Magnanimous Chapter 10 – Raging

Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Harry Potter world. They all belong to J.K.Rowling. Just borrowing them for a while…

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A/N: First of all, I'd like to warn you that this chapter is scary. It scared me to write it, and one of my friends, when reading it earlier today, actually threw it down and ran out of the room screaming. She did come back and finish it off though, and said it was good, so don't worry!

This chapter comes with dedication to Georgina, who was my muse in a time of need/writer's block. Georgina, you rock. Yes, you really do. Don't you dare deny it!

That said, enjoy the chapter everyone!

~*~

The winter sun shone down, strong and warm for the time of year. It was a strange clash of sensations, Harry thought dully: the ice-laden wind burnished their skin with cold while the golden sun warmed it.

Beside him, Ron sighed again, making Harry frown with a mixture of annoyance and guilt. He kept trying to ignore Ron; it was the least painful thing he could do. Every time he was reminded of Ron's presence, it hurt; like stamping on a sprained ankle or catching the scab on a wound.

His initial anger was cooling now, and replacing it was a mixture of irritability and a peculiar kind of guilt. The guilt came from Ron's obvious misery; he didn't hate Ron, and didn't actually want him to suffer. Harry would far prefer Ron to be happy. The fact that he was causing his friend pain – even though it was Ron's own fault – made him guilty, and the guilt only added to the annoyance.

Ron's voice spoke from behind him, a pathetic and miserable voice that set the guilt and the exasperation churning again. 'Harry…'

'What?'

Harry wasn't looking directly at Ron. That would have added to the pain; even at the sound of his voice, echoes of what Ron had said before came back to haunt him, and he flinched. He heard Ron draw in a breath, could feel the pleading in his voice.

'Harry, you know I didn't mean to say it. I was angry, I acted stupidly… For goodness' sake, can't you just forget about it? I really didn't mean to say it… I didn't…'

When he replied, Harry's voice sounded wavy and vague to himself, as though he were speaking from far away. 'I can't.'

This seemed to be the end of the discussion. For a minute, they trudged on through the winter landscape, silent but for the thump of their footsteps and the occasional distant calling of a bird. The silence was shattered when Ron spoke, carrying on the conversation as though there had been no pause at all.

'Why can't you?'

'Because I can't.' Harry answered irritably.

Another pause; shorter but more intense than the last.

'Harry, please…' began Ron, but Harry had had enough. Whirling around, he began to speak, his voicesteady but with anger behind every syllable.

'Look, Ron, forgiveness isn't something you can just do. You can't decide to forgive someone; you have to wait until it comes naturally. So be damn well patient!'

Ron seemed startled by Harry's sudden outburst, and drew back with a pain in his eyes that glittered like shattered glass. Without a word, he nodded, not meeting Harry's eyes.

Harry turned away, the sudden eruption of anger already ebbing, and turned to walk on. Why was all this so much more complicated than it looked…?

They carried on. The silence returned again, the horrible, uncomfortable silence of two people not speaking to each other. Harry concentrated on ignoring the echoes of the past that still whispered at the back of his mind – they rarely ceased. Whenever he managed to think about something other than Sirius or their imminent arrival at the tower, which wasn't an easy task, Ron would invariably sigh, or sniff, or scuff his shoe along the ground, jerking Harry back to the real world and the memories that besieged him.

Subconsciously, Harry began to play a kind of game. Everyone has one, something they learnt to do as a child, something that becomes second nature. Some people like to play games with the cracks in paving stones, some will make themselves do everything two times, some will try to walk perfectly in time with another person.

Harry's game had been born from a mixture of fun and survival. Simply put, he made himself listen – truly listen – to the silence, pinpointing every noise, listening for every rustle of leaves, every crack of a twig. How many times had he done this, chased by Dudley and his gang, hiding somewhere and listening intently for any tell-tale sound that would give him warning of discovery… Now, of course, Dudley was far away, and it had turned into a habit or a game.

It was amazing how many sounds there were, if you listened. The thud of his and Ron's feet on the hard ground was almost deafening. He could hear himself breathing, his blood pulsing through his ears. Ron's breath was distant, hard to pick out, but audible. Then there were the million and one sounds of nature: birds calling, wind blowing, leaves crackling, animals running through the grass…

Another sound; a faint one. A little like wind, but rushing faster, and getting louder, coming closer… Harry looked over his shoulder, shouted in shock, and dodged to one side with reflexes born of Quidditch training.

