A/N: This chapter took so long. There was a…line—just one line—where I got stuck. See if you can figure out where it was.
Chapter 23: Burning
As he anticipated, Harry left his troubles behind him on the ground. Soon the students were specks. He knew it was a little irresponsible to do some joy flying in the middle of a lesson, but his flying was impressive enough that no one would mind. He relaxed his mind, letting himself feel his pride in his flying through his broom—his aura—but it felt distant. The pride and ego he felt wasn't from the broom supporting him between his legs. It wasn't speeding him through the air. No. His confidence was…far away…muted.
Before Harry could panic, he felt his aura tangling with someone else's and images began to flash through his mind.
He felt joy and pride as he was announced to be on the Quidditch team as a first year…only …when he looked around, the uniforms the players were wearing were different somehow. They were older. Historic uniforms.
The image changed.
He was being commended by his teachers. Teachers he didn't recognize.
He was opening his owls to see that he'd aced all twelve of them. Harry hadn't aced twelve owls.
He was writing a letter in tall loopy writing, feeling a leaping in his chest and a heady excitement. The letter started with "Gellert," and ended with "Albus."
Harry realized what had happened and tried to pull out of Albus's mind, but the contact between the broom and Albus had gone on too long. They were still touching. Harry could feel Albus's panic and both of their panics bound them together all the more.
And then the sandy haired man Harry had read and heard about was whispering in his ear. He whispered secrets plans for the world and secret plans for their time together. Harry felt himself shiver at the breath on his ear and felt his heart beat faster with an emotion that was not his own.
Harry was sickened with the violation he was involuntarily committing, but he was trapped watching with fixed horror by the images that presented themselves to him next. He wasn't horrified by the images themselves, but by how little right he had to them. He kept fighting to remove himself from the visions—to shut his eyes, anything, but he only succeeded in shooting off on his broom out of the stadium.
"Kneel" said Harry, and the sandy haired main dropped to his knees.
Harry smiled quietly to himself and then jerked the man's hair back to tilt his head up. Gellert hissed in pain, but then bit his lip, slowly smiled, and began pushing his hands into the front of Harry's robes.
And Harry screamed and his insides lurched with the feeling of falling, for he was falling. But he felt like he had lost something, and a stabbing longing overwhelmed him. He felt himself searching. He felt a hole within himself and he felt out of place.
And then he felt most of his bones breaking as he impacted with the ground.
Through his searing pain, he thought he heard someone screaming his name…his whole name…his abandoned, secret name…and then he felt no more.
Or rather, he was gone from his broken body.
He was flying through the air on red wings. He was concerned for the broken, black haired figure below him, but he knew he didn't have time for that. He had to fill the hole. He had to find the missing piece before it floated away. He had to tether it back. He willed himself to his—Harry's bedchamber and knocked things over before he found what he was looking for—a shining blue crystal, wrapped partially in cloth. He hastily clutched the cloth with the stone in his talons without landing, but was careful not to touch the stone.
With a flash of his red wings, and a fluttering of flame, he tossed himself through space to where he knew part of him was roaming, lost.
He reappeared feet above a stony hill to the scene Fawkes had expected. Albus stood frozen, wand in hand, pointing at a smoldering pile of wooden debris. Fawkes ignored every whim of the part of soul trapped inside him and paid Albus no mind. Instead, he flew around the hill quickly, waving the crystal through the air with his talons. As Fawkes flew, he felt the pain and loss in part of Harry's soul ease as it found something to cling to: the crystal. Harry's exhaustion took over and he no longer had energy to look through Fawkes's eyes. He returned to his blacked out body, unconscious.
When Fawkes felt the part of the soul was complete and in the crystal, Fawkes vanished again, back to Harry's body's side. He dropped the crystal lightly into Harry's immobile, outstretched hand and felt as the presence in the crystal began to drift back into Harry. Fawkes went to perch on one of Harry's protruding bones and began to cry. He worked up and down Harry's body, occasionally having to reset bones before pouring his silvery tears on the wounds. When he had cried all he could and most of Harry's wounds were healed, he disappeared again, careful not to scorch Harry's immobile body as he went.
