A/N:
This was originally intended to be a short storylet I wrote to annoy one of my friends. It turned in to so *much* more. ::grumbles about the 12 single-spaced college-ruled handwritten pages to type:: But don't get me wrong! This story is… different. I'll bet that no one else has done this *exact* storyline before! And that is a major accomplishment indeed.
Evidently, as you can tell if you read (and review? ^_^) this story, I don't like Harry much. So if you're a big fan of Harry's, then this might not be the story for you. No, he won't die, but… well, you'll see. Violence abounds.
Obviously, I do not own HP.
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*.*.The Tree of Life.*.*
by Seaoknarnar
The old man awoke from his nap with a start. For a second he thought he could hear the pained screams of innocents being tortured by Death Eaters. But he quickly realised that the sounds he was hearing were not pained screams, but delighted shrieks coming from his grandchildren, who were paying some game or another.
One of his granddaughters, upon noticing him awake, left the fun to skip over to him. After planting a kiss on his withered old cheek, she asked, "Now that you're awake, could you tell us a story?"
The other children came over and begged their grandfather to tell them a story about the Great War.
The old man's mind wandered back to that time, so long ago, that he was involved in the epic struggle against Voldemort, which would decide the fate of the world. One day in particular rose to the forefront of his memories…
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* * * * *
At 17, Harry Potter knew that he would have to face the Dark Lord Voldemort sooner or later. It was this thought that left him biting his nails at night. In fact, many a night left him huddling in the corner, clutching his wand protectively, watching in terror for any possible sign of Voldemort (forgetting, of course, that he was under the Fidelius Charm). Yes, Harry Potter's nights were the bane of his existence. Only the light of dawn would lessen his anxiety.
By day, Harry Potter was a ghastly sight to behold. His lack of sleep had caused him to develop dark bags under his eyes. His lack of appetite had given him an emaciated appearance. The Dursleys, of course, remarked on none of this; if they even noticed at all, they noticed with glee.
* * * * *
"Wormtail," hissed Voldemort, "I believe I have a solution to the problem of the Potter boy. I have been analyzing him, and I think I have found his weakness. I have developed a plan in which I intend to exploit this weakness of his in order to kill him. And the best part is, I won't even have to get my hands dirty."
"My lord, would I be privileged to be able to hear this brilliant plan of yours?" simpered Wormtail.
"No Wormtail," replied Voldemort smugly. "You can read about it in tomorrow's Daily Prophet. The death of Potter is sure to make the front page."
"My Lord!" replied Wormtail shocked, "You mean to carry out your plan today?"
"Yes, Wormtail, yes. With your assistance actually."
"But master… If I do not know what you are planning, then how can I possibly be of assistance?"
"Wormtail, your excellent memory of your old school days has already helped me more than you can imagine." Voldemort removed from the folds of his cloak a map similar to the Marauder's Map. "When I infused this with Dark Magic, I was able to break Dumbledore's Fidelius charm. I now can find the location of our Mr. Potter, and very shortly now I will be paying him a little visit."
The two snickered evilly.
* * * * *
Daylight shone though the window where a haggard figure lay prone on his bedroom floor, passed out from fright. A passing fly buzzed in his ear, and then he slowly regained consciousness.
"Truly I have reached rock-bottom," he said out loud to no one in particular, his nose squashed on the floorboards. "I'm lying here, on my bedroom floor, quaking like a baby, while Ron and Hermione are having fun and going of on life-threatening adventures. WELL, I'VE DONE MORE THAN THEY EVER HAVE! IF THEY CAN HAVE ADVENTURES, I SHOULD GET TO TOO!"
With that resolution, he got up, dusted himself off, and stomped out of his room. The Dursleys stared as Harry ran down the stairs and out the door, slamming it behind him.
* * * * *
"Do you think Harry will be excited to see us? I mean, we haven't seen him all summer, and I'm sure that the Dursleys aren't very good company for him," burbled a very excited Ron.
"I'm sure he will, but, uh… Ron, do you have any idea where we are?" asked a very confused Neville at the steering wheel of his brand-new pickup truck.
