Disclaimer: Harry Potter, and all characters, events and places within, belong to the admirable J.K Rowling, not me. The basic premise belongs to Gaston Leroux, and the framework of some scenes belongs to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. However, for the most part, plot, writing, and characterisation are ALL MINE!
Warnings: Occasional bad language, and there may be descriptions of battles at a later point, but nothing too graphic. Oh, and slash, mostly of the HP/DM and HP/SS type. If that squicks you, don't read. Now, on with the story
Authors Note at end.
Chapter 128/12/96
"It's not… bloody… fair!"
The angry voice echoed slightly against the cold stone walls, before fading into silence. A final resounding kick at the sole wooden door resounded through the small room in the dungeons, before the speaker sunk to the ground.
Through the dim lights of the room, an observer would be able to see a single figure, face hidden behind his knees. Dark hair, calmer now that it had grown slightly, cascaded to the figure's nose, blending in with the dark clothing when not being moved away from his eyes in annoyance. With a final sigh, the figure's head lifted, revealing a tired face, easily identifiable to all witches and wizards by the now dull emerald eyes and a lightning scar, half hidden behind his hair.
"Why do they treat me like this?" the boy now known as Harry Potter murmured to himself. "I could understand if I was, say, Neville Longbottom, and needed to be kept safe so as not to endanger someone. But I should be out there, I should be helping! I'm the one who trained the DA, who got the best defence marks of the year. Why is Ron out on the battle lines? Why is Draco out spying, bringing in our only information? Why is Hermione researching ancient magic to use in the battle? I should be the one out there fighting, leading the battle, killing the bad guys! Why them?!"
His voice rose during his speech to an almost anguished howl, before he quietened again. "It's that stupid prophecy, I know it! That prophecy, that got… that got…" He started to sob quietly, as if remembering some terrible wrongdoing.
When his tears were spent, Harry started to speak more calmly. "You'd think Dumbledore would learn, wouldn't you?" A halfhearted chuckle there, as if he was trying to resist the urge to cry. "After all the good withholding information did us last year, you'd think he'd want to inform me, to teach me, to get me ready for this task of mine that was worth leaving me with the Dursleys for 'my own good'."
"But NO!" He bashed his fist against the wall, wincing as the rough stone scraped some of the skin off his knuckles.
"Now now, my dear boy," he uttered mockingly, "We can't risk losing you. It's not safe. Now, you just sit there and watch like a good little boy, so you can come and kill Voldemort for us when we need you to."
A wry smile, and he continued. "A puppet, that's all I am. A figurehead, to fix the public's hopes on, and a scapegoat to be blamed for every death. Every… single… death. Potter is the Hero, the Golden Boy, he's supposed to save everybody. Why haven't you killed Voldemort, Potter? Why did you let my sister die, my mum, your godfather, Cedric, your parents?
"IT'S NOT MY FAULT!!!" He yelled to the room, hoping to quiet the demons that haunted him. "They won't let me fight him, I'm 'too important', they won't even teach me! How am I supposed to help, when they just leave me like this? I could save lives!!!"
He quieted again, watching streams of multicoloured magic flow from his fingers, a visible reflection of his untapped power. "If I could use the Power the Dark Lord Knows Not, I could have saved Sirius. I could have saved so many who have died, so many who will. But I can't…" His voice trailed off into nothing, as he watched the hypnotic interplay of the magic, trying to forget for just one moment the admiration and accusations that lay outside the wooden door, up in the headquarters of the light.
Funny, really, he reminisced silently. He remembered how, in first year, this castle was Hogwarts, a place of happiness and carefree memories, a real home of all that was light and good. But now all it housed was pain, as students seriously prepared for a doom that now seemed too soon, as aurors organised their battle plans, as mediwizards frantically tried to heal the numerous injured. For the first time in all his years at the school, it seemed less than the 'headquarters of the light', and more like a prison. A cage.
