The Demons Hidden Within
Chapter 3: Troubled Dreams
(reposted)
*~*~*
"I don't like the idea of this prophecy being set in stone." Hermione tried to rationalize once again in the pre-dawn common room.
For three hours now she had been attempting to rationalize against my fate. Her reaction had been simple: pure disbelief. Well, there'd been a circle: disbelief, anger, tears, a bit of acceptance . . . But in the end, all her feelings had revolved back to the initial skepticism.
It was the beginning of our seventh year when I confided the Lost Prophecy in Hermione. After my sixth year of solitude and rejection of my classmates I was feeling all too clearly that tug of need for someone to just listen to my plight. I finally broke after the first week of school. Seventh year classes, in preparation for N.E.W.T.s, were enough to break anyone, but when I stumbled into the common room after a particularly harsh Occlumency lesson with Snape everything had finally collapsed around me. And Hermione had been there.
For her part she listened and I silently thanked her for that. Yet, when I had talked myself out, she put in her fair say also. As much as she assured me, it was frustrating when she wouldn't admit to he slightest possibility that the prophecy could be correct. That I could, indeed, be the wizarding world's last hope against Voldemort: the one, and only one, holding the unknown weapon that might destroy him. And even at that it was only a "might," the resistance may be all for nothing in the end.
"It's the most imprecise branch of magic, I know!" I finally said in exasperation.
Hermione looked at me, a bit of fright in her eyes. I couldn't blame her, as I was scared myself. I had been frightened beyond comprehension for the past year with the prospect of kill or be killed before me. Sleep eluded me, and I never comprehended that it may never return to its normal fervor.
"I know," I whispered, on the verge of another mental breakdown. "But no matter how many times that mantra is repeated, the fact remains that this prophecy is true."
"I can't believe that," she said in determination to convince the both of us.
I looked into her eyes and after those agonizing three hours I finally understood. I turned away and became entranced in the glowing embers of the fire.
"You don't *want* to believe." I knew I sounded bitter, but I had to tell her.
She closed her eyes at my words, trying to organize her thoughts. She knew she had to tread carefully now else she would lose me in angry remarks.
"Perhaps," she replied, composing herself. "But even so, we have to chose our own paths in life, you included. And no 'Lost Prophecy' can change all that. It can't rule you."
Never, I believed, had Hermione been so caught up in her misjudgment. She refused to accept the prophecy as fact because then her whole world of "free choice" would come tumbling down. That world had only ever been a mirage in the desert of existence, but now she held on to it firm.
"Hermione, you spent a year with a time turner, and you're still telling me that pre-destination is only an illusion?"
I knew that I had hurt her with my sharp tone, but I couldn't bring myself to give her sympathy when I had also been forced through the shattering of my personal reality. Turning away, lost in her thoughts, she muttered "Oedipus Rex" to herself.
"Who . . .?" I asked cautiously.
After six years, it was still a bit scary when she came across a sudden revelation and not in one's best interest to interrupt her when in the process. I still hated when she went off on her tangents and expected everyone to know what she was talking about. Even with that dislike, I had still not read Hogwarts, a History (mainly out of spite). To my amazement she didn't scoff at my questioning, instead she turned back and gave me a wane smile through the dim light.
"Oedipus Rex . . . it's just some random mythology. The actions taken to prevent a prophecy merely make it come about," she tried to shrug it off, but at my piercing 'What the Hell?' look she explained more. "Voldemort tried to prevent you from living long enough to wield 'the power to vanquish' him, and in doing so 'marked' you . . . By him trying to prevent the prophecy it was fulfilled. The prophecy caused itself."
Pushing the seeming randomness from my mind, I nodded so that she would think I understood and would stop taxing my reasoning ability. With my current worries, no logic was derived from it, but little did I know that it would show up later and making perfect sense when I became lost in its recesses.
~~~~~~~~
Red eyes glared down at me, cat's pupils dilated. If the being before me possessed any feelings, I may have classified the look as scared. As it was, he was merely calculating. I thought I had lost any will of movement in my limbs, but that was clearly not the case as my wand swished downwards seemingly of its own accord.
