Chapter Ten - In Recognition Of
Harry barely registered his body standing as he looked intently upon the Book. Very few knew of its existence, and none of those since the time of the ancients had been able to locate it. Since he'd first found mention of it- in the volumes he'd studied about the instruments of other worlds, trying futilely to find the secrets of the Veil into which his godfather had fallen- Harry sought the text. It had taken long to merely find information about it, but for two years, Harry had no more idea of where it'd been hidden than any other person.
Voldemort's death at Harry's hand had changed that. The Dark Lord had also been searching for the Book of the Dead, though he, unlike Harry, wished to gain personally from it. On the other hand, Harry had maintained the hope that it might contain the method to destroy Voldemort. When he accomplished that without the Book's help, he thought that he wouldn't need it at all, until he realized it would be the only thing that could rid him of the consequences of his actions.
With both his and Voldemort's knowledge- which he had acquired with the spell that vanquished the man- of the Book, Harry had finally a way of determining its location. With complicated spells and much overcoming of old protections, he'd found the secret necropolis beyond the Valley of the Kings. And with his research, Harry had merely followed, what was in essence, a straight map.
Suddenly, a loud grinding sound echoed within the burial chamber. Jerking his gaze from the Book, Harry's eyes widened as he realized what was making the noise. Before him, the stone guardians of the tomb were moving, stepping off their platforms, their sightless gazes turned directly upon him. As they advanced, Harry backed away quickly. Shifting the weight of the Book onto his left arm, Harry whipped out his wand. Still walking backwards, he levelled it at the approaching statues.
He hesitated in spelling the figures, unsure as to the effect that might have, when abruptly a hard grip grasped his shoulder. Harry was spun around, coming face to face with several forms nearly identical in appearance to the images of the ancient gods that were now behind him. He heard those continuing to come closer, and swiftly raised his wand again.
"Reductio!" Harry shouted, jumping sideways as the closest moving statue- Horus- burst into large chunks. "Reductio!"
Ducking the flying shards, Harry ran between the oncoming attackers, wincing as another stone hand grabbed his arm. Wrenching his shoulder, Harry managed to shake the hold, and sped quickly to the entrance of the chamber. As he ran through the passageways, only his innate senses kept him from losing his way and going deeper into the tomb.
The stone gods gave chase, and every time Harry stumbled on his path, he would send another blasting curse behind him, to keep them at bay. His failing strength caused his breath to come in pants, but he didn't slow. As the way lightened, he realized he was nearing the outside, and using his magic to sustain him, Harry raced for the exit.
He barely managed to reach the outside before his legs refused to support him, and he fell painfully to his knees. Still very much aware of his pursuers, Harry turned around, shooting curses as he forced himself to move away. Suddenly the burning sun blazed across him, as he reached beyond the shade of the pyramid. The statues followed, even as Harry blasted them apart, but as soon as the light skidded over them, every one of the attacking figures dissipated.
Blinking, Harry slowly lowered his arm. With a stifled breath, he lay back against the sand, the Book of the Dead still clutched in his hand. He shook his head briefly as he realized that he should have known even the magic he'd used to retrieve the Book would awaken the ancient protections.
Finally, he forced himself to sit up, as the sun became too strong. Rummaging in his pouch, Harry found a restorative potion, and drank it down greedily. As it began working, instilling his body with increased vitality, he stood up gingerly. Glancing down at the item in his arms, he smiled lightly and began his trek back through the Valley.
By the time Harry had made it to the outer boundaries, the sun was sinking low on the horizon, and he felt as baked as the sandstone forming the pyramids. With weary motions, he climbed over a last mound. Raising his gaze from his path, Harry looked before him.
Laying surrounded by sand, a large flat area was made of dark stone in the shape of a circle. Upon it, drawn by thick white lines, a pentagram reached to the very edge. Though he knew it to have been made by the ancient Egyptian creators of the hidden part of the Valley of the Kings, as Harry moved onto the stone, it seemed glossy and new. He walked to the centre of the symbol, his eyes roaming over the pattern, and he set the Book before him.
Sitting cross-legged before it, Harry opened it and searched for the necessary passage with great anticipation. He knew what he planned was dangerous, but he had little care for that. With a shaking hand, he turned the page, taking a sharp breath as he found what he had long wanted. Because of the translation spell still in effect, Harry easily read over the ritual he planned to perform.
This ritual was an anomaly in magic. Its very existence was dark, inherently so, but its purpose was to dispel that very thing. Those who cast it, meant to completely and utterly rid themselves of all traces of Dark Magick. In turn, it would render all persons of which the caster felt protective free of harmful strains of it. They would never be able to fall victim to overwhelming powers of dark. The spell was the ultimate protection, for them.
For the caster, the only participant in the ritual, it would clear away not only excess Dark influence, but their own. For the afterlife, it gave them the security of not risking eternal damnation. As for their mortal life, on the other hand, it was forfeit. Every magical person has magicks which have basis in either Light or Dark. To destroy one, to cast it out, would destroy the other, and in turn the person.
