Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine. I can only hope one day to successfully create half as brilliant and inspired a universe of my own as JK Rowling has done.
Author's Note: For the sake of expediency in posting, I'm bypassing my normal responses to reviews (which, after the cliffhanger last time, I thought you might appreciate g). Suffice to say, you know who you are, and I think by now you know how much said reviews mean to me (*a lot!*). Thank you so much, as always, and I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 36
Aunt Petunia was bathing him. He had to be very little, because the bathtub at Privet Drive seemed huge to him. His head was barely above the ledge, the water almost to his shoulders. His lack of coordination frustrated him as he tried to wash his own hair, the soap slipping again and again out of his small hands. He scrubbed and scrubbed at his scalp, anxious to try to keep his aunt from becoming angry. It had been a bad day. He'd accidentally dropped a plate in the sink. The tiny cuts from the shards she'd made him pick up now stung as the soap got into them, but he bit his lip to keep quiet.
"Rinse, boy," she said, and pressed the flat of her hand against his chest, pushing him under the water. He gasped a deep breath and plugged his nose as he submerged. He shook his head vigorously and used his other hand to run through his hair, insuring all the shampoo was gone.
When he was certain he was completely rinsed, he stilled, waiting for her to remove her hand and let him up for air. The seconds lengthened as she held him down at the bottom of the bathtub. The peaceful stillness of being underwater began to be replaced by the beating of his heart in his ears. It became louder and louder, and his lungs began to burn as he fought the desire to open his mouth and breathe.
He opened his eyes underwater. His vision hadn't been nearly as bad back then, and even through the soapy water he could see her face clearly. She had the strangest look. Instead of her normal scowl, her features were thoughtful and speculative... Almost curious as she stared down at him.
The moments dragged on, and just when red spots were beginning to burst within Harry's vision, she removed her hand. He shot up for air, taking in deep gasps and choking a bit as drops were accidentally inhaled from the water that still coursed down his face.
He glanced up again at his aunt. The scowl was returning to replace the look of… disappointment? He didn't understand the heaviness in his heart and ache in his chest that had nothing to do with holding his breathe for too long, but from then on he never opened his eyes underwater. Each bath time he waited quietly in the darkness for her hand to lift off his chest and grant him one more day.
**Merlin, I'm going to be sick.** Snape's disgusted voice echoed in his mind.
***********************************
His mouth was filled with bubbly saliva. He gagged at the sensation of it and tried to move on his side, letting it spill. He was too weak to spit it out. His limbs trembled so violently that he couldn't gather the strength to move.
This wasn't a memory. It was Azkaban. He must have had a seizure, then. Harry was beginning to recognize the symptoms. He never knew when it was happening, of course, but the fuzziness that surrounded him afterwards, the befuddlement as his senses couldn't seem to input properly was almost a relief.
He'd seen an educational film on epilepsy once as a little boy. They showed three types of seizures and explained what they were called. He'd watched, horrified, as a little boy nearly his own age suffered a Grand Mal seizure and desperately wanted to look away. It seemed like he was witnessing such a personal thing, something he had no business seeing. Did the little boy even know they were filming it?
Harry understood now how the little boy had felt afterwards. He felt it himself. The overwhelming fatigue, as if he'd run for miles. The confusion as thoughts drifted through his mind unrecognized. The raw fear as he remembered that during seizures, the brain didn't get air.
How long?
Harry tried to suppress the panic that made the effort to breathe that much more difficult. Would he suffer brain damage? Had he already suffered it? Would he even know if he had? The thought terrified him, and idly he hoped that if he did, he wouldn't notice.
**How many fingers am I holding up?**
Harry tried to concentrate, tried to regain some sort of equilibrium before his own fears consumed him.
I can't see any fingers, Professor.
**Then you're no more brain damaged than usual, Potter. Now quit panicking and breathe.**
Harry took another gasp of air, and felt Snape's energy filter through him, seeping into his chest and quivering limbs. It was odd to feel his body move through no efforts of his own as Snape angled him more on his side and cleared his mouth. Air filled his lungs, and even the cold dankness of it couldn't deter from the relief he felt as he slipped back down into the oblivion that he'd begun to crave.
*************************************
Something was horribly wrong. The Dark Magic that flowed through him was like nothing Harry had ever felt before. It wasn't directed at a victim at all. He didn't surface into a vision of Voldemort. Instead the echo of promises exchanged reverberated through his skull, overwhelming his senses as something… A pact… An alliance… suffused his body.
We will kill for you. We will feed for you. We will do as you bid, Master, the voices, dry as bone, promised. Were they even speaking English? Age and decay suffused their words and washed over him, leaving him frozen and brittle. He knew whose voices he heard. Dementors. A freezing burn sizzled through his nerves and danced on his skin as they added their own Darkness to the magic already flowing through him. Voldemort's magic.