"Avada Kedavra!" Two voices yelled at the same moment.
The green jets of light from both our wands collided in midair. Our wands once again connected with a stand of emerald. Unable to move from the spell, I waited for the traditional cage to form. Yet, it didn't appear. A sphere of red light began to surface in the middle of the strand. I focussed my will on it, trying to force it towards Voldemort's wand as he attempted the same. Our wills met and the sphere grew larger, feeding off of us both.
I shifted my will to contain also the overwhelming emotions I harbored inside. All the hope I had for a future beyond this night went into the sphere. All my faith in a better world followed it. All the love and caring I had felt. Thoughts of Sirius. Thoughts of my friends. Thoughts of the family I never had but always saw.
The ball began to pull in the green strands, taking Voldemort and I closer to it. As the tip of my wand became immersed in the dazzling scarlet, I regained motion in my arm and jerked it out.
The connection broke and the sphere of raw power exploded around me. A large shard caught my wand-hand. My fingers crushed under the pressure, but I refused to leave go of my only weapon. Out of reflex, I clutched my hand to my chest. It would be painful if I cared to notice at the time.
My attention was instead directed at Voldemort. The blasted power hit him in the chest, taking him to the ground. He lay in a moment of vulnerability. With unsteady grip, I raised my wand. The one wand that held the only shadow of a chance to defeat the Dark Lord now stood in the midst of its solitary opportunity.
My arm, so quick to bring death before, refused to crack down with the final words I held on my lips. The tombstones loomed in the darkness around our battleground, death waiting to welcome one of us. Fatigued, I looked down at Voldemort and I could see the shadow of a man abandoned so long ago gasping for air.
A man. Voldemort, the epitome of all hatred, was still a man. He writhed now on the floor, hands searching for his dropped wand through a daze of pain. Now was my only chance, but I couldn't bring myself to commit murder. No matter how many innocent lives this man had taken, I couldn't take his own.
Holding my breath, I lowered my arm in defeat. Blood rolled from my hand, trickling its way down the wand and dripping off the end. It had all come to this. The crimson-stained wand fell from my ruined hand, hitting the hollowed earth without a sound. My back turned on the form of a broken man.
I spared his life for reasons unknown. I gave him the mercy that he had given up on. I would devote endless hours to analyzing my actions, but that moment of clarity when I had dropped my wand never returned to me. The reasons were lost before they had even been found. An act of pure mercy. Perhaps it was even an act of hope: that the man called Tom Riddle was not completely gone. A Wizard's debt emerged that even I didn't consider.
But my mercy was lost on Voldemort. He could not conceive of my actions, did not understand that there would be consequences in breaking that debt. He still could not comprehend of that ancient magic more powerful than death.
"Avada Kedavra!" The spell was rasped out behind me.
I turned sharply on my heel to see a mangled Voldemort kneeling behind me, wand raised. The green light only left the wand for a moment before rebounding onto the caster in blinding death. With a rush of power the curse fell through the wand, causing it to shatter before hitting its caster.
He died before he fell.
As his body hit the earth, power surged through me. A darkness I had never known penetrated into my very soul, constricted around my heart. I refused to give into its temptations and accept it as my own power, holding it at bay for only the time being. It would always loom on the recesses of my conscious self, never letting me be at peace.
I succeeded in my destiny. Voldemort was dead. But there was a final catch: all that had made him lived on in me. With that final thought, I apparated to a random part of Muggle London.
In that anonymous side street I let go of all reality. I centered all my thoughts on past events, on all of my life leading up to that second confrontation in Little Hangleton's forsaken graveyard. Nothing mattered anymore. The fates had ruled my life. There was indeed no such thing so extravagant as a free will.
*And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.*
He cast the spell from his hand, but I reflected the curse. His blood was on my hands. I scratched at them, but only more blood surfaced. Shooting pains went up my right arm, and it was then that I realized the crushed right hand, mangled nearly beyond recognition.