Harry well knew what he had planned. He cared not for the fact of his death. By the time he survived Voldemort's end, he'd longed for his own with all that he had. It was almost a joke that he had lived when he dealt the killing blow, as he most assuredly had no wish to. But after that, he knew he could not just take care of it himself, not in any usual way.
The battle had brought his own Dark Magick to the fore, and the spell to destroy Voldemort had infused several parts of the Dark Lord's essence with his own. Much of Riddle's knowledge, some of his power, and a strong amount of his darkness. Harry felt it suffocating him every day, and so knew that it would only be with dire consequences to his soul if he were to end his life.
That was where the Book of the Dead, and the ritual contained within, came in to play. Not only would it achieve the selfish want of Harry's, in a way that didn't bring what he feared, but it would also save those he had left behind. It was every thing he could desire.
As he prepared for the ritual, Harry had no notice of the dark blue eyes watching him. The sun had long since set, and the observer had no more need of hiding from it. He looked on in interest as the young wizard pulled out several crystals from his pouch. As they were arranged upon the points of the pentagram, they glowed brightly, reflecting the traces of red in the eyes of the one watching the busy mortal.
The Vampyr was concealed behind a large mound of sand, laying upon it with his face nearly touching the granules. It was not as if he had concerns of breathing in the pieces. Gazing at the unknowing wizard, the Vampyr thought over why he was there. He knew what the boy was planning, having stolen in to his rooms in the dead of night to read the scrolls of notes he'd written.
The undead male also knew who the wizard was, but had little care for what he knew of the name. What drew him, was the sheer power, the stunning ability he sensed within the mortal. Having had little to really entertain him most of his undead existence, he found himself tailing the boy with the intent to see what he could do.
Wrenching out of his thoughts as the wizard stood still in the middle of the ancient symbol, the Vampyr watched raptly. The younger's voice was quiet, though intense, as the other recognized the ancient tongue, though he knew not the words spoken.
Harry focussed on the Book laying before him as he continued the needed incantations. He felt the Dark Magick swirling within him, though he didn't notice when his eyes began blazing a dark greenish black. His breath hitched, though he still spoke, as the power manifested from his body, lancing out to connect with the crystals.
In a dazed state, Harry stopped speaking, raising a dagger that he held in his hand. Dragging the blade across the revealed skin of his other arm, he watched the blood slid down to fall to the ground beside where he stood. Dropping the dagger, he again began speaking the ancient spells.
Suddenly the cool of the desert night became bitter. Words catching in his throat, Harry registered the cause as several floating creatures appeared over the hills of sand surrounding him. Glancing around wildly, Harry watched the Dementors completely surround him. The streams of power that flowed from him to the crystals flashed as he felt the despair creep into his mind.
Falling to his knees, Harry desperately tried to focus his mind, but with the Dark Magick all over him and the essence of the Dementors, he could barely breath. Placing his hands on the ground to keep himself from keeling over, Harry noticed the Book, and grabbed it.
Abruptly a blaze of silver light shot clear through him, though he had no idea whether it originated from the Book or himself. It speared across the lines to the crystals, shattering them to shards, and struck the surrounding Dementors.
Wails started from the creatures, though they didn't back away. The light hitting them changed sharply to black, and before Harry could react, thrust back at him.
Screaming as the agony ripped through him, Harry shook as images flashed across his mind. These, though, were not his memories. They belonged to the Dementors.
The visions that flashed started from ancient times. Men in guard's uniforms being closed into tombs of deceased pharaohs while still alive. In those times, it was their duty to die in the graves of their leaders. They struggled to breath, as the air became thin, some pounding upon the walls as their lives left them. Light surrounded them, changing from blue to black as the spells within the tombs covered them. As they fought them, the protections gave them no time to die, forcing their very souls from their bodies.
As the magic filled the husks that had been left, it changed, darkening in ways no one could have predicted. The bodies decomposed, but still moved, feeding from the other spells, the light spells, guarding the tombs.
Years, decades and centuries, passed, until these pyramids were opened, freeing the monstrous creatures from their prison. They fed upon these new sources of light power, some stronger than others, pulling so hard on their victims that they took their very souls and consumed those as well.
The Dementors had came into being from suffering and magic, and they now created it where they travelled. They grew to enjoy their feeding, their magic giving them sentient ability. Before long, they had adapted to a species that existed as any other, feeding upon what they needed and learning to communicate with each other.
Harry saw all of this, the collected memories of the creatures filling his mind. He no longer noticed the pain still running through his body, nor did he register it when the Dementors closed around him.
Suddenly, the creatures pulled back as a dark figure forced them away with his own power. Recoiling from one they could not feed on, the connection to Harry was sharply cut off. He fell to the ground, gasping and heaving.