Oh no.
I promise you food. I promise you unending victims, ripe and tasty and fresh. I promise you innocence, Voldemort's voice spoke in Harry's mind, and he felt the vomit rise up of its own accord. It was done, then. The magic danced along the inside of his eyelids, sinister and leaden with oaths etched in blood.
Whose blood? Harry refused to speculate on that.
Of course, there was nothing but stomach acid to vomit, and Harry shuddered, relieved he'd managed to throw up over the edge of the bed. He hadn't realized he'd moved. Truthfully, he was surprised he still could.
Was that you, Professor? He wondered idly, too tired to care if the Potions Master answered.
Harry fell back on the bed, quivering as the burning eventually began to ease. Everything was such a struggle now. Movement. Thought. Breathing. It was so hard to do, and he felt so awful. Each moment Harry thought he couldn't endure another second, but he did. And it had been so long… so many seconds. He'd gone so far beyond his thresholds that they now seemed pathetic in retrospect. He was so very tired, and even not breathing was easier. What was one more discomfort if it was one less thing to struggle with? The blackness was closing in, smothering him, and Harry couldn't bring himself to care anymore.
Snape managed to weave his way into Harry's consciousness, manifesting in the nothingness that surrounded him. Harry could see the professor, he realized in surprise. Snape's robes billowed in a breeze Harry couldn't feel as his black eyes burned into Harry.
Let me go. Harry just wanted to sleep. That wasn't so bad, was it? The darkness was so peaceful. He didn't hurt there.
**Black is coming for you, boy,** Snape reminded Harry intently, his own dream image flickering as if he couldn't quite solidify, like an old movie picture with the frames moving too slowly. **Can you hear me? Your godfather is coming, so there's no sense dying now, is there?** he'd asked, and oddly, Snape's reasoning made sense. After all, Harry had made it this far, hadn't he? He could go a little further.
**************************************************
Harry felt the familiar pull, tugging his mind back to coherent thought.
Voldemort must be in Azkaban.
He was almost out of time. And out of options. He could barely hear Snape anymore. Harry knew he was dying. He'd been dying for a long time now. He could feel the faint tendrils of energy the professor wove into him, keeping his heart beating and his lungs exchanging air. It was odd to know that he *literally* was living on borrowed time.
He was going to die in Azkaban. Harry accepted that. He'd known for a while now. But the bond with Snape had forced him to continue to fight long after he'd lost his own will. He couldn't let go. Not if it took the professor with him. But the stubborn man refused to sever the magical bond, and Harry refused to have any more innocent blood on his hands.
What's one more? his conscience whispered. Shut up.
Harry resolutely cut off those thoughts. He'd been so adrift in other's pain that he'd grown hollowed by it…. as if it had cut through his marrow and stolen into his very soul. It was his breath now, his very being.
Hogwarts was so far away, so many lifetimes ago, so many *lives* ago. Snape had tried recently to tell him Ron and Hermione were waiting for him back at school… in his own sarcastic way, of course. The effort left Harry oddly nostalgic, like an old man thinking back on his first true love. My best friends. The first good thing that was his and his alone. He knew he was far gone when he realized he would have even welcomed a Potions class.
Sirius was coming, and as Harry drifted back to awareness, he knew his godfather didn't stand a chance. Voldemort had turned the Dementors, and there was no way Sirius could face both the Dementors and Death Eaters alone.
**Who said he's alone?** Snape's voice whispered in his mind.
Of course. Remus Lupin was with him. Great. *Two* people to protect.
**And how do you propose to protect them, Potter?** Snape asked as Harry struggled towards the professor's voice. He was lonely, he was dying, and Snape's ironic timing was perfect; the oddest relief Harry had ever known. The Potion Master's voice sounded strained, and Harry realized with surprise that he could tell Snape was hiding something. He let it be.
He only had a little strength left, but it was worth it to try to talk to the professor one last time, to try to talk some sense into him if nothing else. Sever us. Harry idly appreciated his own attempt at humor. The professor didn't seem amused.
**I asked you a question. I expect an answer,** he scolded, ignoring Harry's plea completely. Although Snape's voice held an edge, a touch of sympathy tinged the professor's tone as well.
I have to save Sirius. And Remus, Harry stated.
**I'm curious how you intend to accomplish that,** Snape said dryly, his voice oddly expectant.
A jolt ran through Harry that nearly threw him back into unconsciousness. Or was it consciousness?
**What on Earth was that?** Snape asked, his voice tight.
Harry tried to collect himself as he felt a tingling run throughout his… nerves?
Am I waking up? That can't be.
**What was that?** Snape asked again.
Professor, you have to go. He's here, Harry thought desperately.
