Chapter Twenty-Six
The Keeper
Spring dawned to a cheerfully sunny day. The lake and sky turned a pretty periwinkle blue colour, the rainstorms died timidly down to mere showers, and warmth bathed the castle, a warmth not felt since the vehement chill of November.
Quidditch practice picked up sometime in mid-March, the warning of the game being scheduled at any time in April looming over Gryffindor team's heads. Harry secretly prayed that the match wouldn't be until June, after the O.W.L.'s, but knew this was asking for too much.
The Gryffindor team began getting very jumpy as practice time dwindled away; Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Angelina Johnson strided down the hallways together, whimpering at the looks earned by the Slytherins; Fred and George kept up their pace with agitating the Slytherins in particular; and Harry was given snooty looks from Draco Malfoy each time he passed the Slytherin.
The only one unaffected by all of these factors seemed to be Kirk Joseph, who could be found whisking through hallways, humming happily under his breath. Most people found this very amusing; Slytherins despised the first year, however, and oft shoved him roughly into walls and cupboards, aided by Peeves.
But Kirk kept an air of complete calm in the days approaching April.
Studying for the O.W.L.'s was now on Harry's agenda as well; each day consisted of a steady to do list: Eat breakfast, go to class, eat lunch, go to class, go to common room for Firebolt, practice Quidditch, practice trumpet, study in the common room for a few hours, snog with Ginny for a couple minutes, then go to bed.
He grew very strained during these days, most nights not going to bed until after midnight.
Ron and Hermione were observing the niceties of life, it appeared; they hadn't had a row since March by time April came round. Perhaps they were lifting Harry's spirits by respecting each other, but Harry didn't care to know why they were being like that, as long as they kept it up. Hermione grew irritable early April, and on the third Dumbledore made an announcement at tea.
"I would like to clear up details about the upcoming Quidditch final," he began, eyes twinkling as he roved over the room. Harry perked up, listening raptly. "Date set will stand; the final is June first, just before O.W.L.'s and N.E.W.T.'s begin." He smiled fondly towards the Gryffindors, then towards the Slytherins. "May the best House win."
Malfoy smirked at Harry from across the Great Hall.
"All right, team, you heard Professor Dumbledore; we've got until June to train for this important match," said George, eyes glittering on the moonlit pitch as he gave the team a pep talk. "We've practiced too hard for this to be terribly impossible, and Slytherin just has a bunch of blokes on their team anyway — nutters for letting Malfoy replace their Seeker, if you ask me…."
George scowled his displeasure at Malfoy, then dismissed the team to the locker rooms.
"Harry?" As Harry changed into respectable clothes, a fragile voice disrupted his jumble of thoughts. He turned to see Kirk standing there, a frail smile in place of the first year's usual dashing grin.
"Anything wrong, Kirk?" he prompted, pulling on a set of clean robes.
"I — er — think I know something about the…the traitor." The words tumbled out as though they'd have caught fire in his mouth.
Harry grew tense, interested.
"What d'you know about the traitor?" he asked quietly. "Who is it?"
"I d-don't know who it is, b-but they've left clues b-behind them."
"What clues?" whispered Harry, his full attention focused on Kirk's quavering voice.
"Yesterday I found a wand near the forest where Tallow's body was found. I don't recognise the wand, no, but I snooped around a bit in spite of myself…. There were broken centaur bodies strewn about everywhere, Harry…it was awful. A — a note was slipped under one of the bones. I've — I've got it here somewhere…."
He fumbled through his robes, Harry watching expectantly, praying that Kirk had found something worthwhile.
"Here it is."
Those who enter the forest these days are doomed to inevitable death.
Harry's mind was a boggle of thoughts as he read and reread the script, trying to identify the writing. He turned quickly back to Kirk.
"D'you recognise the writing?" he whispered, eyes shining in the flickering candlelight.
"Y-yes," stammered Kirk.
"Whose is it?"
Kirk didn't answer for a long time; only the soft hooting of owls outside was heard in the tranquil moment, until Kirk spoke again in an even voice.
"Not many things scare me, Harry Potter. I've never felt frightened in my life; not of the grizzly bears up north, or of the werewolves I raised when I was younger…but one thing is beginning to scare me. Lord Voldemort is out there, biding his time, just waiting for the cue to strike down Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore might be able to frighten him off for some time, but he will eventually come and attempt to falter this place; I'm afraid. I worry about Robbie more than anything…."
