A/N: Okay, hope you noticed that I changed the summary and the rating. This
fic will extend through Harry's 6th year and . . . well, that would be
telling, wouldn't it? *evil grin* I'm nowhere near done yet! Harry still
has a long journey ahead of him, with his friends along for one hell of a
ride. Anyway, I decided to go ahead and change the rating from PG-13 to R.
Nothing really bad yet, but the reason for the rating change will become
apparent in the later chapters. Most of the fic can still be considered PG-
13, and I'll warn you beforehand of the questionable chapters. You're
probably going to hate me by the time I'm done with this or more likely
even before I'm done. Just giving you a proper warning now. *shrugs and
ducks multiple flying objects from irate reviewers*
Watch out: more symbolism coming your way. Ignore it if you want, but if you're a geek like me you'll analyze it thoroughly and realize that I'm sending you a subliminal message in my writing. Some might be spoilers for later chapters. And Harry likes to pass out a lot in this fic. I'm sorry, that's just the way it plays out. I'll try to keep him conscious longer.
Disclaimer: the usual. You recognize it, I had no part in its creation. I just play with it. Thanks to ruskbyte for some inspiration. If you've read his fics, you know what I'm talking about.
[_] means Parseltongue.
Chapter 12
The first month of summer passed in a blur for Harry, between communicating with his friends and countering Voldemort's attacks, which now included the demon armies. His nights were filled with dream visions of research in the ancient archives of the Guardians, pouring over old scroll, parchments, and tomes which translated themselves as he read. They held tons of information on the ancient world, which was actually very fascinating. Hermione would kill to be allowed in this room. But there was one thing about this that bothered him.
Several times Harry came across references to a prophecy, an ancient one that the Guardians apparently held in great respect and fear. But after mentioning it, the author would change the subject. It was clear that whatever this prophecy said, it was essential to Harry's fight against darkness, but he could not find the actual words anywhere. Almost if they were afraid of mentioning it more than in passing.
Harry slammed a thick tome down in frustration, sending up clouds of dust from the old wooden table littered with parchment. Not only was the search seemingly impossible, Lady Death had not spoken to him since their initial meeting. Add that to the fact that he could never recall his dreams once he woke up, despite all his best efforts, and one could understand why he was royally pissed.
The battles in the real world were not going well either. Harry had now become an expert on healing charms and potions due to the sheer number of casualties each attack produced. Since the inclusion of the demons in the attacks, many more were dying horrible deaths. Normal wizards could not withstand the demons: they were immune to most spells, tougher than dragons, insanely fast, and completely bloodthirsty. Harry had trouble with them as it was, even with his staff and enhanced powers. The Order was always present at these skirmishes, usually arriving just before the main force of Aurors, but long after Harry aka Wraith. He was still able to sneak into Voldemort's fortress, but it was getting too risky. The demons seemed to sense his presence and would alert their master. Twice now Harry had almost been caught in the castle and had to escape before they could launch a full scale search. He was working on how to correct the problem.
Harry received a copy of the Daily Prophet every day at breakfast, so he was able to keep an eye on normal wizarding news. Unfortunately for him, a novice reporter looking to make a name for herself in Rita Skeeter's continued absence had published a piece just a few days before his birthday, stating that Harry had disappeared again and was presumed dead at the hands of Voldemort.
The next day the editorial section was filled with angry letters form his friends saying Harry was perfectly fine, they were in contact with him, and to quit bothering him. Harry himself wrote a deliciously nasty letter reiterating their statements, commenting that true journalists with a shred of decency check veracity before printing such an inflammatory report. Much to his chagrin the letter was reprinted on the front page the very next day, under the banner headline "HARRY POTTER DENIES REPORT OF HIS DEATH." That night his IMP was full of messages from people congratulating him. He just shook his head.
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Harry was in the middle of sorting through a bunch of scrolls, looking for one that he had not already read through, when he felt his arm burn softly. He groaned and rolled his eyes. *Not again.* The research he was attempting to do was made extra frustrating by the fact that nearly every night he was interrupted and pulled back to his own world to deal with yet another attack.
*Yep, there it goes.* The pain in his arm always woke him up from the dream visions, and he opened his eyes to see the familiar ceiling above his bed. Checking the clock as he rolled out from under the warm sheets, he grimaced at the realization that it was nearly 2 in the morning. *Don't these bastards ever sleep? Oh, wait, evil never sleeps, so that means the good guys can't either.* He grumbled to himself as he threw on what he termed his hunting clothes, double checked his weapons, pinpointed the location of the attack on his screens, and Apparated away.
The first thing Harry became aware of was the smell. The sharp, tangy odor of burning wood mixed with the scent of blood and the stink of the demons. A sense of fear hung in the air with the smoke, and screams rang through the trashed streets. The spot where Harry had appeared was deserted, so he made his way quickly toward the center of town, where the Death Eaters were concentrated, passing several dead bodies in the road.
Harry kept to the shadows as he surveyed the scene. The black-robed figures stood in a loose circle around a group of writhing bodies. They were playing their favorite game of torturing Muggles and laughing. Harry spotted at least three young children in the circle, yelling and crying for their parents as they experienced the incredible pain of the Cruciatus. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and turned his disgust and sadness into rage and hate towards those who dared laugh at torturing children.
As Wraith he stepped out of the shadows and gestured with one hand, canceling the curse and halting the agonized screams. The Death Eaters turned as a whole as he snarled out, "You bastards. You think you can gain power by torturing the weak. All you've managed to do is piss me off." With a thought the Dark wizards were all pinned to the ground by an immense force cutting off their airways. Over the strangled gasps and chokes he added maliciously, "It's not wise to piss me off."
Wraith lifted a hand, and simultaneously a shield was cast over the huddled group of innocents, and the Death Eaters' wands flew toward him, where they burst into flame a few feet from him. He growled deep in his throat and advanced toward the pinned wizards, lifting the suffocation curse even as he prepared to cast a pain curse.
Wraith was so intent on punishing the Death Eaters that he almost missed the dark shapes gathering in the shadows. As it was, he caught a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision and he jerked his head sharply to the side. That was his only warning as literally dozens of hideous demons leapt out at him from the buildings where they had hidden in wait. A trap.
Wraith mentally berated himself as he dodged the initial rush and pulled out his wand and sword simultaneously. *Idiot! You knew they were around! You should have checked before barging in to play the hero!* He raised his wand and cast a banishing charm to send the creatures hurtling back a bit and clearing him some space to work. A nasty looking one ran at him, holding a double-bladed axe, and swung with tremendous strength at his head. Wraith ducked and sliced, carving a nice X in the demon's innards, and it collapsed. The next one received a couple of extra-strength poison darts in the eyes, and soon Wraith was fighting frantically as blood sprayed.