"Well," said Ron, studying the map of Little Whinging, "I'm pretty sure Harry lives around here somewhere. I'm trying to remember the way; after all, Fred and George once flew the Ford Anglia here. Of course, that was at nighttime, and that was up in the sky…"
From the back seat, Hermione said exasperatedly, "Ron, you're holding the map upside-down. For Merlin's sake, give it to me!"
Following Hermione's directions, the lost trio made their way towards number 4, Privet Drive.
* * * * *
"Aaagghhh! It burns!" moaned a very pale Harry Potter. He held up his hands to block out the agonizing sunlight, and accidentally stumbled into a hydrangea bush. Eventually, his eyes got acclimated to the direct sunlight (the only sunlight he had received so far had been through a set of venetian blinds), and he picked himself out of the shrubbery. And then he inhaled deeply, breathing in fresh air for the first time in weeks.
"Yeah, it's not so bad out here after all," said Harry semi-confidently. "I don't know why I haven't been out here all summer. Yeah, I kinda like it out here," he said, staring at the grass.
"You won't like it for much longer," said a disembodied voice from a short distance away. Before Harry's eyes materialized the Dark Lord, who winced a bit at the light but nevertheless kept his wand pointed at Harry. "Ha ha ha, at last I have you! You have foiled me in the past, but now, finally, I will succeed in destroying you! ARBORETA!" he incanted, directing the spell at Harry.
A gnarled old tree stood where the 17-year-old boy had stood just seconds before. The tree was extremely ugly, and bent and twisted as if in pain. Voldemort smiled to himself. "And now Mr. Potter, I will use your weakness as the means for your downfall. ACCIO CHAINSAW! ACCIO DURSLEY!"
As quickly as he said this, the two items came; from the Dursley's garage came Uncle Vernon's pride-and-joy chainsaw; from the Dursley's living room came Uncle Vernon, rolling and tumbling out the door.
As he righted himself, Vernon sputtered, "Who the hell are you, and what the blazes are you doing on my lawn?"
"Well sir," replied Voldemort, cordially, "I spotted your neighbor planting this horrid looking tree on your lawn, and I felt that I should inform you immediately of this grievance."
"Oh, so he did, did he?" bellowed Uncle Vernon. "Well, I think he'll very shortly be getting a call from my lawyer!"
"But sir, as effective as that would undoubtedly be, I feel that I must warn you," countered Voldemort, "that this type of tree takes root very quickly, and once rooted, they are virtually impossible to remove without digging up a majority of the yard."
Uncle Vernon paled at the thought of decimating his beautiful lawn. "Oh, tell me, TELL ME! How can I get rid of this awful intrusion?"
Voldemort smiled slyly. "You must strip the tree of its branches, then cut off the trunk three feet or so from the ground. This will kill the tree, and the roots will shrivel and remove easily."
Uncle Vernon took Voldemort's spider-like hands in his ham-shaped ones, and shook them gratefully. "Thank you sir, you have been exceedingly helpful."
"My pleasure," replied Voldemort. He then turned on his heels, and walked away.
Meanwhile, Vernon started up his chainsaw and told the tree, "I'll not have you in my yard any longer! Die, fiend!"
The sound of the blade cutting into the wood was a shrill, pained scream in the tranquil afternoon. If possible, the tree became more twisted and gnarled, as if its mysterious inner pain was intensifying. Uncle Vernon noticed with little interest the unusual reddish color of the wood under the bark, and also of the strange sap the tree oozed. "None of that sap better get on the grass," he muttered.
Once or twice, as Vernon was removing the branches, he felt an odd twinge in his ponderous stomach. But Uncle Vernon had long before learned to ignore these strange premonitions, and so they bothered him not at all.
Finally, to Vernon's satisfaction, a large pile of red wood branches lay on the driveway. He went into the garage and came out with a can of lighter fluid, and a box of matches. Soon the branches became a pyre, which a roaring bonfire quickly reduced to ashes. Now Vernon's eyes turned to the trunk, still standing, oozing sap against the twilight-lit sky. "And now, the finishing blow to you, tree," he said. The biggest twinge of all came to Uncle Vernon's gut as he cut through the trunk, but, unfortunately, he pushed it aside like all the others.