A red bolt of light shot past, millimetres from Harry's head, and crashed into a tree behind them. Ron swore loudly; Harry glanced at the tree and saw that the leaves were silent and immobile, coloured an unnatural kind of grey; the entire thing had turned to stone.

His heart began to thud loudly in his ears, pumping adrenalin-laden blood through his body. Turning, the world suddenly in slow motion, he saw a dark-robed figure. A Death Eater, face hidden in in the shadows of his hood, wand raised and pointing towards them.

Harry's hand was on his own wand instantly, drawing it, holding it ready. Wordlessly, he tensed; ready for whatever the Death Eater would throw at them. He didn't think – didn't let himself think – about what would happen, about curses and counter-curses and hexes, about the danger they both stood in. If he let himself think about that, it would draw his mind back, back to Sirius, back to fighting in the Department of Mysteries… No. Better to push thinking aside, to fight by instinct and adrenalin.

The Death Eater pointed his wand at Ron this time, rasped a harsh and bitter, 'Glaciemanus!' Cyan-blue light shot towards Ron, who wasn't expecting the curse; shouting, he tried to dodge, but it struck home. His wand hand went first white, then blue, and a thin coating of frost covered the flesh. He yelled in shock and pain.

Harry didn't take his eyes off the figure, but pointed his wand at Ron. 'Calidus.' He said, amazed at how calm his voice sounded. A shimmering yellow cloud poured out of the end of his wand, hovered through the icy air to Ron's hand, surrounding it. The frost melted, and Ron's hand returned to normal.

Harry had no illusions about the rest of the duel; it would not be so easy. He knew full well that curse had been nothing, a test, like a cat playing with a mouse. His gaze never left the hooded, robed figure, focused completely on him, the wand in his hand…

'Not bad.' The figure said, mockingly, and Harry realised it was a woman's voice, dark and rich and somehow familiar. 'But it will take far more than that to defeat me.'

'I can do far more than that.' Harry replied, and again his voice lacked any hint of the vivid fear that seized him. 'You won't win.'

'Really?' The woman replied, giving an amused little laugh that sent cold shivers up Harry's spine. 'I seem to remember I won quite decisively the last time we met, Harry.'

The use of his first name was patronising, condescending, the very tone of it mocking. Harry's eyes narrowed to emerald slits. He recognised that voice, knew it instinctively… where had he heard it before?

'Who are you?' he demanded. 'Show yourself.'

The woman laughed again, a hard and cruel laugh. Keeping her wand arm outstretched, pointing at the boys, she raised one strangely delicate hand to the folds of her hood. The black fabric fell to her shoulders, revealing the smirking face of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry gasped as though the wind had been knocked out of him; Ron gaped in amazement. 'You!'

Bellatrix's eyes glittered malevolently. 'I'm so very glad to meet you again, Harry.' She said, ignoring Ron. Those eyes, those wild evil eyes, dragged Harry back down, down through every single night he'd woken screaming and sweat-soaked and wide-eyed with horror, to the memories…

Corridors. The Department of Mysteries. The archway, black-veiled. Whispers. The orb containing the Prophecy. His friends in pain. And a cruel, cruel laugh. The laugh of the woman who stood in front of him. A jet of red light. Sirius…

With the memories returned the hate, and the pain, and the guilt, and most of all the anger. It rose in him, spreading from the base of his spine, along and up, circling his ribcage, throttling his heart with hot black wrath. It roared through every blood vessel, along veins and arteries and capillaries, every cell taking up its fiery battle cry. Every sinew was infused with it, every nerve alive with fury, the burning maddening heat of it overpowering his brain, sending him insane with rage.

Without thinking about it, Harry's lips moved, formed a name – Sirius – though no sound came out; his throat was choked with rage and bitter pain. His eyes, flame-filled and shining like broken glass, met Bellatrix's cruel, malicious gaze. The anger swirled and welled up inside him, burst out of him, and he found his tongue.

'You killed him!' he screamed, blinded with fury, 'You killed Sirius! You killed him!' Without thought – anger left no room for it – he flew at her, not caring that she was a Death Eater, not caring that she held a wand, not caring about anything but the anger, the desire to hurt her, to see the woman who killed Sirius suffer, to hear her scream…

A split second later, a Banishing charm from Bellatrix's wand sent him flying backwards into the hard stone tree. He hit it with a vicious thud, before crumpling to the ground. She laughed. 'Lost your head? Shame. I was hoping for a better opponent than that.'