He trailed off imploringly, then fled the locker room, a look of horror sweeping over his face. Harry stared after him, then shifted his gaze back to the note. Something wasn't making sense, and he intended to find out what.
***
The rain exploded with a mighty crash on June first as daylight broke.
The dreadful storm that overtook Hogwarts made the outlook horrible for the Quidditch final to be played that day. After their meeting, Kirk had been acting very nervous; he crept around corridors, peeking around corners before turning them, as though expecting someone to attack him if he wasn't watchful. Harry felt like a git for being so persistent in trying to extract information from the Keeper.
"Ah, don't worry about it, Harry," Ron had said lightly when Harry voiced this. "Kirk's just having a mood swing like ol' Professor Trins."
Harry grumpily wrenched the curtains of his four-poster open, wishing horrible things on the Slytherins. He pulled on a few Muggle clothes, then over that the scarlet Gryffindor robes. With a large yawn, he stumbled from the dormitory to greet Fred, George, Angelina, and Ginny, all of whom were waiting in the common room.
Harry offered them a drowsy smile.
"Looks like the weather's detesting us," said Fred, glancing to the rain-lashed window. "Not a majour problem; can be easily overlooked…."
"Yeah, sure," said Angelina sarcastically, a forced grin on her face. Fred simpered at her. "We've not prepared to play Quidditch in that hell!"
"I know, the weather was just fine until today!" said George fiercely, giving Harry a sideways look.
"Maybe the Slytherins learnt to control weather," he suggested, shrugging. Last thing he needed was a reminder of Voldemort on an already-stressful day. "Don't."
"Round up the other girls, Angie, would you?" said Fred distractedly. He pecked her lips as she stalked off. "Harry, want to go collect Kirk and your Firebolt?"
"So long as I don't get a kiss," teased Harry, ducking his head. "Be back."
He trounced off towards the boys' dorms, until he found the first years'. Kirk was already up and around, shoving clothes on, and Harry was pleased to see the smirk-ish grin on Kirk's face.
"We're about to head off to the pitch," said Harry. "Ten minutes to our time to take the field."
"Thanks, Harry," said Kirk gratefully.
"See you."
Harry bounded up another few sets of stairs, retrieved his Firebolt, and collapsed into Ginny's arms in the common room. Fred and George turned away, sniggering; Harry assumed Ginny had informed them all they needed to know.
"Good luck," whispered Ginny into Harry's ear, sending shivers down his spine. She gave him a quick kiss, then hurried off towards the girls' dorms.
"Well, congratulations, Harry," said Fred, cuffing Harry's shoulder with a satisfied grin. "You've got a Weasley girlfriend."
George wiped an invisible tear from his eye.
"You're officially our brother, Harry," he cried, embracing Harry.
"Thanks, guys," said Harry solemnly. "And you've been wonderful captains, even if we lose."
"Aw, you're making us blush, Harry!" admonished Fred as both he and George glowed with happiness.
"But we're not going to lose, are we, Harry?"
"Nope, not if I can help it," said Harry firmly.
"Good lad!"
"Spiffing!"
"I'm going on down to the pitch."
Fred and George calling merrily after him, Harry strided from the common room.
"Do behave during the game, dear!" called the Fat Lady shrilly. "Need a Gryffindor win, you know!"
Harry didn't pause to eat breakfast; Nearly-Headless Nick cuffed his back as well, wishing him the best of luck. The rain spattered violently down on Harry upon exiting the castle; people were dispersing towards the pitch all around him, umbrellas raised.
When at last he reached the locker room, he drew his wand and tapped his glasses. "Impervius."
Praying that the water-repellent charm would be enough, he flopped down on the bench in the locker room.
He was growing a tad bored when a funny rustling noise caught his attention. Harry drew his wand and peered curiously down the corridor to Madam Hooch's office.
Madam Hooch herself bristled out, looking ardent.
"Hello, Potter," she greeted, smiling warmly. "Best of luck in the match today."
"Thank you, Madam," said Harry, minding his manners. "What was that noise?"
"Had to have a last minute checkup on the balls," explained Madam Hooch, gesturing to a chest beneath her arm. "Well anyway, must get to the pitch to signal the start of the game shortly."
She walked off, Harry frowning slightly after her. He'd never remembered Madam Hooch bringing the balls out this late….
The rest of the team erupted into the doors, broad grins on their faces, Fred leading them.