* * * * *
Voldemort had been hiding, watching Uncle Vernon dismember and burn Harry, from across the street. Voldemort was a patient man, good at biding his time and waiting for just the right moment. So after waiting for 18 years to see Harry killed, he couldn't help but gloat a little once he saw him 'felled'.
He stepped out of his hiding place, right in to the middle of the street. "At last!" he exclaimed. "I have won! I AM SUPREME!" He raised his arms above his head, and energy shot from his fingertips. Dark clouds began to gather above the suburb, and a terrible thunderstorm developed. Lightening crackled through the air, and a dark fog spread, covering all.
* * * * *
"This should be the street," said Hermione in a know-it-all tone. "You are sure, Ron, that Harry lives at Number 4, on Privet Drive?"
"Hermione, how many times--what the hell?" Ron yelled as the darkness swallowed the pickup.
"You guys," squeaked Neville, "I can't see where I'm going! It's too dark!" he began to panic. "And the headlights aren't helping at all."
"Just keep going, Neville, we'll find our way out of this… whatever it is… soon enough," ordered Ron.
"ARE YOU MAD? Stop right this instant, Neville!" commanded Hermione.
"You guys are confusing me!" whined Neville, blindly driving on through the darkness. "Just someone tell me--" BUMP. The pickup jumped, as if it had hit something rather large and sinister.
* * * * *
Voldemort didn't hear the car until the last instant, and once he saw it, the effect was very 'evil deer caught in headlights'.
* * * * *
Sibyl Trelawney awoke from her nap with a jolt, as if from electricity. She quickly threw on a shawl, and then padded her way out of her bedroom. Traveling down several halls, she eventually came to one room with the door slightly ajar. She knocked before entering, coming face-to-face with Dumbledore.
"Dumbledore," she spoke in a deep, monotone voice, "after 18 years, the prophecy has been fulfilled this very evening. The Dark Lord has been vanquished by the Chosen One. He can be found at The Fallen One's house. As for The Fallen One, you must use his weakness if you wish to save him. Only with blood will blood be restored." With that cryptic message, she turned and left the room, returning to her own and returning back to her repose. Naturally, upon waking she would remember none of it.
* * * * *
Ron, Hermione, and Neville stood staring at one another. What was the proper course of action to take when one found the Dark Lord smashed in the grill of a brand-new pickup truck? Even Hermione had no solution to this conundrum.
Fortunately, they did not have to stare long: with a pop and a bang, Dumbledore Apparated on Privet Drive, scaring any innocent Muggles who happened to witness it. "My congratulations, Neville," he said proudly. "You have just fulfilled a prophecy made about you from before you were born: you have defeated Voldemort, and saved the world from his malice.
"However, there will be copious amounts of time for celebration later. Now it is essential that we find Harry, because I have been informed that he has fallen, and is in life-threatening danger."
"Professor?!" gasped Hermione.
"I suggest that we all start searching at once," remarked Dumbledore quite calmly, considering the circumstances. Ron and Hermione went to look inside, Neville went to look around the outside of the house, and Dumbledore went to where Uncle Vernon huddled, cowering from fear.
"Mr. Dursley," said Dumbledore in a commanding voice. Vernon looked up, fear etched in every line in his fat face. "Y-y-yes?" He stammered, shakily getting to his feet. "W-w-what do you w-want?"
"Mr. Dursley, have you any idea of where your nephew could be?" asked Dumbledore. "It is quite imperative that we locate him as soon as possible."
"Last time I saw him," Uncle Vernon said, regaining some of the disgust in his voice at the mention of Harry, "he was slamming the front door on his way out, and knocking down many of our expensive paintings hanging on the wall, I might add. Now how about you telling me what all this funny business today has been about. I'm certain your lot has something to do with it."
"Stupefy," said Dumbledore calmly, and Uncle Vernon sank back to the ground.
"Harry is somewhere out there," Dumbledore told Ron, Hermione, and Neville. "We must go look for him."
"Headmaster," said Hermione, "are we allowed to use magic while we search? It would be much more effective."
"I'm afraid not, Miss Granger. We can't bend the wizarding laws regarding magic in Muggle areas any more than they have already been bent today. You will have to search in a Muggle fashion. However, your search may prove in vain; Harry has had placed on him some of the most powerful anti-locating charms. Only the most powerful spells, as Voldemort's must have been, can located Harry."
