Author's Disclaimer: HP - Still not mine.
Author's Note: Thanks as always to Nicky15 for the awesome beta! For those of you wishing for some action, it starts now. ;-P
That being said, this is officially AU now – post-OotP and pre-HBP. Considering the trauma I had wrapping up NANA after OotP (while I didn't read it for quite a while, I'm such a ff-aholic that it didn't take too long for me to come across something without the proper spoiler warnings), I've elected to hold off on HBP until I'm done with this story (which my new goal sets towards the end of August). So, shhhh… Don't tell me what you know. ;-)
However, please do not let that interfere with reviews! Feedback is always hugely appreciated (and great motivation to help stay on track with my goals for finishing). :-D
All That's Left Behind
Chapter 8 – In Memory Of
Harry,
If you weren't living in the house with that harpy portrait, and I knew it'd do more harm than good, I'd send you a Howler loud enough to put even my mum to shame.
Prat. Not owling me for most of the holidays. Not answering any of my owls, except for that bloody thank-you that told me next to nothing about you.
Merlin. See what you've done? I'm channeling mum.
I talked to Charlie, and am disturbed to report that he knows of a hippogriff herd in need of a… erm… male, and that the blokes who run the preserve were pleased to hear about it from Charlie and thought Buckbeak would be a prime candidate. Can I just say that you owe me big time for having to sit through a forty-five minute lecture on the mating habits of hippogriffs!
On an entirely different matter, would you please tell me what mum's done? She's been all shifty-eyed for weeks now, and I know she's stopped pestering you because she's pestering me now, and when she gets like this I know she's really bollixed something up but good.
I've been campaigning for practically ever now to come over, and it looks like I finally get my wish. Mums aren't the only ones good at guilt. It looks like Hermione will beat me there by a few days, though.
I'll warn you now. She's still cheesed off about not hearing from you, so just resign yourself to some serious intense lecture time when she gets there. In fact, picture me there as well when she lays into you. Pillock.
I'm glad you owled. I'm climbing the walls here, and figure I can annoy you far more effectively than I can Ginny. She's too used to me.
Just to warn you, I (over)heard dad talking to mum about Dumbledore. I think he'll be coming by your place in a week or so. I know you've been jumpy around him lately, so thought you'd appreciate the early notice.
Well. Gotta go. Time for more lotions homework. Say hello to Remus for me when you see him, and see if you can convince Tonks to wear a tighter shirt. For morale.
Ron
Harry blinked at the letter for a couple more moments before simultaneously blushing and snorting. Trust Ron to have his priorities in order. Shaking his head, Harry put his hand to his face and continued to snicker as someone knocked on the door to Buckbeak's room.
Tonk's head poked inside, nodding to Buckbeak who was absently gnawing on a large bone left over from the stew Dobby had made the night before, then glancing at where Harry was settled in the middle of the bed, books and parchment scattered around him, and Ron's scroll in hand.
"I see you found the letters on the kitchen table," she observed dryly. Harry had to work hard not to blush again. Please tell me these letters aren't screened before they get to me.
"Thanks," Harry murmured.
"Normally we just check authenticity, to validate it's from who it says it's from, and if the text or parchment contains any hidden charms or portkeys," Tonks abruptly announced. Uh oh.
"We don't read your mail, Harry. I wasn't sure if anyone told you. Now that you're finally writing your friends, I thought you'd want to know that," Tonk continued, clearly nervous. Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Yep. She read it.
"That being said, while I was checking who it was from, I couldn't help but notice my name, and well… I hadn't had coffee yet, and have a weak sense of self-restraint at the best of times…"
"No harm done," Harry nearly squeaked, mortified, and hoping she'd drop the topic.
"Well… Okay, then," Tonks said, and Harry realized when he finally dared raise his eyes to meet hers, that she was wearing a dressing gown, which was odd, as she normally got dressed immediately after breakfast, and instead of her usual slippers, he could see trainers peeking from underneath . She looked torn between laughing and being sincerely contrite.
"I didn't mean to invade your privacy."
Harry raised a hand and shook his head. "It's all right, Tonks. I'd have looked too, if I'd seen my name," he replied honestly.
"Okay. I just wanted you to know," Tonks said, but still hovered in the doorway. Harry dared look her in the eye again, and couldn't miss the devious twinkle.
"So, do you think the lad will appreciate this?" she asked, and suddenly whipped open her robe, revealing a hot pink (tight) t-shirt with 'Cheeky' written brazenly across the front, strategically placed, in fluorescent colors that strobed and pulsed in such a way that it was nearly a full minute before Harry could tear his eyes away.
Holding a hand out in front of him to block the shirt from view, Harry shook his head with a smile. "I suspect he will," he replied, refusing to look again, and felt mirth bubble up in his throat.
