Author: Atlantis Potter
E-mail: atlantispotter@yahoo.com
Category: Romance, Mystery
Keywords: Year 5, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Petunia
Rating: R
Spoilers: All Four Books.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: Please R/R! If you like it, let me know. If you hate it, let me know! Thank yous are at the bottom of each chapter.
Harry Potter and the Veneficus Quies
"This is not real," he said aloud. Every ounce of him wanted to believe it.
His every sense denied that truth that he longed to prove. He saw the cool blue sky as it collided with the green earth in the distance. He could smell the scents carried on the soft, almost summery breeze as it ruffled his hair, ever so slightly. That very breeze created a rustling in the grasses of this strange place and he had to strain to hear it. Yet it was reassuring, because the soothing sounds and scents and feelings reminded him that he not completely lost touch with reality.
He was in Terre de la Magie, of that there was no doubt. The magic thrived in every tree, every blade of grass. As he took in this place, he could not help but feel at ease. There was no place else that he felt like this. And as Harry Potter walked, he knew that this is how it always has been and how it always should be.
"It is time Harry."
"I know."
He turned and faced Tristram, who was wearing a look of grim sadness.
"Tristram, why are you here?" he asked as the pair began walking, having fallen easily in stride with one another.
"Because I was given an offer that I could not refuse."
They continued in silence for some time.
"What was it?"
"The chance to be free and live."
"But if you are sided with Voldemort, how are you free?"
"I could not give Voldemort the Key for which he sought because I did not possess it. In return for my life, I offered to give him another key. Knowledge. I have, in the past year, given him more knowledge than he could ever hope to learn through a book."
"What did you mean by free?"
"Do you not feel it Harry? The magic here. Surely you must feel the connection. This is our world and we belong here."
"Our world?"
"Magi."
"But--I--I--thought..."
"You are the only magus of your time."
"Then how are you here?"
"I've been brought here. I exist only in your mind, Harry. Voldemort came to my time and learned a great deal from me."
"How did he do that?"
"I do not know. But in my time, I was a Magus, as were many, many others. It is a shame that such power has dissipated throughout the years."
"Is Voldemort a Magus?"
"He is half. That is why he needs me. To teach him and to allow him entrance into your mind."
Harry considered this briefly before his thoughts jumped to a previous question.
"Why do you call him master?"
"One day you will learn that it is sometimes best to travel with the ebb and flow of the water than it is to fight against the current."
Harry shook his head, unable to understand this man's ability to compromise what he held so dearly: his freedom.
"He does not control my mind Harry," said Tristram, answering an unasked question. "Now you will go to him. I can do nothing to help you any longer. Harry, guard it with your life," he said, placing a hand lightly on Harry's shoulder.
"Guard what?"
Tristram, however, was gone and Harry reached a hand up to touch his shoulder. He felt alone now and very apprehensive about whatever was coming. He didn't have long to worry, however, as his safe haven was slowly fading into a much harsher reality. The green faded into brown and the blue warped into a stormy grey. The magic was washed away and replaced with something that Harry had struggled to push out of his mind. Everywhere, in everything, there was the undeniable, the inescapable feeling of death.
This place had haunted his dreams and memories for nearly a year. He had never expected to be back here, yet he was not surprised that he was. The graveyard had not changed in the slightest. The old gravestones looked frozen in time, the granite stones weathered and worn. They were near the gravesite from Harry's fourth year and he saw that the stone had not been replaced. It was as if time was frozen. Even the trees looked the same. Harry noticed the Death Eaters gathered around as well. They all stood, gathered in a circle and waiting expectantly, for what, he did not know.
As was the usual, Voldemort stood in the centre of them. On his right hand side, was a tall wizard completely hidden by a black cloak. On his left was the real Peter Pettigrew. The other Death Eaters gathered around were all wearing the traditional black, but strangely enough, their faces were not covered. As Harry looked closely at each one of them, he saw that they did not move or blink or even look as if they were breathing. He shook his head and looked again. Not one of the Death Eaters in the surrounding circle moved.
"Welcome Harry."
He turned to Voldemort at the mention of his name, forgetting about the mystery of the statuesque Death Eaters.
"What did you do to them?" he motioned towards the figures.