Wraith winced as a fierce burning sensation slashed across his concealed scar, and he turned while dispatching another demon to see Voldemort standing at the edge of the town square, illuminated by the flames from the burning buildings, and simply watching the melee with a small cruel smile twisting his lipless mouth. Wraith bared his own teeth in a silent snarl and decapitated a feisty demon, its dark putrid blood speckling his face. Fatigue began to pull at him, and he was slightly too slow in blocking a dagger, earning himself a nice gash across his arm before gutting the offender with his sword.
Abruptly a chorus of "pop!" rang out as the Order Apparated in with a full force of Aurors. They immediately assessed the situation and stunned the still-pinned Death Eaters before running to assist Wraith who was surrounded by the demon hoards. Wraith roared out, "NO! Stay back!" as the demons turned, snarling toward the newcomers. Voldemort chose that time to let out a high cold laugh, drawing attention to himself and away from his servants. Wraith knew that unless he did something drastic, many more would die here tonight.
With a muttered word, his staff appeared in his hands. He cast a shield charm around himself strong enough to hold off the demons; he needed his full attention for this, and could not be distracted by them. Closing his eyes, he focused calling the powers of the earth, asking it as an Element to obey him. At the same time he sent a thought through the staff, using it to channel it into reality. The ground shuddered for a moment, and a bright light shot out of the ruby on the top of the staff to strike Voldemort just as the Dark Lord was pulling his wand. A brief look of surprise crossed his face before he disappeared.
Now that the watcher was gone and he was free to work, Wraith refocused his full attention on the earth. It trembled again, and a giant crevasse opened up at his feet, the ground ripping apart to form a mouth that swallowed the demon armies whole. They fell shrieking and wailing, ricocheting off exposed rocks as they tumbled down into the very depths of the earth. The gathered wizards watched with wide fearful eyes. Even Dumbledore was amazed at the sheer power in this spectacle.
Once the last of the demons present has disappeared, the ground rocked again and closed with a huge thunderous crash, sending everyone to their knees. When they looked up, no trace of the crack remained, and Wraith knelt there gasping, once again empty handed. He slowly got to his feet, and with a shaky snap of his fingers the last of the fires was extinguished. On slightly unsteady legs he walked over to the huddled Muggles, removing the shield and crouching down next to the crying children as the other wizards worked at helping restore the town.
"Here, let me look at you," Wraith got their attention with a gentle voice. He touched each of their heads softly, finding the pain and the physical damage and healing it. To cover any after effects he got them to drink a little bit of one of his healing potions. One of them, a little girl with wide brown eyes, simply stared at him with tears running down her cheeks. He sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders.
"Are you alright?" he asked her quietly. She shook her head. "The bad men, they hurt me real bad." "Yes I know. What's your name?" "Holly." Do you feel better now, Holly?" She nodded, then said, "They killed Mommy. And Daddy. And Ericka. She's my older sister." The tears ran faster, and she looked to be holding back sobs.
Wraith's heart broke. He leaned over and gathered her in a hug, rocking back and forth as she shook, weeping in his arms. He buried his face in her soft hair, comforting her as best he could, and trying to temporarily shield her from the horrible reality. She was now an orphan like him, but she had had to watch her family die. Nothing could make that pain go away, nor the memories fade. So he simply held her tight.
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Wraith stood at the edge of town, gazing down at the ruined buildings and ruined lives. He sighed deeply with exhaustion and sadness, still feeling the burning flame of rage toward Voldemort. He would pay, for this night and all the others just like it. For the terror his madness caused, and for all the broken families. Wraith felt the approach of another wizard, and let him come closer without turning. Albus Dumbledore clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"You did a fine job out there tonight. That was . . . impressive, to say the least. How are you doing, by the way?" Wraith responded neutrally, "The arm'll be fine in a few hours. Have a couple of broken ribs from a nasty kick, but those'll heal right up once the potion kicks in. No major damage." Dumbledore looked sidelong at him. "Spoken like a true soldier," he commented dryly. "I meant, how are you doing? I saw you with the little girl."
Wraith grimaced almost imperceptibly. "Holly just lost her entire family. Saw them murdered before her eyes, then was tortured for fun. I . . . I had to do something." He looked down at his hands. "Seeing kids being tortured, and then they were laughing . . . I wanted to kill them, to make them feel the pain they caused. I got careless . . . forgot about the demons, I just wanted to punish them." He gazed into the distance, seeing something other than Dumbledore's face. "She's an orphan, just like me, but she had to watch it. I was there when my parents were murdered, but I don't remember it. She will. She'll have nightmares about it." He shuddered. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone."
Dumbledore nodded solemnly, the twinkle in his eyes reduced by the shadow of pain. "You understand how she feels and knew she needed comforting only one who knows could give. I'm sorry." He glanced over at the young warrior with a little more sparkle in his old eyes. "You are good with children though. I can see that." Wraith nodded distantly, pain reflected in his eyes, before he gave a tremendous yawn. He checked his watch. It was nearly 5 am, and he was almost asleep on his feet. Dumbledore gave him a slight smile, then grew serious.
"One more thing. What did you do to Voldemort?" Wraith fluttered his hand vaguely. "I didn't want him there anymore. He wanted to watch the demons kill you all, so was serving as a distraction. I can't kill him just yet, timing's wrong, so I sent him away." Dumbledore frowned in confusion. "Away? Away to where?"
"Near as I can tell, somewhere in Tibet, around the general vicinity of Mount Everest. Maybe he'll make friends with the yaks." Wraith grinned tiredly and bid the startled headmaster goodnight before Apparating home.
While taking off his trenchrobe and morphing back to his usual form, Harry noticed something small and shiny black on the shoulder of his robe. On closer inspection it appeared to be a wizard tracking devise, newly invented and put into use by the Aurors. Harry shook his head. Either he really was tired, or the old man was getting sneakier as the years passed. It did not really matter, since the entire area around the house was completely Unplottable and nothing could track inside of it. Still, why take chances?
Harry concentrated and the little black dot in his hand shimmered and disappeared. He smiled grimly as he climbed the stairs again and passed out on his bed, his consciousness returning to his research in the shadow archives. They would have a fun time tracking him down in Norway.
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Several days later, on July 31st to be exact, Harry Potter woke with his mind racing frantically and heart pounding. It was his 16th birthday, but that did not register in his flustered state. No, something had occurred that had pushed the thought of celebration clear out of his head.
He remembered.
He could recall his dream visions of the shadow realm where the city of the Guardians was now, and realized why. Last night he was back searching through the farthest stacks of the archives when he came across a scroll lying misplaced by the bottom of a stack of old tomes threatening to topple over into a stack of bookcases. This one appeared to be old and tattered, until he touched it.
Suddenly it glowed golden and a flowing script traced itself over clean, new-looking parchment. Astonished, Harry read eagerly. It seemed to be a journal of sorts, of one of the Guardians assigned to dispose of the second talisman, a dagger by the description. It traced the path the warriors took as they left a confusing trail for anything that tried to follow them. The talisman was highly sought after despite its dangers, and the warriors chosen were the most skilled and brave of those who volunteered for the difficult and vitally important journey.
