Please note that I've rewritten this chapter. Danke
---
Soulless - Cookie! *pounces on the cookie*
Black Rose - Don't put yourself down. The only horrible writer is the
writer lacking punctuation, grammar, and paragraphs. Paragraphs are
essential. Yes, yes they are. Any ways, you can just send it off to
sammi.grace@3web.net (which isn't my main email, by the way, but my
main email has so many protections on it, that I'd never get your
email!)
eat mang0 - Dance a jig?? Argh, stupid image, get out of my head! Every
time I hear the word 'jig' I think of leprechauns. When I think of
leprechauns, I think of dwarves. So now I've got the image of Gimli
from LOR dancing a jig in my head. Argh!!!
Kid Major - I only remember the names of those who have a habit of
reviewing every other chapter, so I have no idea if you've previously
reviewed, either. ^___^ Glad to have made your day betters!
wicchick - The novel is entitled "The Living Weapon". Believe me, it is
seriously more messed up than Blackened Sunrise. (Lang: Is not!
Angelus: Think about it for a moment, stupid Weapon. Lang: Oh, wait...
yeah, I guess it is. ^___^ Itch: both of you, hush-up!)
Fire-Mage - I don't think I'd be much help with the revolution against
schooling. I've only got five months left and I'm out forever. And
every day ends with Mechanics, where I get to pull apart, and put cars
back together ^___^ I like Mechanics...
arielawillow - A clairvoyant is someone who can perceive things beyond
the natural range of the senses. They can also see the future, but I
decided that Ron can see the past, too. Just because it's more fun that
way. He'll never know if he's seeing the future or the past, unless
there are some pretty obvious indicators (like GG, SS, RR, and HH)
RPG is still located at
How many times do I have to say that I do not own Harry Potter?
---
Blackened Sunrise
Chapter Forty-One: Clean-up
The Itch
---
Blaise Zabini grunted, hefting another corpse into the pile in the
center of the Great Hall. The lax, or terrified faces of his former
classmates greeted him, and he shuddered, before turning his attention
back to the bodies.
The school was considerably smaller now, if it could still be
considered a 'school'.
Four hours earlier, he'd just been the average Slytherin.
Three hours earlier dinner had begun.
Two hours earlier he'd been given a choice.
An hour earlier and those who remained began to gather the bodies under
the command of their leader, piling the bodies of those they had been
talking to and goofing around with not even five hours earlier. It was
not a pleasant sight, to see all these bodies, the bodies of those who
had refused to bow to the power of Harry Potter's 'Balance'. Those who
had forcefully resisted, those who had attempted to attack, had been
brutally slain, their life blood still splattering the floor, faces,
necks and clothes of those who had been forced to watch the murders.
There had been those who had stood to one side, whispering amongst each
other, before quietly telling Potter that they could not side with him.
They would not abandon what they had been raised to believe. Those had
been exterminated with mercy, falling limp and dead to the ground
without so much as the slightest of injuries.
Tired eyes gazed to the front of the Hall, where the Professors were
chained up. Figuratively, although it might had been literally, as they
were bound without movement or voice, sitting against the wall, some
pale and others unconscious from viewing the deaths caused by the
Living Weapons and Hermione Granger.
Of those that remained, Blaise was the only Slytherin above fifth year.
There were three fourth years, five third years, two second years and
all of the first year Slytherins in those who had pledged their loyalty
to Weapon in exchange for their lives. Zabini had to wonder how many of
them would die in becoming a spy for the Ministry of Magic, just to get
back at Potter for 'ruining' everything. He very much doubted any would
get away with it.
The Ravenclaws had been the group that had been killed with mercy. Of
them, they had only four students ranging from fourth to sixth year,
two seventh years, two third years, one second year, and another four
first years. Hufflepuff, surprisingly, held no casualties. Somehow, all
of them had become very loyal to Potter during their months and years
at the castle.
Gryffindor on the other hand... all of the sixth year remained, those
who had been with Harry for the first four years of his magical life.
Seventh year was much the same, and first year had managed to survive
intact. Years two through five-- excluding Virginia, a girl and a boy--
had been massacred. They had attempted a mad rush after seeing the
brutal murder of Daemon Wolfos, reasoning that this monster could not
possibly be Harry James Potter.
Their lives became forfeit the moment they had rushed-- Weapon relaxed
his control over the Power, and let it flood outwards, ripping into the
students with all the ferocity of a mother dragon protecting it's
hatchlings.
