Chapter 27: Monster
Wednesday, 6:45 pm
Ginny tapped her foot, wishing her brothers would quit acting like idiots.
"You do realize it's minus 14 degrees?" she said. "Nobody is going to come to your ice skating party."
"It's not just ice skating," said Fred, driving a tent pole into the ground with a grunt. "When we're finished here, the lake will be transformed into a work of art. A marvel that you can see all the way from the dungeons of Slytherin."
"That's not a lake," corrected Ginny, pointing a finger at the offending construct. "It's a swamp. Filled with weird, glowy spells."
The twins sighed, continuing to cast their magic on the frozen swamp. "It's like you don't even hear us when we're talking, Ginny. This isn't just about making ice glow—it's an important message to the students of Hogwarts. Everyone will know what it means when they see it!"
Ginny sighed, wrapping her coat a little tighter around her paper thin dress. She knew she should be at the party, where her friends and her boyfriend were waiting for her. But her brothers had to choose tonight, of all nights, to put down three enchanted swamps beside the Hogwarts lake, and set up a ticketing booth to rent skating supplies. Couldn't they have chosen yesterday, when it was only minus 6 degrees?
"We have space near the Burrow for a lake," pleaded Ginny. "Can't you wait just one more day?"
"Too late. We've already set up the fireworks," said George, driving in the second tent pole with a grunt.
Ginny stomped her foot. "You stubborn idiots! Oh, Mum is going to be so mad when she finds out!" With that declaration, Ginny spun around and trudged back to Hogwarts.
She'd been walking about a minute when a loud crack snapped through the air, as if a tree had fallen, shaking the ground beneath her. Ginny turned around, mind going blank with horror as a dark creature rose from the lake, clawing at the ice with its tentacles. It snapped at the air with its beak, its body writhing and ripping off chunks of ice.
"Blurrigroh!" The squid cried, in a voice so high pitched and alien it raised ever hair on her body. It spewed darkness all over the ice, its eyes wide and unblinking. Her brothers fled the bank, snow flying from their heels as they ran. The monster surged out of the hole, flopping onto the lake and screaming. "Blllurrriigroh Miiinnga!"
Ginny had her wand out, trembling in her hand. She felt so useless—would spells even work? What if they just made it angry? There was that binding spell, but she couldn't remember it. She could jinx the monster, but she didn't think bat bogey would slow it down.
"What the hell did you do now?" said Harry, who appeared as if from thin air in front of her brothers.
"We don't know!" cried Fred. "It agreed to be part of the show, but then it went crazy!"
"Oh, for crying out loud!" Harry rolled his eyes. "Is everyone in this school insane except me?" Then, he pointed his wand and shouted. "Stupefy!"
The squid slumped over, and the wailing noise mercifully ceased.
In a blast of wind, Hermione skidded to a halt beside them, spraying snow on the twins' robes. "Boys, the squid is really old, so we have to be careful with it…Oh, it's down already."
"Right," Harry said, his eyes locked on Hermione, his voice laced with sarcasm. "I saved the precious giant squid from frostbite, because that would be a tremendous tragedy, and now we just have to find Professor Sprout to take care of the rest. Speaking of which, she should be appearing in three, two…"
Professor Sprout popped into the area, aided by a house elf. "Oh, dear heavens!" she cried. "We need to get it back into water immediately! Hermione, I'll need your help. Everyone else, please stay back!"
The Professor used magic to open a circular hole in the ice, while Hermione used rope to pull the squid into the lake. She was having trouble—the squid's tentacles clung to the ice, like a tongue stuck on a frozen pole.
There was a fizzing hiss, and then everything went horribly wrong.
Mabel sat in the Slytherin common room playing cards, because there wasn't much else to do. All her packing was done, and in a day she'd be back home, listening to her parents fight and her baby brother scream around the house. But the Slytherin common room was warm and cozy, and she tried not to think of these things for the next few hours.
From the corner of her eye, she spied a flash of colour out the dark window. That was unusual, as the depths of the lake were usually completely dark at night. She turned on the couch to look more closely, pressing her face against the cool window.
She blinked as a glowing fish passed, it's skeleton visible through the light. A larger fish passed, swimming fast and directionless, zig zagging until it swam out of sight. A long, glowing tentacle slapped against the window, and Mabel heard a scream behind her, but she sat there, fascinated.