The journal writer left clues to the exact location of the talisman's hiding place. He never mentioned the name of the deserted island, but did say that it was filled with carved stone heads left by a race older than the Guardians' knowledge. In order to confuse any who would come after them, the warriors had multiplied the number of statues originally present. However, the entrance to the chamber the talisman was hidden in was under the only head that was not duplicated on the entire island.
The writer has added a small entry at the end of the journal that encouraged Harry. "I am comforted by the fact that this journal will be stored in our city archives, where one day the one of the Prophecy will come. Only that One will be able to break the enchantments our Leaders have placed on this. Only the One will have the knowledge to read this and follow the clues I have laboriously and dutifully recorded.
You travel with the blessings and powers of the Guardians at your side. I pray for your strength and determination, for not all who travel the shadowlands return. Godspeed to you."
Harry had considered these words written so long ago specifically to him, even as he had memorized the entire journal. *I guess Death was right. I am the One. Damn!*
Harry bolted out of bed and threw on his battle clothes, mentally reviewing the clues as he packed a small bag of essentials and strapped on his weapons. Now that he knew where the dagger was hidden, it was essential that he collect it as soon as possible to prevent Voldemort from acquiring it. He stopped himself as he ran downstairs, taking the time to calm himself and double check that he had everything in order, then grabbed a quick breakfast before leaving the house.
He ran over the moors and the highlands, putting distance between himself and the property to prevent the possibility of tracking. He did not want to take the chance of the Dark forces finding his home, or worse, where he traveled to. Away from his wards he could actually disguise the portal signature better than within them. Finally reaching the summit of a hill over five miles away from his house, he made sure he was alone before creating the dimensional portal. He stepped through to land on what is now known as Easter Island.
The tiny island seemed deserted, and no wonder. Here it was the middle of the winter's night, and a bitterly cold wind cut right through his padded clothes before Harry cast a warming charm. He pulled his wand and with a muttered "Lumos," he had enough light to examine the statues. He glanced around and sighed. It was going to be a long night.
As the hours passed, he was exceptionally grateful for his increased memory retention as he compared the carved faces, searching for the sole individual without a twin. The sun was just starting to peek above the horizon by the time he found it, a face of average height but with a forbidding expression promising unspeakable things to those who would disturb it or its treasure. Harry circled it three times, then tapped its right eye in a set pattern.
The eyes of stone came alive, blinked and glared fiercely at the teen. He stared right back defiantly, and said the incantation in the ancient tongue, "I am the One of prophecy come for my inheritance." The head slid over, revealing a circular staircase leading deep into the earth. With a final glance around, he disappeared into the earth, and the stone slid back over him, returning the island to its normal silent, watchful state.
A soft glow seemed to emanate from the walls to illuminate the way. Harry walked for what seemed like forever, circling round and round and round while descending deeper. Even with his stamina and strength, his legs were cramping up with exertion and fatigue by the time he spotted the bottom. The stairs led to a narrow stone corridor, wet and slimy with mold that broadened out into a huge cavern. Harry guessed he was miles beneath the surface of the ocean, and examined everything intently, expecting traps and ambushes, senses on high alert.
He pocketed his wand and took out his staff, ready for anything as he slowly walked through the cavern. A flash of movement caught the corner of his eye, and he whipped around. Suddenly an army of skeletons armed with swords, shields, spears, and bows all surrounded him and attacked. Harry used his staff to blast the front lines to pieces, then tossed it to his left hand while his right seized his own sword from its sheath.
The skeletons closed in, all moving lightning fast with extraordinary skill. But Harry was faster. He leaped in the air to avoid a slashing attack and spat fireballs in all directions, decimating ranks as dozens burst into flames before crumpling to dust. He landed and parried another attack, then swept his blade through three of them, shattering them, spun and ducked even as he stabbed at another. With a wave of his hand, dozens of walking dead warriors were flung against the rock wall and collapsed into piles of dust.
*Not very sturdy, are they?* Harry smirked slightly to himself before calling up a tornado that picked up the remaining walking bones and crushed them into each other. A few flew at the teen, which he took care of with his sword. Soon the battle was over, and the chamber was deserted again except for the dust on the floor as Harry walked to the other side and exited.
He was in another room, pitch blackness enveloping everything. Raising his staff, he risked some illumination and the ruby shone brightly, almost white. At first he could not figure out why the floor was moving in such an odd fashion. Then with a jolt he realized it was covered with thousands upon thousands of snakes. They slid up to him, hissing angrily at the intruder, and several coiled around his legs, preventing him from moving.
[An intruder,] a huge constrictor hissed. [What shall we do with him?] A viper spoke up, eyeing Harry with a gleam in his eyes. [It has been a long time since we have had something new and delicious to eat. I say we kill him and eat him.]
[I wouldn't if I were you] Harry hissed back, and the snakes at large coiled back in surprise. [What is this? A human who can speak our tongue?] The constrictor appeared shocked, or at least it would if Harry could interpret snake facial expressions. [Yes, I can speak your tongue and understand it. You were placed here as a trap for all those who seek the talisman, yes?]
The general volume level of hissing rose, and a smaller cobra spoke up. [Correct, young speaker. We are to kill all those whose quest is for the talisman, except for the One appointed to receive it.] Harry grinned in relief at those words. [Good, because I am the One of prophecy come for my inheritance.] There was a sharp hiss, almost a gasp, and then the snakes wiggled and slithered to make a path for him through the room. As he walked among them, he noticed they seemed to be bowing down to him. When he reached the far door he turned.
[There may be another one who can speak your language who comes after me. He is my enemy, so do with him as you were instructed long ago.] Hisses of agreement followed him as he continued to the next room. This room also appeared empty, and he spotted a door on the far side, but resisted the urge to run to it, instead searching for more traps. He found one just as he was about to set it off.
Harry had almost stepped on a nearly invisible mark in the stone floor, and he knelt down to examine it. An idea struck him, and he used his sword to press it lightly. Instantly a dart, undoubtedly poisoned, shot out of a hidden recess and clanged into the blade before falling to the floor. The stones hissed as the poison dripped from the tip and began to dissolve the stone. Harry raised his staff to increase the available light, and saw several more such markings on the floor, spaced just right so that one could not possibly pass safely unless one had feet the size of a house elf's and the jumping abilities of a hyperactive bullfrog.
Instead of trying to pick his way across gingerly, Harry levitated himself across the booby trap to the door, checking his landing area for more traps before setting down. The door had no handle and gave no indication on how to open it. After a moment, he just knocked and waited.
A few seconds passed, then a voice asked rudely, "What?" Harry answered with the same phrase that he had given the statue and the snakes. "Oh yeah? Prove it!" came the answer in an even snider tone. Harry spread his hands in exasperation. "How do I prove it, other than that I am here?" His right hand waved over where a handle should have been, and abruptly the voice changed its tone. "Oh, my lord, you have come. Quick, enter and you shall find what you seek."