"Harry, I would like you to meet someone," Voldemort pointed to the figure at his right, blatantly disregarding Harry's question.
The man walked to Harry, pulling back his hood as he drew closer. The skin on his face was oddly pale and was in stark contrast to his dark, dark hair and the black cloak. His blue eyes stood out sharply. Of course, it was Bernard Connolly.
"Hello Harry," he said, his voice unchanged from that of the man he had met on the Quidditch pitch.
Harry nodded at the man, and was surprised at himself for not realising sooner that Connolly was a Death Eater. Yet for some reason, the idea that Connolly was in fact, well, Connolly did not sit well with him.
"Tell me, Harry, did you ever find out what happens to a man when his soul is taken by a Dementor?" Voldemort looked at him, watching as Harry turned his gaze between Voldemort and Connolly.
"No. It isn't really documented," he replied, focusing once again on Connolly.
"When the Dementor's Kiss is administered the soul of the person takes form into something else. Without a body and mind to keep it unchanged, the soul transforms into a Dementor."
Harry listened intently as Voldemort wore on.
"As I'm sure you found out, the body of the one who has lost their soul dies within three days. The only way to save that body is to retrieve the soul. However, once the soul leaves the body, it can be near impossible to get it back in the body." Voldemort had moved closer to Harry and Connolly. He was now looking at Connolly as Harry had once seen a mad scientist look at his creation in some old film that Vernon had been watching. He seemed strangely proud and protective.
Again Harry gave no answer. His heart was pounding in anticipation. Something very, very strange was going on and he was a bit fazed by Voldemort's lack of maliciousness.
"I'm surprised at you Harry. We have given you a number of hints this year; I'm really very surprised that your little Mudblood girlfriend didn't figure it all out sooner."
"Don't call her that," Harry said, emotions flooding his voice. Hermione. He closed his eyes, what had she been trying to tell him? He sighed inwardly, trying to erase her face from his memory. She was too distracting. Part of him clung to that image, however, she was his support and he knew that he needed her.
Voldemort gave him a weird, twisted grin as Connolly stepped back from Harry. Voldemort turned to Connolly, wand out, and began chanting a strange spell. It was not Latin or English, or any language that Harry recognized. Yet he had the strange feeling that he had gotten when Hermione had read her Prophecy. The odd tingling in his spine, the tidal wave of some inborn familiarity coursing through his veins. He knew this.
In the instant that Connolly's face began changing; Harry's mind began speeding ahead. It gained momentum as the pieces clicked into place. Tristram, the Magi, the Dementor's Kiss, the Marauder's Map, Bernard Connolly, Bernard Connolly, the Map, Dementors, Bernard Connolly, B C…
And there he was. The straw blond hair, cornflower blue eyes, and the sickeningly pale complexion. Yet it was not so pale anymore. A faint pink tinge was now evident in his skin. He was alive.
"Harry, I believe you are familiar with my most faithful servant, Bartemis Crouch."
Harry gasped as Voldemort said the name. Parts of the puzzle made sense. But how had it worked? This man had received the Kiss. He was dead. He had to be. It defied all logic, all basic knowledge that Harry knew. Yet, here he stood, staring directly at Harry, a firey look of anger on his face, no doubt fuelled by revenge.
"Harry, as a Magus, there are many things that you must learn about yourself. As a half-Magus, there is only so much I can do, but with the help of Tristram I was able to master some very basic, ancient magic. These are dream spells that you only read about, if at all. Spells such as the retrieval of my servant's soul, the disguise of Bernard Connolly, all of them are Old Magic."
He was dreaming. That had to be it. It couldn't be true. Voldemort knowing ancient magic that no one had ever used or barely even remembered. The rebirth of his most faithful servant. Taking an ancient Magus and putting him in this time. It was too unreal. There was no way.
He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. How was it possible? It couldn't be. He was tired and it was a dream. The odd Death Eaters attested to that.
"Harry, it is time."
Again those words. Time for what? he wondered. He hadn't thought to ask Tristram when he'd had the chance and he instantly regretted it as Voldemort turned slightly and looked directly at two of the 'statues' grouped around them. With a wave of his wand, the two unfroze and walked towards him.