And then, something in the water exploded in a blast of light, scattering brilliant bits of glowing ice, plants, and fish into the water, like a giant sparkle globe.
That's when it hit Mabel that this was the perfect metaphor for her life. Even if it was a mess, it was beautiful. And someday, she would be able to build the life she wanted out of its shattered remains.
Whoever orchestrated this was a genius.
Hufflepuffs usually got ready for bed pretty early, but it was their last night before break, so the entire house gathered together to honour their 15 year long tradition of playing high-stakes Twister. Little electric buzzes arced over the mat, the players wincing as it shocked them.
The competition was fierce—Hannah was straining to keep her place on three dots across the mat, while Millie was bent over backwards to keep one heel on blue, forced into this awkward position by Peter's leg sweep attack. It was doubly painful because the board was currently zapping their feet, but it wasn't nearly so bad as the tickling spell earlier, which knocked at least half of Hufflepuff out of the game.
Cedric had decided not to play this time, since his muscles were sore from duelling and intense Auror training. But even though he was exhausted, he couldn't miss his last Twister game before graduation. He sat by the window, cheering on each competitor in turn.
Cedric had been training himself to look out for Suspicious Behaviour, so he was disappointed that it took him so long to notice that there were four lakes outside where there were supposed to be one. If he'd been in Ravenclaw tower, he might have spotted it faster. He was about to send a message on his Auror mirror when the four lakes suddenly lit up, a shower of bright jets spewing fish and sea plants into the air, then ripping them apart in a blaze of white fire.
Cedric sat there in shock—his brain refusing to believe what it was seeing. Who would even do something like that? How could something so awful look so…cool?
Then he squinted, as a message appeared about the water. "Is that…a song quote?"
The lead guitarist of the Weird Sisters stared out the window at the light show below him, a single tear falling down his cheek.
He'd had diner sandwiches named after him, tattoos designed with his face and guitar, and yet he'd never been so moved before by a tribute to his art. His one regret was that he hadn't been at ground zero when it happened. He wanted to give a nod to the person who had honoured his music in such a unique, meaningful way.
He wiped his eye, and turned back to the crowd.
"Alright, everyone, you heard the lake man—or woman!" He strummed a chord, kinda liking the idea of it being a girl. "'Let's get this party started!'"
"We're sorry!" cried the twins, falling to their knees in the snow. "Headmistress, we can explain everything!"
Harry listened to the twins' babbled explanation, but it was obvious to him what had occurred.
They had found a spell that imitated bioluminescence, dosed the fish in their swamps with it, and added the squid for good measure. At the same time, they'd set up fireworks that had launched prematurely. Some of the bioluminescence found its way to the Hogwarts lake, where, like cancer, it had spread to fish that weren't supposed to be affected. When the fireworks went off, a reaction between the two magics—or the gunpowder, or the explosive force, or some other variable—had caused every affected fish in the Hogwarts lake to blow up.
And really, Harry shouldn't be surprised. If he was, then it was his fault for thinking anyone could make normal, rational choices when presented with multiple options. Any sane person would have tested their spells first to make sure there were no harmful interactions with other magics, or that their spell wouldn't spread like poison in a delicate ecosystem. If they'd at least foregone the completely uncalled for fireworks display, then the situation could have been salvaged. But no—they hadn't thought of these things, or even considered that their project could go wrong in any way. There was probably some psychological theory that explained their overconfidence, but he was just going to call it what it was—pure, unadulterated stupidity.
Honestly, the world would be a much safer place if the twins had just exploded along with the fish.
As soon as the fireworks show was over, and Harry was confident the Aurors and professors could handle the damage left behind, he walked back to Hogwarts. He was too keyed up to go to bed, so he paced the halls, wondering why everyone he cared about had to act like fools.
It wasn't long before he found his answer.
When Hermione surveyed the destruction occurring before her eyes, her overwhelming thought was: And who's going to have to clean it up? This girl, right here.
It wasn't so much the dead fish debris she was worried about as the remnants of the twins' spell polluting the water. She was hoping that the Triwizard tournament preparations were still intact, but after what happened last time, they'd have to triple check to be sure. It would probably save them a lot of time if the Aurors cast the spells right before the tournament, just in case any more Gryffindors needed to explode the lake.