That's what the tingling was. Dark magic. It pulsed through Harry, and even though he'd been so distanced and numb from his body, Harry could still feel the spell's power. The stillness of oblivion was shifting to the grayness of a stone arched passageway with columns; obviously still within Azkaban but certainly no room Harry had ever seen before. At the room's center stood Voldemort with someone lying at his feet.
Oh, Harry breathed in shock. That's me. *That* is me, he realized as the still form lying face down refused to move. Why aren't I dead? Merlin, I look… Don't think about it.
Harry forced his eyes away from the body that didn't even *look* like him anymore, and desperately examined the room around him. He was looking for Remus and Sirius, but prayed he wouldn't find them.
That's what Snape was hiding. They're already here, too, Harry realized in horror.
Thankfully, there weren't any Dementors present. Probably the other Death Eaters couldn't stomach having them around. But there were plenty of Voldemort's followers, and they weren't even wearing masks.
Definitely not a good sign if they don't care if they're recognized.
How many were there? Twenty? Thirty? A cluster of them stood to the side, and Harry felt his heart plummet as his eyes took in the sight of two prone cloaked figures lying in a corner. It was his worst fears realized. Remus and Sirius, unconscious in a heap beside each other, pale and still as death.
Oh no. The ache in his chest threatened to overwhelm him as he took form within the room, a 'ghost' once more, and tried to walk towards Sirius and Remus.
"Ennervate," Voldemort said, his voice echoing within the chamber walls and startling Harry. That's what I felt. He's trying to wake me up. Harry felt the surge of magic in him once again, and his vision wavered for a moment. He froze and stared at his physical body, still motionless at Voldemort's feet, and wondered what would happen next.
Please don't wake me up. I can't do it then if you do. I'm strongest here. Where you've forced me to be. The vaguest plan had begun to form, echoes of everything he'd learned at Hogwarts floating on the edge of his conscious mind.
"He looks dead," Lucius' voice observed from the half-circle of Death Eaters that stood beside Voldemort, surrounding Harry's limp body.
"He breathes yet," Wormtail's quivering voice observed.
"I can see he's breathing, Wormtail. But where is the satisfaction in *this*?" Voldemort asked, annoyance and disappointment evident in his voice as he kicked Harry's body in frustration. "I've waited fourteen years for vengeance, and *this* is it? How completely unsatisfying," Voldemort said and kneeled down so his face was just inches from Harry's own.
"I could cut your throat, Harry Potter, and that would be it. But that's so *mundane*, don't you think? Can you hear me Potter?" he said, his voice sinister and sibilant, obviously amused at his own humor.
Professor Snape, you've got to leave. Cut the bond. NOW, Harry thought desperately as he watched Sirius begin to stir, groaning softly, in the corner.
Voldemort must have heard Sirius as well, for his head snapped up and he smiled. His teeth were gray and rotten, and even though he wasn't *in* his body, Harry felt like he could smell the death and decay on his breath. He suppressed the urge to gag.
Voldemort's smile was one Harry had seen many times before. It was the smile of someone before they lit an innocent animal on fire and waited to see how long it took before the poor creature started tearing itself apart to get away from the flames. The smile of someone who fed on other's pain.
"Sleeping beauty!" Voldemort exclaimed cheerfully as he watched Sirius stir, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Abruptly, he turned his face back to Harry's and whispered in his ear, ruffling Harry's hair with his breath, "Wormtail told me of your visions, Harry Potter. I see how even as far gone as you are, you quiver and wince at my touch."
Harry saw that it was true. His scar was bright red where Voldemort had rested his bony hand against it.
"Fascinating. How this little scar," Voldemort said, and as he traced his fingernail over Harry's scar tiny blisters began to form, "could be the only mark I left on you. At the very least you could have been crippled or maimed by my curse," Voldemort said almost petulantly.
As Voldemort droned on, Harry struggled to focus on the monster's words and continue to walk towards Sirius, but the pain in his scar consumed him, driving him to his knees. He continued to try to crawl, but was only partially successful.
"I must admit I've found it quite enjoyable to know I've had an audience lately. It's a bit… titillating to know your judging eyes are upon me, probably even at this very moment. Righteous Harry Potter, who's your savior now? Mummy won't protect you anymore, boy," Voldemort's nearly singsong voice said, his sick words burning into Harry's mind before he stood up. "Bring them to me," Voldemort commanded to the Death Eaters surrounding Remus and Sirius, his voice once again in-command. Evidently their chat was over.
Professor, you have to leave now, Harry begged, wishing for the thousandth time that Hermione and her books could have helped him, or Dumbledore's obscure spells, or even Remus Lupin's extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts. Anything to reassure him that the course of action he'd just dreamed up would really truly work.
**You have a plan, don't you? You think you can do this? Take Voldemort on?** Snape asked, his voice oddly stronger than it had been in a long time within Harry's mind.
Yes. I have to try it. It's the only thing I can think of to do, and I have to protect them.