"Stand back," Katar's voice floated over the crowd of students that
were staring in horrified wonder at the piled corpses of their friends,
and in some cases family. The Missing Weapon set forwards, coming to a
stop before the life-less face of the blonde Pansy Parkinson, and he
set the tips of his fingers against the black cloth of her robe. Flames
quickly spread to said material, before catching onto the others, and
the bodies began to form their own inferno.
Seamus Finnigan slapped a hand over his mouth as the scent of burning
flesh reached him, causing the Irish teenager to rush to a corner of
the room and wretch up his dinner. Many others followed him, and
Hermione took pity on them. Several glowing lines later, and the scent
vanished.
Her own face regained some of it's color as she carefully avoided
looking at the bodies.
Malfoy did not seem to have this aversion to the sight of the burning
bodies, his mind already perfectly comfortable with the situation both
from the Power that flowed through him, as well as from the fact that
he had seen the bodies of many tortured and dead muggles in the year
and a half since Voldemort's return to a corporeal form. This was old
news to him, and so, he crafted a staff out of the power, and poked
bodies deeper into the raging flames.
Virginia, Sirius, Ron and Katar looked to Weapon for instruction, and
they got it. They were to take the remaining students to Gryffindor
Tower, where they could clean themselves up. From there, they would
wait until Weapon, Draco and Hermione would return.
Soon enough, the hall was empty, but for those three, the burning pile
of corpses, and the Professors who were sobbing at the sight of the
bodies of their beloved students. It was terrifying to realize that
Harry Potter was much more dangerous than they had ever assumed Tom
Riddle to ever be. It was terrifying to realize that _they_ were the
reason this madman was within the halls of the once thought to be
impenetrable Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Nothing is impenetrable, Harry mused to his body-partner, everything
has a weakness, somewhere.
Indeed, Weapon returned coolly, shall we proceed?
Let's do it!
"Bladewhip, Enchantress," he didn't bother to turn to face either,
dropping off his perch, flaring his winds to catch what little breeze
he himself produced, to land on wickedly sharp talons. He was facing
the Professors and Dumbledore as he allowed Harry to come forth, tail
sucking back into his body, wings doing much the same. Blood trails
covered the teenager's bare chest, "What you think we should do with
these ones?"
"Show them the Balance..." Draco's silver eyes flashed, the spines that
decorated his head rising up in a show of eagerness, "Show them what
they're going to die to bring about!"
Hermione crossed her arms, "We should figure out who they're loyal to
_before_ randomly killing them, Draco." She really didn't want to see
any more deaths, but she knew that in siding with Potter, that it was
inevitable.
"Wonderful ideas!" Harry clapped, green eyes glinting wildly, spinning
in a circle to point abruptly at Sybil Trelawney, "False Prophetess,
whom do you serve?"
The other Professors were confused when Trelawney tipped her head to
one side, and spoke with a dreamy voice, "I serve none but the fates."
They were more confused he Harry bent over.
"And what are the fates telling you _now_, False Prophetess?"
Her eyes were surprisingly clear when they locked onto the boy's, "It
is time that they die. Old will die, to create New. I will die."
He gave her a toothy grin, "I've got plans for you, Prophetess. You'll
live a bit longer... Queenie," he turned to McGongal, "To whom is it in
that your loyalty lay?
The severe-looking woman pursed her lips, finding an answer somewhere
deep within her mind, even when she was unsure of what exactly he was
asking, "Order."
He made a motion, "Stand with 'Mione," and without her even moving, she
was suddenly on the floor beside her best student. The Enchantress
ignored her presence completely, watching the proceedings with no
little confusion. Although her presence was still very much in the back
of the mind of her DID-friend, she had no understanding of the process
through which his thoughts ran at that moment. She refrained from going
deeper into his consciousness, simply because she was not sure if she
wanted the knowledge that she would gain from that experience, enough to
travel the uncertain plains of the Living Weapon's mind.
Those who answered 'Order' to Harry's question were sent to Hermione.
Those who answered 'Chaos' went to Draco side. Finally they came to the
last Professor-- the great Albus Dumbledore. The eldest Wizard in the
room and Potter held gazes for several long moments, before Dumbledore
broke the stare to look over at the Professors at Granger's feet.
"You already know the answer to that question, Harry."
