Disclaimer: Not mine, blah and blah.
A/N: Well, folks, I can do nothing but apologize for the long time between updates in this story. My only excuse is that I do work quite a bit, and have very little time for writing these days. Nevertheless I'm going to try and get this story off the ground over the next few weeks, getting it going, and we'll just see what happens. Have a good one, y'all.
Harry Potter and the Soul of Chaos
Chapter 6 – Birthday Resolve
"Do you believe in the devil? You know, a
supreme evil being dedicated to the temptation,
corruption, and destruction of man?"
"I'm not sure that man needs the help."
- Calvin & Hobbes
July 31st
Matt Tristan spent a few days recuperating in his old apartment in London after the second encounter with the fire demon. His old burns hadn't completely healed before he was singed again, and it was beyond uncomfortable to even walk.
Courtney was a great help, going out into the city to fetch food and water, whilst treating his burns as best she could with what potions they had and muggle medicines purchased from Boots Pharmacy.
To keep himself busy, Matt tracked the movements of Harry Potter as best he could through the Daily Prophet. Apparently he had been seen briefly in Diagon Alley the other day, had attended a wedding of a close friend and was now staying with friends at an undisclosed location. Not much help at all – Matt briefly considered just owling the Chosen One, but what would he say?
Dear Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Chosen One,
Sorry to bother you, but a dead friend of mine, who was possessed by hellspawn, happened to mention that the 'Chosen One' would be able to open the way to the Source. Now, in case you're not familiar with the Source, I'll enlighten you. It is a myth that, after many years, has finally gained a shred of credibility. The Source is the collective of all magic.
It is Magic – raw and pure magic. And you, my good son, can take me there. In some way you're the key. I don't know how or where it would work, or even if it would, but I believe this merits some investigation. What do you say, kid?
All the best,
Matt Tristan, Treasure Seeker
"Probably not the best way to go about it," Matt mused in his bed, staring at the television but not really watching it. Some news about unexplained deaths on the east coast of Scotland.
He hoped Courtney came back with some lunch soon – he was starving. She had gone out for the papers and some more bandages for his arms.
In a few more days he should be healed enough to seek out Harry Potter and, well, explain his proposition as best he could. The boy needed help, that much was clear. Everyone was out to influence him, if they weren't working against him or trying to kill him.
Voldemort was a problem as well, Tristan knew. Or could become a problem should he become involved with Potter. They were enemies, perhaps linked by prophecy, and with one it was highly likely he would run into the other.
Burn that bridge when I come to it, he thought, as his stomach rumbled. "I hope she remembers my sandwich."
The first thing Harry did on his birthday morning was apparate down the stairs and then back up them again, simply because he could without fear of punishment from the Ministry. The next thing he did was shower and shave, using his wand to trim the fuzz before strapping it into the wand holster around his wrist.
That done, he proceeded downstairs again – walking this time – for breakfast. "Dobby," he called, and it was still early in the morning. The house was still asleep. The small house elf appeared next to him with a pop.
"Yes, Harry Potter sir?" Dobby answered his summons.
"How are your cooking skills, Dobby?" Harry asked.
"I has learnt a lot from my time at Hoggywarts," the elf replied proudly.
"Do you want to help me make breakfast then, for everyone here at the Burrow?"
Dobby nodded most excitedly.
Harry grinned. "Then bring some of the supplies from the safe house in Hogsmeade. The good stuff mind – none of that awful dry bread."
"Dry bread be lasting a long time," Dobby defended the bread.
"Dry bread be tasting like a rock," Harry replied wryly. "Quickly now Dobby, I'm thinking pancakes and bacon, sausages and egg."
Dobby disappeared as quickly as he had arrived, just as Harry entered the empty kitchen.
It wouldn't take the elf long to bring the food from the house in Hogsmeade. Dobby knew where everything was, as he had been preparing the buildings and homes Harry had bought for the last few days. The home in Hogsmeade had been gutted of everything when Harry went to inspect it, save an awful pair of purple curtains on the second floor. With Dobby's help Harry had begun making the place safe and well stocked.
As for his other properties, they were progressing in various stages of disarray and chaos. Having spoken to Remus about acquiring some printing presses to print his... truthful propaganda... Harry had expected to be well underway by now – it had been almost a week – but there were delays at every turn.
For one, Remus was intensely curious about his want of the printing equipment, although he had agreed to make some inquiries. That was going nowhere fast. He had told the werewolf one or two details but nothing major. It would be one helluva surprise, and that made Harry grin. No one knew the full details of his very early plan.