"Harry," he said. "Good to see you, mate."
"You just saw me," Harry pointed out.
"Well, good to see you again!"
"We have a strategy for today, team," said George, stepping in front of the others. "Harry — your glasses, are they —"
"I've already performed the charm," finished Harry.
"Good, then." George drew a heavy sigh. "I'd like to say that no matter the outcome of this game, you have been one hell of a Quidditch team. The days were long and the nights were rough, but throughout it all, we've persevered. Just one tiny game left, against our arch-rivals in Slytherin; stomp them, and we'll do just fine. Kirk — you're not as important this game. Stop what you can, but our Chasers will take it away for the most part.
"Angie, Katie, Alicia…just go through the paces. Stooging is permitted this time, do anything to score; Hooch won't be able to see three feet in front of her if the storm keeps up…. And Harry. Wait until we're up fifty points at least before catching the Snitch, and we'll win the House Cup and the match."
"All together, now," said Fred. "Who's the best?"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Then let's show those gits from Slytherin that!"
Bellowing wildly, Harry flanked the team out of the locker rooms and onto the pitch, where Slytherin stood in acid-green robes and dirty looks.
"Shake hands!" yelled Madam Hooch.
Looking highly pleasant, Fred and George wrapped a hand on each side of the Slytherin captain's. Draco Malfoy sneered at Harry.
"On my whistle. Three…two…one."
The silvery whistle piped a note, and the teams soared off the ground in a myriad of scarlet, green, and rain. Harry flew straight for the sky, thunder clapping around him and lightning forking him. Malfoy, obviously thinking Harry had gone berserk, stayed closer down.
Harry squinted through the heavy rain for any flecks of gold in the distance. He could see the battle raging below, and could make out shouts from the crowd when each team scored, but had no idea what the score was.
A flicker of gold glitter caught his eye, but his heart sank; Malfoy had seen the gold already, and Harry stooped to the level of sidling after Malfoy and flying directly in front of him; they collided and Malfoy was nearly thrown from his broom, snarling at Harry, who smiled unpleasantly back.
The next couple of minutes past without any sign of the Snitch; Harry looped the pitch several times, still squinting, Malfoy directly behind him.
A whistle trilled in the distance, and Harry swooped downward.
"I CALLED TIMEOUT!" yelled Fred.
Harry dismounted and blundered towards the rest of the team, rain thrashing down on them.
"One hundred and ten to sixty is the score, Harry," said George breathlessly. "You've got to get the Snitch soon, it's growing dangerous out here…."
Harry turned intently to Kirk.
"Don't let a goal in," he said. "You've got to keep them at bay while I search for the Snitch. I'll deal with Malfoy; keep the Bludgers off me and keep scoring if you can."
"Will do," said Alicia, echoed by Fred and Kirk moments later.
"I can hardly see four feet in front of me," said Harry despairingly, mounting his broom. "Best of luck."
The whistle sounded again, and the team took off once more. Harry began frantically searching for the Snitch, rain whipping and stinging his skin, lightning flaring brilliantly. Malfoy didn't dare go high as Harry was; the other players were blots of mottled scarlet and green below him.
A glimmer of gold past the Gryffindor goal posts caught his attention, and he dived hard as he could towards them. Malfoy was nowhere to be seen, and Harry's heart leapt to his throat; he reached out his right arm; the Snitch drew closer, and then —
As Harry's fingers closed joyously around the struggling Golden Snitch, Kirk Joseph tapped the Snitch with his finger; a yank from behind his navel told Harry that winning wasn't necessarily the best thing.
The ground swooped around, and he was swirling in tight circles, Kirk alongside him. Momentarily the spinning was shattered by Harry's feet slamming into the ground again, Kirk crumpling next to him, panting.
The Snitch fluttered off into the distance, and one thought echoed in the hollows of Harry's mind:
We are screwed.
Kirk breathed heavily on the ground, dust flitting up. The rain had subsided in the place they were at; mountainous caverns swarmed all around them; the air was alight with sounds of the forest. Harry knew the feeling all too well that swept over his body, and he groped for his wand.
"GET OUT YOUR WAND!" Kirk bellowed suddenly. "RUN! Harry, YOU HAVE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE!"
Harry faltered, frowning at Kirk, whose face was splotched with tears.
"They're coming!" he shouted desperately. "Remove yourself from this land! You've got to get out of this area!"