"I don't suppose you have a Wizarding camera I could borrow for when he does?" Harry asked after a pause.
"That's absolutely brill, Harry! I'll bring one tonight!" Tonks replied with practically fiendish delight. Harry snorted.
"Tonks, quit flashing the boy. Harry, we're off for an hour or so. We've got the wards keyed to notify us the instant anyone unauthorized breaches the building. If you need anything, firecall the Headmaster's office, alright?" Kingsley Shacklebolt rumbled as he stepped behind Tonks and pulled her away from the doorway and waited for Harry's response.
"Okay," Harry murmured, knowing the place would have to be falling down around his ears before he ever asked for Dumbledore's help.
Still in good spirits and unaware of the sharp turn Harry's emotions had taken, Tonks gave him a wink and a wave before disappearing. Kingsley stood in the doorway for a moment, his dark brown eyes resting on Harry thoughtfully. It was clear he had picked up on Harry's dark thoughts, but chose not to say anything about it.
"We won't be long," Kingsley said after a moment. Harry smiled weakly.
"I'm not going anywhere," he tried to joke. Kinglsley nodded, then closed the door behind him. Harry could still hear them as they headed downstairs. .
"I suppose you're wearing that to the meeting?" Kingsley asked, his voice carrying a distinct note of amusement.
"I've been working undercover. That's what they get for calling all these unnecessary meetings on such short notice," Tonks replied.
Harry waited until he heard the familiar whooshing sound of the Floo being activated, then forced himself to stay still for a few minutes more, just in case Tonks forgot something.
Once he was sure they weren't coming back, Harry was up on his feet in an instant, ready for another trip to the hidden room behind the pantry. He'd narrowed his list of possible candidate spells down to three, and wanted to make absolutely sure there were no other reference books he could look through before making a decision.
"Dobby?" Harry called as he slumped down against the uneven wall in the hidden room. His search had proven fruitless, as he'd both feared and suspected it would.
"Yes, Harry Potter, sir?" Dobby appeared, wearing a tea cozy decorated with brightly colored flowers on it, which stood in stark contrast to the dreary, oppressive atmosphere in the room. Harry had to force himself to ask the question.
"Is this room soundproof?" Dobby's eyes got impossibly large.
"Yes, Harry Potter. When the door is sealed, nothing can be heard," Dobby whispered, the tips of his ears quivering.
"After…" Harry began, then had to clear his throat. Was he really going to go through with this? Was this really his only choice? "After everyone goes to bed tonight, I'll need you to shut the door behind me," Harry said. Dobby appeared frozen.
"Is there something more Dobby can do for Harry Potter? Dobby doesn't like leaving Harry Potter locked in this place," Dobby asked. They were both speaking softly, as if afraid of being overheard.
"Just remember your promise," Harry said intently. Dobby's head bobbed rapidly. "After a few hours, I'll probably need help back to my bedroom as well."
"Of course, Harry Potter," Dobby said, and Harry realized he looked frightened.
"I'll be fine," Harry said, although in truth he had no idea if he would be or not. In fact, he couldn't even promise to make it through what he intended to do completely sane. But he was out of options, and out of time, and the spell he'd decided on seemed to be the least dark of all the ones he'd looked at.
"Dobby thinks that Harry Potter needs a good lunch, then," Dobby said, and approached him hesitantly, as if approaching a wild animal for the first time. Harry frowned, but stayed still, as Dobby reached out and gently took Harry's hand in his, pulling him away from the room.
His fingers were tiny in Harry's hand, yet surprisingly strong, he noted as he followed the house-elf back into the kitchen. Never before had Dobby initiated contact in such a way, and Harry instantly understood their relationship had irrevocably changed.
"Okay, Dobby," Harry agreed, all at once overwhelmed at the thought that, if he hadn't thought of a way to free him, Dobby might not be alive today. "Thanks," he said, and squeezed Dobby's fingers tenderly, feeling oddly responsible.
"Dobby will do anything for Harry Potter," Dobby said, and waved his free hand at the hidden door, which quietly shut behind him. It struck Harry that Dobby could have just shown him the room, if he had access to it, rather than having to also explain about his now being master of the house of Black, and realized just how much the house-elf revealed to him. It took his breath away to comprehend how much Dobby routinely chose to risk helping him.
Dobby settled Harry at the kitchen table, which seemed empty and lifeless without anyone else there. He missed Remus, and felt oddly cut off from his former professor. Even though his former professor had sent brief notes reassuring him that he was doing better, much of Harry's former insecurity seemed to come back a thousand-fold in his absence.
He'd seen the physical evidence of the trauma Remus was going through after losing Sirius, and knew he ultimately was the cause. Certainly, others could share the burden as well, but it had been his mistakes and his lack of judgment that were ultimately to blame. He could only hope that destroying Mrs. Black's portrait had helped ease the pain, at least a little bit.