Harry was barely aware of anything, not even when the Dementors left back over the dunes, but when he felt cold hands turn him over, he instinctively flinched away.
"No, it's all right, amice," a soft voice assured, and with the throbbing pain still holding his body, Harry relaxed.
Trying to focus on the one before him, he felt the hands graze over his forehead. The pain within his skull dampened, and Harry felt himself succumbing to sleep. Before he did, he attempted to ask who the man was, but couldn't find his voice.
The Vampyr knew what he wanted. As he gently lifted the young wizard, he answered, "I am called Carnifex."
Harry jerked awake, finding himself once more in the desert with the sun beating down. Gasping, he watched the pyramids dissolve into the sand, as the last threads of his memory faded away. Sitting up quickly, he realized he was back where he had been before it.
Standing up, he straightened the red robes he wore, then glanced around. Narrowing his eyes, he stood straight and crossed his arms.
"All right, what the hell was that?" Harry asked angrily. "Come on, who ever you are, I assume you are still there."
"Assumptions do not always bode well, my friend," the disembodied voice informed him. "But in this one, it does seem to have played out. Regardless, how did you enjoy your reminder?"
Harry had to forcefully unclench his jaw to answer. "It was wonderful," he scathed dryly. "Now, do you mind telling me why I went on that little trip down memory lane?"
"Oh, there's naught reason to be hostile," the man soothed. Harry merely sneered. "Well, I do believe I should illuminate thou as to my reasons. Now, I needed you to realize just why we are able to have such a charming conversation. It is because of what occurred during your rather ill-timed attempted suicide, that allows I the ability to speak to you thus."
"What," Harry snapped, "does that have to do with anything?"
"Put your intelligence to work. That destroyed ritual gave thee a gift."
Harry shook his head. "It did no such thing, you pompous dolt. Give me a straight answer, or get me out of here!"
"Now, now, Harry." A chuckle filled the air. "The answer is as thus- thou has the ability to hear me, as thou once had the ability to see what I have experienced."
Harry blinked. "Hold hard, here. You can't honestly expect me to believe you are a Dementor!"
"Oh, I am much more than that," the man responded silkily. "Do you remember Tom Riddle?"
Shaking his head at the change of subject, Harry asked, "What? Wait, I don't need any reminders or trips to those memories, thank you ever so much."
Another laugh. "Do not worry, that of which I speak resides not in your memory. Mine holds these," informed the voice. "Riddle once held my esteem. He was intriguing, and wielded much power. I was naught but a foolish babe in all reality, when I joined him. At one time, he asked for a volunteer- one to take part in this plan of his. As fool I was, I offered. He had hope to build a hybrid that would answer only to his darkness, but follow enthusiastically.
"The pain was immense. That which you have felt could hold no flame to what I have felt. I wished for death, as you have done. Everyone does believe I was killed. And, in a manner of speaking, I suppose I was."
Harry turned sharply as the voice ceased to surround him, but changed to come from behind him.
"And be assured, you will soon reach your end," the man stated, his voice dark.
Staring in shock, Harry nearly forgot to breath. Before him, stood a creature so startling, Harry couldn't have imagined it. Hybrid was clear, as this thing had patches of living flesh strung together with dead, bones showing in places, and pumping veins in others. Dark robes, opened at the chest, showed a beating heart half covered with decomposing skin and brittle diseased bone.
Swallowing past a sudden onslaught of nausea, Harry looked at the monster's face, then closed his eyes. The man's skull showed on one side, bits of dead skin and strands of hair hanging onto it. The other side was alive, and may well have been handsome, had it been whole. Tanned skin, dark hair, and chiselled features would have made him a nice looking man.
Forcing his eyes back open, Harry gazed into the other's. The creature's eyes, both of them, even the one on the corpse side, were intense, the blue striking. Harry realized two things abruptly.
Voldemort's little experiment had been successful. He had created a mix, an actual living- or undead, Harry wasn't sure- hybrid of a Dementor and a man. The connection he had made with the Dementors in Egypt, now allowed this monster to communicate with his mind.
The other thing he registered was that, while he hadn't known this man before he'd been changed, Harry did see familiar features upon the living parts. He'd known someone who had those features, though that person had died long ago.
As he closed his eyes again, the thing laughed. "I see you know who I am, Harry," the amused voice said. "I was said to be the spitting image of my dear older brother. Not that anyone would state that now."
Keeping his eyes closed, Harry felt his lips quirk into an odd and half-hysterical smile. "No, they won't, Regulus."
Laugher filled his mind, then he felt himself fall. A lance of power overtook him, and he called upon his internal magic to meet it.
With a gasp, Harry woke up, his eyes snapping open. He heard several shocked exclamations around him as he swiftly forced himself into a sitting position and locked eyes with a startled Vampyr.
Gazing at his friend, he quietly said, "I know the identity of the new Dark Lord."
A/N: Thanks for reading, and please review. Hope you are enjoying the story, thus far! Let me know what you think!
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