Sounds were heard as locks were opened, and Harry tried to puzzle out what he had done when the door creaked open to reveal a brightly lit room, as if filled with sunlight. Squinting after being used to the dim lights of the other rooms, he stepped inside and scanned the room. It was empty of furnishings, but the walls were carved with images and runes, depictions of battles and ancient incantations.
Harry wandered over to inspect them, noting the exquisite work and the spells described with an almost reverent eye. As soon as he touched it though, one of the warriors rippled and moved out of the wall, quickly filling out to become a man standing with full armor and a drawn sword. He smiled in greeting, incongruous to his battle gear, and stated, "I have been waiting for you. I knew you would find this place eventually. Before you can have the talisman, however, you must pass a final task."
Harry nodded, so one gauntleted hand snapped, and a baby boy materialized on the floor, sound asleep. "This little one," he indicated the slumbering child "will grow up to become the greatest dark wizard the world has ever faced. Right now his mother has named him Tom Riddle. But once a man he will be know as Lord Voldemort. Kill him and you can have the dagger."
Harry glanced from the warrior to the baby disbelievingly. "You must be joking." "I assure you, I am quite serious." Harry shook his head firmly. "I can't kill a baby. He's innocent." "For now yes. But remember, he will grow up to murder your own parents and threaten all those you hold dear. Destroy him now before he can do that, before he can create that unholy alliance with the creature. Only then will I give you the dagger."
Harry felt torn, but followed his heart. "No. No matter what he will do, he is not a danger now. Killing in battle or in judgment is honorable, but this is murder." He spat the word out in disgust. "I would be no better than Voldemort if I killed a harmless baby." The two warriors stared each other in the eye, a silent battle of wills passing between them.
Then the guardian smiled. "Your heart is right, young phoenix. Look closer." Harry warily bent down to examine the baby. With a gasp he recognized, hidden under a lock of dark hair, a familiar lightning scar on the baby's forehead. "Yes. It is you. If you had killed him, you would have destroyed yourself. You and Voldemort happen to share many things in common, but as you know; your choices determine what you really are. Remember this and take your inheritance."
The warrior knelt down on one knee and raised up a dagger in his palms for Harry to take. It was exquisitely crafted of ivory and steel, undecorated except for a golden depiction of the Millennium Eye on the blade near the hilt. Harry reached out and grasped it with a steady hand.
Instantly he was no longer in the underground room or in anyplace really, but someplace without space or time, a place that was completely foreign yet unmistakably familiar at the same time. It throbbed with magic, the strings that tied everything together visible, crisscrossing his vision. He felt the power of ht universe at his fingertips, and could feel knowledge being poured, pounded, and pushed into every synapse in his brain, more information than even the archives in the shadow realm held.
In the mass of new revelations, Harry clearly heard a voice chanting softly, speaking to his heart:
A great evil shall arise, more terrible than any before.
A shroud of darkness will fall, enslaving all, impenetrable save for one.
A child shall be born of light, the blood of the four in his veins.
Bright as a star, the heir of Merlin joins with the angel's light.
He alone can shoulder the burden, holding the fire in his soul.
Only he can defeat the darkness, with the fire of the sky as his sign,
And the strength of the lion in his heart.
Darkness rises, darkness falls, but the light will always prevail.
The Prophecy, Harry knew it, spoken long before Merlin or Hogwarts ever existed, hidden for so long by the ancient magical forces. He felt brave yet terrified, overwhelmed yet free, omnipotent yet so fragile. The contradictions seemed natural as multitudes of colors surrounded him, each a different type of magic. He watched as stars were born and died, places created and destroyed, lives flashing past in less time than it takes for a heart to beat. He felt, saw, sensed, experienced everything at once.
His senses overloaded; it was too much, too fast. His mortal mind could not process it. Finally he fainted, leaving behind most of the knowledge, the powers, the colors and the visions as an all encompassing darkness closed over him.
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Ron was worried. He had sent a message to Harry on his birthday, which had been four days ago, and his friend had yet to respond. The Weasleys had hoped that Harry could come to their house for a surprise birthday party, but never received an answer. Everyone was concerned, as they considered the orphaned teen a part of their family.
Ron tried messaging Sirius and Dumbledore, hoping that maybe his parchment was not working correctly. He had received fairly rapid responses that they would try to reach Harry. But no luck. Ron desperately wished he could send Hedwig with a note; at least with that method he knew if something was wrong with the delivery system or the receiver. But she could not find her master, he was too well hidden.
Hermione was also staying at the Burrow this summer. She arrived the day before Harry's birthday because her parents left on a business trip to a dental conference in America. While she and Ron did manage to find some time to be alone together, they always had to be wary of prying family members, particularly the twins, whose joke shop was really revving up.
Still, now Hermione fretted about Harry worse than ever. He was like the brother she never had, and she worried about him almost as much as Mrs. Weasley. Knowing Harry Potter gave them gray hairs. Sirius was not much better off, to be judged by the tone of the messages he wrote frequently.
Dumbledore was more concerned that no new attacks had been reported in over a week. Usually no news was good news, but not with Voldemort. It simply meant he was planning something big. An attack might explain his student's long silence, but nothing . . . That led to guessing and assumptions, which in turn could easily trigger a panic. He devoutly wished Harry had given him something to track him down with. Instead, all anyone could do was worry and wait.
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Harry groaned and rolled over onto his back. *Where the hell am I?* His eyes felt gritty and did not want to open very wide, objecting to the light shining in them. His entire body was stiff and sore, as if he had run the length of the UK and collapsed while on the way back. He lay still as memory returned, the dagger still clenched tight in one fist.
Gradually his other senses rebooted, and he discovered he was lying on a grass and heather covered hilltop; it was a bright and sunny summer morning, and he was famished. Slowly he sat up as stiff muscles protested angrily at the movement. Dragging his pack onto his lap and pulling out a few energy bars, he munched these as he surveyed his surroundings. With a jolt he realized he recognized these hills. His home should be just over the next hill. Wearily he pressed himself up and stumbled towards his sanctuary. He was never happier to see anything in his entire life.
Harry entered the kitchen and proceeded to eat everything and anything he could get his hands on. While a full dinner cooked in the oven (it tasted better than if heated strictly by magic), he carried a plate with a huge sandwich, crisps, and a tall glass of milk to the table. As he ate, he happened to glance at the calendar. It said August 7th.
Harry dropped the sandwich in shock. He had been out for a full week! Agitated, he summoned the IMP to him and received the messages waiting for his perusal. Groaning, he skimmed the over three dozen messages as they scrolled across the parchment. How was he going to explain this one? He could not tell them everything quite yet, and besides, they would never believe him. Harry had trouble believing it himself. He read and pondered as he consumed the sandwich, then started on the chicken and potatoes with broccoli, rice, and cheese-topped celery sticks, and topping it all of with a hot cherry cobbler and vanilla ice cream. Whatever that episode was with the dagger, it certainly sucked a lot out of him.
