Harry Potter and the Malevolent Affections
Chapter Eight - Recognition
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the characters therein are the property and creation of JK Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fiction and is in no way connected with the cannon Harry Potter series.
She nodded.
Briefly she saw Dumbledore raise his hands, the distance between them seemed to escalate suddenly and a steely crack whipped through her body. For a second there was darkness accompanied by the sound of wind roaring past. She had the impression she was moving at a great speed but at the same time she knew she was standing perfectly still. Abruptly the strange sensation ended and she found herself surrounded by the well kept suburban lawns of Privet Drive.
For a moment she just stood, wondering what to do next. The glittering sword was already weighing heavily on her arms and she wasn't exactly sure what use it would be. It slowly dawned that she was standing in the middle of a spate of muggle homes brandishing a lethal blade, throwing caution aside she slipped through the back door of Harry's home.
Her breath rose in misty clouds as the door shut silently sealing the light outside. The extreme cold added to the already ominous feelings cluttering her mind.
"Harry?" The sound of her own voice shivered down her spine, it sounded strained and distant. There was no answer. "Harry?" She called again, tightening her grip around the sword which was no longer glittering in its comforting glow. Keeping close to the wall she tiptoed towards the first door she could find. The handle was blisteringly cold but the hinges worked with a noiseless efficacy. The Dursley's kitchen lay before her; covered in darkness so thick she could almost feel it. She took a step forwards, an unnatural feeling played across her skin, someone, or something, was watching her. She scrambled for where she guessed the light switch would be. There was a second's pause before the fluorescent tube flickered into life, spraying the walls with harsh white light. The watcher hastily threw an arm across their eyes, apparently dazzled.
"My God… Harry?" Slowly the arm was lowered revealing Harry's malnourished face. His skin was an ill shade of grey and his clothes hung off his skinny frame even more so than usual. But what horrified Hermione most were his eyes, which had once been such a beautiful shade of green. They were blood shot and his pupils burned with a malevolent red light. His eyes skimmed over her with no sign of recognition.
"Who are you?" His voice was blank and barley above a whisper. He stepped down from his chair and stood to his full height. He seemed far taller than he had been and the shadows that pooled around his body added to his imposing image. She reached out a hand to touch his arm but stopped, afraid of what she would feel. An aura of corruption oozed from his like week-old sweat.
"She's trouble Harry…" A silvery spark appeared in the centre of the tiled floor and exploded into Abigail pushing them away from each other. She floated in the middle watching one, then the other "Too much trouble." Finally she settled her gaze on Hermione. "Potter is mine girl... You shall not have him!" With a flick of her wrist she produced her bone-handled pocket knife. Hermione felt a powerful anger rise in her chest, she hefted Griffyndor's blade to shoulder height ready to swing. Inside she was petrified but her exterior was calm; galvanised by rage.
"Harry is not an object, you can't own him!" She tensed, anticipating the creature's next move. Abigail laughed.
"Wouldn't you? If you had half the chance your name would be written all over his face." Hermione lowered her head and glared.
"Try me."
Abigail jerked forwards, her knife flashing blue streaks in the air again and again. Hermione caught the first two blows on the swords edge almost accidentally. The third whipped past her face with barley an inch to spare. She edged backwards each time just managing to avoid the wicked edge of Abigail's weapon. For a second the rain of attacks let up and Hermione seized her chance. She swung the sword in a broad arc letting its weight carry her across the room as it spun. Abigail twisted out of reach and disappeared with an icy crackle of energy. She reappeared opposite Hermione and they locked eyes. Slowly they began to circle, each waiting for the other to make a mistake that would almost certainly prove fatal.
Harry watched the battle impassively; his eyes followed the deadly blades as if in a trance. As the strange girl spun he caught a full view of her face. Who was she? Why had she appeared out of the blue? He was happy here alone with Abigail… wasn't he? The sharp crack of Abigail's spells dragged his attention back to the fray. His eyes again crossed Hermione's face and something moved in his heavy head like a leaf teetering on the edge of a whirlpool. Her eyes flashed dangerously, their deep brown hue a sharp contrast to the frozen blue of Abigail's stare. Fire, courage and intelligence flickered across those eyes… Tendrils of foggy potion began to claw their way out of his mind, suddenly he was violently sick. The red glow faded from behind his eyes and for a moment they were green again.
"Hermione…" He managed to stutter around the burning, sickly taste of vomit at the back of his throat. Hermione's eyes left Abigail's for a second and the knife wielding creature shot forwards ready to strike.
A horrible silence filled the room stemming from the ornately carved bone handle which rose from the centre of Hermione's chest. She blinked slowly, the look of shock on her face slowly dissolving into an agonised wince. Blood bloomed across the front of her sweat soaked top with an unreal slowness. The sword clattered from her hand turning dull as it met with the floor.
