This is it. The chapter except for an epilogue.
TTTTTTTTTTT
Chapter 40: Truths and Breaking Points.
There were dim moments of awareness – flickering shadows, mumbling voices and many strange smells – in the darkness. There were also dreams - dreams or visions – of a house at night filled with screaming and green light.
He walked through the front door of the house, smelling the marigolds and freesias that were so well tended in the garden.
Inside he saw himself, the other he, walking down the hall. There was a man, tall and wiry with a chaotic hedge of black hair and glasses. The other he raised a pale stick and spoke a word that resounded through their minds and was engraved on the newer he's mind. The green light burst and the man, the father, fell dead. It happened a thousand times and he saw the father's life snuffed each time, seeing the way the light, so full of hatred and horror pulled the rich essence of the father away.
The newer he followed the other up the stairs. There were sounds of panic ahead and the other he was full of elation. His goal was close. So close.
There was a woman's voice a long way away that he could somehow hear clearly.
The first he was in there, small and soft and with no understanding of anything other than mother, father, hungry, happy and fear. The mother was crying and full of fear. Something bad was happening.
The other he advanced into the room and the mother leapt to her feet between the other and the first. She screamed, begging the other not to harm the small first one. The other hated the mother: she was weak and believed she could stand in his way. The green flared again and her light vanished into the void.
Then they were there: He, the first and the other. They turned and saw and knew. The walls and the room fell away. The green light appeared and the first and other fused, leaving another single figure in his midst. The new he and he himself looked at one another. With one eye glowing red and the other the same green as the mother's own, he knew what he was. The first stood to his left, unsteady on chubby legs, radiant with innocent light and love while the other was at his right, tall and dark and filled with malice. Between them was the new and it was at the same time both and something entirely new.
All three mouths moved and a voice, echoing and discordant rang in his mind.
'We are you, Harry Potter and you are we. One and many, many and one.'
The other stepped forward, eye to eye with he. 'I am your strength, Harry Potter, I am your fury and determination and your connection to Nidhogg. I will drive you and give you power. You will rule the world of muggle and wizardkind alike.'
The first stepped forward and met he's eyes despite his tiny stature. 'I am your strength, Harry Potter, I am your love and compassion and intuition and your connection to the whole world. I will drive you and give you power. You will unite muggle and wizardkind under one banner and bring unity to all.'
The new stepped forward and his mismatched eyes were unblinking. 'I am your strength, Harry Potter, I am all you are and all you were, are and may yet be. I am love and hate, instinct and logic, peace and war. You have power. You must choose to do with it what you will.'
The new stepped back and he saw many new figures in a circle around the four. He saw the mother, the father, McGonagall, Hagrid, Snape, Hermione, Dumbledore, a man with long black hair and a joyful face, another young but careworn and many, many others.
'Use my knowledge, Harry Potter.' The other said.
'Follow your heart, Harry Potter.' The first said.
Then Nidhogg was pressing his warm strength around his waist, his gemlike eyes twinkling. 'You will never be alone, Harry Potter.' He said.
The figures were becoming misty, those on the outer ring fading from view until he was alone in a grey world.
He was Harry. Harry Potter. He opened his eyes.
TTTTTTTTTTT
He reached out, groping for his glasses. A hazy shape moved next to him and he reflexively went for his wand. It wasn't there. Before he had chance to lash out with his bare hands, a cool hand touched his face.
"Relax, Harry. It's me." Someone said. "Ocular fortifico."
Harry's eyeballs tingled for a moment and his sight became clear. The cool hand belonged to Angelina Johnson. She smiled down at him, her dazzling green eyes full of care and warmth.
"Wow, that's amazing." He said, coughing and sitting up. The effort was agony and almost drove consciousness out of him again.
Angelina put her hands on his shoulders and prevented him from rising too far. "Take it easy, Harry. You need to rest."
It was night in the hospital wing and the huge space was softly lit with overhead lanterns. Harry rubbed his face and looked around the ward. It was more full than he had ever seen it, with extra beds scattered around taking up almost every inch of floor space.
"Hermione, Fay? What happened?" Harry asked, his mouth thick and sticky.
"You… well, truth be told, we don't really know. Or I don't at least – they aren't telling us anything. You've been out for three days."
"Three days?"
Angelina nodded gravely. "I'm volunteering up here – want to be a healer, don't I. Your mate Fay is fine, hardly left your side the last few days. Hermione is okay now. She was badly drained out – did something way beyond her. She's asleep over there." She gestured over toward the main doors. "How do you feel?" She asked, putting the back of her hand to his forehead. Her voice was husky and tired.
Harry shrugged, "Not sure, achy mostly."
She nodded. "I've seen worse cases of burnout, but not many. You've had them all fussing over you. Pomphrey'll be back to check on you again soon, she's gone to check on Snape; he wants to treat his own injuries apparently. He was messed up pretty badly in the fight."
Harry sat back in his bed. "Fight?"