He yawned hugely as he considered the dilemma on what to tell his friends for now. Finally he picked up a quill, scribbled off a quick "I'm all right. Sorry I took a few days to get back to you. Long story, will explain later." He sent this to all the IMPs, then went upstairs and collapsed on the bed, sound asleep long before his head hit the pillow in a thankfully dreamless unconsciousness.
Watch out: more symbolism coming your way. Ignore it if you want, but if you're a geek like me you'll analyze it thoroughly and realize that I'm sending you a subliminal message in my writing. Some might be spoilers for later chapters. And Harry likes to pass out a lot in this fic. I'm sorry, that's just the way it plays out. I'll try to keep him conscious longer.
Disclaimer: the usual. You recognize it, I had no part in its creation. I just play with it. Thanks to ruskbyte for some inspiration. If you've read his fics, you know what I'm talking about.
[_] means Parseltongue.
Chapter 12
The first month of summer passed in a blur for Harry, between communicating with his friends and countering Voldemort's attacks, which now included the demon armies. His nights were filled with dream visions of research in the ancient archives of the Guardians, pouring over old scroll, parchments, and tomes which translated themselves as he read. They held tons of information on the ancient world, which was actually very fascinating. Hermione would kill to be allowed in this room. But there was one thing about this that bothered him.
Several times Harry came across references to a prophecy, an ancient one that the Guardians apparently held in great respect and fear. But after mentioning it, the author would change the subject. It was clear that whatever this prophecy said, it was essential to Harry's fight against darkness, but he could not find the actual words anywhere. Almost if they were afraid of mentioning it more than in passing.
Harry slammed a thick tome down in frustration, sending up clouds of dust from the old wooden table littered with parchment. Not only was the search seemingly impossible, Lady Death had not spoken to him since their initial meeting. Add that to the fact that he could never recall his dreams once he woke up, despite all his best efforts, and one could understand why he was royally pissed.
The battles in the real world were not going well either. Harry had now become an expert on healing charms and potions due to the sheer number of casualties each attack produced. Since the inclusion of the demons in the attacks, many more were dying horrible deaths. Normal wizards could not withstand the demons: they were immune to most spells, tougher than dragons, insanely fast, and completely bloodthirsty. Harry had trouble with them as it was, even with his staff and enhanced powers. The Order was always present at these skirmishes, usually arriving just before the main force of Aurors, but long after Harry aka Wraith. He was still able to sneak into Voldemort's fortress, but it was getting too risky. The demons seemed to sense his presence and would alert their master. Twice now Harry had almost been caught in the castle and had to escape before they could launch a full scale search. He was working on how to correct the problem.
Harry received a copy of the Daily Prophet every day at breakfast, so he was able to keep an eye on normal wizarding news. Unfortunately for him, a novice reporter looking to make a name for herself in Rita Skeeter's continued absence had published a piece just a few days before his birthday, stating that Harry had disappeared again and was presumed dead at the hands of Voldemort.
The next day the editorial section was filled with angry letters form his friends saying Harry was perfectly fine, they were in contact with him, and to quit bothering him. Harry himself wrote a deliciously nasty letter reiterating their statements, commenting that true journalists with a shred of decency check veracity before printing such an inflammatory report. Much to his chagrin the letter was reprinted on the front page the very next day, under the banner headline "HARRY POTTER DENIES REPORT OF HIS DEATH." That night his IMP was full of messages from people congratulating him. He just shook his head.
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Harry was in the middle of sorting through a bunch of scrolls, looking for one that he had not already read through, when he felt his arm burn softly. He groaned and rolled his eyes. *Not again.* The research he was attempting to do was made extra frustrating by the fact that nearly every night he was interrupted and pulled back to his own world to deal with yet another attack.
*Yep, there it goes.* The pain in his arm always woke him up from the dream visions, and he opened his eyes to see the familiar ceiling above his bed. Checking the clock as he rolled out from under the warm sheets, he grimaced at the realization that it was nearly 2 in the morning. *Don't these bastards ever sleep? Oh, wait, evil never sleeps, so that means the good guys can't either.* He grumbled to himself as he threw on what he termed his hunting clothes, double checked his weapons, pinpointed the location of the attack on his screens, and Apparated away.
The first thing Harry became aware of was the smell. The sharp, tangy odor of burning wood mixed with the scent of blood and the stink of the demons. A sense of fear hung in the air with the smoke, and screams rang through the trashed streets. The spot where Harry had appeared was deserted, so he made his way quickly toward the center of town, where the Death Eaters were concentrated, passing several dead bodies in the road.
Harry kept to the shadows as he surveyed the scene. The black-robed figures stood in a loose circle around a group of writhing bodies. They were playing their favorite game of torturing Muggles and laughing. Harry spotted at least three young children in the circle, yelling and crying for their parents as they experienced the incredible pain of the Cruciatus. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and turned his disgust and sadness into rage and hate towards those who dared laugh at torturing children.
As Wraith he stepped out of the shadows and gestured with one hand, canceling the curse and halting the agonized screams. The Death Eaters turned as a whole as he snarled out, "You bastards. You think you can gain power by torturing the weak. All you've managed to do is piss me off." With a thought the Dark wizards were all pinned to the ground by an immense force cutting off their airways. Over the strangled gasps and chokes he added maliciously, "It's not wise to piss me off."
Wraith lifted a hand, and simultaneously a shield was cast over the huddled group of innocents, and the Death Eaters' wands flew toward him, where they burst into flame a few feet from him. He growled deep in his throat and advanced toward the pinned wizards, lifting the suffocation curse even as he prepared to cast a pain curse.
Wraith was so intent on punishing the Death Eaters that he almost missed the dark shapes gathering in the shadows. As it was, he caught a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision and he jerked his head sharply to the side. That was his only warning as literally dozens of hideous demons leapt out at him from the buildings where they had hidden in wait. A trap.
Wraith mentally berated himself as he dodged the initial rush and pulled out his wand and sword simultaneously. *Idiot! You knew they were around! You should have checked before barging in to play the hero!* He raised his wand and cast a banishing charm to send the creatures hurtling back a bit and clearing him some space to work. A nasty looking one ran at him, holding a double-bladed axe, and swung with tremendous strength at his head. Wraith ducked and sliced, carving a nice X in the demon's innards, and it collapsed. The next one received a couple of extra-strength poison darts in the eyes, and soon Wraith was fighting frantically as blood sprayed.
Wraith winced as a fierce burning sensation slashed across his concealed scar, and he turned while dispatching another demon to see Voldemort standing at the edge of the town square, illuminated by the flames from the burning buildings, and simply watching the melee with a small cruel smile twisting his lipless mouth. Wraith bared his own teeth in a silent snarl and decapitated a feisty demon, its dark putrid blood speckling his face. Fatigue began to pull at him, and he was slightly too slow in blocking a dagger, earning himself a nice gash across his arm before gutting the offender with his sword.