Harry picked himself up from where he'd fallen, looked up at her, his eyes dark and angry and filled with hate. Nothing mattered but the anger, the dreadful craving to hurt her, to torture her, to make her suffer. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ron raise his wand, open his mouth to cast a spell.

'No.' Harry rasped, glaring at Ron. 'Stay out of this!'

'But Harry…'

'It's my fight.' His jaw set, face contorted and twisted and bitter with pain, he turned back to the smirking figure in front of him. He raised his wand; with it, he had power, the power to hurt…

'Enervatus!' His voice was harsh, cruel, in a tone not his own, but he didn't notice and wouldn't have cared. Bellatrix blocked his spell – no matter, there was all the time in the world – and cast her own back.

'Runa!'

Little shards of white light spat out of her wand. Harry muttered the shield charm, but the tiny darts pierced it, little comet tails flaring behind them. Swearing, he dodged quickly, Bellatrix's cruel laugh ringing in his ears. One of the shards struck his side. It stung like a needle, burnt like fire. Before she could get another spell in, he was ready.

'Glubecutis!' It was one he'd forgotten he knew, one he'd never thought to cast; a Dark spell he'd come across while researching for the DA. But anger gave him the will and the strength to cast it, and it shot straight and true towards Bellatrix. She, taken by surprise at the spell – it was certainly not one taught at Hogwarts – dodged to one side, but not by enough. It struck her left hand; the top layer of skin began to peel away.

'Bastard.' She hissed, raising her wand with the unaffected hand. 'Torqueo!

The duel continued, fast-paced and heated, with Ron abandoned and forgotten on the sideline. The two enemies circled each other, crying out curses and hexes, blocking and dodging. Harry's fighting was fuelled by pure fury, by rage and adrenalin, by anger and the desire to kill. Bellatrix was playing with him, toying with him, and perhaps less on her guard than in a battle with an adult wizard.

Minutes passed, and still the duel continued. Harry was insane, his eyes flashing as he cast the Darkest, most evil spells he knew, driven endlessly by the desire to hurt Bellatrix. He ignored the wounds from her spells, ignored the pain, none of that mattered. All that mattered was hurting her as much as possible.

'Seca.' He hissed next, making a slashing motion in the air with his wand. A thin ray of light span towards her, slicing through her shield and cutting deeply into her side. Blood began to spurt from the wound. It was the first time she had actually looked shocked, and Harry grinned darkly. Pain. Blood. Revenge.

He wanted more. Wanted to make her suffer; and he knew the spell to torture her, knew how to make her feel the pain he wanted her to feel, so what was stopping him? His eyes black with mad, unthinking anger, Harry pointed his wand at her again.

'Crucio.'

A flash of red light, no time to dodge; the spell hit home, and now with shock and fear in her eyes, Bellatrix crumpled to the floor, screamed in horrific pain. Harry's face split with a grin like a knife; at last, the vengeance, the pain he'd wanted her to feel…

A shout came from behind him, and something heavy thumped into his side, sending the world into a blur of sky and grass, knocking him to the floor with a thud. His wand hand was flung away from Bellatrix; his wand sent flying across the grass, and inwardly he howled at the injustice of it. She had to suffer, she had to suffer, he had to make her suffer for what she'd done…

A loud popping noise split the air with all the force of a cruel, sadistic laugh. Bellatrix was gone, Disapparated, and Harry spat foul curses into the icy air. He pushed himself upright, eyes still red with anger, glaring at the place where she had been. With a strange, inhuman sound, like a raven's caw, he fumbled through the empty air, fingers curling like claws where she had vanished, but there was nothing.

Glancing behind him, Ron's face was white, eyes wide. 'What the hell were you doing!' he asked, sounding shocked. 'You used the…' He fell off, speechless, staring at Harry as though he'd never seen him before, taking a step backwards and raising his hands as though afraid.