Harry's panic increased as Voldemort left Harry's side to approach Sirius. The Death Eaters were lifting the haggard escaped convict to his feet.
He looks awful.
Sirius blinked in confusion, struggling to focus and orient himself. His eyes widened as they landed on the man (No, not a man) formerly known as Tom Riddle who approached him.
Would you *leave*?! Harry begged in frustration of the Professor even as he began to gather all his energy consciously to him. No time.
**Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter, so-called Boy Who Lived and future martyr to the Wizarding World,** Snape said in utter seriousness, yet still maintaining the faintest hint of mockery. **My bond to you is of my own choosing. My burden is to rid the world of that menace,** he snarled, and suddenly Snape was standing beside Harry's kneeling 'ghost' form, nodding his head towards Voldemort, nearly corporeal now. Snape's hand reached out for a moment as if to touch Harry's shoulder before he pulled it back.
**You have so little life force left. If you truly think you have a shot at taking him out, you'll need my help. And if my opportunity to destroy Voldemort once and for all is through you, I take it with open arms. Don't you get it, Potter? This isn't *about* you. This is about him,** Snape said and kneeled beside Harry. Energy coursed through Harry, energy freely given and received as barriers he hadn't even known he'd erected against Snape fell as at last he accepted the magical bond between them completely. Snape nodded in satisfaction. He'd felt it, too.
You don't suppose they'll throw me in Azkaban for using an Unforgivable, do you? Harry asked with the faintest sick smile, and Snape stared at Harry, his face inscrutable. Harry didn't know what his own face showed, but Snape's eyes watched him closely for a moment before nodding.
**If anyone's entitled to cast Dark Magic, oddly enough, I think it's you,** Snape announced.
"Harry Potter! I know you can hear me, Harry!" Voldemort called out, distracting Harry for a moment. Abruptly Voldemort cast the Cruciatus Curse on Sirius.
Sirius struggled to remain silent, whimpering and gurgling in pain as Voldemort held him down, his red eyes flitting from Sirius' spasming body to Harry's own. Harry felt the spell engulf him and watched with an almost distracted air as his own physical body arched and convulsed. He struggled to contain the agony while his intangible body continued to try to crawl to Sirius. Snape's form disappeared, but Harry knew the bond was still alive and well.
Sirius stopped thrashing as Voldemort lifted the curse. He gestured for the two Death Eaters to lift him back up from where they'd let him fall. Wormtail stood beside and slightly behind Voldemort in an unconscious effort to shelter himself from Sirius with Voldemort's body.
"Pathetic. What can he do to you now?" Voldemort snarled, noticing what Wormtail had done, and grabbed his silver hand, thrusting Pettigrew reluctantly forward until he was face to face with Sirius. Even as dazed as Sirius was, the moment his eyes landed on Wormtail his hands reached out and grasped his throat with surprising strength.
"Hello, Peter. Missed me?" Sirius snarled, his eyes nearly mad with fury and his lip curled up in a silent snarl and he closed his hands mercilessly around Pettigrew's throat. Wormtail's eyes bulged as he futilely clawed at Sirius, weakly trying to break his grip, his mouth opening and closing, making him look like a fish out of water as he desperately gasped for air.
The Death Eaters looked like they were about to pull Sirius away from Wormtail, but Voldemort signaled for them to stop. He watched on in amusement.
"Sirius, stop it!" Harry begged, and was shocked when Sirius jumped, thrusting Pettigrew away from him and looking around him wildly.
"Harry?" Sirius asked. Pettigrew looked around frantically too, his eyes landing on Harry's prone form. Sirius, on the other hand, was looking right at Harry's intangible one.
"Sirius! You can hear me!" Harry said in relief. Remus stirred behind Sirius, distracting them both for a moment.
"Excellent! I'm so pleased you can see him! I'd heard about this. How fascinating," Voldemort exclaimed, and his eyes did seem to glow redder with interest. "He's precious to you, isn't he Harry?" Voldemort asked, speaking to the room in general since he himself couldn't see where Harry's ghost form was. Sirius looked from Harry's intangible self to the prone form that lay a short distance away. His eyes darkened with pain. Harry noticed Voldemort motion for the Death Eaters behind Sirius to lift Remus up as he too began to regain consciousness.
"You aren't dead, are you? I mean… This is what you were talking about, right? Your dream self?" Sirius asked, his own face lit with hope, concern and exhaustion all at once.
"I'm not dead yet, but you soon will be. What were you thinking, coming after me?" Harry asked indignantly.
"Your godfather and a werewolf. Is this the best Dumbledore could do? Pathetic, really. The last of the so-called Marauders. Who knew such a group of friends would have such bad luck?" Voldemort mocked, again playing as much to Harry as he was to Sirius. Sirius reluctantly focused away from Harry as Voldemort stepped forward and placed his hand under Remus' chin, tilting the former Professor's head from side to side as he struggled to wake up.