"I wasn't going to ask you that," the teenager gave a malicious grin to
his once mentor, "In fact, I wasn't going to ask you anything." Black
painted nails skittered over the knives tucked into dark gauntlets that
still guarded his wrists, despite the transformation into Weapon having
created the wickedly edged bone blades that should have sliced through
the metal-- and would have, not they been enchanted long ago to
withstand the change. But his hands moved away fromt he knives, and
despite his calm face, Dumbledore felt a chill of fear curl into his
stomach. He had assumed that Harry would kill him-- the professor had
long since known that he would be utterly destroyed by one of his
students. When Tom had become Voldemort, the headmaster had
automatically assumed that it would he he who killed him.
Now he wasn't so sure. What was this boy-- no, he was a man. Anyone
who could go through the horrors that needed to take place to become a
Living Weapon had to be a man-- up to...?
"Normally," the teenager continued cheerfully, a familiar flash of
insanity in the depths of his brillant emerald eyes, "I would just let
Weapon toast you. He really wants to, you know. Manipulation like
you've done over the years isn't exactly something either of us really
likes. Buuuuuuuut..." he trailed off, and pulled a simple switch blade
from his pants pocket, instead of the knives decorating his bare arms.
The knife jabbed into Albus' left shoulder, hauling the headmaster out
of his wonderings of where his former student was going with this train
of thought. Gunn's Power still bound him tightly to the chair,
preventing him from even jerking away from the pain as the knife was
removed-- with a little bit fo flare, the wound being dug deeper and
wider. His wince, however, did not go unnoticed, and Potter's maniac
grin became a cheerful smirk, "Ah-ah-ah. Pay attention when I'm taking,
ya old Bastard."
"What is it that you want, Harry?" his voice wavered, but he steadily
kept it to his 'gentle, senile old man' tone, trying desparately not to
let him notice the pain or the anger that was slowly building up within
him. How dare this child attack him?! He had promtly forgotten calling
Potter a man in his own mind only minutes earlier.
"Oh, that's easy," purred the teenager, leaning forwards and resting
his forehead against the wrinkled one of his ex-mentor. The switch
blade lazily trailed it's way down Albus' cheeks leaving stinging
passages. Harry _enjoyed_ dishing out pain. Pretty little designs and
scenes began to appear on the other man's cheeks as his warped mind
played. Dumbledore tried not to wince, but he knew all to well exactly
where Potter had learned his tricks. Daemon, the poor dead bastard, had
taught the teenager well-- where once Albus had watched Daemon
gleefully torture one of Grindlewald's supporters for information,
decades past, he was now on the recieving end of such brutalities.
"You're not paying attention," pouted the raven haired youth, having
withdrawn another knife-- this one from his gauntlets-- and pierced it
through the headmaster's right shoulder. The blade cut through flesh
and bone, biting deep into the wooden chair Albus was 'tyed' to. Harry
gleefully licked his lips, "You see, Professor, I was thinking. The
original plan was just to outright kill you. A little bit of torture,
bath in your blood, glorify your destruction-- you know, the fun stuff.
But then... I realised something."
Draco and Hermione shared a confused glance, watching the interaction
carefully. Both knew all to well how Harry got when he was deep into
his own madness. He wasn't at that point-- yet-- but he was creeping up
on it.
"What did you realise, Harry?"
He tapped the knife against the professor's nose, ignoring the blood
slipping up from the tiny scratch he'd made, "You're really old,"
several people twitched. Like _that_ wasn't obvious, "Really _really_
old... and really experienced. You know a shit load of things that
would be... very helpful."
Hope began to spark in Albus' chest, that he might just live through
this encounter-- and the Potter abruptly shot it down, "But you're also
very dangerous. I don't like dangerous when it can be used against me.
I saw this on the telly once, when I was living with Wolfos. Don't know
if it'll work but..."
You never know if you don't try, Hermione echoed Harry and Weapon's
throughts in the back of their conjoined minds.
Harry grinned widely, ramming the switch blade back into Albus' left
shoulder. His right hand came up, knocking Albus' inane hat off his
head to dig his fingers into snowy white locks. Fingers curled harshly
against his skull, but as dulled and chewed as they were, they did no
physical damage.
Power crackled over his fingertips, his madcap grin widening
sickeningly, eyes wide, pupils dilated, and seeming to be a
picture-perfect poster child of insanity. And then Albus began to
scream and howl, thrashing against the Power that Gunn was using to
hold him in place. Blood began to dribble from the scratches on his
scalp made both by Potter's grip, and Dumbledore's senseless flailing,
the other professors watching in mute shock.