I am Oedipus. I centered on that idea, obsessed over those three words.
My life is ruled by fate and I am that King who falls into an inescapable loop.
Oedipus. I am Oedipus.
For weeks, though I knew no time, I could think only that. I muttered, mumbled and screamed only those words: I am Oedipus.
It was a comforting insanity. Into my mind, I fell, lost in my despair. And throughout it all, the Dark lingered. When I reached the bottom of my pit, it made itself known all the more. It was a way out of this cruel cycle. I could brush out all life and forge the world anew. I could rule over all, I held that power to do so. I only had to lose myself in the Dark's temptations.
But I didn't want that. I wanted only to wallow in my own Hell. I grasped onto my own despair.
I AM OEDIPUS.
I declared the only thing that could not be disputed in my inner battle. I surrendered into my insanity. I lost myself in its haunting voices of the past, lingered on the verge of death and sheer abandonment of my cursed life. Yet, those three words kept me focused and alive. Screamed into the night, they awoke me from my mind's illusions. Muttered in the light, they helped me remember who I was beyond the famous Harry Potter.
~*~*~
Randomness: Sorry this is short. There should be another scene in here, but it just wasn't working and I wanted to get this posted as I'll be leaving Saturday for Ocean City. Which means a week without a computer. If all goes well, I'll get lots written, which means faster posts when I get back . . . hopefully. Though my vacations aren't known to go over to well, so I'll see. . . . eh, anything is possible.
A big thanks to my reviewers, you all made my day! :-)
Randomness again: I'm back! Edited this chapter while on vacation. Nothing significant, but some parts just made me cringe . . . ::shrugs:: I have the one scene I was having trouble with written out as well as some random parts for later chapters. (and, damn, that was hard to do . . . may have a bit of trouble translating my writing into actual words). I might just post that scene as a separate chapter, even though it's sorta short, once I type it -- Don't know yet. Should update soon either way, so long as my muse didn't stay lounging on the beach.
Chapter 3: Troubled Dreams
(reposted)
*~*~*
"I don't like the idea of this prophecy being set in stone." Hermione tried to rationalize once again in the pre-dawn common room.
For three hours now she had been attempting to rationalize against my fate. Her reaction had been simple: pure disbelief. Well, there'd been a circle: disbelief, anger, tears, a bit of acceptance . . . But in the end, all her feelings had revolved back to the initial skepticism.
It was the beginning of our seventh year when I confided the Lost Prophecy in Hermione. After my sixth year of solitude and rejection of my classmates I was feeling all too clearly that tug of need for someone to just listen to my plight. I finally broke after the first week of school. Seventh year classes, in preparation for N.E.W.T.s, were enough to break anyone, but when I stumbled into the common room after a particularly harsh Occlumency lesson with Snape everything had finally collapsed around me. And Hermione had been there.
For her part she listened and I silently thanked her for that. Yet, when I had talked myself out, she put in her fair say also. As much as she assured me, it was frustrating when she wouldn't admit to he slightest possibility that the prophecy could be correct. That I could, indeed, be the wizarding world's last hope against Voldemort: the one, and only one, holding the unknown weapon that might destroy him. And even at that it was only a "might," the resistance may be all for nothing in the end.
"It's the most imprecise branch of magic, I know!" I finally said in exasperation.
Hermione looked at me, a bit of fright in her eyes. I couldn't blame her, as I was scared myself. I had been frightened beyond comprehension for the past year with the prospect of kill or be killed before me. Sleep eluded me, and I never comprehended that it may never return to its normal fervor.
"I know," I whispered, on the verge of another mental breakdown. "But no matter how many times that mantra is repeated, the fact remains that this prophecy is true."
"I can't believe that," she said in determination to convince the both of us.
I looked into her eyes and after those agonizing three hours I finally understood. I turned away and became entranced in the glowing embers of the fire.
"You don't *want* to believe." I knew I sounded bitter, but I had to tell her.
