What a Strange and Mysterious Thing It Is
Disclaimer All characters and references to Harry Potter mythology are the sole property of the amazing J.K. Rowling. I write for fun only, besides lawyers make me nervous.
Summary: Following the death of Sirius, truths emerge from everywhere. Harry must learn to cope with them and perhaps find what he has been seeking. This story, in keeping with the style of Ms. Rowling, is in Harry's point of view. It is mostly about Harry and Professor McGonagall, but there is a lot of AD/MM as well. It is rated PG-13 for some violence in later chapters. Please read and review! Enjoy!
A/N: Just an advanced warning here...Chapters ten and eleven will have some violence, which may be extreme at times. Also, please don't hate me, but this is the last chapter that I have completed. So, chapters eleven and twelve (I think there will only be two more anyway) may be a while down the road. I am working on them as fast as I can, but I don't want to post mediocre chapters. For all of you who have really been following the story deserve no less than my best! I think you would all agree with that. So, please be patient and I promise you that you will be rewarded for it. That's my plan anyway. Thanks as always to all of my splendid reviewers: Quill of Minerva, PiroKitty, Liat1989, Lou. McGonagall, Nightwing 509, and mugglemin! Oh, and Clayre? Might I suggest that you wear gloves as you read to save your poor nails?
Chapter Ten: Beguile My Heart
Harry crept quietly down the corridor. In his haste to exit the dormitory Harry had forgotten the two tools with which he now sorely needed: his invisibility cloak and the Marauder's map. It was important that Harry make his way to Professor McGonagall's office undetected. If Filch or Snape caught him now Dumbledore would be alerted and Harry knew the Headmaster would never allow him to face Voldemort. Inching in the shadows, Harry reached the mahogany door of which he had entered to serve his detentions all those weeks ago. However, for the second time in two days Harry found himself needing entry to a room in which he did not know the password. Fawkes could not assist him this time. Any departure of Fawkes would surely be noticed by Dumbledore.
Harry emptied his mind to the best of his ability. What could the password be? A thought, beginning as a glimmer, ignited in his brain. The faintest of grins began to insinuate itself on Harry's face. "Tabby cat," he whispered. The door edged open slightly bearing to Harry the thing for which he had come; McGonagall's fireplace. This was the one locale in all of Hogwarts where Harry knew he could find not only a fireplace, but Floo powder as well. Noticing the box on the mantle, Harry quickly grabbed a handful of the powder. He took one last encouraging breath and as he threw down the Floo powder to give birth to swirling, emerald flames, Harry shouted, "Riddle House, Little Hangleton!"
Immediately Harry was met by the familiar spinning motion of the Floo network. He tried to keep his elbows close to his body, and closed his eyes to the dizzying effect. It was not long before Harry felt himself spill out onto a dusty wood floor. Scrambling to his feet as quickly as he could, Harry scanned the room for activity. An entrance by Floo powder was not the most discreet method, but Harry had had little choice. Luckily the room seemed devoid of Death Eaters or Voldemort. However, a crumpled figure was lying in the middle of the room.
The only light source in the room was a small lantern hanging on a hook by the door, but it emitted enough illumination for Harry to recognize a pair of torn, emerald robes. Harry rushed to the body, falling to his knees beside it. Tentatively, Harry reached beneath the woman and gingerly turned her over, not knowing what he would find. The sight that met his eyes quickly sickened him. Harry had to exercise every ounce of self-control not to retch at the sight. The woman was Professor McGonagall, as Harry had known, but she was hardly recognizable. Her shoes were gone and it seemed that every inch of her that was visible was covered in bruises or lacerations. There was a wide gash that traveled the length of her cheek under her eye. It reached from her ear to the bridge of her nose, which was evidently broken. One eye was swollen shut and her lip was bleeding. Her left shoulder hung grotesquely from its socket and her wrists showed telling trauma that they had been tightly bound. Even by the meager light Harry could see angry red marks sticking out on her neck as he tested for a pulse. It took a moment to realize that these marks were in the shape of hands. McGonagall had been choked.
Yet, she was alive. Harry shifted the professor on his lap, a move he soon regretted as he could hear the crunching of her ribcage. "Professor McGonagall?" Harry spoke softly. He did not want to alert any of the house guests. "Professor McGonagall," he said again. She moaned quietly but did not wake.
