Disclaimer: Everything is owned by J.K. Rowling
Chapter 8 - What Price a Soul
Sharp steps echoed down the empty corridor as Fleur made her way towards the classroom Harry had taken her yesterday. Passing the library, she heard what sounded like a muffled explosion. A few small pieces of beige stone fell from the tall ceiling above her, being ground to powder underneath her boots.
Her quickened stride brought her to the door within a minute. Fleur cautiously pushed it open, wand hidden behind her, and peaked in.
Harry was sat on the floor, leaning forward with his head in his hands. His wand lay on the floor before him. The wall that had previously been marked by spell fire had a huge chunk missing from it, which lay on the floor beneath it. A thin haze hung in the air.
Fleur hurried over to him, kneeling before him. She felt him tense as she put a hand on his shoulder, but he relaxed as he let his hands drop. Looking into his eyes, she could tell something must've gone spectacularly wrong.
He mumbled something, too quiet for her to hear.
"Say that again, Harry?"
Raising his head slightly, it came out just above a whisper.
"I can't cast my Patronus anymore."
She was somewhat baffled. "Even seventh-years struggle with that. You shouldn't feel bad, I'm surprised you even managed it. How far have you gotten with it?"
"It was corporeal."
Her hand, which had been lightly squeezing at his shoulder in what she hoped was a comforting way, froze. Fleur looked at him incredulously.
"How can you cast a corporeal Patronus?"
"Could," he corrected. "It was my dad's Animagus form. I learnt it last year."
The pieces of the puzzle began to fit together in her mind, but a major part was still missing.
"What happened to the wall over there?"
Harry looked over at it grimly. "I was mad."
"And you did that with a single spell?" she asked, eyebrows raised.
"Yes. I didn't say any incantation, but it looked like…" Harry looked back up into her eyes, a flash of vulnerability being replaced by his usual stoic expression. "It looked like the Killing Curse."
Taking a moment to think, she made sure to not jerk back her hand in shock at the newest revelation. Fleur didn't want Harry to think she was disgusted by him because of what he'd done, she couldn't sense any malicious intent from him. Not that she expected it, either.
It certainly couldn't be a matter of magical strength or power. He'd proven that when he'd nearly demolished the entire classroom with a single spell. A spell she didn't even think could cause such an explosive impact. There was something nagging at her mind.
"Harry, do you feel any different? Do you remember how you felt before the Quidditch World Cup, or even how people reacted to you?"
She hoped his pensive look meant any fear he'd felt had faded. He thought for a long moment.
"It felt like… like people didn't want to be around me anymore after," Harry paused, searching for the right words. "After that night in the forest. I felt a bit more empty, but I couldn't tell you why."
"Can I try something?" she asked.
Harry gave a nod.
Focusing, Fleur leaned in a little bit further towards him and delved deep. She expanded her awareness in an attempt to sense him. She'd never done this before, only heard about it from her mother, but when her consciousness brushed against his something felt off.
Further concentration rewarded her with what she thought could be his soul. As delicate as it seemed to be, she didn't want to push too hard. This feels like how Maman described.
Just as she was about to pull herself back, it was like Fleur had entered a chasm. A deep, dark void that seemed almost entirely barren. Tendrils within grasped a hold of her, wanting to yank her in deeper. She wrenched herself back with all her strength.
Opening her eyes, she found herself laying on her back on the cool stone floor. Fleur sat up and saw Harry in a similar position.
She couldn't tip-toe around something like this.
"I think your soul may be why you can't cast that Charm anymore. It's almost… empty. It felt like it was trying to pull me in. I fear that what I attempted was very stupid."
Eyes widening, he quickly asked a question that stumped her.
"What do you mean? My soul? How can it be almost empty? Or partially there, but missing?"
Fleur struggled to find reassuring words. She was barely sure herself.
"Maman knows more than I do, I've never tried that before and I feel it nearly ended quite badly. I don't want to try that again before we know more. All that I can say is something is not quite right there. I don't know for sure if it is the soul, but if it wasn't I don't know what else it could be."