She closed her eyes at my words, trying to organize her thoughts. She knew she had to tread carefully now else she would lose me in angry remarks.
"Perhaps," she replied, composing herself. "But even so, we have to chose our own paths in life, you included. And no 'Lost Prophecy' can change all that. It can't rule you."
Never, I believed, had Hermione been so caught up in her misjudgment. She refused to accept the prophecy as fact because then her whole world of "free choice" would come tumbling down. That world had only ever been a mirage in the desert of existence, but now she held on to it firm.
"Hermione, you spent a year with a time turner, and you're still telling me that pre-destination is only an illusion?"
I knew that I had hurt her with my sharp tone, but I couldn't bring myself to give her sympathy when I had also been forced through the shattering of my personal reality. Turning away, lost in her thoughts, she muttered "Oedipus Rex" to herself.
"Who . . .?" I asked cautiously.
After six years, it was still a bit scary when she came across a sudden revelation and not in one's best interest to interrupt her when in the process. I still hated when she went off on her tangents and expected everyone to know what she was talking about. Even with that dislike, I had still not read Hogwarts, a History (mainly out of spite). To my amazement she didn't scoff at my questioning, instead she turned back and gave me a wane smile through the dim light.
"Oedipus Rex . . . it's just some random mythology. The actions taken to prevent a prophecy merely make it come about," she tried to shrug it off, but at my piercing 'What the Hell?' look she explained more. "Voldemort tried to prevent you from living long enough to wield 'the power to vanquish' him, and in doing so 'marked' you . . . By him trying to prevent the prophecy it was fulfilled. The prophecy caused itself."
Pushing the seeming randomness from my mind, I nodded so that she would think I understood and would stop taxing my reasoning ability. With my current worries, no logic was derived from it, but little did I know that it would show up later and making perfect sense when I became lost in its recesses.
~~~~~~~~
Red eyes glared down at me, cat's pupils dilated. If the being before me possessed any feelings, I may have classified the look as scared. As it was, he was merely calculating. I thought I had lost any will of movement in my limbs, but that was clearly not the case as my wand swished downwards seemingly of its own accord.
"Avada Kedavra!" Two voices yelled at the same moment.
The green jets of light from both our wands collided in midair. Our wands once again connected with a stand of emerald. Unable to move from the spell, I waited for the traditional cage to form. Yet, it didn't appear. A sphere of red light began to surface in the middle of the strand. I focussed my will on it, trying to force it towards Voldemort's wand as he attempted the same. Our wills met and the sphere grew larger, feeding off of us both.
I shifted my will to contain also the overwhelming emotions I harbored inside. All the hope I had for a future beyond this night went into the sphere. All my faith in a better world followed it. All the love and caring I had felt. Thoughts of Sirius. Thoughts of my friends. Thoughts of the family I never had but always saw.
The ball began to pull in the green strands, taking Voldemort and I closer to it. As the tip of my wand became immersed in the dazzling scarlet, I regained motion in my arm and jerked it out.
The connection broke and the sphere of raw power exploded around me. A large shard caught my wand-hand. My fingers crushed under the pressure, but I refused to leave go of my only weapon. Out of reflex, I clutched my hand to my chest. It would be painful if I cared to notice at the time.
My attention was instead directed at Voldemort. The blasted power hit him in the chest, taking him to the ground. He lay in a moment of vulnerability. With unsteady grip, I raised my wand. The one wand that held the only shadow of a chance to defeat the Dark Lord now stood in the midst of its solitary opportunity.
My arm, so quick to bring death before, refused to crack down with the final words I held on my lips. The tombstones loomed in the darkness around our battleground, death waiting to welcome one of us. Fatigued, I looked down at Voldemort and I could see the shadow of a man abandoned so long ago gasping for air.
A man. Voldemort, the epitome of all hatred, was still a man. He writhed now on the floor, hands searching for his dropped wand through a daze of pain. Now was my only chance, but I couldn't bring myself to commit murder. No matter how many innocent lives this man had taken, I couldn't take his own.
