Author's Notes: Okay, I said I wouldn't be able to update today, but I sort
of couldn't stop writing this chapter, so I may as well post it. Sorry,
Draco has yet again been pushed into the next chapter.
Disclaimer: See part one.
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His soul is torn across reality and time. For one excruciating moment he is in a million places at once, and nowhere at the same time. For a moment he is spread across two worlds...
And then his soul comes to rest in the land of the spirits.
He looks around wildly - this has never happened to him against his will before. The Others surround him, silent, grim spectres of death, and he knows this is not their true form, because he has seen them before, seen them as they were created to be seen.
"This isn't right," he says, his voice sounding distant to him, as if he is only hearing an echo. "You shouldn't have done this - you aren't allowed..."
"Who is to say that?" one of the Others demands contemptuously, stepping forward and lifting its hand so that it hovered over his white, shining skin. "The Creators pay no more attention to us than you do, little Necromancer. Why should we not take more? Why should we have less than the spirits, who do less than we do for your living world?"
"Because it isn't right," he breathes, flinching away from the near-touch. "It's not what you are, it's not what you're supposed to be." The Other moved back, hiding amongst the darkness of its companions. He tries again. "This - you aren't allowed to bring me here. You've been stopping the spirits coming - you weren't created to do that!"
"We have evolved," an Other whispers at him. "Is not that what you living people do? You evolve, and so do we."
"You were not meant to evolve," he says, tired now, weary from defending himself against the wisps of darkness that they have been sending at him. The Others are coming closer now, step by slow step, and he tries to back away, but they are behind him as well, and he cannot escape. One of them reaches out and touches him, and he cries out, a dark burn visible on his arm when the Other pulls back. "No! You were not meant to do any of this! You were not created to go to the living world, you were not created to disrupt any of it!"
'Why should we not?" an Other demands in a hissing breath. "We are Chaos. We are Entropy. We are the beginning and the end and the destination of all things made of Order. We are like you, little Necromancer."
"No," he gasps. "No, I am not like you. I stand for all that you are not. I am light, you are dark. I am dark, you are light."
"Make up your mind, little Necromancer," yet another Other taunted. "Are you dark, or are we?"
"I...I don't know," he admits, full of shame at not knowing, and they laugh at him, laugh at his confusion as they press closer to him, but don't touch him yet.
"We are brothers and sisters to you and your kind," an Other tells him vindictively. "We are made out of the same Chaos and Darkness, we and you. We only seek what you have."
"What I have," he repeats in confusion. "What do I have?"
They reach out for him with their dark, shape-less hand-forms, and he flinches in expectation.
"No! Leave him alone!" calls someone sharply. He looks up, relief and hope on his face, and the Others begin to retreat, snarling, hissing, spitting, furious that their sport is disturbed. Several people, spirits, shining softly white, purer than he shines, come up to him. One of them, a woman, presses her hand to his burn, and the pain begins to fade.
They are saying something to him, but he can scarcely hear it. They look worried, and one of them presses a hand to his cheek.
"He's so cold," they say to each other. "This isn't right...this is only his soul, where is his body?"
"They pulled me," he says dazedly. "I'm still at Hogwarts..."
A woman takes him into her arms, embracing him gently, and he sighs in almost happiness. He knows he belongs here, it is tranquil here in her arms. And yet.yet another part of him knows that more of him belongs elsewhere. There are other things that need him, other people...
Living people.
It takes great effort to pull himself from her arms. "I can't leave," he realises. "My body is there, and I can't get back to it. She...she doesn't know how."
One of the he-spirits disappears quickly, and he frowns. The she-spirit who had held him so tenderly turns to one of the other he-spirits, mutters something, and the he-spirits disappear also.
Then the he-spirit who had disappeared comes back, with a small smile on his face.
"There's another Necromancer there," he says, clearly happy. "You'll be safe soon, Harry."
He remembers that Harry is his name, and he nods slowly. "Yes. Safe. Home." He looks up at the she-spirit, and remembers that she is his mother. "But I want to stay with you."
She shakes her head, smiling sadly at him. "No, Harry. But I'll see you soon." She presses a kiss to his cheek, and her touch doesn't burn her as the Others' touch did, but it is strange, as if either she or he is *not right* in some way.
He is beginning to fade, and in desperation he reaches out to touch his mother, but his hand goes through her, and he isn't certain whether it is she that is becoming in substantial or whether it is him, but whoever it is he cannot touch her, and his gaze flies to the he-spirit, who he remembers is his father, and he opens his mouth to say something...
Only now he is flying in a million different pieces, and he screams in agony as his soul is ripped apart and then put back together, and sucked back into his body, lying writhing on the hospital bed in Hogwarts, only then he can't see himself anymore, and -
Harry screamed one last time, and then lay gasping on the bed. His eyes flew open, and he opened his mouth in astonishment at who he saw.