Abruptly a chorus of "pop!" rang out as the Order Apparated in with a full force of Aurors. They immediately assessed the situation and stunned the still-pinned Death Eaters before running to assist Wraith who was surrounded by the demon hoards. Wraith roared out, "NO! Stay back!" as the demons turned, snarling toward the newcomers. Voldemort chose that time to let out a high cold laugh, drawing attention to himself and away from his servants. Wraith knew that unless he did something drastic, many more would die here tonight.
With a muttered word, his staff appeared in his hands. He cast a shield charm around himself strong enough to hold off the demons; he needed his full attention for this, and could not be distracted by them. Closing his eyes, he focused calling the powers of the earth, asking it as an Element to obey him. At the same time he sent a thought through the staff, using it to channel it into reality. The ground shuddered for a moment, and a bright light shot out of the ruby on the top of the staff to strike Voldemort just as the Dark Lord was pulling his wand. A brief look of surprise crossed his face before he disappeared.
Now that the watcher was gone and he was free to work, Wraith refocused his full attention on the earth. It trembled again, and a giant crevasse opened up at his feet, the ground ripping apart to form a mouth that swallowed the demon armies whole. They fell shrieking and wailing, ricocheting off exposed rocks as they tumbled down into the very depths of the earth. The gathered wizards watched with wide fearful eyes. Even Dumbledore was amazed at the sheer power in this spectacle.
Once the last of the demons present has disappeared, the ground rocked again and closed with a huge thunderous crash, sending everyone to their knees. When they looked up, no trace of the crack remained, and Wraith knelt there gasping, once again empty handed. He slowly got to his feet, and with a shaky snap of his fingers the last of the fires was extinguished. On slightly unsteady legs he walked over to the huddled Muggles, removing the shield and crouching down next to the crying children as the other wizards worked at helping restore the town.
"Here, let me look at you," Wraith got their attention with a gentle voice. He touched each of their heads softly, finding the pain and the physical damage and healing it. To cover any after effects he got them to drink a little bit of one of his healing potions. One of them, a little girl with wide brown eyes, simply stared at him with tears running down her cheeks. He sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders.
"Are you alright?" he asked her quietly. She shook her head. "The bad men, they hurt me real bad." "Yes I know. What's your name?" "Holly." Do you feel better now, Holly?" She nodded, then said, "They killed Mommy. And Daddy. And Ericka. She's my older sister." The tears ran faster, and she looked to be holding back sobs.
Wraith's heart broke. He leaned over and gathered her in a hug, rocking back and forth as she shook, weeping in his arms. He buried his face in her soft hair, comforting her as best he could, and trying to temporarily shield her from the horrible reality. She was now an orphan like him, but she had had to watch her family die. Nothing could make that pain go away, nor the memories fade. So he simply held her tight.
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Wraith stood at the edge of town, gazing down at the ruined buildings and ruined lives. He sighed deeply with exhaustion and sadness, still feeling the burning flame of rage toward Voldemort. He would pay, for this night and all the others just like it. For the terror his madness caused, and for all the broken families. Wraith felt the approach of another wizard, and let him come closer without turning. Albus Dumbledore clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"You did a fine job out there tonight. That was . . . impressive, to say the least. How are you doing, by the way?" Wraith responded neutrally, "The arm'll be fine in a few hours. Have a couple of broken ribs from a nasty kick, but those'll heal right up once the potion kicks in. No major damage." Dumbledore looked sidelong at him. "Spoken like a true soldier," he commented dryly. "I meant, how are you doing? I saw you with the little girl."
Wraith grimaced almost imperceptibly. "Holly just lost her entire family. Saw them murdered before her eyes, then was tortured for fun. I . . . I had to do something." He looked down at his hands. "Seeing kids being tortured, and then they were laughing . . . I wanted to kill them, to make them feel the pain they caused. I got careless . . . forgot about the demons, I just wanted to punish them." He gazed into the distance, seeing something other than Dumbledore's face. "She's an orphan, just like me, but she had to watch it. I was there when my parents were murdered, but I don't remember it. She will. She'll have nightmares about it." He shuddered. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone."
Dumbledore nodded solemnly, the twinkle in his eyes reduced by the shadow of pain. "You understand how she feels and knew she needed comforting only one who knows could give. I'm sorry." He glanced over at the young warrior with a little more sparkle in his old eyes. "You are good with children though. I can see that." Wraith nodded distantly, pain reflected in his eyes, before he gave a tremendous yawn. He checked his watch. It was nearly 5 am, and he was almost asleep on his feet. Dumbledore gave him a slight smile, then grew serious.
"One more thing. What did you do to Voldemort?" Wraith fluttered his hand vaguely. "I didn't want him there anymore. He wanted to watch the demons kill you all, so was serving as a distraction. I can't kill him just yet, timing's wrong, so I sent him away." Dumbledore frowned in confusion. "Away? Away to where?"
"Near as I can tell, somewhere in Tibet, around the general vicinity of Mount Everest. Maybe he'll make friends with the yaks." Wraith grinned tiredly and bid the startled headmaster goodnight before Apparating home.
While taking off his trenchrobe and morphing back to his usual form, Harry noticed something small and shiny black on the shoulder of his robe. On closer inspection it appeared to be a wizard tracking devise, newly invented and put into use by the Aurors. Harry shook his head. Either he really was tired, or the old man was getting sneakier as the years passed. It did not really matter, since the entire area around the house was completely Unplottable and nothing could track inside of it. Still, why take chances?
Harry concentrated and the little black dot in his hand shimmered and disappeared. He smiled grimly as he climbed the stairs again and passed out on his bed, his consciousness returning to his research in the shadow archives. They would have a fun time tracking him down in Norway.
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Several days later, on July 31st to be exact, Harry Potter woke with his mind racing frantically and heart pounding. It was his 16th birthday, but that did not register in his flustered state. No, something had occurred that had pushed the thought of celebration clear out of his head.
He remembered.
He could recall his dream visions of the shadow realm where the city of the Guardians was now, and realized why. Last night he was back searching through the farthest stacks of the archives when he came across a scroll lying misplaced by the bottom of a stack of old tomes threatening to topple over into a stack of bookcases. This one appeared to be old and tattered, until he touched it.
Suddenly it glowed golden and a flowing script traced itself over clean, new-looking parchment. Astonished, Harry read eagerly. It seemed to be a journal of sorts, of one of the Guardians assigned to dispose of the second talisman, a dagger by the description. It traced the path the warriors took as they left a confusing trail for anything that tried to follow them. The talisman was highly sought after despite its dangers, and the warriors chosen were the most skilled and brave of those who volunteered for the difficult and vitally important journey.
The journal writer left clues to the exact location of the talisman's hiding place. He never mentioned the name of the deserted island, but did say that it was filled with carved stone heads left by a race older than the Guardians' knowledge. In order to confuse any who would come after them, the warriors had multiplied the number of statues originally present. However, the entrance to the chamber the talisman was hidden in was under the only head that was not duplicated on the entire island.