Then his thrashing was slowing. His body began to slump over, and
Potter let him go, cheerfully licking his fingers of his mentor's
blood. The older man moaned pitifully, being forced to sit half-way up
straight by the Power. His glazed milky-blue eyes stared out over the
Great Hall, incomprehensible of what was going on around him.
Harbinger knocked him back, pulling the knives from the old man's
shoulders. Another pitiful moan escaped the old man's lips, and Harry
sighed, dejectedly, "Oh fine, be that way."
Draco looked confused, but Hermione was openly gaping. Seeing as she
had still been connected to his mind at the time, the Enchantress had
realised what their leader and friend was doing only moments before
he'd done it. She hadn't pulled out of his mind fast enough, and found
herself desparately fighting off what memories Albus Dumbledore had
contained that had bleed through the connection and into her.
Harry sighed, shaking his head, "I mean, sure I just stole all your
memories, but you don't have to act like a kicked puppy."
"Stole...?" echoed Bladewhipe, "Harbinger, what in the world are you
babbling about now?"
"Never you mind," Harry returned cheerfully, "I'll explain later. For
now..." he began to hum a little song he'd heard one of the seventh
year Ravenclaws-- one that had survived the night's massacre at that!--
belt out from time to time. The knives in his hands flickered with
elderich flames and Harry quite happily threw them at his mindless
mentor. They sunk deep into his flesh and he gave a beastial howl as
they began to absorb his magical energies to fuel their furious hunger.
Albus screamed in pain as he began to be burned alive by the mana-fed
flames.
---
Ron stood back as he watched the students slowly filtered back into the
common room from the showers, in fresh robes and with damp hair. Some
were still in shock over what had happened, others were regaining their
wits and staring at the floor as they realized what their allegiance to
this terrifying beast of a man Harry had become, truly meant.
They could be giving up any chance to return to their families. They
could be siding with someone more evil that Voldemort-- or more good
than Merlin. They didn't know. They hadn't had a chance yet to
understand.
Ron himself didn't understand it. But Ron had had several weeks already
to get used to this idea. Now that it was in full motion, in full
swing, he could no longer have doubts. He had to be strong.
So strong he'd be, and he'd keep the other students from doing
something completely and totally stupid.
Like trying to take out Harry.
---
Lord Voldemort froze in the midst of a Dark Revel, snake eyes widening
impossibly large as he felt a ripple in the Power. A powerful wizard
had just died. Who...?
...
The flicker of a flame out of the corner of his eye conveyed exactly
who it was who died, and his tongue slipped out to lick impossibly dry
lips. Lips that quickly stretched into a smile.
"Albus Dumbledore is dead..."
---
The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was cowering under his desk. A
cold chill had just flooded him, and his once body-guard's words came
back to haunt him.
He knew he was going to die.
Soon.
---
It wasn't long before a number of other bodies joined the pyre,
Hermione, Draco and Harry ignoring the flames to clean up the rest of
the Great Hall, along with those Professors that had proclaimed to be
servants of Chaos; Flitwick, Sprout, Binns-- of all people--, and
surprisingly, Snape.
Just because Severus was a servant of Chaos, didn't mean he wasn't
going to get his ass kicked for the hell he put Harry through. It just
meant that the damage wouldn't be enough to kill him. All servants of
Chaos were generally considered those who created problems for those
who worked for Order. Snape was _very_ good at causing problems.
Once the Hall was cleaned-- and Draco spelled the burning corpses to
the front yard of Malfoy Manor, just for the reaction it would get--
the group trudged itself way to Gryffindor Tower. Soon enough, Hermione
supposed, Weapon and Harry would change the school back into the castle
it had originally been. It would be a fortress, a place for Virginia to
rule from-- the only ones who didn't know that Virginia would rule were
Ron and Ginny herself-- the center point of their new world order.
She smiled to herself.
She would be the top magic-user. She was an Enchantress. She was
top-dog, like she always wanted to be.
Wouldn't her parents be so proud?
---
End Chapter
I know this chappie is kinda lame and pathetic, and rather short, but
give me a break. It's five in the morning, I'm bloody tired, and I need
some sleep.
Night-night.
---
Author's Notes, version 2:
Yeah, I changed the scene where Albus dies. That's about all that
changed with the rewrite. It _will_ have an effect on the future, which
means I'll be going over the twelve chapters that follow this to see
where I need to change it. Fun, ne?