A metaphorical lightbulb suddenly dinged above Dumbledore's head as some things in his mind clicked together, like puzzle pieces. He walked over to the pickup, and tugged the bloodied corpse from the grille. He started going through Voldemort's robes, methodically searching until at last he found what he had been looking for. He held up the now bloodstained Dark Map as he would hold a dead Puffskein, and judging from the expression on his face, it could have been as much.
Dumbledore righted, then looked at the Map. Slowly following it, he made his way up the driveway, across the lawn, and finally over to where the tree stump stood. He lay the map down on the lawn (it burned through all the grass it touched) and slowly reached a long thin hand out to touch the severed tree trunk. He pulled his hand away, examining the sticky red sap that came with it. He turned to address the trio. "I have found Harry."
Hermione put her hands over her mouth, nauseated, while Ron bit his lip and turned very pale. Neville looked as if he were going to cry. "Is there any way we can heal him, Professor?" he asked.
Dumbledore nodded. "I can not, but there is one man who I think can. But finding him will be difficult. I want you three to stay here, and protect Harry." They nodded, and Dumbledore Disapparated with a pop.
* * * * *
Severus Snape was in the process of swooping through the halls of the castle when he, quite literally, ran in to Dumbledore. His eyes took in the sight of Dumbledore's bloodstained hands with perplexion. "My apologies, headmaster. I did not see you there."
"Severus, I've been looking for you," said Dumbledore hurriedly. "It is a matter of urgency. I need you to lead me to Peter Pettigrew at once." Upon seeing Snape's raised-eyebrow expression, Dumbledore said, "I'll explain later."
"Very well, Headmaster," Snape replied, pulling back his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark on his arm. He tentatively pressed his forefinger to it, shook his head, the tried again. "It's not responding… I can't explain what is happening… It has never behaved this way before. Dumbledore, what has happened?"
One stern glare from Dumbledore told him to shut up. Snape coughed, then said, "Headmaster, if you'll follow me to my office. I believe I can reach Pettigrew by Floo."
The two traversed the halls of the castle, until at last they reached Snape's office. Snape hastened over to his fireplace, where from a bowl on the mantelpiece he took a pinch of Floo. He threw it in the fire and mumbled something under his breath, turning the cheery flames an oily black color. He then marched right in, and found a surprised Wormtail, whom he pulled back through the fire.
Wormtail looked up at the imposing figures of Dumbledore and Snape. "What do you want?" he squeaked.
'Your Dark Lord is vanquished, Pettigrew. The Death Eaters will be rounded up and dealt with severely. But if you assist us now, we may be more lenient on you. And just in case you feel like transforming," Dumbledore pointed his wand, "ENDOFIXIUS. Now if you attempt to transform, your skeletal system will not shrink with the rest of you, which will be quite a painful experience."
Wormtail quivered, and nodded meekly. With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore Apparated himself and Peter, leaving behind a thoroughly confused Snape.
* * * * *
"Professor!" screamed Hermione, at the reappearance of Dumbledore. "You!" she said accusatorily when her eyes fell on Peter. "What is he doing here?"
"He will assist us in undoing the curse put upon Harry," explained Dumbledore. "If you will remember, Miss Granger, at the end of your third year, Harry's heroism and his compassion, his greatest weaknesses in this brutal world, saved this man's life. Now, flowing through Pettigrew's blood is a Wizard's Bond, which signifies that Pettigrew owes Harry and, should the need arise, will be compelled to help Harry as Harry helped him. Because Harry saved his life, Pettigrew now must save Harry's in return. Magic this deep and powerful should be enough to break the terrible curse Voldemort put upon Harry."
Dumbledore grasped Pettigrew's fat arm, and with the assistance of a small silver knife, slit Pettigrew's wrist deeply. Blood spurted from the wound, and Dumbledore made sure it got all over Harry. Once Wormtail looked to be on the verge of fainting, Dumbledore muttered reparo. Pettigrew's wrist immediately sealed, and he clutched at it with a gasp, staring at the bloodstained tree trunk.