Kirk's voice was showing signs of maturity Harry had never heard before. He glimpsed around; his broomstick had been left on the pitch, it seemed. Chances of getting back without the Snitch were zero to none, he knew, so he squinted up into the darkness.
A cold, mirthless laugh brought reality crashing hard down on Harry and Kirk. Kirk struggled to rise, Harry helping him, and the sinewy form of Lord Voldemort himself appeared, crimson eyes burning with hatred and hunger.
"Brought another friend with you, Harry Potter?" asked Voldemort softly, his eyes roaming over Kirk's limp body. "You must enjoy the deaths of your friends…but nevertheless, I will exterminate your friend shortly."
Harry threw himself in front of a whimpering Kirk.
"Let him alone," he said evenly.
"Learnt to speak in a year's time, have you, Potter?" whispered Voldemort, nostrils dilating. "Excellent. It will make your death much more interesting."
Harry gritted his teeth.
"You know we can't duel properly, what will you do? Murder me without giving me a chance? How very prompt and adult of you."
He was vaguely amazed at the strength present in his own voice. Voldemort's eyes flashed dangerously.
"I shall not have the honour of dueling with you this time, I'm afraid," he said, quiet voice full of sheer hatred. "I will duel with young, blundering Kirk Joseph. Severus," he directed sharply over his shoulder, and the swish of a cloak resounded; a man stepped forward. "You will duel with Potter here."
Professor Snape stared Harry in the eye with a steady, sure gaze. Harry looked back into the Potion Master's remorseful face, and a warmth swept him. He had to distract Voldemort in order for Kirk to escape. But why is Kirk here to begin with?
"You're wondering how Joseph here learnt of my plot," said Voldemort softly, eyes squarely focusing on Harry's. Pain shot through his forehead like he had never felt, nearly sending him toppling to the ground, but he focused on standing. "He is quite the bungler, I'm afraid. He accidentally blundered across my faithful servant at Hogwarts while she was setting the Snitch to be a Portkey. He might've known before then, actually; he suspected for quite some time."
"I knew you wouldn't suspect a Portkey in the Snitch, Harry Potter," said Voldemort lazily, eyes flickering to Kirk then back to Harry. "You were so wrapped up in winning the Quidditch House Cup that it would be terribly easy to manipulate you. I knew that Draco Malfoy was not a good Quidditch player; knew he would fail to capture the Snitch. But I had not expected Joseph to join you; I assume he had hoped to get here before you to save your life by giving his own…."
"Why?" choked out Harry. "Why does everyone want to save me?" He knew it was pointless asking this of Voldemort, but the words tumbled out before he could stop them.
"Because, Harry, you are the only one I am mortal to," hissed Voldemort, tongue flitting rapidly. Harry sank to his knees, emotions overwhelming him. "I can never achieve immortality to the ancestor of Godric Gryffindor, and you happen to be his last, as I am Salazar Slytherin's last."
The news shook Harry with an almighty force. Everyone that had died — everyone that had saved him — because only he could defeat Voldemort? It seemed impossible when faced by that snake-like face of Voldemort, staring him down….
"Don't you see it, Potter?" whispered Voldemort. "You have elfin blood, you can touch anything created by the elves. But I have your blood in me; I can as well. Unfortunately, this will not able me to make myself immortal to you. I can murder you, of course…."
But how? wondered Harry through the waves of mixed emotions. How can I be Gryffindor's ancestor?
"In your second year, you remember, the sword you extracted from the Sorting Hat at Hogwarts," said Voldemort, voice softer still. "Only Gryffindor's ancestor could touch the handle."
It was absurd, unbelievable, and yet….
"Why should I trust you?" spat Harry resentfully. He cast a glance at Snape, who gave a barely visible nod to confirm that it was true. Harry rose spitefully to his feet, wand drawn. "I can duel with you without my wand."
Voldemort's eyes alit with malice, nostrils dilating excitedly. The thin mouth let the tongue flit out again.
"You have learnt of Godric's one power, then," he said quietly. "Such a pitiful fool he was, practicing his magic with no wand, destined to one day die…. Just as yourself, Harry…. Your father was very talented in that field as well…. I suffice to say he destroyed many of my faithful servants…."
"NO!" shouted Harry.
"Yes, boy, he murdered just as you have," hissed Voldemort menacingly. "Just as I have."