"I has returned, Harry Potter," Dobby said, and indeed he had. Engrossed in his thoughts as he had been, Harry never heard him pop back. "Plenty of food to be getting on with," the elf continued, dumping a box of food stuffs onto the table and jumping into preparation mode. He clicked his fingers and a frying pan appeared onto the hot plate of the stove. "We is going to be cooking up a feast for today."
"Anything I can do to help?" Harry asked.
Dobby looked uncertain. A master offering to help wasn't natural, even to him. "You... you is knowing how to cook, Harry Potter?"
A shadow fled across Harry's face, one of anger, as he recalled all of the meals he had made for the Dursleys over the years. Oh yes, he knew how to cook – and cook well. "I could probably manage the eggs," he said, and forced a smile for the cautious elf. "Though if I make a mistake you tell me, Dobby."
"Harry Potter will not be making any mistakes," Dobby said, with utter confidence. "Harry Potter is a brave and clever wizard. No, Harry Potter does not make mistakes."
Harry smiled sadly at that and patted the elf on his shoulder. "Thanks, Dobby," he said, "but I've made a few mistakes over the years." Mistakes that cost at least three people their lives. I'm sorry Cedric... Sirius... Dumbledore...
Dobby shook his head. "But only a few, sir," the little elf replied.
Harry sighed. "You want to make a start on those pancakes then?"
"No, pancakeys last, Harry Potter, otherwise they is spoiling before the sausage is ready."
A ghost of a smile rippled across Harry's face. "Of course. Sorry, Dobby, my mistake."
Cooking with Dobby was a lesson in patience – for Dobby. The little elf found it very hard to slow himself down to Harry's pace, especially because Harry insisted on doing everything without magic. Had Dobby had his way the breakfast for about a dozen would have been ready in ten minutes and would have tasted delicious.
As it was, the smell of burning bacon brought down a few members of the house earlier than usual. Dobby fretted over the crispy meat but Harry assured him it was fine, that Ron would eat it without noticing a thing. True to Harry's word, Ron dug into the pile of charred bacon as soon as he stumbled into the kitchen.
"'Appy birfday, mate," Ron said, flinging a hastily wrapped parcel at Harry.
Harry grinned and let Dobby handle the cooking so he could sit down and open his present. There was a lot of tape but once he got through that Harry let the wrapping fall away and smirked. It was a bottle of Ogden's Finest Firewhiskey.
"Better not let mum see that," Ron said thoughtfully. "Or Hermione."
Hermione and Ginny were next into the kitchen, both looking fresh and dressed for the day – the opposite of Ron who looked as if he had just woken up, which he had. Hermione frowned when she saw Dobby making breakfast, but wished Harry a happy birthday nonetheless, giving his arm a quick squeeze before sitting down next to Ron. Ginny wished him a happy birthday as well, kissing him on the cheek and lingering for a moment longer than friends would.
Harry sighed and accepted their gifts gratefully. Hermione had, of course, gotten him a book. A Comprehensive Advanced Study of Non Verbal Spellcasting.
"It might take you a few years to get to that level, Harry," she said. "But reading ahead won't hurt."
Ginny's gift was a lot more practical, so to speak. Harry unwrapped the small parcel and frowned at the stone bowl he held between his hands. It was tiny, wouldn't hold much, but shone as if it were magical – which it was.
"A small pensieve," she explained. "Found it buried in the back of the magical instruments store. The shop owner said you can store about ten memories in there."
"Wow – that's cool," Harry said. "I'm going to go put it upstairs – Dobby, can you handle breakfast on your own?"
Dobby chuckled. "I will find a way to manage without you, Harry Potter sir."
All in all, the rest of the day was good for Harry. Remus and Tonks were around and they wished him a happy birthday and Remus gave him some good news. He'd found a printing press that was up for sale – two, in fact, from an archaic magical instruments store buried deep in Edinburgh. He'd ordered them and they should be delivered within two days. It was his birthday present to Harry.
Neville and Luna, as well as a dozen or so others from the old Hogwarts crew sent him cards and a few chocolates. There was an announcement about it in the Daily Prophet and that irked Harry to no end, but he managed to laugh it off as best he could and enjoy the day.
Later that night, after a birthday feast whipped up by Mrs Weasley and a huge cake which Harry would always remember fondly, the Boy Who Lived found himself seated in the window box in Ginny's room, looking out over the dark fields that surrounded the house and up at the star strewn sky.