The writer has added a small entry at the end of the journal that encouraged Harry. "I am comforted by the fact that this journal will be stored in our city archives, where one day the one of the Prophecy will come. Only that One will be able to break the enchantments our Leaders have placed on this. Only the One will have the knowledge to read this and follow the clues I have laboriously and dutifully recorded.
You travel with the blessings and powers of the Guardians at your side. I pray for your strength and determination, for not all who travel the shadowlands return. Godspeed to you."
Harry had considered these words written so long ago specifically to him, even as he had memorized the entire journal. *I guess Death was right. I am the One. Damn!*
Harry bolted out of bed and threw on his battle clothes, mentally reviewing the clues as he packed a small bag of essentials and strapped on his weapons. Now that he knew where the dagger was hidden, it was essential that he collect it as soon as possible to prevent Voldemort from acquiring it. He stopped himself as he ran downstairs, taking the time to calm himself and double check that he had everything in order, then grabbed a quick breakfast before leaving the house.
He ran over the moors and the highlands, putting distance between himself and the property to prevent the possibility of tracking. He did not want to take the chance of the Dark forces finding his home, or worse, where he traveled to. Away from his wards he could actually disguise the portal signature better than within them. Finally reaching the summit of a hill over five miles away from his house, he made sure he was alone before creating the dimensional portal. He stepped through to land on what is now known as Easter Island.
The tiny island seemed deserted, and no wonder. Here it was the middle of the winter's night, and a bitterly cold wind cut right through his padded clothes before Harry cast a warming charm. He pulled his wand and with a muttered "Lumos," he had enough light to examine the statues. He glanced around and sighed. It was going to be a long night.
As the hours passed, he was exceptionally grateful for his increased memory retention as he compared the carved faces, searching for the sole individual without a twin. The sun was just starting to peek above the horizon by the time he found it, a face of average height but with a forbidding expression promising unspeakable things to those who would disturb it or its treasure. Harry circled it three times, then tapped its right eye in a set pattern.
The eyes of stone came alive, blinked and glared fiercely at the teen. He stared right back defiantly, and said the incantation in the ancient tongue, "I am the One of prophecy come for my inheritance." The head slid over, revealing a circular staircase leading deep into the earth. With a final glance around, he disappeared into the earth, and the stone slid back over him, returning the island to its normal silent, watchful state.
A soft glow seemed to emanate from the walls to illuminate the way. Harry walked for what seemed like forever, circling round and round and round while descending deeper. Even with his stamina and strength, his legs were cramping up with exertion and fatigue by the time he spotted the bottom. The stairs led to a narrow stone corridor, wet and slimy with mold that broadened out into a huge cavern. Harry guessed he was miles beneath the surface of the ocean, and examined everything intently, expecting traps and ambushes, senses on high alert.
He pocketed his wand and took out his staff, ready for anything as he slowly walked through the cavern. A flash of movement caught the corner of his eye, and he whipped around. Suddenly an army of skeletons armed with swords, shields, spears, and bows all surrounded him and attacked. Harry used his staff to blast the front lines to pieces, then tossed it to his left hand while his right seized his own sword from its sheath.
The skeletons closed in, all moving lightning fast with extraordinary skill. But Harry was faster. He leaped in the air to avoid a slashing attack and spat fireballs in all directions, decimating ranks as dozens burst into flames before crumpling to dust. He landed and parried another attack, then swept his blade through three of them, shattering them, spun and ducked even as he stabbed at another. With a wave of his hand, dozens of walking dead warriors were flung against the rock wall and collapsed into piles of dust.
*Not very sturdy, are they?* Harry smirked slightly to himself before calling up a tornado that picked up the remaining walking bones and crushed them into each other. A few flew at the teen, which he took care of with his sword. Soon the battle was over, and the chamber was deserted again except for the dust on the floor as Harry walked to the other side and exited.
He was in another room, pitch blackness enveloping everything. Raising his staff, he risked some illumination and the ruby shone brightly, almost white. At first he could not figure out why the floor was moving in such an odd fashion. Then with a jolt he realized it was covered with thousands upon thousands of snakes. They slid up to him, hissing angrily at the intruder, and several coiled around his legs, preventing him from moving.
[An intruder,] a huge constrictor hissed. [What shall we do with him?] A viper spoke up, eyeing Harry with a gleam in his eyes. [It has been a long time since we have had something new and delicious to eat. I say we kill him and eat him.]
[I wouldn't if I were you] Harry hissed back, and the snakes at large coiled back in surprise. [What is this? A human who can speak our tongue?] The constrictor appeared shocked, or at least it would if Harry could interpret snake facial expressions. [Yes, I can speak your tongue and understand it. You were placed here as a trap for all those who seek the talisman, yes?]
The general volume level of hissing rose, and a smaller cobra spoke up. [Correct, young speaker. We are to kill all those whose quest is for the talisman, except for the One appointed to receive it.] Harry grinned in relief at those words. [Good, because I am the One of prophecy come for my inheritance.] There was a sharp hiss, almost a gasp, and then the snakes wiggled and slithered to make a path for him through the room. As he walked among them, he noticed they seemed to be bowing down to him. When he reached the far door he turned.
[There may be another one who can speak your language who comes after me. He is my enemy, so do with him as you were instructed long ago.] Hisses of agreement followed him as he continued to the next room. This room also appeared empty, and he spotted a door on the far side, but resisted the urge to run to it, instead searching for more traps. He found one just as he was about to set it off.
Harry had almost stepped on a nearly invisible mark in the stone floor, and he knelt down to examine it. An idea struck him, and he used his sword to press it lightly. Instantly a dart, undoubtedly poisoned, shot out of a hidden recess and clanged into the blade before falling to the floor. The stones hissed as the poison dripped from the tip and began to dissolve the stone. Harry raised his staff to increase the available light, and saw several more such markings on the floor, spaced just right so that one could not possibly pass safely unless one had feet the size of a house elf's and the jumping abilities of a hyperactive bullfrog.
Instead of trying to pick his way across gingerly, Harry levitated himself across the booby trap to the door, checking his landing area for more traps before setting down. The door had no handle and gave no indication on how to open it. After a moment, he just knocked and waited.
A few seconds passed, then a voice asked rudely, "What?" Harry answered with the same phrase that he had given the statue and the snakes. "Oh yeah? Prove it!" came the answer in an even snider tone. Harry spread his hands in exasperation. "How do I prove it, other than that I am here?" His right hand waved over where a handle should have been, and abruptly the voice changed its tone. "Oh, my lord, you have come. Quick, enter and you shall find what you seek."
Sounds were heard as locks were opened, and Harry tried to puzzle out what he had done when the door creaked open to reveal a brightly lit room, as if filled with sunlight. Squinting after being used to the dim lights of the other rooms, he stepped inside and scanned the room. It was empty of furnishings, but the walls were carved with images and runes, depictions of battles and ancient incantations.