For those of you who happen to be reading this as a rewrite from the
original chapter 41 that you all know and love, know exactly whom Harry
got his song from ^__^
- The Itch
---
Soulless - Cookie! *pounces on the cookie*
Black Rose - Don't put yourself down. The only horrible writer is the
writer lacking punctuation, grammar, and paragraphs. Paragraphs are
essential. Yes, yes they are. Any ways, you can just send it off to
sammi.grace@3web.net (which isn't my main email, by the way, but my
main email has so many protections on it, that I'd never get your
email!)
eat mang0 - Dance a jig?? Argh, stupid image, get out of my head! Every
time I hear the word 'jig' I think of leprechauns. When I think of
leprechauns, I think of dwarves. So now I've got the image of Gimli
from LOR dancing a jig in my head. Argh!!!
Kid Major - I only remember the names of those who have a habit of
reviewing every other chapter, so I have no idea if you've previously
reviewed, either. ^___^ Glad to have made your day betters!
wicchick - The novel is entitled "The Living Weapon". Believe me, it is
seriously more messed up than Blackened Sunrise. (Lang: Is not!
Angelus: Think about it for a moment, stupid Weapon. Lang: Oh, wait...
yeah, I guess it is. ^___^ Itch: both of you, hush-up!)
Fire-Mage - I don't think I'd be much help with the revolution against
schooling. I've only got five months left and I'm out forever. And
every day ends with Mechanics, where I get to pull apart, and put cars
back together ^___^ I like Mechanics...
arielawillow - A clairvoyant is someone who can perceive things beyond
the natural range of the senses. They can also see the future, but I
decided that Ron can see the past, too. Just because it's more fun that
way. He'll never know if he's seeing the future or the past, unless
there are some pretty obvious indicators (like GG, SS, RR, and HH)
RPG is still located at
How many times do I have to say that I do not own Harry Potter?
---
Blackened Sunrise
Chapter Forty-One: Clean-up
The Itch
---
Blaise Zabini grunted, hefting another corpse into the pile in the
center of the Great Hall. The lax, or terrified faces of his former
classmates greeted him, and he shuddered, before turning his attention
back to the bodies.
The school was considerably smaller now, if it could still be
considered a 'school'.
Four hours earlier, he'd just been the average Slytherin.
Three hours earlier dinner had begun.
Two hours earlier he'd been given a choice.
An hour earlier and those who remained began to gather the bodies under
the command of their leader, piling the bodies of those they had been
talking to and goofing around with not even five hours earlier. It was
not a pleasant sight, to see all these bodies, the bodies of those who
had refused to bow to the power of Harry Potter's 'Balance'. Those who
had forcefully resisted, those who had attempted to attack, had been
brutally slain, their life blood still splattering the floor, faces,
necks and clothes of those who had been forced to watch the murders.
There had been those who had stood to one side, whispering amongst each
other, before quietly telling Potter that they could not side with him.
They would not abandon what they had been raised to believe. Those had
been exterminated with mercy, falling limp and dead to the ground
without so much as the slightest of injuries.
Tired eyes gazed to the front of the Hall, where the Professors were
chained up. Figuratively, although it might had been literally, as they
were bound without movement or voice, sitting against the wall, some
pale and others unconscious from viewing the deaths caused by the
Living Weapons and Hermione Granger.
Of those that remained, Blaise was the only Slytherin above fifth year.
There were three fourth years, five third years, two second years and
all of the first year Slytherins in those who had pledged their loyalty
to Weapon in exchange for their lives. Zabini had to wonder how many of
them would die in becoming a spy for the Ministry of Magic, just to get
back at Potter for 'ruining' everything. He very much doubted any would
get away with it.
The Ravenclaws had been the group that had been killed with mercy. Of
them, they had only four students ranging from fourth to sixth year,
two seventh years, two third years, one second year, and another four
first years. Hufflepuff, surprisingly, held no casualties. Somehow, all
of them had become very loyal to Potter during their months and years
at the castle.
Gryffindor on the other hand... all of the sixth year remained, those
who had been with Harry for the first four years of his magical life.
Seventh year was much the same, and first year had managed to survive
intact. Years two through five-- excluding Virginia, a girl and a boy--
had been massacred. They had attempted a mad rush after seeing the
brutal murder of Daemon Wolfos, reasoning that this monster could not
possibly be Harry James Potter.
Their lives became forfeit the moment they had rushed-- Weapon relaxed
his control over the Power, and let it flood outwards, ripping into the
students with all the ferocity of a mother dragon protecting it's
hatchlings.