He appeared back on the hillside where the still smoldering remains of Harry's broom lay. Albus was nowhere to be seen, but the airborne bird knew where to find him. He swooped hastily towards the gates of Hogwarts, soon spotting the auburn hair of Albus glinting in the sun. In a flash of talons and flames, Fawkes gripped onto Albus's robes and the pair vanished from the hillside.
They reappeared in the stadium behind a knot of first years searching the sky. Albus looked as if he was going to make a panicked swipe at the bird, but Fawkes vanished, back to his human counterpart's side. Albus was left unsure of what to do.
Albus cleared his throat and the first years turned around.
He paused, a deer in his own headlights. He didn't know what to say. If he'd been an author writing the scene in front of him, it would have taken him weeks to come up with the perfectly tactful thing to say to the class.
The class who's teacher had clearly disappeared inexplicably.
The class who's teacher had been spying on Albus.
Who'd seen his memories.
Who'd seen the memories even he tried not to remember.
The teacher who he might have killed.
The man who he might have killed.
As it was, he was not the author of this scene and did not have a week to figure out what to say.
"You are dismissed," he said, and walked away pretending to himself that he did not hear the whispering behind him. He made it out of the stadium before he began to crackle. By the time he'd caught sight of Harry lying on the lawn, Albus was scorching the grass beneath his feet and his midnight-blue robes billowed around him.
Fawkes sat clutching the robes above the unconscious Harry's heart.
"You are an unfortunate bird," said Albus dangerously as he approached. "I pity you for having to harbor this man's soul. To have it poison you." Fawkes fluttered his wings indignantly but remained over Harry's heart.
"Be gone, Fawkes. You needn't be involved. Don't be foolish!"
Fawkes pierced Albus with a stare of unmatched knowing. It held compassion, pity, and equal measures of frustration and fierce determination.
"If you will not have me protect you, so be it. Ennervate!" Albus sent the spell at the exposed part of Harry's chest.
Harry shrieked and sat bolt upright. Albus kept his wand trained on Harry who started babbling immediately.
"Are you always going to be here when I die, Dumbledore? Last time I was naked, though. Weird. Fawkes, get off. Oh, brilliant. I'm alive. Merlin, it's great being invincible. That reminds me. I should go kick some Riddle ass. Fawkes, get off. I can protect my own shirt, thanks."
Fawkes didn't move and Harry was unable to pry him from his chest.
"Damn it, Fawkes, I've got things to do," said Harry, and clicked his fingers and Fawkes disappeared with a pop from Harry's chest.
"Right, now, let's see. Blue rock in my hand…great. How the fuck did that get here? Useless…" he put the crystal in his pocket.
"Albus, could you get that stick out of my face? Seriously," said Harry, suddenly on his feet. Albus didn't lower his wand. "Right. Clearly either jealous of my power or compensating for something else with that wand up all the time…I don't have time for you right now. I have a field trip."
"Oh I don't think so—" Albus lunged at Harry just as Harry was disappearing. Harry, wrapped up in his own self centered thoughts, barely noticed the extra weight of Albus side along apperating with him until they appeared in an uninhabited bedroom in number 12 grimmauld place.
"You dolt!" said Harry, exasperated. "Nobody lets me do what I need to do around here. Just—Stupify!—bugger off!" Albus didn't see the wandless spell coming and was knocked unconscious, slumping towards Harry. Harry sidestepped him neatly and was already through the door when Albus crumpled to the rugged floor.
"Right. Going on a Riddle hunt…" Harry made his way through the large house, his ego-flooded mind on how easy it would be to kill Tom Riddle.
Harry strode through the house, not bothering to silence his footsteps as he went. With a sweep of his magic, he knew where all of the occupants of the house were and set off towards the drawing room.
He didn't hesitate when he reached the door, but burst in to find Voldemrot in an armchair and Wister kneeling by the fireplace. They both turned when they heard the door bang open. Voldemort stood up dramatically.