"I'm sorry Harry… I tried… honestly I did…" Her voice wavered in and out between shallow breaths. Abigail landed neatly and walked forwards with loud, echoing footsteps. She reached out a pale hand towards the knife's handle ready to finish her victim.
"Stop!" Harry bellowed.
"You're supposed to be my unquestioning slave… these discrepancies are getting more and more annoying little bird." Abigail's lips thinned and curved into a cruel smile. "However… Perhaps I could allow you this little indulgence." She tapped the knife handle eliciting a pained wail from Hermione. A large chalice appeared in Abigail's long fingers. "This is a one of my favourite things Harry." The ornate cup was made from pewter or perhaps very old silver. There was something deeply unnerving about it. "Drink from this and I'll let the girl live." Hermione's moans became less clear but more frantic.
"It's empty" He whispered, it seemed wrong to talk in any great volume.
"This is the only cup you'll ever find that drinks from you." Abigail's fingers caressed the dull metal as she spoke. "It's built to take away the part of you that wants to resist, a tiny little part of your soul. Originally I wanted all of you in tact Harry… but this is the next best thing."
Harry's eyes moved slowly from Hermione's face to the loathsome ornament. Silently he held out his hand and nodded. Abigail's sickening smile increased. "The dark lord will be pleased." She said sweetly. Harry's gaze snapped onto Abigail as she spoke. His face darkened, flecks of red began to reappear in his pupils.
"Voldemort… Swear it… swear on Voldemort's child murdering name that she'll live if I drink this!" With one savage back-hand Abigail sent Hermione's shaking body sprawling into the wall.
"Use the dark lords true name again and she dies here and now Harry Potter - that much I will promise." Swearing Harry spat the last of the vomit taste from his mouth and raised the chalice to his lips. His eyes fixed on Hermione all the while. As he tipped his head back he felt something slide into his mouth, like smoke or æther. Whatever it was it slipped inside of him coiling and sliding. He tried to wretch but found he was completely immobile. Gradually it began to withdraw, dragging itself back into the chalice. Tiny little lights travelled with it, gently glowing pinpricks caught in a web of sorcery… some small part of his soul he realised as the cup dropped from his grasp into Abigail's waiting hand. His eyes unfocussed and the invading red glow swept across them once more.
…
…
Hermione stretched out as best she could in the cramped confines of the under-stairs cupboard. She wasn't sure how but the wound had disappeared from her chest but the skin between her breasts was perfect once more. But it still stung like wild fire. So far Abigail had been more or less true to her word. Once Harry had... Oh God, what had Harry done? She tried to estimate how long had passed since then, three hours? Thirty hours? It was almost impossible to tell. For a long time she had just cried but now she had no more tears and nothing left to do.
Slowly she forced herself to adopt the no nonsense attitude that served her so well in exams and classes. But it was hard. Failure was a rare and unwelcome visitor to her psyche and amongst the other things she had done today she'd certainly failed. "Get a grip on yourself!" She muttered. "You're not dead are you? You're not even tied up…" She began to explore her makeshift prison in more detail, slowly moving her hands across the rough unpainted walls. Her fingers came into contact with something soft and dry, she could pick it up easily… she brought it close to her face - it was an old album, leather bound.
Harry stumbled from room to room. An oddly pleasant sensation filled his head, he had no worries, no commitments and there was no need to remember anything. If there was something he needed to do then Abigail would tell him to do it, life suddenly seemed all very simple. The sickly potions spilled though his veins like treacle and met no resistance, leaving behind an oily residue of power and darkness; all the while he smiled foolishly.
Abigail floated above the centre of Vernon and Petunia's room. The large bed and pink sheets were gone, so was all the other furniture. This room was now her private study. In each corner was a tall fat candle stick burning a large, heatless blue flame. Silvery powder marked out a complicated circle on the floor, its centre filled with twisted vines wrapped around a thirteen pointed star. The pale girl's eyes closed slowly and her body was surrounded by a blue-grey nimbus, the glow slowly spread across powder until the entire room was covered in a bizarre lattice of light and shadow.
"Dark Lord." She whispered. There was no audible reply but a presence seemed to fill the room. "A girl came to rescue the Potter boy… she has been detained." There was pause and then a long drawn out hiss that slowly formed itself into a parody of human speech.
"Explain," it said.
Harry paced up and down the hallway; he was beginning to get frustrated. Abigail hadn't talked to him for some time. Slowly he began to wonder if she would ever come back. She'd told him that she would… but what if something had happened to her? He thought about going to check - but she'd also told him not to bother her. Snapping in a sudden confusion he smashed his hand into the light switch. His fist left a sizable crater in the wall and for a few moments afterwards his blood seemed to boil. He bellowed an oath and carried on pacing. The remains of the switch sparked and the light flickered into life.
Hermione dozed with the newly discovered book resting on her lap. There hadn't been enough light to read it by but, in a strange way, it had smelt faintly of Harry. It had been comforting. She snapped awake at the sound of the roar, a pool of light spilled onto her face from the grill in the door. Scrambling quickly she held the open album where she could read it best. The black and white pictures fixed to its pages stared out at her. The figures looked familiar but she was sure she'd never seen them before. She skimmed through more pages - it suddenly dawned on her, she was looking at Harry's parents.