"Stand back," Katar's voice floated over the crowd of students that
were staring in horrified wonder at the piled corpses of their friends,
and in some cases family. The Missing Weapon set forwards, coming to a
stop before the life-less face of the blonde Pansy Parkinson, and he
set the tips of his fingers against the black cloth of her robe. Flames
quickly spread to said material, before catching onto the others, and
the bodies began to form their own inferno.
Seamus Finnigan slapped a hand over his mouth as the scent of burning
flesh reached him, causing the Irish teenager to rush to a corner of
the room and wretch up his dinner. Many others followed him, and
Hermione took pity on them. Several glowing lines later, and the scent
vanished.
Her own face regained some of it's color as she carefully avoided
looking at the bodies.
Malfoy did not seem to have this aversion to the sight of the burning
bodies, his mind already perfectly comfortable with the situation both
from the Power that flowed through him, as well as from the fact that
he had seen the bodies of many tortured and dead muggles in the year
and a half since Voldemort's return to a corporeal form. This was old
news to him, and so, he crafted a staff out of the power, and poked
bodies deeper into the raging flames.
Virginia, Sirius, Ron and Katar looked to Weapon for instruction, and
they got it. They were to take the remaining students to Gryffindor
Tower, where they could clean themselves up. From there, they would
wait until Weapon, Draco and Hermione would return.
Soon enough, the hall was empty, but for those three, the burning pile
of corpses, and the Professors who were sobbing at the sight of the
bodies of their beloved students. It was terrifying to realize that
Harry Potter was much more dangerous than they had ever assumed Tom
Riddle to ever be. It was terrifying to realize that _they_ were the
reason this madman was within the halls of the once thought to be
impenetrable Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Nothing is impenetrable, Harry mused to his body-partner, everything
has a weakness, somewhere.
Indeed, Weapon returned coolly, shall we proceed?
Let's do it!
"Bladewhip, Enchantress," he didn't bother to turn to face either,
dropping off his perch, flaring his winds to catch what little breeze
he himself produced, to land on wickedly sharp talons. He was facing
the Professors and Dumbledore as he allowed Harry to come forth, tail
sucking back into his body, wings doing much the same. Blood trails
covered the teenager's bare chest, "What you think we should do with
these ones?"
"Show them the Balance..." Draco's silver eyes flashed, the spines that
decorated his head rising up in a show of eagerness, "Show them what
they're going to die to bring about!"
Hermione crossed her arms, "We should figure out who they're loyal to
_before_ randomly killing them, Draco." She really didn't want to see
any more deaths, but she knew that in siding with Potter, that it was
inevitable.
"Wonderful ideas!" Harry clapped, green eyes glinting wildly, spinning
in a circle to point abruptly at Sybil Trelawney, "False Prophetess,
whom do you serve?"
The other Professors were confused when Trelawney tipped her head to
one side, and spoke with a dreamy voice, "I serve none but the fates."
They were more confused he Harry bent over.
"And what are the fates telling you _now_, False Prophetess?"
Her eyes were surprisingly clear when they locked onto the boy's, "It
is time that they die. Old will die, to create New. I will die."
He gave her a toothy grin, "I've got plans for you, Prophetess. You'll
live a bit longer... Queenie," he turned to McGongal, "To whom is it in
that your loyalty lay?
The severe-looking woman pursed her lips, finding an answer somewhere
deep within her mind, even when she was unsure of what exactly he was
asking, "Order."
He made a motion, "Stand with 'Mione," and without her even moving, she
was suddenly on the floor beside her best student. The Enchantress
ignored her presence completely, watching the proceedings with no
little confusion. Although her presence was still very much in the back
of the mind of her DID-friend, she had no understanding of the process
through which his thoughts ran at that moment. She refrained from going
deeper into his consciousness, simply because she was not sure if she
wanted the knowledge that she would gain from that experience, enough to
travel the uncertain plains of the Living Weapon's mind.
Those who answered 'Order' to Harry's question were sent to Hermione.
Those who answered 'Chaos' went to Draco side. Finally they came to the
last Professor-- the great Albus Dumbledore. The eldest Wizard in the
room and Potter held gazes for several long moments, before Dumbledore
broke the stare to look over at the Professors at Granger's feet.
"You already know the answer to that question, Harry."