Harry's stomach flopped. Lucius and Draco Malfoy were now walking towards him, their strides identical and filled with evil purpose. Harry swallowed nervously. Hermione had been right in her suspicions of Draco. He was, by all accounts, somehow tied to Voldemort. Yet Harry had doubted it. Why would Dumbledore let such a student into the program? It seemed that spy in their midst was the most dangerous thing that could happen.
He now regretted most of the last seven or eight months. He had learned to ignore Draco and even realised that he come to not mind working with the insufferable boy. He had been a good student with an eye for details. Thinking back, Harry remembered little instances where it should have been obvious. When Hermione had found the book, Draco had recognized it. In the cave, Draco had been the one leading their expedition and helping with the Death Eaters. They weren't real, but if Harry knew Arabella, she would have made that whole scenario as realistic as possible. He should have known.
They reached him and stood on either side of him, one grasping either arm. Draco would not meet his eye and Lucius seemed bent on making this as painful as possible for Harry. He barely felt Draco's grasp, but he Lucius was grasping him hard enough to bruise. This is not real. It was quickly becoming his mantra.
Voldemort and Crouch approached Harry. He faced them, not meeting either of their piercing stares. He waited as Voldemort stretched out a thin, long finger. The searing pain came instantly. He cried out as the heat hit his brain. He felt the consciousness slipping. The world spun in a dizzying array of colour and pain.
When he awoke, he found himself tied to something. Voldemort, Crouch and Pettigrew were standing directly in front of him, awaiting his awakening. The Malfoys were off to the side, watching and waiting intently.
"Harry, Wormtail tells me that you've become quite adept at certain Magus powers. He claims that you can become invisible now without any sort of magical device. Is this true?" Voldemort questioned him immediately upon realising that Harry was awake.
It had been Wormtail in the cave. Harry had assumed it had been Arabella, but how had she become a rat with a silver paw? It wasn't possible. He shook his head again.
"It's not true?"
"No, it is."
"Excellent. That means that the Magus powers have fully manifested themselves. Wormtail, bring me the book." Voldemort extended a hand towards Wormtail, beckoning him to move forward.
From the folds of his robes, Wormtail withdrew a small, black book. It looked oddly familiar to Harry. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out what was written on the front.
"'The Veneficus Quies is the second Key to the Ultimate Powers. Created by Hufflepuff before the Founding, it can be used as a means of mind control. The charm must be placed on one who is under the Soporio Charm. From what I have gathered from my research and from the documents I have found in my family's vault, it can be used on multiple people in one try. It has been well hidden. Approximately a thousand years from the Founding, a full Magus will come to power. It is within this Magus that the Veneficus Quies can be found,'" Voldemort read aloud from the small journal. "Slytherin goes on to explain, Harry, the means to which the spell can be removed from this great being."
"How can you read that? It's written in Mage," Harry spoke without meaning to. His mind stumbled over itself as his voice caught in his throat. How had he known the language?
"Tristram."
Harry nodded. The information was pounding into his brain at to fast a rate and in his dream state, he was having trouble processing it.
"Harry, we want the charm," Voldemort said, the unnatural kindness that he been in his voice before had completely disappeared.
"I don't have it. I don't even understand what you're talking about," he admitted.
"Oh, but you do have it. I know that you spent a good portion of this year learning about various charms. I even know that you visited the little Mudblood's mental retreat through a charm your teacher placed on her. She stored that charm inside your girlfriend using the Texius charm. She extracted it the same way. Texius works much the same as Fidelius, Harry. Which, I am sure you are quite familiar with, no?"
He didn't answer Voldemort for he was too busy trying to slow his racing heart. The charm, this Veneficus Quies, was inside him and Voldemort wanted it. He now understood what Tristram had meant. But how could he guard it?
Harry noticed that the other Death Eaters had stepped back. Voldemort now stood directly in front of him with his wand raised. He would not look the wizard in the eyes and forced his glance elsewhere. Draco was staring right at him, though his expression was unreadable.
The words that began spilling from Voldemort's mouth were in the same language that Hermione's prophecy was written in. He noticed however, that the Dark wizard did not have the same grasp of the ancient tongue that Hermione did. He paused occasionally, often struggling with a word or phrase. However different the speech patterns, the words had the same effect on Harry, though it was magnified a thousand fold. Harry sighed inwardly as the words washed over him. The words called out to him, to his blood, and it responded. He felt every fibre of his being stretching and moving with the almost musical words. The language was beautiful, almost romantic in style, yet different. It was very melodious, the words coming in different timbres and pitches that showed the emotions intertwined. It was obviously a magical language, for Harry heard it not only with his ears, but with his whole self.