Ginny herself sat next to him, her hand linked through his and gazing out at the same stars with silent wonder. There were thousands of them, and the moon hung fat in the sky a week or so from full. The forest beyond the field was a dark silhouette beyond the field where the wedding had been held.
Harry found himself, once again, conflicted.
He had been heading up to bed when Ginny called him in here, just wanting to talk and sit, and wish him a final happy birthday before the day was over.
"I was thinking over cake, Gin, that you and I are getting rather close again," Harry said, turning from the stars to see them reflected in her hazel eyes.
"I'm a Weasley, Harry," she replied, giving his hand a squeeze. "You should have some idea about our stubbornness by now. I'm not letting you get away, you know, not for some stupid noble reason like that nonsense you told me after Dumbledore's… funeral."
Harry sighed. "I'm not asking you to let me get away," he whispered. "Just asking you to wait."
Ginny glanced quickly around the room. "Wait while you go off and hunt horcruxes, or fight Voldemort."
Harry frowned. "You don't think I can do it."
"Can you make it on your own?"
"If I have to…."
Ginny punched him in the arm – hard. "But you don't have to, you big goose. I want to fight too, you know. I may not have as strong a reasons as you do, but does that matter? We're all targets now, all who resist."
Harry stared at her for a long moment and then laughed, chuckled under his breath. "Yeah, but you're not at the top of the list. But you'll be close if we go back to seeing each other."
Ginny hissed, frustrated, and kicked her foot against the wall. She served Harry a particularly fierce glare. "Harry," she said slowly, very slowly, and her bottom lip quivered. "I don't care. And if you ever felt anything for me, you wouldn't hurt me like this."
"That's not fair."
"No?" Ginny replied, flicking her long hair back over her shoulder. "And leaving me for Voldemort is?"
Despite himself Harry laughed at that. "Alright, you won a point there, but just… just slow down. I don't want you to die."
Her expression softened, and tears swam in her eyes. Whether of anger, love, pain or sorrow Harry did not know.
"I'd rather die young with you, fighting for a good cause, than watch you and Voldemort battle to the death, never knowing if you're alive or not as you go off hunting and fighting… I couldn't stand that, Harry."
Harry heard her, even understood her, but he kept seeing Cedric lying dead on the cold earth of that godforsaken graveyard, Sirius tumbling backwards through the whispering veil, Dumbledore lying broken at the base of the tower….
He wanted to cry out that he was too dangerous to be around, that anyone who cared enough to stand and protect him ended up dead. History, the last seventeen years, had shown the truth of that time and time again.
But he didn't say that, couldn't say that. Instead he said,
"I think I may love you a little bit, Gin."
Ginny smiled – enough said.
"G'night, kid," Harry said, standing up and brushing Ginny's cheek briefly. "I'm off to bed then. You stay out of trouble, and I'll see you in the morning."
"Night, Harry," Ginny whispered, excitement rushing through her in waves. She felt as if she must be glowing. "You stay out of tro—Harry!"
About halfway across Ginny's room, heading towards the door, Harry simply fell. He blinked, blankness was all he knew, and he didn't feel his glasses break against his face as he hit the carpet unconscious. A brief flare of pain in his scar was all the warning he had before the nightmare began.
Voldemort strode up the quiet muggle street with his wand clutched gently in his skeletal hand. To his left and right were a handful of Death Eaters – two dozen all up, and each of them marked and masked.
Low hedges, cars and oak trees, small terraced houses and street lamps made this street appear like the thousands of others dotted all across the country. It was dark, the stars were just as magnificent here, but again it was dark.
An unnatural darkness, claming the lights on the street and intensifying the purple aura that surrounded the Dark Lord and his servants.
Harry watched it all from behind a snake-like face, in the mind of the world's most hated man… man was too human to describe Voldemort, however. Creature, monster, villain and snake were closer to the truth than man.
Ah hell, Harry thought. I'm only here because he wants me to be here.
And that was true. Voldemort had been guarding his mind well since the end of Harry's fifth year. The only reason Harry was here now was because Voldemort had pulled him here. He had gained some measure of control over their scar link.
Knowing that, Harry tried his best to throw up his pitiful occlumency shields, but he just didn't have the strength of mind to block himself from the Dark Lord… or the will, really.
He wanted to see what was about to happen.
Voldemort pointed his wand at the heavens, and in a rising plume of acrid smoke and green sparks the Dark Mark hovered in the air, glaring down at the quiet street and casting a pale green light on the world.