"I wasn't going to ask you that," the teenager gave a malicious grin to
his once mentor, "In fact, I wasn't going to ask you anything." Black
painted nails skittered over the knives tucked into dark gauntlets that
still guarded his wrists, despite the transformation into Weapon having
created the wickedly edged bone blades that should have sliced through
the metal-- and would have, not they been enchanted long ago to
withstand the change. But his hands moved away fromt he knives, and
despite his calm face, Dumbledore felt a chill of fear curl into his
stomach. He had assumed that Harry would kill him-- the professor had
long since known that he would be utterly destroyed by one of his
students. When Tom had become Voldemort, the headmaster had
automatically assumed that it would he he who killed him.
Now he wasn't so sure. What was this boy-- no, he was a man. Anyone
who could go through the horrors that needed to take place to become a
Living Weapon had to be a man-- up to...?
"Normally," the teenager continued cheerfully, a familiar flash of
insanity in the depths of his brillant emerald eyes, "I would just let
Weapon toast you. He really wants to, you know. Manipulation like
you've done over the years isn't exactly something either of us really
likes. Buuuuuuuut..." he trailed off, and pulled a simple switch blade
from his pants pocket, instead of the knives decorating his bare arms.
The knife jabbed into Albus' left shoulder, hauling the headmaster out
of his wonderings of where his former student was going with this train
of thought. Gunn's Power still bound him tightly to the chair,
preventing him from even jerking away from the pain as the knife was
removed-- with a little bit fo flare, the wound being dug deeper and
wider. His wince, however, did not go unnoticed, and Potter's maniac
grin became a cheerful smirk, "Ah-ah-ah. Pay attention when I'm taking,
ya old Bastard."
"What is it that you want, Harry?" his voice wavered, but he steadily
kept it to his 'gentle, senile old man' tone, trying desparately not to
let him notice the pain or the anger that was slowly building up within
him. How dare this child attack him?! He had promtly forgotten calling
Potter a man in his own mind only minutes earlier.
"Oh, that's easy," purred the teenager, leaning forwards and resting
his forehead against the wrinkled one of his ex-mentor. The switch
blade lazily trailed it's way down Albus' cheeks leaving stinging
passages. Harry _enjoyed_ dishing out pain. Pretty little designs and
scenes began to appear on the other man's cheeks as his warped mind
played. Dumbledore tried not to wince, but he knew all to well exactly
where Potter had learned his tricks. Daemon, the poor dead bastard, had
taught the teenager well-- where once Albus had watched Daemon
gleefully torture one of Grindlewald's supporters for information,
decades past, he was now on the recieving end of such brutalities.
"You're not paying attention," pouted the raven haired youth, having
withdrawn another knife-- this one from his gauntlets-- and pierced it
through the headmaster's right shoulder. The blade cut through flesh
and bone, biting deep into the wooden chair Albus was 'tyed' to. Harry
gleefully licked his lips, "You see, Professor, I was thinking. The
original plan was just to outright kill you. A little bit of torture,
bath in your blood, glorify your destruction-- you know, the fun stuff.
But then... I realised something."
Draco and Hermione shared a confused glance, watching the interaction
carefully. Both knew all to well how Harry got when he was deep into
his own madness. He wasn't at that point-- yet-- but he was creeping up
on it.
"What did you realise, Harry?"
He tapped the knife against the professor's nose, ignoring the blood
slipping up from the tiny scratch he'd made, "You're really old,"
several people twitched. Like _that_ wasn't obvious, "Really _really_
old... and really experienced. You know a shit load of things that
would be... very helpful."
Hope began to spark in Albus' chest, that he might just live through
this encounter-- and the Potter abruptly shot it down, "But you're also
very dangerous. I don't like dangerous when it can be used against me.
I saw this on the telly once, when I was living with Wolfos. Don't know
if it'll work but..."
You never know if you don't try, Hermione echoed Harry and Weapon's
throughts in the back of their conjoined minds.
Harry grinned widely, ramming the switch blade back into Albus' left
shoulder. His right hand came up, knocking Albus' inane hat off his
head to dig his fingers into snowy white locks. Fingers curled harshly
against his skull, but as dulled and chewed as they were, they did no
physical damage.
Power crackled over his fingertips, his madcap grin widening
sickeningly, eyes wide, pupils dilated, and seeming to be a
picture-perfect poster child of insanity. And then Albus began to
scream and howl, thrashing against the Power that Gunn was using to
hold him in place. Blood began to dribble from the scratches on his
scalp made both by Potter's grip, and Dumbledore's senseless flailing,
the other professors watching in mute shock.