She nodded. "Yep, the battle in the forest. Big mess, loads dead, barely managed to save half the forest burning down. Flitwick's still in a magical coma in a separate ward. Shacklebolt is up and about again and that old auror Moody is designing a new leg. It's been pretty full-on."
Harry rocked back, stunned.
"I know it must be a lot to take in. But Harry, I need you to go back to sleep: you need your rest. I promise I'll have someone come see you as soon as possible." Angelina said. Someone cried out in the dark. She handed him a cup. "Drink this, sleep."
He sniffed the liquid in the cup, smelling the sleeping draught they'd started to learn in potions. He was tired.
He drained it and lay back down, too sore and too weary to care at that moment.
TTTTTTTTTTT
Fay, Dean and Ron came to see him first thing in the morning. Hermione had come to join him shortly after dawn.
"It was Quirrell." Harry told them, recounting everything that had happened.
"I know." Said Ron, handing him a slice of buttered toast. "I overheard Dumbledore and McGonagall talking about it a couple of days ago. Something about your mother's sacrifice for you when you-know-who tried to kill you."
The doors to the hospital wing opened and Dumbledore strode in. He looked exhausted, but still stood straight and commanding. He met Harry's gaze and weaved his way through the beds toward them.
"If you would excuse us, please. I understand you must be happy to see Mr Potter awake, but I need to speak to him in private.'
Stunned, they all nodded and moved away, heading toward Hermione's bed. Harry stood and followed Dumbledore from the hospital wing.
"Anything you have to say to me you can say to them." Harry said as they walked.
The old wizard's face betrayed nothing. "I could, but I will not. You may choose to tell them later."
Dumbledore stopped, opening a door for him. Harry entered the nondescript room and sat down when offered a chair.
Harry rubbed at his scar, at the memory of burning and prickling. "'Quirrell was burned when he touched me. That's something to do with my mother?"
Dumbledore perched on the edge of Harry's bed, removed his spectacles and squeeze the bridge of his nose between his eyes. Taking a deep breath he returned the glasses to his nose and stared at Harry.
"There are theories. I have spent many long hours investigating the events of your parent's house all those years ago, Harry. The best explanation that I have come to is that when your mother made the choice to cast herself between yourself and Lord Voldemort, all of her strength was focussed to such a hard point, such an absolute intention – your protection – that when she died, it was released in the form of a grand abjuration; a protection spell of normally impossible power. She was a blood sacrifice for you, Harry: the entirety of her life energy was converted into a single spell. Her will to protect you from Lord Voldemort worked against the spell that should have killed you and will continue to do so for as long as he might remain alive in the world. You are, to all intents and purposes, entirely immune to any direct action he may undertake against you."
Harry stroked his scar, thinking silently. He had heard so much of his father, the great quidditch player, the head boy, the crusader against Voldemort. So few had ever mentioned his mother.
"Your mother was a great woman, Harry." Dumbledore said, seeming to read his mind as usual. "Her only concern was your wellbeing and that mattered more to her than her own life."
Harry looked up, a tear straining against the bulwark of his lower eyelid. He blinked it back as best he could and coughed. "'I was very lucky."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
"May I ask you a question, Professor?"
"You may. I think I owe you many considering the debt both myself, the school and maybe even the whole world may owe you."
"If was immune to the Voldemort and everyone believed him to be dead, why was I forced to live with the Dursleys?"
Dumbledore let out a weary breath. "I must be honest with you, Harry."
"I've found that whenever people say things like that, it tends to mean they're about to lie to me."
"You're very perceptive." The old wizard said. "But in this instance I say it because there are many truths behind my decision to place you with the Dursleys and many of them you will not understand right now because you are as yet unfamiliar with our world and, as mature as you are, there are some concepts that will be beyond your understanding until you are older."
"Please don't talk like that, Professor. Tell me why I had to be with those people." Harry's hands balled into fists when he thought of the Dursleys and he couldn't keep the acid from the final word.
Dumbledore's face hardened. "I'm not patronising you, Harry. I am trying to explain that at that time, we didn't know what had happened to Lord Voldemort. The first people to arrive at your parent's house on that night found only devastation, two bodies and your infant self with a fresh scar on your forehead. There was no sign of Voldemort other than a pile of robes and his magical signature engraved on the area. It took us only a few seconds to discover that your mother was not only dead, but that all of the energies of her soul and body had been consumed in the casting of a great spell upon yourself. You yourself bore signs of the spell that, to the best of our knowledge, no other person has ever survived."
"The killing curse."
Dumbledore's eyebrows met in the middle of his brow. "Where did you hear that?"