The woman, dressed in a black cloak fastened with a silver skull, smiled down at him. "It's alright, Harry. They haven't got you anymore, you're back here with us." Then she leant down, and gathered him in his arms as he wept tears of frustration and fatigue.
"Oh, I was so afraid," he whispered. "They were...oh." He rested his head on her shoulder, feeling better already. "How did you know to come here?"
"I didn't," she shrugged. "I was coming here anyway, I knew you were here, and I wanted to make sure you were alright, and Nathalie. I knew you wouldn't come here for just anything."
He gave a humourless chuckle. "No, of course not," he agreed. "No...I made a mistake, and they caught up with me, and I had no other choice." He lifted his head from her shoulder at last, and smiled weakly at her. "You shouldn't have come, Rachel."
"Well, no, probably not," she agreed practically. "But it's a very good thing I did - tell me, Harry, do you remember *anything* I taught you about anchors?"
"I wasn't expecting it," Harry brushed her off. "And it wasn't." He trailed off. "It was different, this time," he said at last. She gazed at him sympathetically.
"Of course it was," she murmured. "Oh, Harry."
They both looked up as the hospital door burst open, and Nathalie hurled herself at Harry with a shriek. Harry hugged her tight, and she sobbed.
"Nathalie was very worried," Rachel told him in a low voice. "She knew what was going on, but she didn't know how to call you back." Harry spared her a thankful glance, and then pulled Nathalie from him a little.
"I'm alright," he soothed her. "I'm fine, it's alright." She gave a choked kind of laugh, and then hugged him again.
"Don't do that again, Papa," she told him fiercely. "Don't ever, never do that again!"
"I promise, cherie," Harry whispered. "I promise I'll never do that again." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and she sighed, content. "Are you alright, Nathalie?"
"I am now," she replied. "But, Papa, grandpapa came, and told me to tell you that you should listen to what the Others said."
Harry stiffened, and Nathalie pulled away, gazing at him inquisitively. Rachel was watching him emotionlessly, and he knew that she was somewhat aware of what had happened when he was in the land of the spirits.
"There are people waiting outside," she said after a moment. " Your...Professor Dumbledore called them the 'Order'. Shall I let them in?"
Harry quickly assessed himself, and nodded. "Alright. I'll have to talk to them sooner or later, after all."
Rachel went to the door, and Harry settled back on the bed, Nathalie happily lying against him. As the whole Order of the Phoenix trooped into the hospital wing, he had eyes for only one person.
Draco Malfoy, who looked thoroughly pissed off.
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To be continued.
Disclaimer: See part one.
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His soul is torn across reality and time. For one excruciating moment he is in a million places at once, and nowhere at the same time. For a moment he is spread across two worlds...
And then his soul comes to rest in the land of the spirits.
He looks around wildly - this has never happened to him against his will before. The Others surround him, silent, grim spectres of death, and he knows this is not their true form, because he has seen them before, seen them as they were created to be seen.
"This isn't right," he says, his voice sounding distant to him, as if he is only hearing an echo. "You shouldn't have done this - you aren't allowed..."
"Who is to say that?" one of the Others demands contemptuously, stepping forward and lifting its hand so that it hovered over his white, shining skin. "The Creators pay no more attention to us than you do, little Necromancer. Why should we not take more? Why should we have less than the spirits, who do less than we do for your living world?"
"Because it isn't right," he breathes, flinching away from the near-touch. "It's not what you are, it's not what you're supposed to be." The Other moved back, hiding amongst the darkness of its companions. He tries again. "This - you aren't allowed to bring me here. You've been stopping the spirits coming - you weren't created to do that!"
"We have evolved," an Other whispers at him. "Is not that what you living people do? You evolve, and so do we."
"You were not meant to evolve," he says, tired now, weary from defending himself against the wisps of darkness that they have been sending at him. The Others are coming closer now, step by slow step, and he tries to back away, but they are behind him as well, and he cannot escape. One of them reaches out and touches him, and he cries out, a dark burn visible on his arm when the Other pulls back. "No! You were not meant to do any of this! You were not created to go to the living world, you were not created to disrupt any of it!"
'Why should we not?" an Other demands in a hissing breath. "We are Chaos. We are Entropy. We are the beginning and the end and the destination of all things made of Order. We are like you, little Necromancer."
"No," he gasps. "No, I am not like you. I stand for all that you are not. I am light, you are dark. I am dark, you are light."
"Make up your mind, little Necromancer," yet another Other taunted. "Are you dark, or are we?"
"I...I don't know," he admits, full of shame at not knowing, and they laugh at him, laugh at his confusion as they press closer to him, but don't touch him yet.
"We are brothers and sisters to you and your kind," an Other tells him vindictively. "We are made out of the same Chaos and Darkness, we and you. We only seek what you have."
"What I have," he repeats in confusion. "What do I have?"