The trunk started to shine with the purest of light against the darkening sky. It became too bright to look at; all the wizards shielded their eyes with their arms. Eventually the radiance dimmed, and they were able to see the trunk again. Except what lay on the ground was not, in fact, a tree trunk, but a human trunk. All five recoiled in horror at the sight of Harry because that's all he was: a trunk. No arms or legs at all; just a torso with large bloody wounds where the arms and legs had been.
Dumbledore pointed his wand at Harry and said with unnatural calm, "REPARO," but all that did was seal the wounds with skin. Dumbledore looked around, and observed the ashes and burn marks on the driveway with some sadness. "but after all," he thought to himself, "his arms and legs would have been long dead by now, and magic can very definitely not raise the dead." He sighed.
Inside of Wormtail, a bitter struggle was playing out between Wormtail's deep abhorrence of Harry and his Bond's desire to assist the boy. But the time-old magic won out, and Wormtail spoke up. "There is something I can do," he squeaked quietly, "to help him." He pulled out his wand.
Distrusting of Wormtail, Ron and Hermione started, but at a shake of Dumbledore's head, they pulled back.
Pettigrew muttered a spell under his breath that none of the other four could hear. Silver shot from the end of his wand, and in midair it began to separate into four distinct quantities, two larger and two smaller. The larger quantities affixed themselves to Harry's abdomen, and the smaller to his shoulders. They shaped themselves in to gleaming silver arms and legs, similar to Wormtail's gleaming silver hand.
Harry stirred, and slowly opened his eyes. He looked up to see the faces of Ron and Hermione, wearing identical dumbfounded expressions; Neville, white as a sheet; and Dumbledore, looking down on him with an unreadable expression. His eyes narrowed when he saw Wormtail, and he exclaimed, "YOU!"
With the super strength of his new limbs he shot up, and had his hands around Pettigrew's neck before one could say "Patronus". He probably would have squeezed Wormtail's head off too, had not he stopped cold at the sight of the silver. "W-w-what happened?" he whispered, staring at his arms and legs.
"Your past and future collided in a brilliant clash, Harry, and it was he," he gestured to Wormtail, "who saved you. The Prophecy has been fulfilled, Harry. But it was not you who fulfilled it. You have helped immensely, but it was Neville who fulfilled it and it has been Neville's task all along. As babies, the Dark Lord was suspicious of you, not Neville, so I played along in order to shift focus away from Neville, so he would have more of a chance of success."
"YOU USED ME?!" exploded Harry. "I RISKED MY LIFE, AND YOU WERE LYING TO ME THE WHOLE TIME?! I HAVE NO ARMS OR LEGS BECAUSE YOU WANTED ME TO HELP NEVILLE?!" Harry stopped for a moment to catch his breath, and Hermione ran over to hug him. She said, "Oh Harry, if you hadn't risked your life, then Neville wouldn't have succeeded, and the world would have been doomed." Harry brushed her off with a rude, "Yeah, yeah," then walked forlornly away.
Hermione, looking quite affronted, turned away, but Ron said, "Professor?"
"Leave him be," said Dumbledore. "He needs some time to absorb all of this. In the meantime, I think we have something to tell the wizarding world."
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"Grandpa? Grandpa?" the young girl asked her reminiscing grandfather. "Grandpa, can you tell us a story?"
The old man came back to reality reluctantly. Though the memories were at times painful, he did enjoy remembering…
"Once upon a time," he spoke, "there was a young man named Neville Longbottom. He was destined to defeat the evil Lord Voldemort and save the world. His friends Harry, Ron, and Hermione went through many perilous adventures in order to assist him on his quest. One day, because of the evil magic of Voldemort, Harry lost his arms and legs, but he received a very nice present from an old acquaintance: he received silver arms and legs that were stronger than his old ones. Then Neville defeated the Dark Lord, and he, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all lived happily ever after."
"Grandpa, that was a nice story! And it was about you! Do you have any more about your adventures?"
"Maybe later," the old wizard said, sitting back in his chair. "I think I need to rest now."
As the little girl and her cousins resumed their game, the old man relaxed and let his mind wander. Eventually he fell asleep, his silver limbs shining peacefully in the fading light of the afternoon.
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