"Leave him alone," Sirius growled, fear evident in his voice.
"What? Would you rather I turn my tender mercies upon your Godson? Or yourself? Is that it? Do you think you can withstand me for long?" Voldemort hissed in annoyance. Sirius flinched but didn't shift his eyes away. Harry could see him desperately trying to figure out a way to draw his attention away from Remus.
"Your quarrel isn't with him," Sirius stated flatly. Voldemort laughed, the sound chilling. It was high pitched and airy, filled with hidden words that Harry realized almost sounded like Parseltongue. It was as if he were speaking simultaneously in both languages.
"Perhaps it is, Black. What tangled webs of guilt and deception you've woven between you. You didn't trust Remus Lupin because he was a Dark Creature. You thought I could corrupt him… Did you know I tried?" Voldemort said, his face suddenly inches from Sirius' own. "I called to him, and even at his most ravenous, trapped within a rage so fierce that it nearly engulfed me as well, he rejected me," Voldemort turned to look directly at Remus, who was now awake, his eyes wide with horror. Voldemort looked… miffed. "You withstood me, Remus Lupin, even at your most primal. It was quite a victory, I imagine. A vindication, if you like. It's a shame you can't remember what happens when you are the wolf, isn't it?" he taunted, and Harry flinched as Remus let out a choking sound.
"And you, Sirius… Do you know that Peter begged for death many times before I broke him? He called for you, you know. He called your name a thousand times… I think he quite looked up to you. Did you know that? He thought you'd always be there for him, too, not just for James Potter. That's what you promised him, wasn't it?" Voldemort asked. Sirius' eyes shifted to stare at Peter, who had backed away from Voldemort, his hand still at his throat massaging it tenderly. His face was contorted in a fury that appeared to be directed at Voldemort, Harry realized in surprise.
"Harry Potter, I know you can hear me. I've decided to spare your Godfather's life… And your former professor's," he said, and Harry suddenly knew that whatever Voldemort planned to do would be much worse.
"Summon a Dementor. I think they'll appreciate the professor. A down payment, if you like. As for you, Black," Voldemort said casually before raising his wand and pointing it at Sirius again. "Crucio," he said.
There was no pause or hesitation, no chance for Harry to try to gather himself and prepare for the spell. Instantly both Sirius and Harry fell to their knees, uselessly clawing at the ground, writhing in pain. Voldemort appeared content with watching them both suffer. The spell went on and on, and Harry desperately tried to focus his shattered concentration anywhere but the pain. Just long enough to do what he'd intended.
No! Not like this! I have to do this! Sirius! Someone! Stop the spell! I can do this! Don't take this chance away! Harry cried, whether aloud or not he couldn't be sure.
He could feel the fire of the curse start to worm its way into Sirius' unconscious and knew Voldemort meant to hold him under until he snapped. Harry desperately tried to stand, to approach Voldemort, to *move*. But he couldn't. Time seemed to freeze as he felt himself begin to fall, the light dimming…
The explosion that rocked the room was so loud that for a moment Harry thought a bomb had gone off. Death Eaters were scattered everywhere, and Voldemort had been thrown across the room. Harry tried to gather his wits as Aurors stormed the chamber, shooting curses at anything that moved. Sirius was panting, covered in dust, just a few feet away. Remus crawled towards him, gathering the ex-convict in his arms and pulling him to a pile of fallen stones to use as a shelter. Harry crawled with them, trying to get his breath back.
"Sirius? Sirius? Can you hear me?" Remus asked desperately. Harry held his breath.
Please be okay. Please be sane. Please be alright, Harry desperately prayed.
Sirius groaned and tried to open his eyes. Blood ran out the corner of his mouth, and Harry could see he'd nearly severed his tongue in half. Sirius' eyes opened and immediately focused on Harry.
"Harry?" Sirius mumbled. Remus looked around and blanched. Harry glanced at what he was looking at. Oh. Harry's body was still in the middle of the room, covered with dust but otherwise undisturbed. Remus nodded to Sirius, tenderly setting him down. Harry watched as Remus ducked curses from both the Death Eaters and the Aurors alike, dashing across the room to get to Harry. Harry turned to look at Sirius and smiled.
"I'm here, Sirius. Can you hear me?" Harry asked. Sirius nodded weakly. "How many fingers am I holding up?" Harry asked, holding up three.
"Thwee," Sirius replied. Harry was surprised to feel himself smile a little.
"I want you to promise me something," Harry said solemnly. Sirius scowled.
"I can aweady tell I won't," Sirius said. Harry frowned.