Harry felt a pang of anxiety absorb him. He had been in such a hurry to get to the Riddle House that he had not stopped to think of how he would get back. He had not grabbed any extra Floo Powder before his departure. Before he was able to continue in this line of thinking the fireplace behind him once more erupted into emerald flames. A figure Harry never expected to see poured out onto the floor.
The new arrival rose to his feet and rushed to Harry's side. It was Neville. "Neville, what are you doing here?" Harry asked slightly annoyed.
"Harry," gasped Neville, "I followed you! I knew you were coming after Professor McGonagall, so I came to help!" The chubby boy turned his attention to McGonagall's face. Despite the inadequate light Harry could see all the color drain from Neville's complexion, and Harry thought he may pass out at any time. Neville surprised him though. The boy swallowed hard before he spoke again. "We've got to get her out of here," he said simply.
"Oh, I don't think so," said a high, cold voice. "Thanks for joining us, Mr. Potter." The two boys rotated suddenly to see Voldemort striding confidently toward them. Neville jumped to his feet pulling out his wand. Harry delicately laid Professor McGonagall back on the floor before he rose and did the same. "You followed my plan so perfectly, I knew you could not resist the chance to play hero again, Potter," Voldemort stated.
All around them Harry could sense the shadows moving. Rustling robes and ragged breathing emanated from them. Harry knew at once the he and Neville were surrounded. Neville was quivering next to him, but his face remained stoic and focused. Gone were the days when Neville backed down to any challenge.
Two hooded figures emerged from the rabble to align themselves on either side of their master. It did not take Harry long to assess who they were. To the right of Voldemort was a short, squat individual. Though cloaked, Harry could see sausage-like fingers bearing several ugly rings. The figure on the left lowered his hood and grinned ominously. His silvery blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Harry could feel himself shaking with fury. Malfoy and Umbridge, two people whom he loathed more than anyone.
"Well, well," sneered Malfoy, "it's Dumbledore's favorite son. The Dark Lord knows you all too well. Once again you have allowed this disease of yours to play into our hands. How very touching."
"Disease?" Neville asked, his eyes widening apparently surprised that he had spoken.
"Why, love, of course," Malfoy explained. "Love is a disease, a sickness from which fools like you and Dumbledore suffer."
"Love is a strength," Harry replied quietly but defiantly.
"Love is a joke," Malfoy laughed, "and I have no use for it."
"What about Draco?" Neville blurted.
"Draco? Draco is nothing to me."
"You're a liar," Harry responded coolly.
"Draco is an accident, a mistake of nature, but my heir. Yet, you are right, Potter. He does have his uses. However, his uses to me are limited, and I do not love him for them," said Malfoy coldly.
The eerie silence that hung in the air made Harry's insides swell with consternation. Neville, too, was shifting around nervously as everyone in the room seemed to be waiting for someone else to make the next move. The apprehensive calm was broken only when a stifled groan emanated from the floor. Professor McGonagall was stirring incoherently and it broke Harry's heart to think of the agony she must be suffering. As Harry looked helplessly at his fallen professor a low noise began behind him. It startled as a rumble and eventually grew to a disturbingly out of place giggle. Harry turned his attention to the source of the giggle and was not surprised when it was Umbridge. White-hot fury began to erupt from his very core. As far as Harry was concerned Umbridge was more to blame for McGonagall's present state than Malfoy and the other Death Eaters. She had betrayed them. It was she who sold Professor McGonagall to their vengeance.
"Show yourself," Harry hissed, "I know it is you, you horrid toad." The sickening giggle quickly died. The short witch to Voldemort's side hesitated for a mere fraction of a second. Then her sausage-like fingers slowly reached up and pulled back the hood of her cloak. It was indeed, Dolores Umbridge, but Harry could not restrain a twisted grin that appeared on his own face. Umbridge had three, long scratches on one of her cheeks that looked suspiciously like fingernail marks. "Looks like Professor McGonagall got her pound of flesh, eh Umbridge? Looks like she was able to damage you before you abandoned her to these animals."
"You think I'm a traitor, Potter?" Umbridge shot back sounding slightly hysterical. "You have it all wrong Potter. It was I who was betrayed."
"You're mad," Harry responded, repulsed.
"Mad, am I?" Umbridge laughed sinisterly. "No, Potter, I am thinking clearly. I went to Hogwarts last year to fulfill a vital mission to the ministry. You were a law unto yourself, and I knew I could no longer permit that. The ministry morons were all whining about what to do with you, but I knew. I knew how to silence you. And it worked, didn't it Potter?"