They reach out for him with their dark, shape-less hand-forms, and he flinches in expectation.
"No! Leave him alone!" calls someone sharply. He looks up, relief and hope on his face, and the Others begin to retreat, snarling, hissing, spitting, furious that their sport is disturbed. Several people, spirits, shining softly white, purer than he shines, come up to him. One of them, a woman, presses her hand to his burn, and the pain begins to fade.
They are saying something to him, but he can scarcely hear it. They look worried, and one of them presses a hand to his cheek.
"He's so cold," they say to each other. "This isn't right...this is only his soul, where is his body?"
"They pulled me," he says dazedly. "I'm still at Hogwarts..."
A woman takes him into her arms, embracing him gently, and he sighs in almost happiness. He knows he belongs here, it is tranquil here in her arms. And yet.yet another part of him knows that more of him belongs elsewhere. There are other things that need him, other people...
Living people.
It takes great effort to pull himself from her arms. "I can't leave," he realises. "My body is there, and I can't get back to it. She...she doesn't know how."
One of the he-spirits disappears quickly, and he frowns. The she-spirit who had held him so tenderly turns to one of the other he-spirits, mutters something, and the he-spirits disappear also.
Then the he-spirit who had disappeared comes back, with a small smile on his face.
"There's another Necromancer there," he says, clearly happy. "You'll be safe soon, Harry."
He remembers that Harry is his name, and he nods slowly. "Yes. Safe. Home." He looks up at the she-spirit, and remembers that she is his mother. "But I want to stay with you."
She shakes her head, smiling sadly at him. "No, Harry. But I'll see you soon." She presses a kiss to his cheek, and her touch doesn't burn her as the Others' touch did, but it is strange, as if either she or he is *not right* in some way.
He is beginning to fade, and in desperation he reaches out to touch his mother, but his hand goes through her, and he isn't certain whether it is she that is becoming in substantial or whether it is him, but whoever it is he cannot touch her, and his gaze flies to the he-spirit, who he remembers is his father, and he opens his mouth to say something...
Only now he is flying in a million different pieces, and he screams in agony as his soul is ripped apart and then put back together, and sucked back into his body, lying writhing on the hospital bed in Hogwarts, only then he can't see himself anymore, and -
Harry screamed one last time, and then lay gasping on the bed. His eyes flew open, and he opened his mouth in astonishment at who he saw.
The woman, dressed in a black cloak fastened with a silver skull, smiled down at him. "It's alright, Harry. They haven't got you anymore, you're back here with us." Then she leant down, and gathered him in his arms as he wept tears of frustration and fatigue.
"Oh, I was so afraid," he whispered. "They were...oh." He rested his head on her shoulder, feeling better already. "How did you know to come here?"
"I didn't," she shrugged. "I was coming here anyway, I knew you were here, and I wanted to make sure you were alright, and Nathalie. I knew you wouldn't come here for just anything."
He gave a humourless chuckle. "No, of course not," he agreed. "No...I made a mistake, and they caught up with me, and I had no other choice." He lifted his head from her shoulder at last, and smiled weakly at her. "You shouldn't have come, Rachel."
"Well, no, probably not," she agreed practically. "But it's a very good thing I did - tell me, Harry, do you remember *anything* I taught you about anchors?"
"I wasn't expecting it," Harry brushed her off. "And it wasn't." He trailed off. "It was different, this time," he said at last. She gazed at him sympathetically.
"Of course it was," she murmured. "Oh, Harry."
They both looked up as the hospital door burst open, and Nathalie hurled herself at Harry with a shriek. Harry hugged her tight, and she sobbed.
"Nathalie was very worried," Rachel told him in a low voice. "She knew what was going on, but she didn't know how to call you back." Harry spared her a thankful glance, and then pulled Nathalie from him a little.
"I'm alright," he soothed her. "I'm fine, it's alright." She gave a choked kind of laugh, and then hugged him again.
"Don't do that again, Papa," she told him fiercely. "Don't ever, never do that again!"
"I promise, cherie," Harry whispered. "I promise I'll never do that again." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and she sighed, content. "Are you alright, Nathalie?"
"I am now," she replied. "But, Papa, grandpapa came, and told me to tell you that you should listen to what the Others said."
Harry stiffened, and Nathalie pulled away, gazing at him inquisitively. Rachel was watching him emotionlessly, and he knew that she was somewhat aware of what had happened when he was in the land of the spirits.
"There are people waiting outside," she said after a moment. " Your...Professor Dumbledore called them the 'Order'. Shall I let them in?"
Harry quickly assessed himself, and nodded. "Alright. I'll have to talk to them sooner or later, after all."
Rachel went to the door, and Harry settled back on the bed, Nathalie happily lying against him. As the whole Order of the Phoenix trooped into the hospital wing, he had eyes for only one person.
Draco Malfoy, who looked thoroughly pissed off.
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To be continued.