She could almost see the sinking feeling set in as Harry seemed to draw into himself.
"Our professor last year told us that once the soul was gone, you can't get it back. It's impossible. How can you feel my 'soul'?"
"Harry, your soul isn't gone. Something just isn't right. I can't tell you too much more, but I'm not bothered by it because I know you're still you. I can feel it. I know it's a scary thought. I'm not sure I can actually feel your soul, but that's the best way I can describe it. As I said, Maman knows more than I do."
He thought for a moment, his despair increasingly evident. Hopefully, her blabbering had calmed him somewhat.
"If you can still feel it, can others? Do you think that might be why everyone seems to ignore me? When I think about it, I really would have expected Ron to be more jealous about the tournament. Do you think I give off some sort of repulsive aura?"
He looked back to her, the hopeful expression on his face tinged with sadness. She couldn't promise him anything, but she might be able to get his hopes up a little more.
"I don't think they can. There's a reason I can, and I believe it comes down to Veela nature. As for whatever aura you may speak of, I couldn't tell you. It seems I am not like the others. You do not repulse me at all."
Unable to add further, Harry sat still. Fleur wasn't sure what to expect from him here, but sure enough that inner strength of his began to come forth once again. She admired it more and more each time she saw it – the first being when he'd rescued her.
It also astounded her that he was able to accept something as big as his soul potentially being altered that quickly. Her thoughts turned down a slightly darker path. He can't be used to this sort of thing, can he? Bad news after bad news, blow after blow?
Harry turned his wand over in his lap slowly, as if coming to a realisation. Raising it slowly, he showed it to Fleur.
"After I was hit, my wand changed slightly the next time I picked it up."
With a nod from Harry, Fleur took it. The wood felt warm and welcoming in her grasp. Intricate veins and ridges ran through the wood. They gave the wand a life-life appearance as if it were no less alive than a plant.
"I completely forgot about it. The wood was completely flat and smooth before. It just felt so normal, and on top of everything else…" his voice faded off as it lost strength. "Ollivander didn't even say anything at the Weighing of the Wands."
"It could have simply adapted to your circumstances, but I've never heard of a wand doing such a thing. There's nothing simple about that, actually," she corrected.
"Do you mean as a result of what happened to my soul? Or what you think happened?"
Now is the time to start finding some answers. Though she wasn't too sure of what to say.
"I don't know, Harry. I know that the Killing Curse affects the soul, but I've never heard of it being partially torn or ripped into multiple pieces. This information should not reach the wrong ears, who knows what people would do if they found out. I can talk to my parents, they will know more, but only if that's okay with you. They will be here for the second task."
He looked to be mentally weighing his options.
"Yeah, okay then. You can tell them, I just want to know what's going on."
An oddly mischievous smile then graced his features. What came out was unnaturally bold for Harry and nearly caught her off-guard.
"Who knows what others will do once they hear that a French Veela has ensnared their hero. The press will have a field day!."
"They'll keep their noses out of our business is what they'll do," she replied, mirroring his expression.
Rising from her seated position, she extended a hand to him and pulled him up. Harry seemed to snap out of some trance as he rose, looking at her curiously. Fleur led him over to the bench and conjured the same pillows and blanket as she had just yesterday. He caught on, his cheeks tinged red.
Smiling, she pushed him down. The answers could wait just a little bit longer, she decided. The front he put on may fool everyone else, but not her anymore.
The instant and prolonged attraction almost frightened her, but she was more than willing to sink into it. It was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. She really had no clue what she would've done if he hadn't survived, but he somehow had, and she was beyond grateful. She just sunk deeper and deeper every time.
Harry made his way back to his classroom from the library, making sure to don his invisibility cloak just after leaving. Under his arm, he'd tucked a book that had been fished out of the back corner of the restricted section, from underneath a cobwebbed shelf. It was bound in grimy, peeling black leather and had no discernible date. The front cover of the book was blank.