"Fine. Be like that," Harry scowled, then reached out as if he could actually touch Sirius. Of course he couldn't. "I love you, Sirius. I would have loved to live with you. Tell Remus I love him, too... I'm going to miss you," Harry stated gently, his fingers almost but not quite brushing over Sirius' face. He didn't cry. He'd gone beyond that long ago, but the sadness he felt helped to strengthen his resolve. This felt right. This was what he was meant to do…
"What are you tawking about? You're not going anywhere," Sirius stated, trying to sound confident even as his voice trembled. Harry shook his head.
No, Sirius. I am.
Harry weakly stood and shot another glance towards Remus. He was currently dragging Harry's body back to Sirius' shelter.
"Harry?" Sirius called, his voice tinged with panic. "Harry? What are you doing? Remus is coming. We're going to get you out of here. Harry! Come back!" Sirius' voice began to increase in volume.
Harry walked slowly towards Voldemort. Now was the time to act. He'd gotten all the distractions he was going to get. The curses Voldemort shot at the Aurors were still Dark, but more general. Designed for instant death rather than the long, drawn out affair Voldemort seemed so fond of. It was easier for Harry to bear. This pain he was used to.
"Tell Ron and Hermione I love them, Sirius. Tell them I was thinking about them, won't you?" Harry called as he strode forward, feeling his own confidence begin to grow. I can do this. I'm out of time, but I've got a chance to make it better for them. For you, Sirius. And everyone else. Because *you* don't get to hurt anyone else ever again, Harry vowed as he approached the monster before him. Snape's energy sang through him, as if answering Harry's declaration with one of his own as well.
"Harry, come back! Whatever it is, don't! Please, Harry!" Sirius cried, and suddenly most of the fighting in the room ceased except for a few random curses. Death Eaters and Aurors alike stared at Sirius as he stumbled to his feet, oblivious of everything around him, arms reaching out as if to try to stop Harry. Remus stopped dragging Harry, instead scooping him up in his arms and taking advantage of the temporary cease fire to rapidly carry him to Sirius.
"Sirius, I've got him! Let's go!" Remus called, still thinking his friend was confused from the effects of the Cruciatus. Oddly enough, Peter Pettigrew sidled up behind Voldemort with the faintest of smiles. Harry frowned.
What are you up to?
"Don't do it, Harry! I can't do this without you!" Sirius begged and began to sob. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, suppressing the overwhelming urge he had to do just that… Go back and try something different. Then he looked once more at his body hanging limply in Remus' arms and knew there was no going back. He shouldn't even be alive.
"You're going to have to. Always remember I love you, and that all I've ever wanted for you is a life of your own. To be free. Okay?" Harry asked, and stood directly in front of Voldemort.
Voldemort's eyes were narrowed as he watched Sirius, then shifted to look around him. He seemed to glean the gist of what Sirius was saying and tried to step back, the faintest flicker of insecurity flashing over his face before it was gone to be replaced by grim determination. As if summoned, (which he'd probably done) the Dementors began to flood the passageway, grabbing friend and foe alike. Their sinister hiss and the sounds of garbled screams filled the air.
Voldemort tried to turn, most likely to flee into the connecting corridors, but two hands appeared and wrapped themselves around Voldemort's chest, clasping in front of him, one silver and one human.
"Now, Harry!" Pettigrew yelled, and Harry thrust his hands within Voldemort's body, placing them where he imagined his heart to be. Voldemort's red eyes widened, as if he felt the chill of Harry's presence.
"Avada Kedavra," Harry said, grateful he'd already done Wandless Magic before, and focused all of his will, his magic, his intent, *not* on the monster before him, but on the Dark Magic that kept him alive. Harry knew that in his current state Voldemort *couldn't* be killed… but, Harry reasoned, if the Dark Magic that kept him alive were destroyed, he'd be just as mortal as anyone else. Mortal enough for any one of those Aurors to finish him off.
Time seemed to freeze, and everything else with it, as Harry felt the power of the spell surge through up through his heels and out his fingertips, zipping through Voldemort's body like tiny bits of green lightning.
Dark? Light? A voice, or multitude of voices with unimaginable power asked, confused.
What is that? What's happening?
Harry felt himself caught up in within the Killing Curse, poised on the edge of a precipice. Everything and everyone around him had frozen, and Harry couldn't be sure if it was the spell he'd cast, or something else.
Good? Evil? What is that? The chorus of voices asked Harry, and he realized it was Magic itself, sluggishly being forced into sentience to try to better define Harry's intentions within the spell he'd cast. If magic was innately neutral, as Snape had indicated, how would the spell play out? That was Harry's gamble. He'd hope that if *intent* could focus the spell, then intent could define the parameters of it as well.
Dark Magic, Harry thought, refocusing all his thoughts on Voldemort. I'll show you. The spell followed his thoughts, and the Magic sensed his concentration.
Ah. Define good and evil, the Magic stated, and seized the memories of Harry's life to examine them, each moment brought forward in stark detail. Sanity and madness meant nothing in an instant as Harry became an integral *part* of the spell itself.