But just as she was about to get to work, a team of Aurors flew in overhead, their black robes billowing as they fired spells from their brooms. Tonks and Lee alighted near the lake, performing a complex web of enchantments that Hermione recognized as containment spells. When Tonks saw Hermione approaching them, she smiled and held out a hand like a stop sign, "Not so fast. We got this one, kiddo."
Hermione watched as the Aurors secured the area and began repairing the damage, the cascade of their spells blending to cover the lake in gold and blue. Some of the magic stretched to envelop a swamp, squeezing it down and vanishing it, while the rest healed the churning water. The Aurors worked together in a rhythm that showed how skilled they really were, and it still fascinated Hermione to watch the master Aurors at work. She hoped she would be just as good at the job someday.
It was going on 8:00 pm when she finally headed back to the castle.
On the way there, she grimaced up at the towers, remembering the situation she'd left.
Kissing Boris had been a stupid mistake. Looking back, she could see all the blazing signs of that, but she'd ignored them on account of being stupid. Anyway, she was going to put it behind her, and she hoped to go to her grave without anyone finding out about it. The last thing she wanted was to come to breakfast tomorrow to find her face and his plastered all over the Quibbler.
It was by chance that she found Harry, walking along the hallway that connected the Beauxbatons and Ravenclaw dorms. She suddenly found herself wanting her best friend to know, to commiserate with her over her poor decisions, maybe even tease her a bit for it. "Harry, wait up," she said, jogging over. He didn't turn to look at her, though, not even after she matched his stride and walked beside him.
She touched his shoulder. "Are you okay?"
He jerked away from her, turning to face the wall. When he turned back, his face was unreadable, his voice calm and cold.
"I was just thinking," he said. "And none of my thoughts are making any sense. Perhaps I was wrong about a lot of things."
Something was very off about him. He stood alone in the dark, coatless and pale with the cold, and yet he did not shiver.
"Talk to me," said Hermione, her body tensing at the hard edge in his voice. "I'll listen."
"Very well then," His gaze studied her, his tone business-like. "You like tests, Hermione, so answer this question. There's a man who keeps stalking you. Do you A, avoid him, B, tell him off, or C, go on a charming date?"
"What?" gasped Hermione.
Harry shrugged. "It's not a difficult question. Anyone with a rational mind could easily determine the correct answer. Now, question 2: suppose the man had just broken up with a girl, and then tries to kiss you. Do you push him off with your inhuman strength, scream for help, or let him keep sucking your face?"
Hermione felt fear deep in the pit of her stomach. "You were spying on me."
He shook his head once, a sharp jerking gesture. "I was there to help you, but it turns out you can't save idiots from their own stupidity."
The pieces were falling into place, evolving into something dreadful. "You hurt him."
"Did I?" he said, tilting his head slightly. "He was fine last time I saw him. He's probably at the party, with a new girl on his lap and fawning over him."
"Harry—"
"You know," he mused, as if he didn't hear her. "I always heard that women were attracted to men who treated them like cow dung, but I never understood it until now. I certainly never expected I'd learn that from you."
Hermione felt her face grow hot, the urge to defend herself rising. "Stop it, Harry! Stop trying to twist things around! You can't hurt someone just because you feel like it! And you can't stand there and preach at me like…like a jealous boyfriend!"
"Jealous? Ha." He folded his arms. "You want the truth? Fine. Yes, I spied on you, and yes, I tried to save you by hurting Boris. I regret neither of those actions, and don't feel I should apologize. Now, I want you to be honest with me." The moonlight they stood in tinged his eyes a pale blue-green, his voice dangerously soft. "Did you want to sleep with him, Hermione? Was that why you were trying so hard to be his friend?"
Her breath left her in a gasp. "Harry, that's none of your-"
"Because if so," he barrelled on. "Your friendship is meaningless to me." His tone shifted, lighter yet more cutting. "Voldemort was said to be quite handsome, in his day. I wonder if you would have 'befriended' him, too? I wouldn't have thought of it once but, you know, people change."