Holding my breath, I lowered my arm in defeat. Blood rolled from my hand, trickling its way down the wand and dripping off the end. It had all come to this. The crimson-stained wand fell from my ruined hand, hitting the hollowed earth without a sound. My back turned on the form of a broken man.
I spared his life for reasons unknown. I gave him the mercy that he had given up on. I would devote endless hours to analyzing my actions, but that moment of clarity when I had dropped my wand never returned to me. The reasons were lost before they had even been found. An act of pure mercy. Perhaps it was even an act of hope: that the man called Tom Riddle was not completely gone. A Wizard's debt emerged that even I didn't consider.
But my mercy was lost on Voldemort. He could not conceive of my actions, did not understand that there would be consequences in breaking that debt. He still could not comprehend of that ancient magic more powerful than death.
"Avada Kedavra!" The spell was rasped out behind me.
I turned sharply on my heel to see a mangled Voldemort kneeling behind me, wand raised. The green light only left the wand for a moment before rebounding onto the caster in blinding death. With a rush of power the curse fell through the wand, causing it to shatter before hitting its caster.
He died before he fell.
As his body hit the earth, power surged through me. A darkness I had never known penetrated into my very soul, constricted around my heart. I refused to give into its temptations and accept it as my own power, holding it at bay for only the time being. It would always loom on the recesses of my conscious self, never letting me be at peace.
I succeeded in my destiny. Voldemort was dead. But there was a final catch: all that had made him lived on in me. With that final thought, I apparated to a random part of Muggle London.
In that anonymous side street I let go of all reality. I centered all my thoughts on past events, on all of my life leading up to that second confrontation in Little Hangleton's forsaken graveyard. Nothing mattered anymore. The fates had ruled my life. There was indeed no such thing so extravagant as a free will.
*And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.*
He cast the spell from his hand, but I reflected the curse. His blood was on my hands. I scratched at them, but only more blood surfaced. Shooting pains went up my right arm, and it was then that I realized the crushed right hand, mangled nearly beyond recognition.
I am Oedipus. I centered on that idea, obsessed over those three words.
My life is ruled by fate and I am that King who falls into an inescapable loop.
Oedipus. I am Oedipus.
For weeks, though I knew no time, I could think only that. I muttered, mumbled and screamed only those words: I am Oedipus.
It was a comforting insanity. Into my mind, I fell, lost in my despair. And throughout it all, the Dark lingered. When I reached the bottom of my pit, it made itself known all the more. It was a way out of this cruel cycle. I could brush out all life and forge the world anew. I could rule over all, I held that power to do so. I only had to lose myself in the Dark's temptations.
But I didn't want that. I wanted only to wallow in my own Hell. I grasped onto my own despair.
I AM OEDIPUS.
I declared the only thing that could not be disputed in my inner battle. I surrendered into my insanity. I lost myself in its haunting voices of the past, lingered on the verge of death and sheer abandonment of my cursed life. Yet, those three words kept me focused and alive. Screamed into the night, they awoke me from my mind's illusions. Muttered in the light, they helped me remember who I was beyond the famous Harry Potter.
~*~*~
Randomness: Sorry this is short. There should be another scene in here, but it just wasn't working and I wanted to get this posted as I'll be leaving Saturday for Ocean City. Which means a week without a computer. If all goes well, I'll get lots written, which means faster posts when I get back . . . hopefully. Though my vacations aren't known to go over to well, so I'll see. . . . eh, anything is possible.
A big thanks to my reviewers, you all made my day! :-)
Randomness again: I'm back! Edited this chapter while on vacation. Nothing significant, but some parts just made me cringe . . . ::shrugs:: I have the one scene I was having trouble with written out as well as some random parts for later chapters. (and, damn, that was hard to do . . . may have a bit of trouble translating my writing into actual words). I might just post that scene as a separate chapter, even though it's sorta short, once I type it -- Don't know yet. Should update soon either way, so long as my muse didn't stay lounging on the beach.