Harry Potter - Vengeance and Wrath: The Rise of The Dark Lord
- CHAPTER SIX -
The Aftermath
Harry's head was still throbbing when he came round, but, thankfully, most of the pain had subsided. He could hear panic-stricken voices calling his name, distant at first, then drawing closer and closer. Finally, his mind and body reunited, and Harry's eyes flickered open.
'Oh, thank goodness. He's OK.' Mrs. Weasley sighed with relief. 'You gave us quite a fright, Harry.' she smiled down at him.
Harry tried to get up from the hard hallway floor, but every bone and muscle in his body ached.
'What happened?' he managed to murmur.
The crowd of anxious looking people surrounding him exchanged glances.
'Don't you remember?' asked Ron.
Harry shook his head, then, overcome with dizziness and nausea, immediately wished he hadn't.
'You collapsed and fell down the stairs, Harry.' Mrs. Weasley explained softly.
'You've been unconscious for ages.' Ron added, 'If you were out any longer Dad was going to take you to St. Mungo's.'
Memories of the morning slowly swam into Harry's mind, blurry at first, then clearer and sharper. He remembered standing on the first floor landing, looking down into the hallway, listening to a conversation. A horrible conversation. There had been an explosion in Diagon Alley. Fred and George were dead. Then... what had happened after that? His scar had started hurting. No, that was an understatement - he had been in agony. The pain had been so intense he had fainted. There was something else though...he had definitely forgotten something. Someone had been laughing just before he passed out. A high pitched, maniacal laugh...
A wave of icy cold washed over Harry, as the final hazy details became focused. He had heard Voldemortlaughing. Voldemort was happy.
'Are you OK, Harry?' Hermione's tearstained face hovered above him.
'No. No, I think I need to lie down.' Harry replied tremulously.
'Maybe we should take you to St. Mungo's?' said Lupin worriedly. 'You had quite a nasty fall. You may have concussion.'
'No.' Harry snapped. 'I'll be fine. I just want to lie down.'
Harry lay awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to hold back the tears that spilled down his face. Fred and George were dead. Voldemort was happy that they were dead. Why did he have to know what his enemy was feeling? He hated it. He hated his stupid scar. He hated that he couldn't even look in the mirror without being reminded of Voldemort - of what Voldemort did to his parents. But most of all he hated Voldemort himself. Voldemort was the reason that Harry had his stupid curse scar; Voldemort was the reason that Harry had no parents; Voldemort was the reason that he had spent the last fifteen years living with the Dursleys; Voldemort was to blame for Cedric Diggory's death; Voldemort was behind Sirius' death, and now Voldemort had killed Fred and George Weasley.
Harry got out of bed and started pacing the room angrily.
'Why me?' he whispered to the empty room. 'Why do I have this connection with Voldemort? Why do I have to kill him? How is a sixteen year old supposed to defeat one of the most evil, powerful dark wizards?'
'How did a one year old defeat him? Or an eleven year old? Or a fourteen year old? Or a fifteen year old?' a voice asked.
Harry turned around to face the canvas on the otherwise bare walls. The portrait belonged to Phineas Nigellus, Sirius' great-great grandfather and the least popular Headmaster Hogwarts had ever had.
'First sign of madness, you know? Talking to yourself.' Phineas chortled.
Harry ignored this comment.
'I didn't have to kill him before.' Harry said flatly.
'What?' Phineas sounded confused.
'You asked how I defeated him before. But I didn't - not really. I just postponed his rise to power.' Harry explained. 'I didn't have to kill him before.'
'Why do you have to kill him this time?' Phineas asked.
'Because, if I don't he's always going to be a part of my life. I'll know every time he's happy, or angry, or upset. And he'll keep coming after me, killing my friends and the people I care about. I can't let that happen.' Harry replied. 'I have to stop him. And I have to make sure that he can never come back.'
Phineas' response was drowned out by a piercing scream. At first Harry thought it was Mrs. Black, until she herself began screaming and shouting.
Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs, and the door of Harry's bedroom flew open.
'Harry!' Hermione said breathlessly. 'You have to come downstairs! It's Fred and George - they're OK! They're OK, Harry!' she sobbed happily, throwing her arms around Harry's neck.
Harry hurried downstairs, closely followed by Hermione, racing past Mrs. Black's portrait ('Filth! Scum! Blood-traitors! Plebeians!'), and down to the basement kitchen.
Mrs. Weasley was stood next to her sons, looking decidedly pale - almost as if she had seen a ghost.
'I thought you were dead.' Mrs. Weasley sobbed, tears cascading down her ashen face.
'Bit morbid, Mum.' Fred replied. 'We were helping the Ministry.'
'But you could have sent an owl, or used Floo powder, or...' Mrs Weasley threw her arms around her sons and enveloped them in a suffocating embrace.
'I thought you were dead.' she repeated.
'We will be in a minute.' George grinned, 'We can't breathe.'
Mrs. Weasley pulled away and held her sons at arms length.
'I thought I'd never see you again. I never told you how... setting up a successful business on your own... inventing all those wonderful things...' she babbled.
'What your mother is trying to say is that-' Mr. Weasley started.
'We're so proud of you!' Mrs. Weasley interrupted, hugging her sons once more.
Fred and George exchanged looks of sheer bewilderment.
'So...who died?' Ron asked curiously.
'Well, it was Flourish and Blotts and the Magical Menagerie that suffered the most - all that was left was a pile of rubble-' Fred began.
'What about all those poor animals?' Ginny gasped.
'The manager of the Magical Menagerie left a few weeks ago - taking all the animals with her. But Flourish and Blotts was still open for business. The manager and a couple of people doing some shopping were in there when it happened.' George said grimly.
'That's terrible.' said Hermione tearfully. 'Those poor people, and all those books...gone.'
'But why did Voldemort destroy the shops? I doubt that anything in Flourish and Blotts or the Magical Menagerie would have stopped his rise to power.' Harry questioned.
'It wasn't about the shops, Harry.' Lupin answered. 'Voldemort was proving a point. He wants everyone to know that nobody is safe from his wrath.'
The momentary happiness Harry experienced at having discovered Fred and George were alive and well, suddenly disintegrated. If Voldemort had destroyed shops, killing people in the process, just to prove a point, what else was he capable of doing?