Hermione flinched, so shocked that she couldn't think straight. Her words finally came out as a whisper. "How dare you—"
"How dare you!" he shouted, making her flinch back in fear. His voice was tense, his teeth clenched as he seethed. "You betrayed everything I knew about you. You acted like a complete fool, and even now you can't see it. I'm ashamed that I ever cared for you. You're not even trash—you're simply nothing to me."
Hermione felt tears prickle in her eyes. She thought she should be angry, to say something to make him regret his words, but she was scared. Something was really wrong with Harry. He was acting like he owned her, as if he wanted to hurt her…
She caught a breath, and looked into his cold, burning eyes.
He's already hurt one person tonight.
Hermione's back tensed against the wall where he'd cornered her. Her eyes flicked to the path to run past him, searching for exits and weak points like her training had taught her. He still hadn't moved, his eyes narrowing, as if daring her to try.
She felt a cold wash of fear. She wanted to sound strong, but her weak, trembling voice betrayed her. "Let me go," Her voice cracked, the next word a sob. "Please."
"Stop crying," he said, his voice flat.
But her tears kept falling, the reality of what was happening hitting her. Please don't make me fight you, oh please, Harry.
He rolled his eyes. Then, as if he was shutting the door forever, Harry turned and walked away.
Harry walked back to his room, lay down in bed with his eyes open, his covers up to his neck.
It took Harry about 3 minutes to return from his dark side, whereupon he immediately started freaking out.
He flung the covers off, scrambled out of bed, and stood up straight and unmoving for several seconds. Then he ran for the door, stumbled back, paced the room, and continued pacing before he cowered on his bed again. He was too horrified to even cry.
His brain split into opposing sides, which were attempting to debate, but ended up clamouring over each other in a panicked frenzy.
I made her cry and I hurt her and she'll never forgive me—
Was that me? No, it was a false memory charm!
Oh shut up, you don't even—
Ha ha ha ha ha! She hates me! She'll hate me forever—
Did you see the way she looked at me?
I'm a monster.
Sometimes, he would just freeze for several seconds, contemplating with fresh horror something he'd said. Over and over, his mind raced in circles, wishing for some way to fix everything, but never coming closer to leaving the bottomless pit he'd dug for himself.
It was after Harry had paced the room for ages, and several of his dorm mates had told him to quit talking to himself and go to sleep, that Harry retreated to his trunk. He was seriously considering never leaving.
Harry had joked around that he was evil, or that he wanted to take over the world. But deep down he knew he was a good person. He could be a jerk, but he cared about people when it counted. He absolutely never hurt his friends on purpose.
But he had to face the reality that he'd broken his promise. His dark side had caused him to hurt someone he loved, for no other reason than because he wanted her to hurt. And if he compared that to known archetypes of human behaviour, the only word he could find was "abusive." In Wizarding Britain, they called them "Dark Lords."
He found a bitter irony in the fact that he had wondered how much pain he could inflict on Boris Krum before he became a Dark Lord, how much farther he could go. In the end, did it matter if he earned the title? The effect was the same. His actions had hurt Hermione, and had proved the Sorting Hat right.
It was at some point during the time where he was examining his food supply to determine how long he could survive in the trunk, when he mentally slapped himself. Enough wallowing in self-pity, it was time to examine the situation at hand. He needed to figure out why he'd hurt Hermione so that he could ensure it would never happen again.
Harry sat on the floor of his trunk and thought.
When he'd seen Boris kiss Hermione on the balcony, he had immediately and completely fallen into his dark side. Now that he considered it, this was the only time apart from the dementors where he didn't have full control of himself in this state. And Harry noticed he was confused.
His response had far surpassed the stimulus. If Hermione had been held at knifepoint, he could see why his dark side might take over. But a kiss? It wasn't pleasant to witness, but it didn't necessitate a full blown outburst. Yet, even now, he could feel the memory twisting his insides, like he'd drunk poison.
Hermione talking and laughing at Boris's jokes—his repulsive, stupid jokes. Boris staring into her eyes, touching her cheek, slipping his arm around her waist…
The response to an offending human's hand touching Hermione is for said human to lose their hand.
Harry frowned. His dark side hadn't gone away—it lurked at the edges of consciousness, threatening to return.
Swallowing hard, Harry asked his dark side a question. Why?
Because he is filth.