"My Lord! We have company!" said Harry, sarcastically imitating one of Voldemort's servants. Then he changed his voice. He imitated the high cold laugh he'd heard in his dreams as a child, the high cruel voice that killed his mother and his father. He imitated the intonation he'd heard in his waking nightmares for years.
"Kill the spare!" Harry hissed with ironic venom, locking eyes with Voldemort. Harry did not turn to the man crouching in the fireplace, but the room was flooded with a green light of his creation. The light subsided leaving the room darker than before. Wister was no longer crouching.
Or breathing.
Harry smiled, satisfied.
"Alone at last," Harry said, ignoring the sudden, searing heat from the crystal in his pocket.
"Thanks," said Voldemort, trying to act cool. "I've been trying to get rid of him for a week. I just didn't have the heart to do it myself—imagine that."
"It is easy to imagine that you have no heart, Voldemort." Voldemort hid his flinch at the sound of his own name.
"Have you come to join the club?" Voldemort asked.
"Killing a selfish idiot like him won't taint my soul enough to join you," said Harry, needing very little effort to ignore the burning crystal in his pocket. "Nor will killing you. I don't think anything can hurt my soul anyway. –But let's talk about you. Man—I'm not even possessing you and you've got a hard on. It must have become a habit. Do you want to fix that before I kill you? That'd sure be embarrassing when your followers find you that way. Go ahead, I can wait."
"How dare you! You insolent—"
"Hunk? Yeah. I know." Harry was swaggering towards Voldemort. "Hey, I'm in a good mood. Maybe if you stroke my ego I'll stroke your—"
"I will kill you," he snarled.
"With your wand?" asked Harry, close enough to speak directly into Voldemort's ear. "It seems to be otherwise occupied."
"How are you doing this?" gasped Voldemort.
"It's all you. I'm not involved—I know you want me to be involved," said Harry, stepping forward swiftly and putting his hand firmly on the crotch of Voldemort's robes. "Tell me you want me."
"I want you."
"Resolve of an ox, you've got," said Harry, pulling back.
"Since that day in the shop," Voldemort continued breathily, unprompted.
"Right—oomph," Voldemort spun Harry and pushed him into the armchair Voldemort had previously inhabited. It transfigured itself into a bed beneath Harry.
"The most powerful desire of the flesh I've ever possessed," whispered Voldemort, crawling up over Harry.
"Yeah, whatever," said Harry, squirming slightly. "So, this has been fun, but I've got places to be." He drew his wand and pointed it up at Voldemort.
To Harry's surprise, Voldemort knocked the wand from his hand onto the floor and leaned in.
"You haven't anywhere to be, Mr. Potter, but right here," he hissed in Harry's ear in Parseltongue before biting down on Harry's lobe.
Harry felt a foreign flash of intense lust—but it was gone immediately, along with the man above him. Voldemort had recoiled, cursing in pain.
"No shit!" said Harry, realizing immediately what had hurt Voldemort. Harry was still affected by his mother's protection spell, and Voldemort couldn't touch him because his body had not yet been built with Harry's blood. Harry chuckled and bounced off the bed to retrieve his wand.
"Right, I'm getting bored. Avada Kedavra!" called Harry.
"Imperio!" called Voldemort at the same time. Their spells collided between them and made one solid golden beam of light arching and then they heard the song of the phoe—
"Oh bugger this! I do not have time for this priori incantatem crap," growled Harry, jerking the holly and phoenix wand, shattering the beam of light before beads of light could begin to emerge.
He looked over to see Voldemort was standing stunned, looking between himself and Harry and his wand. Apparently Voldemort had gone and bought the Yew and Phoenix wand. While Voldemort stood stunned, Harry used the time to look around the room trying to find a solution to his wand problem. And there in the doorway was Albus with a look of painfully innocent shock across his otherwise smooth face.
Harry ignored the guilty lurch in his stomach, trying not to wonder how long Albus had been standing there or how much he'd seen. Instead Harry turned his wand on Albus.