There was an ancient knowledge to it. Something foreign, yet familiar. He strained to hear every last word, as if his existence depended solely on this speech. The words that Voldemort felt as some sort of call, a call of the wild. His heritage, his being, his existence.
The words began to strengthen in resolve. He felt his mind bend as the words wrapped around the strange syllables beginning to form in his own thoughts.
He saw the words, scripted out. Even the written words were beautiful, with the strange characters and ancient, curving symbols. It flowed easily and Harry thought it could almost be artwork, something that could be framed and displayed.
He had no control over his own actions any longer. He tried to fight it, tried to resist the urge to spill forth the knowledge of the ages, the secret within his soul.
Gathering his strength, both mentally and magically, Harry battled to keep his knowledge hidden. He succeeded for some time, but the spell that Voldemort was using was far stronger. It was meant to extract the charm from his mind, to pluck it from his knowledge and place it into the waiting hands of a far more sinister being.
Instinctively, Harry knew that the only means of protection of this information was death, for if he was dead, it could not be drawn from him. There was no possible way to do it. That must be why they had tied him up. He longed to end the struggle in his mind, for he was becoming exhausted with the battle. Every ounce of strength channelled into the fight; he pulled from every reserve yet he slowly began to realise that it was useless.
He gathered his strength for one final fight. He had little strength left and his mind began to wander. Without guidance it wandered to Hermione. Her face appeared in his mind, a scene playing out between them. It was his first year, of what was undoubtedly his favourite memory of Hermione. She had hugged him, his first real hug, and told him that he could retrieve the stone and win against Voldemort, because he was a great wizard. His power didn't come from his blood or the magic inside of his soul, it came from the person he was. His friends, really his family, made him the wizard he was. And so he focused on Hermione, drawing from her great reserves of strength, power and ability. He would fight for her.
He held out a little longer, resisting everything in him. His mind ached as did his entire body. He was now engulfed in violent tremors, magic seeping out of every pore. The world around him was warped, the graveyard in Harry's memory crumbling under the violence being caused by Harry's resistance.
He was sweating, crying out and holding on for dear life.
He felt his grip slip, his hold over his own knowledge finally weakening under Voldemort's charm.
With one final tug from the merciless spell being cast by Voldemort, the charm poured from Harry's mouth.
He felt his tongue move gracefully over each syllable of the spell being drawn out of him. He vaguely realised that Crouch was concurrently casting a spell, trapping the words from Harry so that they could be used later. He tried to close his mouth, stop his words, but it would not happen. He could do nothing to stop the flow of the words.
In three verses they came, each stronger than the previous. They lengthened and stretched. The words were a powerful concoction and as Harry spoke he realised that he knew the meanings. As the final syllables of the third verse tumbled from Harry's conscious, he felt as if a great burden had been lifted.
Exhausted from the effort of the struggle, Harry's body fell limply against the structure he was tied to. A sweat had broken out on his brow and he sighed audibly, his mind shutting down and his body struggling to keep itself upright and failing miserably.
The graveyard was in ruins. The entire scene was depicted from Harry's memories and it was obvious by the state of their surroundings that Harry was in a terrible mental state.
"Take him down," Voldemort instructed. The Malfoys moved for him.
"Stop!" A great voice rang out through the destroyed graveyard. Everyone froze. They all waited for something to happen, but there was only great silence. The wind rustled in the trees and the cloaks of the various wizards flapped lightly in the cool spring breeze. There were no other sounds in the now eerily silent cemetery.
Without warning, a great flash of light shot through the still standing figures of the Death Eaters. When it faded, Pettigrew was lying in a heap on the group.
The flash was a catalyst for the group. Lucius immediately turned to Harry and cast the full body bind on him, though it was largely unnecessary as Harry wasn't even completely conscious, let alone moving. Voldemort moved slowly towards where the circle of Death Eaters was. Crouch stood his ground, wand out and keeping an eye on Harry. Draco was slinking slowly backwards, trying to keep himself out of the fray.