Harry shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "In The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts.' It was not entirely a lie, he had read the name there first, but he had also read ahead in subjects he was most interested in to get an idea of what he would learn in upcoming years. He had become vaguely familiar with the three unforgivable curses
The old man didn't look convinced but continued. "Put yourself in my position, Harry. During the darkest days of war, a time that we really thought everything could be lost, the greatest threat to both our world and that of the muggles had suddenly disappeared; leaving behind only a pile of robes – no body – and his followers were running amok. The only explanation we could imagine was that somehow, an infant, untrained and unaware of the events of the world around him had managed to defeat the power of the most evil dark lord in centuries. Until that point almost everyone had firmly taken to the belief that Voldemort would win, that he must in the end be victorious. Then, his might was destroyed by a baby. Suffice to say that word spread quickly around the entire world. You were, within twenty-four hours, the most famous person alive.
"You were praised as singlehandedly bringing low the dark lord. Within hours there were thousands of owls arriving bearing gifts and gold for you. People were speaking your name with reverence. But Voldemort's following wanted you too. You had destroyed their vision of a perfect world and they wanted to kill you. In the first hour after the battle, before we dared move you from your parent's house, there were more than fifty attempts on your life. We had you surrounded by a hundred of those who had fought against Voldemort and it was only just enough.
"We took the decision that you needed to be protected and that the only way to do that was to remove you from the wizarding world. Ordinarily we would have moved you overseas to one of the places where Voldmort's touch had been light and fostered you with a wizarding family there. But there was also the fact that we knew neither Voldemort's fate nor the limitations and details about your mother's dying spell. To limit the change as much as possible, we placed you with your nearest blood relatives: your mother's sister and her family. This was done in absolute secrecy and you were removed from public life."
Harry felt cold. The reasoning behind his imprisonment was being held before him and he felt sick to his stomach. He knew that the old man wasn't finished. "Go on."
"Your family was left with instructions to care for you and raise you to know who and what you were. Please understand Harry that after Voldemort's downfall there were some that reckoned you a saviour and actually venerated your name. Because of that we arranged that every six months your family would receive instructions about how to proceed with your care and that at age five, you would begin receiving instruction in the wizarding world."
Harry sat up straight. "So what happened?"
Dumbledore rubbed his eyes again. The twinkle was gone. "Something unforeseen. It turns out that your mother's protection not only made you immune to any action Lord Voldemort would make against you, but also added certain effects that had been cast on her and your home at the time of her death. As a result, you are very difficult to locate by magical means unless you want to be found – and understand how to be found. Instructions were sent by muggle post to your aunt and uncle every few weeks for all these years and we assumed that they were being followed. In the letters sent to you, it was explained that should anything go amiss in your life that you had only to contact us and we would attend to any problems you were having. It didn't occur to us that your family might hide and ignore the things that were being sent and because we didn't hear from you, we didn't investigate. It was… a grievous error."
"A grievous error?" Harry said, standing, putting the chair between him and Dumbledore. The fury was waking in him. "A grievous error?" he asked again, his voice raising.
"Harry, sit down please."
"No!" Harry shouted. "You sent me to those monsters without knowing what had been done to me and just expected that they would do the right thing?"
Memories flashed through his mind: being thrust into the cupboard and left in darkness for three days, Dudley pinning his arms down with his bulk and punching him in the face, Petunia locking him out in the garden overnight in winter as a punishment for breaking an ugly trifle bowl.
"You took my life from me, you put me with those torturers and they hated me! They tried to starve and beat the magic out of me and you put me there!" Harry screamed, tears running lines of fire down his face. "You left me there and no one even bothered to check on me!"
Dumbledore stood and walked around the room, his face drawn and full of horror. "And I am so sorry Harry. It really is all my fault. I only did what I thought was best for you at the time and it was wrong. I can only apologise to you and hope you will understand."
"Understand. Understand? Are you joking?" Harry raged, staggering back into the middle of the room. Fury surged through him and he longed for his wand. He wanted to kill the old man, blast his soul into the void just as he had the woman protecting…
Harry's legs buckled and he fell to the ground, feeling the impact of his knees on stone in his skull. The old man was walking toward him as McGonagall's warnings about wandless magic flashed through his mind.
He opened his eyes. He knew how to do it. The other part of him – the dark, cold part - understood what he was trying to do. He met the eyes of the man responsible for his imprisonment.
A vision of those twinkling eyes empty and dead against decaying flesh flooded his mind and his mouth formed the first syllable of the words of power.
Arms enfolded him. Many arms and bodies surrounding him.
They stifled the darkness, flooded the cold and darkness with warmth and love. It was the kind of warmth and love he hadn't felt since losing his parents. Hermione, Fay, Ron, Dean, Angelina and Tonks were there.
The words disappeared from his mind, leaving not even the faintest trace.
He was rigid for a few moments, unsure how to react, until the warmth and smell of his friends relaxed him. His head sagged forward, touching someone's shoulder – he couldn't tell who it was - and tears came. Huge sobs and fat tears that soaked his face and her clothes pyjamas. Pain and sorrow, years of pain and all the horror of his life since being torn away from his parents flowed out of him.
TTTTTTTTTTT
Read and review please, don't pull any punches.
CONSTRUCTIVE FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS WELCOME