"Perfect timing Albus. Accio Elder Wand! Capital. Thanks." He caught Albus's wand—the elder wand, the death stick, the wand Harry knew would never fail at any task.
"Close your eyes, Albus. This could be too much for you to handle. Avada Kedavra!" Harry waved the deathstick at Voldemort and nothing happened. There was no flash of green or beam of light. He tried again and nothing happened.
The wand was not the problem.
Harry was not the problem.
The future was the problem.
Voldemort wasn't dead in the future, so Harry couldn't kill him.
But he could!
He was Harry Potter.
He could do anything.
He had seven souls.
He was Master of Death.
He was on a hell of an ego trip, but he could do it.
Harry raised the wand once more. He didn't know it, but there was fire behind his eyes. He didn't know it, but the space around him was shimmering like he wasn't really there. He raised the wand and, for a third and final time, called "Avada Kedavra!"
Harry could tell that it worked. The beam left the wand and was racing in the direction of Voldemort, but to Harry it wasn't racing. To Harry it was inching across the room. Harry looked from side to side and the room felt muffled like he wasn't really there. He had trouble seeing what was real and what was from somewhere else. He could feel himself being ripped from reality. The closer the green light was to Voldemort, the farther he felt from the drawing room and 1957. Harry was fading away. Or going somewhere else.
But he was Harry Potter and he was saving the wizarding world, so it was worth it.
He was killing the worst wizard ever born, so it was worth it.
To save the wizarding world.
From Voldemort.
Because Voldemort killed people for fun.
Killed people out of spite.
Killed people without a second thought.
Killed people.
Killed children for his own purposes.
Killed women who were in the way.
Killed men because they were there.
Killed men.
Harry glanced to the fireplace where there lay an inanimate man. A man. A man with eye lashes and knee caps. A man who loved Quidditch and wore sweater vests and grew funny little plants. A man who had no life left.
A man.
A man.
Wister was a man.
But he wasn't a man anymore, he wad dead.
There was no man left because Harry had taken it away.
Harry's pocket burned and he finally noticed. Time wasn't going anywhere fast, so he reached into his pocket and pulled out the crystal.
It was black.
It seared the skin on his fingers.
And it was black like tar.
It was no longer shiny and blue.
It was black and it seemed to suck the light of the room into its sinister depths.
It stuck to his fingers like oil and the burn spread.
The burn started how his scar used to burn when Voldemort's horcrux lived in his forhead. But this time, it spread through his whole body. He felt it scalding down his throat and felt its flame incinerating his heart.
Soon, he was crying out in agony.
He cried out in remorse and knew he would deserve to be vanished from that spot and never seen again. If not as the price for ridding the world of Voldemort, he deserved it as a consequence for killing a man.
He'd killed a man.
Harry clutched his black, festering, accidental horcrux and stood paralyzed with pain worse than any cruciatus and nauseating fear worse than any dementor.
The world kept fading as the beam of green light crept closer to Voldemort and Harry's heart burned and he clutched at his face, finding it streaked with tears.
He felt his glance land on the fading Albus. He blinked.
And then there was a flash of red light in the green and Harry found himself able to see the world clearly again through his pain. Time went back to normal speed, and Harry looked up just in time to see Fawkes materialize in front of the green beam of light and choke it down his throat, igniting Fawkes as it went.
And as Fawkes went down in a column of flame, Harry screamed. He didn't scream from the agony of horcrux and remorse scouring his body and soul. He didn't scream because his enemy would live. He screamed because Fawkes the phoenix, his companion and friend, had put himself in front of a killing curse. A killing curse from the Elder Wand. Harry had designed the spell to work no matter what, and he'd used the most powerful wand in existence.
Fawkes, his selfless friend and protector, drifted to the rug as a pile of ashes.
Harry crumpled to the ground, tears streaming down his blank face into the scratchy rug. Harry twitched himself into fitful daze, his throat hoarse, and his chest tight. In his hand he gripped the crystal. The translucent blue crystal, shining brighter than ever as he sobbed.