Swirling golden font had decorated the first page, reading 'Anima Alchimiae' above a faded, black woodblock print of a cauldron. It'd felt sinister once he'd put a hand on it, yet sent a thrill through him, like he wasn't supposed to have it.
He'd avoided checking it out formally, smuggling it past Madam Pince.
Pushing open the door, he looked towards where he'd been sitting just a few hours ago. Fleur had found him, and he had felt lighter than he had in months after she'd left. They had initially agreed to study together, but other matters quickly took precedence. The memory left a silly grin on his face.
A light breeze flowed through the room, contrasting the poor weather they'd had through the first half of December. Rare afternoon sunlight warmed his skin as he came into contact with it. It really was a fantastic sensation.
Harry sobered a little as he recalled what they had discussed but felt far more optimistic than he had before. Somehow his soul had been either drained or fractured after he was hit by the Killing Curse. As outlandish a thought it was, he didn't know of anything else that might give him this empty feeling. And he didn't know how to fix it.
At first, he'd believed it was just his state of isolation and the perceived betrayal of his friends. It was at that point however that he'd begun to notice that he somehow repelled others. Harry wasn't sure if that and the empty feeling were the only two side effects so far, but he thought it really could be worse. He could be completely soulless.
As long as Fleur was with him, it would be bearable. Harry was well aware it would take time to sort things out, as well as getting through this damned tournament. He held onto hope that Fleur's mother might be able to shed some light on his condition.
Harry wondered briefly if her mother's English was as good as hers.
After levitating a small desk over towards the bench by the wall, he sat and skimmed through the book as much as its mixture of sticky and dry pages would allow. An illustration caught his eye.
It showed a ghostly spirit flowing out of the body of a man standing with his wand out, pointed at himself. Harry was even more surprised to see that the accompanying text was written in fairly common English.
Divortium Animae
Some query which came first. The soul, or the man?
When man and soul part, neither man nor soul always fade simultaneously, with the exception of the Avada Kedavra or in the case of natural or unmagical death. The man will most likely fade before the soul in most cases.
One may try to tear the soul, yet at great consequence. One with torn soul is still man, yet too little soul remaining in the body will cause it to seek others' to replace it.
Such acts appear as both accidental and intentional actions but cannot be both. Such status may actively repel incompatible souls from one's own.
The opposite is however untrue. None shall pull in another unwilling, yet compatible soul, by mistake. What occurs once another's soul is incorporated into one's own, cannot be pronounced with certainty. Two souls struggle to co-inhabit one body, and in more cases than not, will escape prematurely.
Struggling to read the bizarre phrasing, he thought hard.
The book had given him answers but left him with many questions. Did this mean he was incompatible with Ron, Hermione, or both? Then again, he'd only made friends with them as he'd sat with them on his first train ride. He seemed to not be compatible with most people at Hogwarts overall if the book were to be believed and wasn't sure if that was such a good thing. Or maybe they were just more shallow than he thought.
A deep sense of contentment managed to settle within him at the thought that Fleur must be very compatible, as she hadn't felt anything. Harry was unsure where he'd be without her support. Although he hadn't known her for long, a piece of her had taken up residence inside him. I'm a bigger sap than I thought.
The theory that his wand had changed to accommodate his changed soul and perhaps magic at that held water, at least for the moment.
Harry had forgotten to tell Fleur that Moody's Imperius Curse had no effect on him. Perhaps it was for the best, as she'd likely go and turn him to ash. He snorted to himself.
It was comforting to have someone so protective look out for him.
Judging by how he'd felt nothing, the Imperius Curse must have some influence over or through the soul. Or inner character. Were they related?
He didn't know yet but assumed there could be a connection there too. After all, one's soul did seem to determine one's inner character. Once again, he'd need to rely on Fleur's mother for answers there, if she knew.
Professor Lupin's voice echoed through his mind. He would like to avoid becoming an empty shell of a person, if possible. Living without a soul was a terrifying idea – to have no sense of self, memory, or discernible unique qualities.
Closing the book slowly, to avoid damaging it further, Harry put it aside. He stood, deciding that some extra practice of the Bubble-Head Charm wouldn't hurt. The transition from such a heavy topic to a comparatively light one amused him.