The lightly toasted roast beef sandwich and crisps sat heavily in Harry's stomach as he silently re-evaluated whether it was the right course of action to try the vis consummo recordatio spell. Absently, he gnawed on a cuticle as he thumbed through his notes. The ginger fizz did nothing to ease the increasing nausea he felt.
This is what I know, Harry wrote on a blank sheet of paper, trying to sort his thoughts. I'm the only one who can kill Voldemort. I have a power that he knows not. What is it! Harry scribbled, pressing heavily against the parchment and breaking the tip of his quill in the process. Annoyed at himself, Harry hadn't even completely stood up to get a new one before realizing one was already sitting next to his pot of ink.
"Thanks, Dobby," Harry said, and sat down, dutifully staring at his list again.
The headmaster's only obsessed with Occulmency, which I'm pants at. I'm good at defense against the Dark Arts, but still don't stand much of a chance at winning many duels with Death Eaters.
Being raised by Muggles means there's a lot Ron and kids like him automatically know that I've still got to learn. I already understand that knowledge, both of spells and how to use them, will be the best thing I can do to help prepare for next time. I also understand that I can't rely on Dumbledore and the rest of the Order to give me the tools I need to win. They have no idea what will beat Tom either, which means I'm on my own.
Of course, there is plenty they can teach, and it's time I quit being a nit and start asking them for help. But as for this… I don't see any other way to even begin to prepare. Sixth year at Hogwarts, while undoubtedly eventful, isn't going to give me what I need unless I suddenly develop a photographic memory and can spend all hours in the library, memorizing spells and then trying them out in the Room of Requirement.
So… The spell. It's classified as Dark because to use it costs energy and is irreversible. It takes years off a Wizard's life because it forces the candle, so to speak, to burn at both ends. But before I came to Hogwarts, I only ever expected to live seventy-five or so.
He'd overheard Uncle Vernon protesting loudly when he'd heard the statistics on the wireless a few years ago. Evidently women lived quite a bit longer, and Aunt Petunia had had a hard time not being smug about itHarry had latched onto that number (three quarters of a century, his mind automatically supplied), using it as a way to remind himself that the Dursleys would only be temporary. He'd have spent less than a fifth of his life living with them, and that wouldn't be so bad, would it? Then he'd be free. Harry had to close his eyes to stop the rest of that thought from forming. But I'll never be free, will I?
Even though Wizards are supposed to have this long life, do I really think I'll even live long enough to graduate Hogwarts? Here, Harry paused as his heart sped up and his throat clenched in unacknowledged grief. Here was the truth of it. Did he really expect to live? And if he did, would shortening his lifespan to what he'd always expected it to be before coming to Hogwarts be too heavy a price? Was there a chance he might survive Voldemort? In his gut, Harry knew odds were against it. No, I suppose not. I swore to do whatever was in my power to defeat Tom, and that's something I intend to do.
Once done, only death ends the spell. This is permanent. Am I absolutely sure? Again, Harry looked down at the words and frowned. Was he sure? Did he know for certain that this was the right thing to do? Did he feel like he had a choice?
That's the irony, isn't it? Dumbledore would frown upon me doing something like this, yet if he knew I intended it, would he really stop me?
Harry took a deep breath to regroup. He'd loved the headmaster. He'd felt safe - before. He'd thought Dumbledore cared. He'd admired the headmaster's willingness to believe in him no matter how things might appear otherwise. He'd given Harry a home when he'd had none, but the conditions … He should have known better than to believe anyone could love him without a reason or purpose. If he even truly did. Sure, Harry knew the headmaster cared in his own way… But love?
Who knows, maybe he made sure the books remained here knowing I'd find them, Harry wrote cynically.
It takes forty-eight hours for most of the superficial traces of the spell to fade. After that, unless someone were specifically looking for it, they wouldn't be able to tell what Harry had done. Am I sure I can bluff through it long enough to last? Harry wrote, absently nibbling on the tip of his quill. The question he refused to write down was, "Am I sure I can keep from going mad?"
Seventy percent of wizards documented who had attempted the spell never learned how to properly manage their newfound memory capacity. Without finding a way to prioritize memories, they were quickly overwhelmed by them, forced to forever dull their senses lest they be overwhelmed.
Am I really that sure I'll be able to do this? Harry wrote, finally acknowledging his deepest source of anxiety. He didn't fear a shortened lifespan. That was practically a given anymore, but he was terrified of losing his mind; of not being strong enough to get a hold of his new abilities. He could certainly understand the need to be able to shuffle everyday memories to the back in favor of more important things. After all, how important was it to remember every time Snape insulted him?