That was the reason Harry found himself down here in the dungeons, time after time. Who would expect Harry Potter, symbol of the light, to hide among the shadows, in a land of potions and darkness and long silences? And so, Hogwarts dungeons, the one place the Boy Who Lived would never willingly go, was the one place Harry Potter found sanctuary.
"Harry…" a deep voice sounded out of the corner of the room, and with a single movement, Harry Potter vanished beneath his famous invisibility cloak. Maybe, if they couldn't see him, they would forget he was here…? But a quick glance to the Marauder's Map revealed that no living soul haunted this level of the dungeons.
"Who… who's there?" He asked in tentative confusion, annoyed at the shaky sound to his usually sure voice. What have I to be afraid of, he asked himself. Well, apart from Voldemort and his Death Eaters, he amended with an amused smile.
"You have great powers, Harry Potter. I can help you control them. Is that what you want?" came the voice, resounding as if it came from the very walls of the room.
"Yes, yes, more than anything!" Harry replied, eagerly rising to his feet. Almost running in his excitement, he made his way to the one corner of the room that he could not see, veiled, as it were, in shadows.
There was nothing there. Nothing, but a full-length mirror, with an inscription in some tongue he could not recognise.
"Where are you?" Harry asked the mirror, for lack of a better subject to address. More firmly now, he told the voice to show itself to him.
"No, not yet, my little viper," the voice replied, sounding amused at his feeble commands. Again, as if the previous question had not been asked, it repeated, "Do you want to learn?"
Harry thought for a moment. Could he really trust a disembodied voice, from a subject that did not even appear on the map? What if it planned on teaching him Dark Magic, or handing him over to Voldemort? But yet, something about the voice's tone seemed sincere, and he made up his mind.
"Yes, I want you to teach me. Please," he almost begged, gazing into the silvered glass. Besides, he added inwardly, if no one teaches me, I will never be able to complete my so-called task. Then what would they do?
"But," he continued questioningly, "Why do you want to help me? Surely you are not on Dumbledore's side, and I don't think I've ever helped anyone!"
"No," the voice hissed, almost hatefully, "I will never be on Dumbledore's side. But even creatures of the night are not immune to compassion. And there is something about you which reminds me of someone I once knew." Almost longing, now, as it reflected on days gone by. It sounded… human.
Shocked at receiving a real answer, however strange, Harry silently wondered why he had been denied such simple pleasures for so long. Surely it could not be so hard to answer his questions? Finding his voice once more, he asked, "How shall I refer to you, my teacher?"
After a moment's thought, the disembodied voice replied. "Call me… Angel."
Harry smiled.
A/N: Well, since you have all come this far, it's time to give you some information. This is a canon based fic, occurring mostly in Seventh Year, during the War against Voldemort. All the events of books one til five occurred, but for one difference: THERE WAS NO SEVERUS SNAPE! Well, there was, just nobody knew it… I make the assumption that nothing really changed for the rest of the characters, although this is, of course, untrue.
Anyway, this fic is based somewhat around The Phantom of the Opera. But it's not a simple copy! Events from both book and musical are included, in new orders, and some events and characters are missing. Things are different, and characters react differently. After all, Harry Potter is no Christine Daae. If you've never seen or read phantom, it doesn't matter. If you have, don't expect it to be at all the same.
I'm going to try to update every weekend, but inspiration comes and goes, so I don't vow to be reliable. Oh, and the chapters will mostly be longer than this one, around 2-3000 words or so.
Review Responses: (I notice that people seem to like these things)
First of all, I'd like to thank all of you for reading and reviewing. I'm not going to beg or threaten for reviews, but it's nice to see that people like it. Then again, I don't review very often myself (opera doesn't like pop-up windows) so that would be hypocritical.
Strega and Kera: I agree, Dumbledore's actions were truly horrible, and I feel sorry for Severus already. I think I'd be tempted to do the same thing in his circumstances. The mask is, of course, from Phantom, and though his life will be bad, I can safely say that things will get somewhat better. For the source of Dumbledore's actions, I advise you read Ghosts by ntamara. Brilliant Snarry fic, from where the Shrieking Shack goes wrong…