Harry knew this was the programmed response—an excuse to engage in behaviour that he would otherwise deem immoral, or at least questionable. He sensed that he was lashing out, for some reason he couldn't determine. He tried another tactic. I sense you are afraid. Why?
Hermione will betray me.
Harry frowned at this. Why was he so jealous? Was he…romantically interested in Hermione? But even jealousy shouldn't cause him to want to hurt her like that.
Harry had to think about this for a moment before he realized the fear was tied to a particular memory, a small part of the conversation between Boris and Hermione.
Do you like to ski?
Yes.
Come ski with me. Meet my friends. Spend the summer with me.
She'd told him no both times. And then she'd kissed him.
After that, the inevitable chain of events would lead her to fall in love with Boris, give up science forever and run away with him to wherever he came from. She wouldn't need Harry anymore, or think about him ever again.
And it's not fair, said his dark side. Because I'm a much better friend than he could ever be. She owes me.
Harry stared at the wall for a few moments, contemplating just how messed up a rationalist's mind could get even if he was constantly policing himself.
It was insane. And yet, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that Hermione owed him nothing and that she'd never abandon science because she loved it too, he was still afraid. She'd hurt him, confused him, and made him angry.
His dark side had hurt her to protect him.
Trembling, Harry put his head in his hands. How did I miss this?
He had always seen his dark side as a necessary evil. He didn't know where it came from, but it was tactically useful. It helped him to make decisions in situations that he normally would be too scared or too inexperienced to know what to do. Since coming to Hogwarts, he had used it as a tool. Now, for the first time, he was concerned he had been feeding a demon all along.
The other fear, the one he couldn't bear to dwell on, was that maybe it wasn't his dark side anymore. Maybe this was just who he was.
He kept thinking back to how coldly he'd cross-examined Hermione in the hallway. He had not concerned himself with her feelings at all, neither her anger nor her tears. She had offended him by betraying his trust, and by doing so had lost all right to his concern for her. It was appalling how completely this dead feeling had filled him.
But in that moment, it seemed like she deserved it. He saw his feelings for her as an unnecessary distraction, since her behaviour had made her an irrational being. To preserve his calm he was prepared to excise her from his life if she did not listen to reason. To punish her, if necessary.
Punishment. His mind went completely blank in horror. How far would he have gone to do that? Surely not…surely he wouldn't have really hurt her.
After serious thought, he exhaled slowly. No. He wouldn't hurt her, he was sure of that, even his dark side couldn't cause him to raise a hand against her.
But she didn't know that, and now she would hate him forever. Every time he saw her in the hallways, she would turn away in fear and disgust. He would become the story she'd tell her friends about, the awful boy who'd called her trash and made her cry.
Harry felt a sharp pang of fear. He couldn't live with that.
If I apologize sincerely, and promise to do anything I can to make up for it, will she find it in her heart to forgive me, just this once?
Harry was reminded of stories he'd read, of how abusers would bring their loved ones flowers, and promise to stop hurting them. But they never did.
Harry swallowed, hands gripping into fists. Saying sorry wasn't good enough. He needed to prove to her, and to himself, that he would never do it again.
Ahem, said Slytherin. I have a rather good idea that should salvage the situation, but you must be prepared to take some losses.
Whatever it is, I'll do it, responded Harry.
Right then, said Slytherin. I shall require a pen and paper, and most of your dignity.
August, 1991
Tom leaned back in his office chair, gazing at the orb in his hand, at the sandy desert reflected there.
He was bored.
This was not unusual. He spent most of his time somewhere between boredom and anger, and it had always been this way. Ever since he was a child, there was never a time where he wasn't completely alone, surrounded by a sea of fools. Even now, as he was beginning a new journey, he found himself restless and impatient.
Boredom led to anger. In his youth, it escalated into uncontrollable rages, but he'd learned that there was power in being patient. He was always close to anger, simmering under the surface, but it was cold now. A weapon.
He heard someone knocking at the door, and he flicked his wand to let them in. He saw dark, curly hair, and immediately thought it was Bellatrix, released at last from prison.
Tom quickly put on a mask of indifference, as it would not do to show his distaste. It wasn't that he disliked Bellatrix, but that she always gazed on him with such devotion. She was not worthy of receiving what she wanted, and she never would be, but some part of him always wished she was. That instead of a sycophant, he could have an equal.