Harry wandered over to inspect them, noting the exquisite work and the spells described with an almost reverent eye. As soon as he touched it though, one of the warriors rippled and moved out of the wall, quickly filling out to become a man standing with full armor and a drawn sword. He smiled in greeting, incongruous to his battle gear, and stated, "I have been waiting for you. I knew you would find this place eventually. Before you can have the talisman, however, you must pass a final task."
Harry nodded, so one gauntleted hand snapped, and a baby boy materialized on the floor, sound asleep. "This little one," he indicated the slumbering child "will grow up to become the greatest dark wizard the world has ever faced. Right now his mother has named him Tom Riddle. But once a man he will be know as Lord Voldemort. Kill him and you can have the dagger."
Harry glanced from the warrior to the baby disbelievingly. "You must be joking." "I assure you, I am quite serious." Harry shook his head firmly. "I can't kill a baby. He's innocent." "For now yes. But remember, he will grow up to murder your own parents and threaten all those you hold dear. Destroy him now before he can do that, before he can create that unholy alliance with the creature. Only then will I give you the dagger."
Harry felt torn, but followed his heart. "No. No matter what he will do, he is not a danger now. Killing in battle or in judgment is honorable, but this is murder." He spat the word out in disgust. "I would be no better than Voldemort if I killed a harmless baby." The two warriors stared each other in the eye, a silent battle of wills passing between them.
Then the guardian smiled. "Your heart is right, young phoenix. Look closer." Harry warily bent down to examine the baby. With a gasp he recognized, hidden under a lock of dark hair, a familiar lightning scar on the baby's forehead. "Yes. It is you. If you had killed him, you would have destroyed yourself. You and Voldemort happen to share many things in common, but as you know; your choices determine what you really are. Remember this and take your inheritance."
The warrior knelt down on one knee and raised up a dagger in his palms for Harry to take. It was exquisitely crafted of ivory and steel, undecorated except for a golden depiction of the Millennium Eye on the blade near the hilt. Harry reached out and grasped it with a steady hand.
Instantly he was no longer in the underground room or in anyplace really, but someplace without space or time, a place that was completely foreign yet unmistakably familiar at the same time. It throbbed with magic, the strings that tied everything together visible, crisscrossing his vision. He felt the power of ht universe at his fingertips, and could feel knowledge being poured, pounded, and pushed into every synapse in his brain, more information than even the archives in the shadow realm held.
In the mass of new revelations, Harry clearly heard a voice chanting softly, speaking to his heart:
A great evil shall arise, more terrible than any before.
A shroud of darkness will fall, enslaving all, impenetrable save for one.
A child shall be born of light, the blood of the four in his veins.
Bright as a star, the heir of Merlin joins with the angel's light.
He alone can shoulder the burden, holding the fire in his soul.
Only he can defeat the darkness, with the fire of the sky as his sign,
And the strength of the lion in his heart.
Darkness rises, darkness falls, but the light will always prevail.
The Prophecy, Harry knew it, spoken long before Merlin or Hogwarts ever existed, hidden for so long by the ancient magical forces. He felt brave yet terrified, overwhelmed yet free, omnipotent yet so fragile. The contradictions seemed natural as multitudes of colors surrounded him, each a different type of magic. He watched as stars were born and died, places created and destroyed, lives flashing past in less time than it takes for a heart to beat. He felt, saw, sensed, experienced everything at once.
His senses overloaded; it was too much, too fast. His mortal mind could not process it. Finally he fainted, leaving behind most of the knowledge, the powers, the colors and the visions as an all encompassing darkness closed over him.
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Ron was worried. He had sent a message to Harry on his birthday, which had been four days ago, and his friend had yet to respond. The Weasleys had hoped that Harry could come to their house for a surprise birthday party, but never received an answer. Everyone was concerned, as they considered the orphaned teen a part of their family.
Ron tried messaging Sirius and Dumbledore, hoping that maybe his parchment was not working correctly. He had received fairly rapid responses that they would try to reach Harry. But no luck. Ron desperately wished he could send Hedwig with a note; at least with that method he knew if something was wrong with the delivery system or the receiver. But she could not find her master, he was too well hidden.
Hermione was also staying at the Burrow this summer. She arrived the day before Harry's birthday because her parents left on a business trip to a dental conference in America. While she and Ron did manage to find some time to be alone together, they always had to be wary of prying family members, particularly the twins, whose joke shop was really revving up.
Still, now Hermione fretted about Harry worse than ever. He was like the brother she never had, and she worried about him almost as much as Mrs. Weasley. Knowing Harry Potter gave them gray hairs. Sirius was not much better off, to be judged by the tone of the messages he wrote frequently.
Dumbledore was more concerned that no new attacks had been reported in over a week. Usually no news was good news, but not with Voldemort. It simply meant he was planning something big. An attack might explain his student's long silence, but nothing . . . That led to guessing and assumptions, which in turn could easily trigger a panic. He devoutly wished Harry had given him something to track him down with. Instead, all anyone could do was worry and wait.
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Harry groaned and rolled over onto his back. *Where the hell am I?* His eyes felt gritty and did not want to open very wide, objecting to the light shining in them. His entire body was stiff and sore, as if he had run the length of the UK and collapsed while on the way back. He lay still as memory returned, the dagger still clenched tight in one fist.
Gradually his other senses rebooted, and he discovered he was lying on a grass and heather covered hilltop; it was a bright and sunny summer morning, and he was famished. Slowly he sat up as stiff muscles protested angrily at the movement. Dragging his pack onto his lap and pulling out a few energy bars, he munched these as he surveyed his surroundings. With a jolt he realized he recognized these hills. His home should be just over the next hill. Wearily he pressed himself up and stumbled towards his sanctuary. He was never happier to see anything in his entire life.
Harry entered the kitchen and proceeded to eat everything and anything he could get his hands on. While a full dinner cooked in the oven (it tasted better than if heated strictly by magic), he carried a plate with a huge sandwich, crisps, and a tall glass of milk to the table. As he ate, he happened to glance at the calendar. It said August 7th.
Harry dropped the sandwich in shock. He had been out for a full week! Agitated, he summoned the IMP to him and received the messages waiting for his perusal. Groaning, he skimmed the over three dozen messages as they scrolled across the parchment. How was he going to explain this one? He could not tell them everything quite yet, and besides, they would never believe him. Harry had trouble believing it himself. He read and pondered as he consumed the sandwich, then started on the chicken and potatoes with broccoli, rice, and cheese-topped celery sticks, and topping it all of with a hot cherry cobbler and vanilla ice cream. Whatever that episode was with the dagger, it certainly sucked a lot out of him.
He yawned hugely as he considered the dilemma on what to tell his friends for now. Finally he picked up a quill, scribbled off a quick "I'm all right. Sorry I took a few days to get back to you. Long story, will explain later." He sent this to all the IMPs, then went upstairs and collapsed on the bed, sound asleep long before his head hit the pillow in a thankfully dreamless unconsciousness.