The Tri-Wizard Tournament really had become the least of his worries.
Chatter quieted to a low murmur as Harry walked into his Charms class. He'd not been seen in-class for at least a month or two. Honestly, he'd quite lost track of time. Eyes tracked him as he sat in the back corner.
Silence fell as Flitwick walked in, his head nearly obscured by the desks in front of Harry. He fell into thought as the professor greeted the class and outlined the day's topic. The only reason he'd come was to measure up his own progress to the rest of the cohort.
After his multiple failures since the Quidditch World Cup, he didn't want to be caught unaware again. He'd sworn he wouldn't be the reason why someone he cared about died. His mantra resonated more and more with him each day. I will be something.
Harry didn't want to look at his parents' pictures with a feeling of shame one more time. He'd actively avoided it and would continue to until he lived up to what he thought their expectations may be. It gave him a cool determination – a pronounced feeling of fulfilment that he was finally on the right path.
The talk with Fleur post-Ball had greatly refocused him. He lived in his head less and took things at face value. His emotions were far less tumultuous and his moods less volatile. Whatever happened, happened, and it was up to him to manage how he reacted.
He'd seen her quite a few times in the weeks since the Yule Ball and enjoyed her company more each time. It'd been a mix of casual conversation and academics, with a touch of snogging here and there. The thought prompted another grin. Her company was vital to him - there was no one else he spent any significant amount of time with.
She'd even managed to repair and mostly spell-proof the stretch of wall he'd been abusing in that classroom. She didn't however have anything to add once he'd shown her the passage from Anima Alchimiae, telling him to make sure he brought it with him when he met her parents. The thought sent a spike of anxiety through him.
His wand had gradually responded to him better. At first, the difference was so minute that he couldn't tell the difference. Within the past few weeks though, it seemed more receptive.
Soul, half a soul, or no soul. As long as he could cast magic and feel like himself, he could do something to be proud of. The emptiness still managed to creep in at times, though.
"Mr. Potter!"
The rest of the class had turned to Harry, staring as if he were a zoo animal.
"Yes, Professor?"
Flitwick leaned over his lectern, barely tall enough to see him at the back of the class. "Pay attention, please. Would you come up the front and demonstrate the use of the Severing Charm?"
"Yes, Professor Flitwick."
Standing, he made his way through the aisles and up the single step to the front. Harry noticed that he was oddly calm for being put on the spot.
Flitwick stepped aside and gestured to a stone pillar he'd placed multiple metres away.
"See if you can make a nick in that."
Stepping forward, he focused, the rest of the class fading from his mind. The wand gave a small twitch in his hand, warming at the base as he traced the incantation before incanting "Diffindo!"
A pale, red spell rocketed out and slammed into the pillar. Two halves, separated horizontally, fell to the floor.
Professor Flitwick had an ecstatic expression on his face.
"Twenty points to Gryffindor! Fantastic!" he squeaked.
Harry felt a sadistic sense of satisfaction watching the rest of the class. The best anyone else achieved was a fair gouge through the middle. Even Hermione only managed a slight nick. He felt her eyes on him after she'd sat back down but didn't acknowledge her. If she wanted, she could approach him.
These were the people who'd shunned him.
Even if he might subtly repel people for a reason beyond his control, that wouldn't have stopped her from at least supporting him or acknowledging that he hadn't entered his own name. It didn't explain Ron's jealousy and it hadn't made her hex him in the back either unless she was under the Imperious Curse.
If she had been, he'd probably be dead right now. The thought somewhat chilled him. He'd very much taken Moody's 'constant vigilance' motto to heart.
A/N
As I mentioned in the last chapter's update, I have revised almost every chapter in some sense. Hopefully, the flow is improved and the story and relationships make more logical sense.
Thanks for the reviews, I read them all. It's great to hear that the plot and story in general does resonate with a few of you. Please be sure to leave one and voice your thoughts, it is greatly beneficial for both past and future chapters. Cheers.