Sometimes, thinking on the unfairness of it—that this was the way the world was—made him incredibly angry. In spite, he'd resorted to testing the limits of Bellatrix's patience with him, to see what would break her. But as much as he tore her down with insults, used Crucio on her just for fun, she came crawling back wanting more. It was fascinatingly pitiful, and he had learned that this loyalty had its own uses.
The dark haired woman strode inside, jewels draped down her neck and glittering against her fingers. The woman was darker than Bellatrix (Indian? Polynesian?). Her dress was dark red, embroidered and stitched with scenes of warhorses, charging into battle.
Tom raised an eyebrow. Definitely not Bellatrix, then. She was gaudy, too much, but he wondered at why such a spectacle would enter his office. It could be interesting.
She strode to within several feet of him—the exact length of a duellist's stance—and then stood regarding him, hands folded. Tom remained seated, examining her carefully. It was beginning to dawn on him who she might be.
"Tom Riddle," she said. "I believe you have something of mine."
He tossed the glass ball into the air, caught it.
"Perhaps you've got the wrong office? My name is Quirinius Quirrell."
"You're lying." She levelled her defiant gaze on him. "You stole his body, just as you stole the life of David Monroe. Not to mention, slaughtering thousands and terrorizing the entire Wizarding world. Lord Voldemort."
She gave a mock bow, and he was intrigued. He had taken great pains to hide his true identity, and the fact that she'd seen through them all meant the reports of her brilliance were not overstated.
"Believe what you wish," he said. "But if I am such a monster, why are you alone in my office?"
"You have something that belongs to me," she said, nodding at the glass ball in his hand. "I've come to take it.
He tossed the ball into the air again, let it hang there, caught it. His eyes never left hers.
"I found it at an archaeological dig, broke its enchantments at great cost to myself," said Tom. "I have use for it. Why should I give it to you?"
Her dark brows raised, he would almost say flirtatiously. "Because I already have you cornered."
Tom froze a fraction of an instant, weighing her words. Then, he smiled.
"All those years I asked to see you, and you denied me. Now, here you are, fair Priestess." He rose from his chair. "Well, well. If I had known you would visit me in person, I would have prepared refreshments for you. We could have discussed many things together, shared knowledge of ancient and lost lore. As it is, I am just finishing packing up. I've accepted a position at Hogwarts as the Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher, and they expect me within the hour."
The Priestess folded her arms. Neither of them had yet made a move, but he could feel intense magic building in the air. Her garish jewels, even a fool could surmise, were not just for decoration. Once the fight began, it would be brutal, and he did not wish to lose this body yet.
"I'll make you a deal," the Priestess said, leaning against his desk. "Hand over what you stole from me, and I will not torture you for wantonly murdering the man who held it."
His lip twitched. "Was he important? He seemed quite old and decrepit, which everyone knows is an invitation for dark wizards to come in and take what they please."
She glared at him pointedly, letting him know he was crossing a line. He switched tactics.
"You've thousands of magical treasures," Tom went on. "Collected over centuries, some of which make this glass globe look like a parlor trick. Does it really matter to you that I give it back? So much so, that you're willing to take the risk of confronting me directly?"
He suspected more than he was saying, of course, but he kept that carefully in the back of his mind, away from prying eyes.
"Tom." The Priestess's gaze weighed heavily on him. "I know how dangerous it is in your hands, and I will not be responsible for the deaths of thousands."
Ahh, so that's it. She's playing the hero. The question is, at what level?
Tom shrugged artfully. It worked better in his original body (more good-looking) but it still seemed to disarm people now.
"Maybe so. Here is my counteroffer." He set the globe on the desk before her, equidistant between them. "I will return this to you, and then I will grant you a proper duel, where you may attempt to destroy me as heroes do. But I've a small condition. It's a meaningless concession, if I am to die or be Obliviated."
She raised her eyebrows, and Tom had her right where he wanted her. He painted on his most innocent, open expression.
"What can you tell me about the Philosopher's Stone?"
Author's note: Well...here it is. Hope the fallout isn't too severe.
This week's chapter is a double post. Keep reading for chapter 28.