"What are you talking about?" Harry asked looking her up and down.
"I had total control over you and the school. You were at my mercy and never did you run to Dumbledore, for which I am thankful. Only this...," she said waving her hand impatiently at McGonagall, "stood in my way. But she too was just another threat I put out of commission."
Harry's brain reeled to the memory of a solitary figure rushing out of the castle to rescue Hagrid. Had the four stunners to the professor been a planned attack? "That night," Harry paused, "that night out on the grounds you were planning to attack Professor McGonagall?"
"Of course," said Umbridge in a bored voice. Her indifference disturbed Harry greatly. "My intentions were two-fold. She and the half-breed were my two biggest obstacles in gaining control over every facet of Hogwarts. I knew the giant would be easy enough to get rid of, but I must say I was severely disappointed when she survived. But lucky for me, it is a mistake that I can rectify here tonight."
A flurry of rage and flying fists soared past Harry in a blur. Before he could realize what had happened, Neville was being knocked to the ground by Lucius Malfoy. Even while sprawled on the floor Neville was shaking violently as his wand rolled away into the shadows. "You...you...," could be heard escaping his lips, but a well placed kick to Neville's head rendered him silent. The situation was becoming more desperate by the minute. Harry knew he had to stall as long as possible.
"That doesn't explain why you are the one who was betrayed," Harry said almost calmly.
"Think about it, Potter," Umbridge scorned. Her eyes were bulging now and it seemed they were in danger of popping out of her head. "Who sent me to Hogwarts in the first place? And then who was it that handed me over to rot in Azkaban? That bumbling idiot Fudge folded the minute allegations were made against me. He could not stand the thought of his name being tarnished. He made it out to sound that I had acted independently from him at the school. In many ways I did, but it was Fudge who sent me there to reign you in. It was Fudge who ordered me to keep Dumbledore's hands tied and to dominate those who were loyal to him. It was Fudge who cast me aside when things became bleak. It was Fudge who condemned me to that horror of an existence without so much as a second glance."
"So why use McGonagall to get me here?" Harry fumed. "It sounds as though your problem is with Fudge, not her."
"Oh, I have taken care of my problem," mocked Umbridge. "Cornelius Fudge is dead. As far as why McGonagall is here that..."
"...would be for my purposes."
Harry looked over to Voldemort. He had almost forgotten Voldemort was there as the evil wizard had allowed Malfoy and Umbridge to momentarily draw Harry's attention. Voldemort's snake-like mouth was drawn into a purely sinister smirk that made Harry feel nauseous at the sight of it.
"Your purposes?" Harry asked with a sense of foreboding.
"You, of course," Voldemort replied. "Well, you and Dumbledore actually. The two of you have been the greatest thorns in my side for far too long. I needed your dear professor here to persuade Dumbledore to hand you over to me. Alas, I realize that my original plan did not work as I intended, but here you are nonetheless. It was a certainty that if Dumbledore was too much of a coward to save those he supposedly loves, that you would come to the rescue." Several of the Death Eaters lining the walls began to laugh heartily at that. "As for Dumbledore, I do not want to merely see him dead, I want to see him broken. I want to see him utterly destroyed. I want to know that that blasted twinkle in his eye shall dissipate and never return. I want him to suffer until he is begging for death in the end."
"So we come to it then," Harry challenged.
"Indeed we do, Potter. Just take comfort in the fact that your's will be a famous death. After all, only a famous death will suffice for the famous Harry Potter. 'The-Boy-Who-Lived?' After tonight, I think not," Voldemort ridiculed in a low bow.
"We shall see who is left standing in the end Voldemort," Harry warned.
"We shall indeed," Voldemort sneered. "But before we begin let me just say that even though our dear Minerva here is a tabby cat in form, she is really quite the tiger. I can see why Dumbledore keeps her around."
At first this statement meant nothing to Harry. He peered down at Professor McGonagall once more, and as he took in the state of her torn robes and absent shoes he understood. The sounds of the again laughing Death Eaters was lost upon him as Harry turned to Voldemort with his face contorting in a mix of anger and grief.
"Which one of your ogres violated her," Harry demanded in a vengeful sneer to match Voldemort's. "Was it Malfoy? Dolohov?"
"Come now Harry," mocked Voldemort, "I cannot let my followers have all the fun, now can I? It was I who performed this task. And if I do say so myself, I performed it admirably."
