whatever this secret is. Abe already suggested something. Now you. What is it?"
She paused. "Nic will take you on a trip." She leaned to his level and whispered, "He thinks he can help with your magic problem."
"Really?"
"Yes, but you will not be with me for a while. I am going to miss you even though we just met, sweet boy."
Harry hated the word. Every memory of that word disgusted him. It brought back memories of Vernon. Of isolation.
Hearing it in French from the mouth of someone who cared for him.
Harry guessed that was ok.
The Moon.
Back in his new house, Nic arrived before them. He stood over the stove whistling a tune and sprinkling spices into a meat-laden pan, sizzling with the cooking oil. Perenelle dismissed herself to aid her husband in cooking, allowing Harry to retire to the sitting room.
The cozy room had a singular window letting in the last semblance of light. A strange runic array lit upon the wall sending out increased light as the level in the room decreased. He grabbed a book at random and read. It was a fairytale. It all began in a place called the shire.
Soon, the call for dinner came and Harry sat The Fellowship back into the wall, leaving it exposed from the other spines as for quick access. Dinner was a quiet and delicious affair, the cooking food was a whitefish and they prepared it with a side of risotto. They made small talk regarding how the day was spent.
"And then we went to the fifth store." Harry continued.
"That's what you get for shopping with her."
"What did you do? You heard about our day, but what about yours?"
"Oh, this and that. Met a few people regarding future plans."
"About our trip?"
He paused and looked to his wife. Said wife decided to eat and drink without waiting between.
"Yes. I am getting together a team for it?"
"Why do we need a team?"
"Where we are going is dangerous?"
"Dangerous. How so?"
"You will see when we get there." He let out a chuckle. "But first," he pointed to the dish of half-eaten food before him, "eat."
Harry obeyed.
The Moon.
Erised spoke to him. Her warm words bringing joy upon his ears. The reflection whispered close, touching him without being there, explaining truths he ignored. She dropped a weight into his cloak pocket. "You will need it," she said. With a final caress, she left. "Free me."
His trance broke as the mirror showed only a reflection. Erised had left until he managed to stop it.
"Well, boy?" the puppet asked. "I need the stone." His words held pain, so much pain. Overwhelming longing stretched through as the master ate on his soul.
"What stone?"
"The one in your pocket." The High Priestess hissed.
"I have nothing."
"Imperio," the servant recast his spell, weaker than before. "Give me the stone." Erised entrusted the stone to him. She gave it to him, and him alone. He would see it safe. The voice attacked, clawing into his mind, rummaging through his well-connected valleys.
"No," He collapsed, holding his head as pain worse than any pan his aunt hit him with coursed. But the voice left.
"Crucio."
PAIN.
PAIN.
PAIN.
Fire on every open nerve. Boiling lead culling through. Every bone breaking and every muscle strained. At once, every pain occurred and reoccurred.
"The stone."
"No," he cried from the floor. His throat barren and with doubt, the sound came out.
"Let me see him, I shall convince him."
"Master, you are not..."
"Fool. You question me."
"Sorry master."
From the ground Harry watched the turban fall. In the reflection of the empty Erised, he saw The High Priestess. Attached to the back of the servant's head, she watched him.
"Harry Potter," it hissed, "We meet again."
"I have never met you." He forced his body upon the mirror, looking the parasite in the eyes.
"Oh, you may know me by a different name. We met so long ago. Voldemort. I failed to kill you so long ago." His sickening grin stretched against the back of the servant's head.
"Tom?" The name of his parents' killer.
"You dare call me that muggle name. Enough negotiation, kill him."
"Avada Kedavra." The spell came high. Falling weightless to the floor had the Erised break. The servant burned and dropped his wand, the shell he occupied no longer capable of magic.
"The stone fool, the stone," Tom shouted, frantic and fearing. Gripping a large piece of mirror fragment, he drew. His construction was a quick circle having freedom and revolt contained within, the blood he drew was plentiful. She awoke.
Her fleshed form was as tall as he, with auburn hair dripping onto the floor. Her pale skin and burgundy eyes investigated his own with happiness. She had sharp ears and sharp teeth, with a smile that spoke of mischief. With her light hands she helped him stand, "Now finish him, Harry," her warm breath caressed his ear. Gripping the bloody piece, he stared down the servant.
"Kill him," the shadow wheezed as the floor steamed. The servant reached to grab his wand, casting death at Harry again.
This time it would not miss. Death approached him; he could no longer dodge.
From his pocket, the toad leapt forth. Into the path of the spell, it jumped. Alastair fell to the floor, unflinching. The wand erupted into flames, no longer tolerating the heat of the room.
"Get the stone, fool,"
The servant's robes caught fire. He stumbled forward to grab at Harry with the last of his strength. Harry plunged the already bloodied knife into the heart of the man, watching him as he died before the fire took him. The master detached and fled as Harry fell to the floor.
"Good job, Harry." She kissed him as the room's steaming slowed. Alastair's form laid shriveled and flat. "I will see you again." With a final brush of her lips, she escaped.
That did not matter, he needed Alastair back.
The Moon.
He was not alone. Someone had cradled his head upon a soft lap, calling to him in a soft voice. She smelled of flowers. Her hands ran through his hair, wet from his sweat. The more she spoke, the more he woke. Harry could not speak, for his mouth was to dry, and his throat too raw. Nor could he move, for his muscles ached with remembered pain.
He let her calm him. Soon he no longer shook. He drifted back to sleep, comforted by someone holding him.
He did not dream.
The Knight of Wands.