'She killed Sirius,' Harry spat, his voice rasping as he spoke. 'She killed him. She has to suffer, has to suffer, has to suffer…'

Ron shook his head, face turning from shock to fear. 'Harry, please, snap out of it. What's gotten into you? Look, that was an Unforgivable, you could be sent to Azkaban for that…'

'I don't care!' Harry snarled, and sprang straight for Ron, knocking him to the ground. Ron yelled, trying to cover his face. Harry's fists rained down wildly – Ron's wand went flying – because Harry was past the point of sanity now, driven there by pain and anger and grief, and all he had room for in his mind was to know that Bellatrix had killed Sirius, and Ron had stopped him from making her suffer, so Ron had to be hurt too…

Ron wasn't fighting back. 'Harry!' he shouted, trying to fend off Harry's flailing fists, angry punches, powered by blind rage and nothing else. Ron swore vehemently under his breath, before adding, 'Harry, bloody well calm down!'

Harry screamed at him, a red-faced, animalistic scream with meaning but no words, pure anger made sound, and carried on in his maddened, angry, insane attack. Ron swore again, the foulest words he knew, and drew back his fist to punch Harry hard in the face.

Ron misjudged his own strength. Rather than knocking some sanity into Harry, as he'd intended, the punch threw Harry backwards away from him. He slipped or skidded away, ending up on the ground an inch or two away from Ron, his face ice-white and one hand clasped to his nose, his eyes staring blankly.

'Damn,' Ron cursed, pushing himself gingerly to his feet. He could feel the bruises aching on his arms already. 'You alright?' he asked Harry. He would have apologised for hitting him so hard, but felt in the circumstances he was rather justified.

Harry's eyes narrowed suddenly, the madness back, dancing like demons in the dark green of his eyes. The sudden shock of it, the pain, only added to the depths of his insanity. He had to cause pain, had to make someone suffer, suffer like he had suffered… And Ron, Ron had hit him, Ron had stopped him torturing Sirius' murderer, had said such hateful, hurtful things over Sirius's death…

Wand. A sudden glance behind him revealed it, lying on the ground a few feet away; he scrambled over and grabbed it up, clambering to his feet and pointing it at Ron, who backed away in fear. The wand, the pain, the torture… he had no sense of what he was doing, no rational thought; only the pain and the anger which screamed and seared through every part of him, blinding him, deafening him.

Pain, he had to make Ron suffer, he had to cause pain, pain… A spell, something Dark, something horrible. His mind flicked back through the books he'd read, researching for the DA, books of curses he'd only thought to defend himself against, never use. Spells to cause pain, spells to terrify, spells to send someone mad. Spells to make someone see their own worst fears – yes, yes, that was it.

A grin split his face, sharp as a knife, and his eyes glittered with malice. Ron, evidently terrified, backed away, hands raised as if to stop him. 'Harry, Harry, stop it. Please. You don't want to do this…'

'Yes I do!' Harry hissed, making Ron wince. Brandishing his wand, he approached the defenceless Ron, the sweet, sweet spell that would bring such pain and suffering ringing in his ears, whispering through his mind, dancing tantalisingly close to the tip of his tongue. His own worst fears. How simple, how perfect…

He levelled the wand, pointing straight at Ron. Glancing aside, Ron's eyes fell on his own wand, knocked away when Harry first attacked him. Throwing himself into a dive, Ron grabbed for his wand, but it was too late; Harry's lips had parted into a demonic grin, his voice hissing the spell…

'Metue!'

A red-tinted mist poured out of the end of Harry's wand. It pulsated and crawled through the air like blood, heading for Ron with sickening slowness. Ron tried a shield spell but it failed, tried to dodge but the spell followed him. He yelled, attempting to push the mist away as it settled chillingly around him, the swirls in the mist sometimes obscuring his horrified face, sometimes revealing it.

Harry watched, a sadistic light dancing in his eyes.

The swirls began to change colour as the spell took effect. Now instead of the blood-red staining, the mist turned first white, then multi-coloured as images began to form…

Long-legged spiders crawled darkly through the mist, every hideous feature magnified and transformed from fear-inspiring to mind-numbingly horrific; the huge hairy legs, the cluster of glistening eyes, the mandibles dripping venom. Ron screamed, staggering backwards and falling hard to the ground. Harry's dark grin widened in grim satisfaction.

More things followed, flickering across the whiteness. Hoards of Death Eaters, battles, Hogwarts burning to the ground, the pupils taken prisoner or killed, a Dark Mark hovering over the Burrow, Ginny dead, Ron's brothers dead, parents dead, so many people being tortured and dying…

It was perfect, thought Harry. The rage and anger was satiating itself on Ron's terrified moans and screams, leaving a purer form behind, something dark and evil that curled sinister tendrils through Harry's mind and sat whispering black thoughts inside his skull.