"A message to the fools at the Ministry who still refuse me," Voldemort said, and Harry's mind pulsed at the words. His scar hurt, back on his body, but he felt it as if it blazed on Voldemort's forehead. "And a birthday surprise for the Boy Who Lived."
Voldemort's tone was soft, light, mystical even, and he moved with the grace of a snake between his servants. He was sure of himself, very sure, and his confidence scared Harry. He knew what was about to happen...
"RAZE THESE HOMES TO THE GROUND!" Voldemort yelled, and pain so fierce assaulted Harry's senses that he would have passed out if he was conscious in his own body.
As he was now, blissful unconsciousness was denied to him. He had to suffer the pain as best he could, whilst his enemies slaughtered the innocent for the magical world's refusal to surrender, and his refusal to die.
Make it stop…. Harry whispered, but soon dispelled such thoughts. He gritted his teeth, the teeth in his mind, against the pain, and raged at Voldemort with all his might.
It was of no use. He had no skill in mind control – he was no legimens, no occlumens. He was useless to these people.
Screams rent the night air, fire burnt its way through gardens and homes were blasted away under the barrage of curses hurled from the Dark Lord and his servants.
And then something new… a whisper in Voldemort's mind, the Dark Lord himself spoke to Harry inside his own head.
See the cost, Harry, Voldemort thought. Know the cost. You are mine, and will die a painful death.
Harry fought through the pain, and unleashed his anger. YOU COWARD! he screamed. These people are defenceless.
Do not dare my wrath, Potter, Voldemort hissed, whilst his wand cut through the air and sent a car spinning into the side of a house already aflame. Flee, boy, flee the United Kingdom while you can. Without Dumbledore, you cannot hope to stand against me.
Harry captured his anger and leashed it down. Cold fury was more intimidating than ranting and raving. He took a deep breath, and then laughed. I'm not going anywhere, he said. But I will stand, Tom, I will. And that terrifies you.
Harry laughed again, knowing he had struck a nerve.
YOU WILL BEG FOR DEATH! Voldemort yelled. You, and those you care for. Be gone, Potter. BE GONE!
Still laughing, Harry was sent tumbling back through the abyss of his scar link, along deep blood magic and hurled back into his body. The pain ended, he felt a little cold and took a deep…
breath, coughing once before pulling himself up and wincing as he tasted blood in his mouth. Ginny was next to him, her wand in her hand, and looking beyond frightened. Pale and shaking, she held the tip of her wand against Harry.
"Is that you?" she whispered, her wand hand shaking. "Harry, is that—"
"Who else would it be?" Harry asked, pulling his broken glasses off the bridge of his nose and feeling his face for cuts. He sighed when he felt the deep gouge on the left side of his nose. "What's the matter, Gin?"
Ginny looked at him long and hard before lowering her wand and then, with a cry, threw her arms around him and knocked him back down. Harry uumphed as he hit the carpet again with Ginny atop of him.
"I heard you," she whispered. "I heard you… and I heard him. Your mouth was moving, but it wasn't your voice… not all the time. It was V-Voldemort."
Harry swore and, with a little effort, pulled himself out from under Ginny and gained his feet. He swayed a little, helped Ginny up, and then managed a small smile.
"No matter what happens," he told her, "it'll always be me that comes back from… from one of these possessions. He can't stand it inside my mind, Gin. Voldemort simply can't take it in there. That's why he has to pull me into his head."
Ginny was shaking and Harry closed his arms around her, hugging her softly. "There, there, kid," he said. "It's all good now."
She pulled away and playfully slapped his chest. "No it isn't," she said, sniffing back tears. "Stop being all brave."
Harry smiled. "Okay… so it's not a laugh a minute, but it will be. I promise you that. I'm gonna make sure of it."
"There you go again," Ginny sighed. "You keep it up and I'll be swooning…."
Harry pulled her close again and held her for just a little longer. His mind was jumping back to that muggle street, however, and how he was powerless to do anything to help those people.
No doubt it would be in the Prophet tomorrow, another cost of the war he was supposed to end.
Harry's resolve was solid, unshakable, but sometimes it seemed to him that the path he walked was unnecessarily hard and set with perils beyond his strength. He had little time, and yet there was still so much left to do.
Pushing it all way for now, he concentrated on nothing but Ginny, on how right she felt in his arms. He did that, and tried to remember a time when life had not been so hard, when he had been normal, and could not.
Such a memory did not exist, not for him.