Harry watched through a haze as Lucius began firing various curses in the direction that the light had come from. Harry heard a soft pop followed by a few muttered words and he felt the full bind lifted from his body. An Invisible hand was loosening the ropes and another charm had them severed. Harry's limbs were not strong enough to hold him however, and he crumpled to the ground. He heard a gasp and a slight rustling. A hand touched his arm, and the warmth and emotion communicated by that slight touch resolved Harry. He felt his strength slowly returning.
Whoever it was walked quietly passed him and with another charm, Crouch fell, stiff as a board, to the ground. Both Lucius and Voldemort turned towards where Harry was now lying.
"Show yourself!" Lucius shouted.
Another light flashed; another shouted curse from behind him and Lucius fell to the ground, much the same as Wormtail had. He recognized the voice and stiffened.
Harry heard more faint movements and watched in horror as the Invisibility Cloak was pulled back from the wearer, having caught on something on the ground. The bearer continued, taking a moment to notice that she was now in full view of everyone.
Hermione stopped and stood in the very centre of the cemetery, wand pointed directly at Voldemort.
The evil, high pitched cackle that echoed in the silent graveyard chilled Harry to the bone. At the same moment that Hermione was revealed and Voldemort began laughing, Harry felt a soft tingling in his body. His strength had trickled back and he found that he could now pull himself up.
Voldemort had stopped laughing and was pointing his wand at Hermione, his back to Harry.
"You stupid little Mudblood. Did you think you could save your friend?"
Hermione did not answer and stared at Voldemort, her face nondescript. Harry did not have to look hard to see the raw in her eyes.
"Dumbledore is an old fool if he thinks the fate of the wizarding world rests in the hands of a few teenagers. Then again, I suppose it does make my life easier."
Again no answer.
"Answer me!"
"I don't know what you want me to say," she replied softly.
"Crucio!"
The curse hit Hermione full on and she cried out. He saw her limbs tremble and she began to sweat, yet amazingly, she remained standing. He too stood now, facing Voldemort's back. Shakily, he moved forward and saw Hermione's eyes grow wide as he slowly raised his hand.
Voldemort removed the curse from Hermione and grinned, his eyes flashing. He poised his wand again.
"Avada-"
The words that Harry shouted are forever lost, for they were in Mage and he cannot bring himself to remember exactly what they were. As Voldemort began the last word of his Killing Curse, Harry shouted a spell loud enough to knock Voldemort off his feet and face down onto the earth.
He fell, his strength once more completely drained. Hermione stared opened mouth at the collapsed wizard and stalled a moment before rushing to Harry.
She pulled him to her as she dropped to her knees next to him.
"Harry, Harry are you alright?" she cried, slightly hysterical.
He nodded as she began to cry, clutching her tightly.
"I was so scared when you fell on the stage, the map-it showed who he was. Harry, I'm so-"
He silenced her with a kiss, clasping his lips over hers. She yielded to his advances, allowing his tongue to wander into her mouth. And she kissed back. A passion that Harry did not realise was there shown through every kiss. He felt himself melting into her as her warm tears moistened his face. He tasted her. The sweetness of her kisses and the saltiness of her tears mingled in his mouth and he felt himself wanting to cry right with her.
She pulled back, her face shining. She embraced him tightly once more. "Thank god you're okay."
He closed his eyes as he hugged her back, wanting to stay forever in this moment.
"Hermione?"
She looked at him, her brown eyes smiled at him through the tears.
"I--" With a start, he saw Voldemort standing up. His evil eyes glowed a furious red and his wand was trained on the pair.
Harry had no time to reach for a wand or even raise his hand. He shoved Hermione out of the way and cried out as a deep pain hit his chest. The Cruciatus curse washed over him and he screamed, the pain tripling because of his lack of strength. Through the fog of terror, he saw another figure dart to him and Hermione. There was a flash of purple and the pain from Voldemort's curse stopped instantly. The scene in the graveyard began fading and spinning and his vision was engulfed in pure, white light.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter thirteen! Also, special thanks to Elliott, my Fairy God Beta and to Mae, for all her help with this chatper! Please review! For updates, art, and ficlets visit The Power of Three! at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/powerthree .