Every memory, every slight, every cruel remark by the Dursleys… Every shared joke with Ron and Hermione. Every teacher or stranger who'd ever tried to care. Everyone else who hadn't. The happiness he'd felt at Hogwarts, the fear as he'd seen Voldemort feast upon a Unicorn. The despair of seeing Ginny Weasley's body and fearing he'd already been too late. The hatred he'd felt when he'd first learned who Sirius Black was, and the love as he later learned the truth. His respect for Professor Lupin, and the bittersweet triumph of coming to his own rescue as his Patronus stag fought off the Dementors. The guilt he'd felt for not being as good a friend to Hagrid as he could have, and the giddy moment of happiness as he and Cedric took the Cup together, a triumph for Hogwarts. The aching despair as Cedric fell, and his own nauseated rage as he watched, helpless, as Pettigrew raised Voldemort with Harry's own blood. The nearly unendurable sense of loss as he watched the echo of his parents protect him one last time. The extent of his failure as he returned to Hogwarts, clutching Cedric's cooling body to him protectively.
The victims he'd seen since that night… The parade of faces of those who Voldemort had tortured and killed. Sweet little Anne and her trusting eyes. Harry screamed as the memories of all his nightmares flooded through him, one after the other. Some distant part of him realized the Magic was using Harry's own morals to determine what was considered Dark, but then that thought too was absorbed into spell.
Dark. Light. Good. Evil. *He* is evil. Destroy him… Magic passed judgement on Voldemort, the power swelling as inevitably as the tide out through Harry's body and into the Dark Lord.
"NO!" Voldemort cried, twisting in Pettigrew's grasp. Harry became engulfed in a vortex of energy that leapt from his hands and crackled over the surface of Voldemort's body, burrowing beneath his skin. Voldemort's eyes widened in fear and he opened his mouth to scream, but instead of sound, a blinding green light shot out.
Life. Death. Life, the Magic stated as it stripped Voldemort of his Dark Magic. His skin seemed to deflate as it reverted back to what could only be described as a horribly deformed infant, as Harry had first seen him in the graveyard. Voldemort's flesh seemed to lose all elasticity as it sunk onto his bones. His red eyes dimmed, then burst forth with the same greenish glow that already came from his mouth. The Killing Curse was consuming Voldemort from the inside out, as more and more streaks of a luminescent green began to show through cracks in his flesh, burning him up as the Dark Magic forced itself out of his body, leaving only a husk behind. Everything Dark that had once been Lord Voldemort was sucked up into the spell.
Harry felt the Darkness the Magic had stripped from Voldemort swirling around, its foulness contained within his own body. The Dark Magic hadn't been destroyed.
So much power. So much evil…
**Most believe, including myself, that Magic has always been. It's eternal, as old as creation. It's infinite…** Snape's lecture on the nature of magic floated idly through Harry's mind.
If it's eternal, how can it be killed?
Too late, Harry realized the paradox his own spell had created. The Magic was trying to fulfill his curse, but couldn't because it couldn't destroy itself. You can't kill what can't die. The Magic was trying to figure out what to do with the Dark Magic Harry had taken from Voldemort.
Ah, the Magic announced as if it had come to a decision, and Harry screamed again, feeling his own thoughts scatter with the raw power that burned through him, filtering Darkness to Light, taking Voldemort's former magic and applying it to continue Harry's spell, in effect reinforcing it. Green light exploded from his own body…
When did I get back in my own body?…
His thoughts drifted back to the present for a brief moment of self-awareness before once again being consumed. Light so bright it was like an ill-colored sunrise exploding over a distant horizon flooded the room, temporarily blinding its occupants.
Destroy the Dark. Save the Light. The spell reached out, regenerating itself, and touched Pettigrew next, absorbing his essence into the vortex of light and wind as it effortlessly flitted through every thought and memory Peter Pettigrew ever had, passing judgement based upon Harry's own principles.
Harry witnessed the love Peter had felt for his friends, the desperate wish that he could be like them, the fear, the insecurity, the failure, the torture Pettigrew had endured at Voldemort's hands. Cedric's death had meant so little to him by then. What was one more?
As Harry was overwhelmed by the magic that began to drain from Pettigrew, the former Marauder's silver hand began to disintegrate. Still reeling from witnessing the brutal destruction Voldemort had wrought upon Pettigrew's will, Harry felt a moment of pity, before it too was absorbed. Peter Pettigrew's hand dissolved like a sand castle obliterated by high tide. The Dark Magic that had sustained Wormtail's life from the moment he'd sacrificed his own hand to resurrect Voldemort came flowing back through Harry, and out again to touch the next group of people closest to him.