Then his thrashing was slowing. His body began to slump over, and
Potter let him go, cheerfully licking his fingers of his mentor's
blood. The older man moaned pitifully, being forced to sit half-way up
straight by the Power. His glazed milky-blue eyes stared out over the
Great Hall, incomprehensible of what was going on around him.
Harbinger knocked him back, pulling the knives from the old man's
shoulders. Another pitiful moan escaped the old man's lips, and Harry
sighed, dejectedly, "Oh fine, be that way."
Draco looked confused, but Hermione was openly gaping. Seeing as she
had still been connected to his mind at the time, the Enchantress had
realised what their leader and friend was doing only moments before
he'd done it. She hadn't pulled out of his mind fast enough, and found
herself desparately fighting off what memories Albus Dumbledore had
contained that had bleed through the connection and into her.
Harry sighed, shaking his head, "I mean, sure I just stole all your
memories, but you don't have to act like a kicked puppy."
"Stole...?" echoed Bladewhipe, "Harbinger, what in the world are you
babbling about now?"
"Never you mind," Harry returned cheerfully, "I'll explain later. For
now..." he began to hum a little song he'd heard one of the seventh
year Ravenclaws-- one that had survived the night's massacre at that!--
belt out from time to time. The knives in his hands flickered with
elderich flames and Harry quite happily threw them at his mindless
mentor. They sunk deep into his flesh and he gave a beastial howl as
they began to absorb his magical energies to fuel their furious hunger.
Albus screamed in pain as he began to be burned alive by the mana-fed
flames.
---
Ron stood back as he watched the students slowly filtered back into the
common room from the showers, in fresh robes and with damp hair. Some
were still in shock over what had happened, others were regaining their
wits and staring at the floor as they realized what their allegiance to
this terrifying beast of a man Harry had become, truly meant.
They could be giving up any chance to return to their families. They
could be siding with someone more evil that Voldemort-- or more good
than Merlin. They didn't know. They hadn't had a chance yet to
understand.
Ron himself didn't understand it. But Ron had had several weeks already
to get used to this idea. Now that it was in full motion, in full
swing, he could no longer have doubts. He had to be strong.
So strong he'd be, and he'd keep the other students from doing
something completely and totally stupid.
Like trying to take out Harry.
---
Lord Voldemort froze in the midst of a Dark Revel, snake eyes widening
impossibly large as he felt a ripple in the Power. A powerful wizard
had just died. Who...?
...
The flicker of a flame out of the corner of his eye conveyed exactly
who it was who died, and his tongue slipped out to lick impossibly dry
lips. Lips that quickly stretched into a smile.
"Albus Dumbledore is dead..."
---
The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was cowering under his desk. A
cold chill had just flooded him, and his once body-guard's words came
back to haunt him.
He knew he was going to die.
Soon.
---
It wasn't long before a number of other bodies joined the pyre,
Hermione, Draco and Harry ignoring the flames to clean up the rest of
the Great Hall, along with those Professors that had proclaimed to be
servants of Chaos; Flitwick, Sprout, Binns-- of all people--, and
surprisingly, Snape.
Just because Severus was a servant of Chaos, didn't mean he wasn't
going to get his ass kicked for the hell he put Harry through. It just
meant that the damage wouldn't be enough to kill him. All servants of
Chaos were generally considered those who created problems for those
who worked for Order. Snape was _very_ good at causing problems.
Once the Hall was cleaned-- and Draco spelled the burning corpses to
the front yard of Malfoy Manor, just for the reaction it would get--
the group trudged itself way to Gryffindor Tower. Soon enough, Hermione
supposed, Weapon and Harry would change the school back into the castle
it had originally been. It would be a fortress, a place for Virginia to
rule from-- the only ones who didn't know that Virginia would rule were
Ron and Ginny herself-- the center point of their new world order.
She smiled to herself.
She would be the top magic-user. She was an Enchantress. She was
top-dog, like she always wanted to be.
Wouldn't her parents be so proud?
---
End Chapter
I know this chappie is kinda lame and pathetic, and rather short, but
give me a break. It's five in the morning, I'm bloody tired, and I need
some sleep.
Night-night.
---
Author's Notes, version 2:
Yeah, I changed the scene where Albus dies. That's about all that
changed with the rewrite. It _will_ have an effect on the future, which
means I'll be going over the twelve chapters that follow this to see
where I need to change it. Fun, ne?
For those of you who happen to be reading this as a rewrite from the
original chapter 41 that you all know and love, know exactly whom Harry
got his song from ^__^
- The Itch