A part of her wanted to close the book and put it away, it felt oddly wrong to glance over the careful entries - it was like picking apart Harry's life. But she ignored the feeling; in his present state he could hardly complain. As she read she began to understand a little more about him. The crushing loss he must feel every day of his life. She felt a pang of guilt for the way she treated her own parents. A rustling sound from the door broke her train of thought. Slowly a pair of glowing red lights lowered themselves to the grill.
"Harry?" She whispered as loud as she dared. The crimson eyes nodded slightly.
"What are you doing in my house?" asked a deadpan rasp.
"You? You don't remember me?" The eyes moved from side to side. She lifted the book to the grill gently. "What about her? Or him?" Harry stared past the picture of his mother and father. "Look at them." He seemed to be ignoring her. "Harry! Look at them." Despite herself she shuffled back a little, yelling at him was like yelling at a dangerous animal. Still he did nothing. "Harry…" She pleaded. For a split second she thought she saw his broken eyes flicker.
"Don't nag." He said quietly. "You always nag." Hermione gasped, he'd remembered a little - he must have done.
"How would you know?" She challenged, spurred on by the small victory.
"I don't remember" He insisted. She jerked the book in front of his face. His eyes flashed again.
"Who are they Harry? You know them… I'm sure you do."
"They're gone… dead… everyone's dead and gone… gone and dead. Accept for Abigail."
"What about you? Are you dead Harry?" She lowered the book and peered out at his face. His brows were furrowed in thought.
"Sometimes…" He muttered. "Only sometimes." He stood up and began to move away, head still bent and thinking. Hermione dived forwards and forced her hand through the bars scraping her knuckles in the process. She caught his shoulder as best she could.
"Wait." She tightened her grip dragging on him desperately.
"Why?"
He spun to face her in annoyance throwing off her arm.
"I want to know why you're dead."
"You wouldn't understand." From her prison she returned his glare, being stupefied was one thing but you did not tell Hermione Granger that there was something she didn't understand. "Everybody thinks Harry Potter will save the world but he doesn't have a world to save. Not anymore. It unravelled and twisted away into nothing… there's nobody left Hermione. And sure… they say that the good guys always win and love conquers all. But who's left to love me? What's so good about my life that it's worth saving?" Hermione knelt by the door and let his words wash over her. His voice began to fade and fail towards the end and she pitied him, honest to goodness pity. But she felt something else along with that pity.
"You're stronger than she thought… you're still there aren't you?" there was no reply but she didn't need one. Something was dawning on her. Why had Harry fallen under the creatures control to begin with? Unless… "You complete and utter bastard! You let her win! You gave up!" Repulsed she pulled her arm away from his kneeling body. "I came to rescue you because I thought that I loved you! I was stabbed through the chest because I thought I loved you! I went into Nocturn Alley and very nearly fell in with some maniac because I thought I loved you Harry Potter! And now what? You stand there and tell me that you've sold your soul away to this Abigail because nobody cares enough about you to give you a reason to save the world…" He slumped forward, head down, a picture of apathy. "Well here's your reason Harry Potter." She seethed; she was more than mad, more than furious. Angry because she still loved him. Angry because she had done all along. Angry because she couldn't take one more second of seeing him in such a state. Her pocket burst open in a cascade of bright lights, the rolled up glove opened out like a flower and shone like the sun. The gleaming radiance swelled with each beat of her heart, it began to pulse, getting stronger and stronger. The door rattled, then buckled and then exploded outwards with a mighty flash that momentarily bleached the colours around them into clear cut black and whites. Harry shot backwards and sprawled in a heap against the wall, slowly Hermione clambered to her feet, the glove was snugly wrapped around her hand although she didn't remember putting it on.
Harry's eyes snapped open; they were sharp green emeralds. He stood slowly and looked around with a puzzled horror across his face.
"Hermione… I'm sorry… I didn't mean it… I just wanted everything to stop… just for a second." His feet were unsteady as he crossed the few steps between them. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, gazing into her face as though searching for something. "Abigail she nearly killed you." He hugged her tighter, desperately reassuring himself of her presence. "And now…" He held her tighter still, and she leant against him, burying her face against his chest, exhausted.
"And now what?" Hermione mumbled, relief at his return sounding strong in her voice. But there was something more, something else that wasn't right. She looked up at Harry's face, the joy was fading fast. She felt his arms go limp against her body and then fall away.
"I…" He began… "I can't feel you anymore… it's like." He stepped away from her, horror seeping across his face.
"Like all the love is dropping out of you?" Hermione understood. His sacrifice, the few grains of his soul he had given up to save her, it was beginning to take effect. "We have to get it back Harry." He nodded galvanising himself against the world.
"We must…"