"NOT OUT OF COLD BLOOD!" bellowed Kirk Joseph suddenly, and Harry started; he had forgotten that Kirk was even there in his haste. Kirk was trembling from head to foot with suppressed rage, and his voice shook. "I've not lived in England long, but I've made out of you what Dumbledore's said of you. You didn't murder people for any reason, you just liked killing —"
"My initial target was James Potter's great-great-grandfather," interjected Voldemort with a tone of dislike. "He was in my time; I knew if I got rid of Potter that my mission to achieve immortality could actually occur; but he, like so many others, had a child before I could destroy him. I had to leave and be dormant for some time because of that fool's son; I underwent many transformations, and was forced tragically to murder people in between —"
"LIAR!" shouted Harry, still standing defensively before Kirk.
Voldemort let his gaze settle on Harry, hunger burning in those crimson eyes. A stabbing pain shot through Harry's scar again.
Voldemort chuckled.
"You remind me so much of your father that it is uncanny," he said. "We are quite alike, you realise…. Both half-bloods, with fathers that put us to shame —"
"MY FATHER DID NOT PUT ME TO SHAME!"
"Only whereas I had the pleasure of murdering my father, I murdered yours as well. I daresay he was so powerful that he didn't die until I was torn from my body; after your pathetic Mudblood mother died."
"The Urdai should be granted their murdering abilities, however," said Voldemort suddenly, snapping his fingers. Three Urdais appeared next to him, a Reaper flanking them. Voldemort smiled a cruel smile. "Tear them apart."
The nearest Urdai screamed, advancing on Harry and Kirk. Harry backed Kirk up, raising his wand. "Impedimenta!" he shouted; the Urdai froze in place. "STUPEFY!"
Another of the Urdais was blown backwards. Only one remained.
Harry was struck with sudden brilliance. The only thing, he realised, preserving the Urdais' life was most likely an enchantment Voldemort had placed. Therefore, to wipe out the Urdai —
"Finite Incantatem."
The words were mere whispers in the darkness, but had their desired effect. The Urdais crumpled into heaps of ash on the ground, and an amount of colour drained from Voldemort's pallid face. The snake-face then grew livid with fury.
"Very well; you have destroyed my comrades. The Reaper, however, is not bound to me by spell; there is no destroying it."
And the midnight-black form of the Reaper sprang into view. Harry felt the hairs stand on the back of his neck as the Reaper's gaze focused on him, irrepressible hunger burning in the red pinpricks of eyes. Harry backed away a bit more, Kirk being pushed back with him.
"INFERNOBOLUS!" he bellowed. A ribbon of fire engulfed the Reaper, but the demon sprang back, scythe glinting in the moonlight (A lot of time has passed, registered Harry's mind).
Harry sent the fire towards the Reaper again, but it darted away once more. The gap between them was closing steadily, and Harry grew frantic with the fire. Those red eyes were telling him one thing: Death. The Reaper broke into a sprint, rushing towards Harry and Kirk.
It happened before Harry could prevent it; Kirk flung an arm around Harry's waist and tossed him aside with a renowned strength; the Reaper stretched out a skeleton-like arm; and Kirk was being thrown onto the ground, his body twisted and gnarled. Kirk was barely breathing.
Voldemort laughed.
"Your friend is dead."
Harry dropped his wand with a clatter, for the first time in his life aiming a curse to kill another human.
"DUCO CANTO!" was the incantation that sprang from Harry's mouth; it seemed to catch Voldemort by surprise. Snape vanished with a pop! and Voldemort drew himself, hands over his ears as Harry's were.
A horrible wailing burst through Harry's fingers, erupting pain within him; pain worse than the Cruciatus Curse even. Voldemort's face contorted with fury, and he Disapparated with a pop! as Snape had. The Reaper was engulfed by the screeching noise, and burst into flames; Harry fell to his knees as the Song Charm carried on, and signs of life were shredded from nearby. Death Eaters were stalking forward, struggling to get to Harry, and they were ripped apart viciously, until they abandoned it and disappeared as well.
After what seemed like ages, the Murderous Song Charm faded away and nothing moved.
Harry looked down, and the pit of his stomach seemed to fall out.
The body of Kirk Joseph, gnarled and mangled, was lying on the ground limply. No breathing was coming from the boy now. Harry fell to his knees helplessly as mirthless laughter rang out across the flat.
Harry broke down and wept onto the lifeless form of the Keeper.