An intense howl filled every nook and cranny of the old house. It took a moment for Harry to realize that it was ushering from his own mouth. Such was the force of his outcry that Harry thought his throat may tear. If Voldemort had hoped to provoke Harry into action he had succeeded. Harry flashed his wand like a sword and an intense string of incantations and curses spewed forth from his lips.
"Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus! Impedimenta! Silencio! Stupefy! Reducto! Expecto Patronum! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!" he screamed. So much so was Harry's distress and rage that many of the spells he uttered made no sense at all. He simply was calling upon all that he had. He needed to hurt Voldemort. He needed to break him for all the pain and suffering he had caused. But Voldemort was not hurt nor broken once Harry ceased yelling and stood panting laboriously on the spot. The dark wizard had not even raised his wand to protect himself from Harry's curses. On the contrary, he stood quite still with a sickening, triumphant look upon his face. Every spell had hit Voldemort square in the chest, but not one had phased him in the slightest. He simply stood with his arms down to his sides and allowed each spell to overtake him. Harry watched as his last stupefy curse struck his foe in the chest. Voldemort became luminous for a moment, but then the eerie red glow from the hex dissolved into Voldemort as if it was becoming one with its intended victim.
Harry stared with an expression of shock and bewilderment. "I believe it is time to show you my new weapon," Voldemort smirked. The dark wizard turned his back to Harry. After a moment he turned around to face him once more as Harry's brain filled with dread. Yet, when Voldemort stretched out his hand it was empty. Harry did not understand and his brow furrowed deeply to demonstrate this. "Have you not figured it out yet?" Voldemort asked in an amused tone. "I am the weapon."
How can this be? Harry thought.
"Perhaps you need an explanation, my young friend?" Voldemort said sensing Harry's query. "I was most fortunate to stumble across an ancient power so wonderfully obscure that it has long since been forgotten. I doubt even your precious headmaster knows of its existence. It is magic so immense in power that few men could survive it, but then again, I am no mere man." Voldemort was striding arrogantly toward Harry now, his arms held wide. "I devoted myself these last few months to learn this intense form of wizardry. No doubt you have heard the adage 'the wand chooses the wizard.' But have you ever wondered why, Potter? Our wands connect to us on a spiritual level. It should not be surprising then that wizards are nearly helpless when deprived of them."
As if on cue, Harry heard Malfoy exclaim, "Expelliarmus!" Harry's wand flew from his hand in a high arc and disappeared somewhere in the darkness. Harry was now defenseless. He was now nearly as vulnerable as the unconscious forms of Neville and Professor McGonagall around him.
"You see Potter?" Voldemort laughed. "You cannot defeat me!"
"That doesn't explain why you are a weapon," Harry said once again trying to stall as long as possible. It took all of his withering self-control to restrain the panic trying to enter his voice.
"Quite right, quite right," Voldemort muttered. "Not far from here is the graveyard where you so helpfully returned me to my body. Our battle there gave me all the information I needed to empower myself to your defeat. I discovered that our wands could not work against one another, undoubtedly because we share cores. How should I have proceeded Potter? I could have easily commanded one of my Death Eaters to dispatch you, many would have been eager for the opportunity, but I have been so longing to be the one who would rid the world of you. The answer was so simple really. I had to render your powers useless, and this I have done, make no mistake!"
"Obscurity," continued Voldemort," can be a tremendous blessing. I discovered the perfect tool to aid me in my quest, the Valiturus Draught. It is a potion so powerful that it can transform a wizard so that using a wand is no longer necessary. Yet, the potion has another use, one that is particularly valuable to me. You see, Potter, the principle ingredient in the potion is the wand of the wizard who intends to drink it. Therefore the spent wand becomes ingrained in the very tissues of the drinker."
A dawning of realization filled Harry with apprehension. "Are you saying," Harry began, "that you act as your own wand?"
"Precisely," Voldemort glowered. "However, the potion can also offer me a certain amount of protection from any wizard who shares the same spiritual inclination as I. Meaning, your wand, which holds the exact same core that has now become a part of me, is completely useless to you! You and I are connected, Potter, whether either of us would desire it or not. This is now to my advantage and your doom. So concludes our battle of wills and dreams, you are of no more use to me."
Wandless and alone, Harry closed his eyes to what he knew was coming. As the Death Eaters howled their victory praises upon the air, Voldemort leaned in to whisper in Harry's ear. "Say goodbye, Harry Potter."