Harry watched, a cruel smile curving his lips, as each new image appeared. They kept getting worse, and Ron's cries grew louder and all the more satisfying. Paraded on a new swirl of mist, he saw Hermione captured by Death Eaters, chained and imprisoned and beaten and tortured and killed. The suffering of a friend, what exquisite torture…

And then something Harry hadn't expected, something that jolted him even in his insane state. His own face appeared on the next swirl, looking brave and resolute; Harry frowned. There were images of battles, of Death Eater attacks, spells flying through the air. And then another face, one with red slits for eyes and a snakelike apperance. Voldemort.

Ron moaned – he could guess what was coming, though Harry could only watch, the insanity half-ebbing away. Back to the battle scene, but now there was a new focus; the Harry in the vision was battling Voldemort, throwing curses and dodging away narrowly. He was hit by the Cruciatius; Harry watched his own face screw up in pain. The visions were soundless, but Ron screamed.

Harry frowned. What was happening, why was he doing this to Ron, why hadn't he stopped it…?

And the vision continued. Voldemort laughed at Harry, curled in pain on the floor, and raised his wand for the final spell, the flash of green light, the end… The mist swirled, showing Harry's dead features, eyes glazed; Hermione and Ron finding the body, crying; Voldemort rising again, a new wave of terror sweeping over the country…

Harry gasped in horror as the last of the insanity left him, drained away to leave a friend screaming and tormented by his own hand. No, no, he couldn't have done it; only a Dark wizard would do it, someone evil, not him, no…

White faced and shaking, Harry pointed his wand straight at the mist. 'Finite Incantatem!'

The mist vanished instantly, leaving Ron to slump forwards onto the ground, breathing heavily and shaking. Instinct told Harry to run to Ron's side, to make sure he was all right, to tell him it was over now, to beg forgiveness… But he didn't. Couldn't, not when he'd been the cause of Ron's suffering, not when he was to blame. Instead, he dropped his wand to the floor, staring unbelievingly at his hands. Dark curses… torture… he'd used an Unforgivable on Bellatrix! No, he couldn't have, wouldn't have…

But he had.

Minutes passed, while Ron calmed down and Harry tried, impossibly, to grasp the full extent of what the anger and grief had driven him to. After an eternity, Ron pushed himself to a sitting position, then stood shakily. Not looking at Harry, he muttered numbly, 'We need to go on.'

Harry stared at the back of Ron's head, eyes still wide with horror. A thousand words swarmed his throat – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I was stupid, I was worse than stupid, I was insane, Please forgive me… - but none of them would come out. He could only stare, blankly and helplessly, understanding both nothing and far, far too much.

Ron turned, still not looking at Harry, and walked onwards towards the tower. Harry picked up his wand and followed silently behind.

~*~

Latin:

'Glaciemanus!' - 'glacius' = ice, 'manus' = hand.

'Calidus!' = warmth.

'Runa!' = dart.

'Enervatus!' = a limp.

'Glubecutis!' - 'glubere' = peel, 'cutis' = skin.

'Seca!' = cut (imperative) (and cookies to anyone who spots where this was used before in this fic…)

'Metue!' = fear (imperative)

A/N: The word you're looking for to describe Harry in that chapter is, 'psychotic.' I've been annoying all my friends lately by chattering on about the 'deep, philosophical meaning' of the fic, and you lot are no exception.

It's turning out differently to how I expected, and seems almost ironic to me. 'Magnanimous' means 'great of heart', which is what we'd expect Harry and Ron to be, as they're putting themselves in danger to save a great many people. But they aren't truly magnanimous; Ron was cruel to Harry over Sirius, and Harry was, well, utterly psychotic.

Draco, on the other hand, is the Death Eater's son who we all know has been evil in the past. And even though he's locked up in a cell and most probably not going to be the one to save Hogwarts, has he acted more 'great of heart' than Ron and Harry? He sacrificed a lot and put himself in great danger from his father to do the right thing – yet we all know what he's acted like in the past.

Basically, no one is perfect, not even the heroes.

I realise I've bored you half to death with that, but I shall end as usual with the review-begging:

There once was a girl called cyropi,

Who was feeling most dreadfully mopey,

She got lots of reviews,

Which quite busted those blues,

So give more to that girl called cyropi.

Please?