There are people who've had photographic memories all their lives. I can do this. I just need to not panic and be patient while my brain figures it out. I have to do this. I've only got two years at Hogwarts left and then what? Then I'm on my own completely, and I don't stand a chance then. I've got no chance at being an Auror, and wouldn't want to anyway. What else can I do?
I'm almost out of time. Tonks is hinting that Remus should be back in a couple of days. Hermione comes on Friday. I must have passed the forty-eight hour time limit by the time Dumbledore comes. Tonight's it.
Harry found his eyes automatically staring at the now darkened pantry, envisioning the room beyond it. Am I mad for doing this? Harry wrote after a pause. In truth, he was terrified. He didn't want to die, and he just wanted to be like everyone else. He'd loved Sirius, and had dared to want to share a life with him. To dream of a home where he'd be loved back.
I miss you, Sirius. I'd give anything to have you back. I can't fix what's happened, but I can sure make certain it doesn't happen again. No one else dies for me. Not if I can help it. I'm done being a victim of my own ignorance.
If the path is already set, who's to say this isn't exactly what must happen next? Harry wrote, feeling a bit macabre as he grinned darkly.
Harry had no idea how nervous he'd been about the possibility of casting the spell while Moody was in the house until he realized Moody was on assignment until Friday. His relief had nearly threatened to leave him weak-kneed. Kingsley and Tonks had come back that evening, whispering in earnest tones that ceased the moment Harry walked into the room.
"Sorry, Harry. Nothing personal. Ministry secrecy and all that codswallop," Tonks had apologized, looking genuinely contrite. He had just shrugged in reply. Who was he to begrudge secrets?
Harry waited an extra hour after both Aurors had gone to bed before daring to venture out into the hallway. He was still in Dudley's too-large flannel pajamas, and held his slippers in hand (being far more stealthy barefooted) until he'd crept downstairs.
He'd sat in the unlit kitchen for nearly another half an hour, just in case there were any charms to alert the Aurors that he was out of bed, but no one came. He'd gulped two glasses of water already, but still felt like his mouth was dry.
He was terrified, but resolute. After placing the empty glass in the sink, Harry took a deep breath and approached the 'torture room', as his mind had taken to calling it. Dobby had already lit the torches inside, and had placed a mound of blankets and pillows in the corner furthest from the door. As Harry stepped inside, he sensed the faintest 'pop' of magic and turned to find the house-elf staring at him from the doorway.
"Thank you, Dobby," Harry said, determined not to cry at the thoughtful gesture. His heart beat loudly in his chest and he was having a hard time taking deep breaths.
"Dobby will be here when Harry Potter is done. Dobby will make sure Harry Potter is not alone," the house-elf said in a low voice, hardly squeaky at all. They stared at each other for long moments before Dobby prompted, "It's not too late to change Harry Potter's mind…"
Harry closed his eyes and tried to smile reassuringly. "I know. Thank you," Harry said, and was oddly comforted that Dobby would be there for him when it was all over. But it was too late. For good or ill, he'd committed himself to this course of action, and he'd see it through, no matter how much it terrified him.
"It's okay. Go ahead and close the door," Harry had to force himself to say. He clenched his hands into fists to keep from running for the door as it closed, and cringed at the soft hiss of air that escaped as it sealed into place.
There's nothing for it. This is the beginning. This is the first real act to take control of the prophecy, and stop being a pawn to it.
Harry cast the charm he knew he'd need most in place first. It was meant to insure that, no matter how badly the Dark memory spell affected him physically, for the next forty-eight hours he'd look as he did now. The charm dissolved in increments automatically on its own, which was part of the reason why he'd chosen it. He had no idea how long he'd be down after this, and wanted to prepare for any possibility.
The distance between the doorway and the bundle of blankets Dobby had set out for him seemed impossibly far, and Harry felt like someone condemned as he settled on them. Briefly, his brain registered the cushioning charm underneath gratefully before he pulled out his wand and pointed it at his temple.
He tried to force away the automatic comparison his mind made to the similarity of pointing his wand at his head to someone taking a gun and putting it under their chin.
This is not suicide. I can do this. I have no choice. I love you Sirius. I won't fail you again. Just ride it out. I won't go mad. I'll be okay. I don't want to die. I can do this. I'm sorry.
"Vis Consummo Recordatio!" Harry cried before his fear could run away from him, and the wave of magic that slammed into his mind left no more room for thoughts of any sort as screams were ripped from his lips and his wand clattered across the stone floor from hands now clawing at blankets.
Everything ceased to be except for the burning of his mind, and the pulse of magic as it seared behind closed eyelids and forced new pathways open where they were never meant to be.
Author's Note Supplemental: Vis: (sing.) violence; a large number, quantity, a force; nature force, power, strength, might, influence. Consummo: to add together, sum up, make perfect, complete. Recordatio: recollection, memory, recall.