Death Eater and Auror alike were judged, their memories, their lives flashing before Harry's eyes as the Magic used his life experiences to weigh how much was Dark and how much was Light within each of them. A few of the Death Eaters survived, most likely little more than squibs. Many others died instantly. With each surge of Dark Magic, the Killing Curse itself became stronger, reached out further, eventually touching the Dementors.
Harry felt a polluted corruption of power nearly overpower his mind, a Magic so ancient and Dark it reached back in time to the days of the Founders of Hogwarts and beyond. Where did they come from? He knew in an instant, and the knowledge was just as quickly burned away as each person, each creature the Dementors had ever Kissed also became part of the spell. Dark. Light. Life. Death. Good. Evil.
Too much. Too many. Let me go. Harry's pleas became part of the spell.
The Killing Curse reached Sirius next and lifted him up, the swirling tendrils of energy coursing through him as it searched his mind. Sirius closed his eyes in defeat, obviously expecting to die, as tears of loss still streamed down his face. Harry nearly laughed as the spell remained the same. There was *no* Dark Magic within Sirius. The spell easily understood what the Dementors had done, and did not judge him for it.
Remus Lupin was next.
No! He's not Dark! You must understand!!! Harry tried to rip his mind from the heart of the spell, sensing what would happen next even as the Killing Curse seized Remus Lupin within its grip.
Remus' body jolted as if he were being electrocuted as the Magic examined his memories, his suffering, and the Curse he'd endured for so many years. Harry's struggling was futile as he felt himself slipping further away, his own powers blending with the Killing Curse, his own essence merging with the Magic that now controlled him. He wasn't Harry Potter any longer. He *was* the Magic, and as it passed judgement on Remus Lupin, he heard the former professor cry out in such pain and agony that Harry desperately tried to end the spell, to cast it back onto himself, to end it completely.
No! Not this! *He* isn't Dark! Harry tried again, forcing every memory of kindness, concern, generosity, insight and wisdom the mild mannered professor had ever expressed to the forefront of his mind to be included within the parameters of the spell, but his voice was lost on the current of power that filled him as Remus' own Dark Magic was absorbed.
On and on the spell continued, adding to its strength with each trace of Dark Magic it encountered until it had at last reached out and touched every living being on the island of Azkaban. Still further it reached, searching…
Harry sobbed as he tried to manipulate the magical currents… to kill himself and somehow end the spell, terrified it would never stop at all. He couldn't bear the thought of Remus being hurt, and hated himself for what he'd unleashed. He knew if he died, the spell would have to end, and tried to throw himself completely into the Killing Curse until only his husk remained as well.
Let me die! Let me end this!
Harry could feel Snape desperately sending his own strength to Harry, trying to anchor him, and did everything he could to block it.
Don't touch me! Let go! It's beyond all of us now! Harry frantically tried to warn.
Snape ignored him, trying to force his own energy into Harry. At that moment the Magic sensed Snape's presence and traveled the length of their magical bond to touch him as well, judging him.
Stop! All I wanted was Voldemort! The spell is done! Please!
Light. Dark. Light for Dark? Dark for Light? Harry could feel Snape's agony as the spell fed back through their bond.
I'm so sorry, Professor. I never meant for this to happen.
The Magic paused, confused as it tried to decide how much of Snape was Dark and how much was Light. Harry felt the Dark Magic from Snape flow painfully back into him, and from a far distant place wondered if he'd killed Snape as well as Remus.
No. Not like this. I've succeeded. I've failed, Harry realized and as he finally lost all conscious thought, the magic continued to funnel through him, *becoming* him, as it searched for more Darkness to feed upon.
Somewhere over the ocean, when there were no more wizards or witches or magical creatures of any sort to be found, the last vestiges of the Killing Curse Harry had unleashed snapped back into him, violently back lashing into his body as it had no further place to go.
Too much. Too far.
Somehow during the spell, Harry's physical body had been lifted up within the currents of energy, floating a few feet above the ground. The charred remains of Voldemort idly swirled in the breeze of power that still eddied around him. As the spell finally ended, the green glow that had suffused the chamber snuffed out, leaving the room eerily black. Harry fell the last of the Magic desert him. There was nothing left to gather as Harry landed painfully on the stone floor, scattered within his own mind. He'd gone beyond all human endurance. The memories of thousands of voices drowned him, and the last of his energy ebbed away as effortlessly as a gentle rain.
Harry's heartbeat skipped erratically, and everything magical around him faltered and ceased to work for a moment as Magic realigned itself. Wards dropped, enchantments failed. The Killing Curse was done. Its work was complete. The Magic let go of its hold on Harry, and Harry ceased to breathe.
Harry let go, and fell.
TBC…
Additional Author's Note: Just letting you know that I intend to try to post as fast as I can, so you shouldn't be left hanging for long. As always, please read and review! 8-) I can't begin to express how much enjoyment I get out of them! g