The Lightsaber
By: Tellemicus Sundance
#08: Trials of Spirit and Body
October 22, 1996
Godric's Hollow
"I want to go to Godric's Hollow."
That simple statement that had been uttered at the first rays of dawn had been what sealed his fate. It had been almost a week since the Gathering. In that time, Harry had met and cleansed each of the Werewolf Packs that desired to be so, which were nearly all of them. All totaled, Harry must've done the process on more than a thousand of Werewolves, nearly the entirety of all the Packs in Great Britain. Apparently, despite the Gathering being recognized as an official 'government' of sorts for the Packs, by the Packs, it wasn't an altogether welcomed practice. Too many wolves gathered in one place could stir the aggressions of many of the rival fighters, provoking fights and brawls that could easily escalate to something far more than was warranted. Thus, while the rogues and lone wolves had to attend the Gatherings, lest they be considered feral and dangerous, the common folk of the Packs were largely exempt unless they desired to join in the festivities. So, when the cleansed Werewolves rushed back to their Packs and homes to spread the news, many more began to flood into Circle-of-Stones in a very short amount of time.
Needless to say, it was a long, repetitive process for Harry that left him utterly exhausted, despite even his Sorcery-augmented stamina.
But during that time and between the occasional 15-minute breaks he allowed himself, Harry met each of the Werewolves in person. If he wasn't mistaken, he had already earned himself a hero-status among them and a new nickname. He would forever be known as 'The Cleanser' and possibly the first real hero that they'd ever had. Harry just took it all with as much grace as he could muster, trying to keep himself as objective as possible. Much to Harry's private amusement, he even noticed that there were a lot of members of Greyback's Pack in line as well. It seemed that the promise of a cure had caused the near-feral wolf to lose a lot of support very quickly even in his own former Pack. Only the truly diehard fanatics remained with him to follow Voldemort, according to the Greyback Pack deserters. The deserters were quickly welcomed into the different Packs with open arms and promises of support and safety. Even the Alba Pack numbers were hugely augmented by the influx of new members by at least a good hundred or more.
And it was during those short 15-minute breaks that Harry was able to talk with Remus. It seemed that the lone Werewolf had been out of touch with the Order of the Phoenix and the general Wizarding community as a whole for several weeks. As such, he hadn't heard any of the recent news concerning Fudge, Umbridge, Hogwarts, or himself being a Sorcerer. Thankfully, after he calmed down from his initial panic attack and took a long, hard evaluation of Harry's personality and current deeds, Remus ultimately decided that Harry hadn't (yet!) been corrupted by the power he wielded. So, there was still time to convert him back to being a Wizard, still time to watch for the warning signs that he'd no doubt be paying extra close attention for from now on.
And all that led to this very moment. After waking up before dawn and going for a light 10-kilometer run to stretch out his muscles, Harry helped himself to some breakfast with Remus and other early-risers. He had been thinking about everything that he had done in the past few days and everything he hoped to do in the near-future. Harry realized that if he ever truly wanted to move on to his future, he'd have to confront that one glaring wound in his past that he hasn't yet been able to.
And that is what led to him and Remus both entering the village of Godric's Hollow so early in the morning.
He was about to go home, to return to the place where he had had a family. And that was in Godric's Hollow where, had it not been for Voldemort, that he would've grown up and spent every school holiday. He could have invited friends to his house. He might even have had brothers and sisters. It would have been his mother who had made his birthday cakes. The life he had lost had hardly ever seemed so real to him as at this moment, when he knew he was about to see the place where it had been taken from him.
Visiting his parents' graves had been a thoroughly depressing experience for Harry. Even with Remus guiding him to them, he was still able to catch glimpses of many different but familiar names in the same area. However, the one name that really stood out to him was 'Dumbledore'. One of the Headmaster's own family was buried in the same graveyard as Harry's family, even Remus verified this assumption as soon as he saw what had stopped Harry in his tracks.
Harry had sensed its presence long before it came into sight for him. There was something…powerful in the air. If not for Sorcery, Harry would've just assumed it was the shattered ruins of the various Charms and protections that had been felled when Voldemort destroyed it. But now he knew better. This…aura in the air was filled with darkness, death, and…sadness. It was a truly profound feeling that touched Harry very deeply as he stared up at the blown open cottage without seeing with his physical eyes.
The hedge had grown wild in the fourteen years since Hagrid had taken Harry from the rubble that lay scattered amongst the waist-high grass. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in dark ivy and fallen leaves of autumn. But the right side of the top floor had been blown apart. That, Harry was sure, was where the Killing Curse that Voldemort attempted to use on him had backfired. He and Remus stood at the gate, gazing up at the wreck of what must once have been a cottage just like those that flanked it.
After a long moment of silence between them, Harry stepped forward and grasped the rusted gate. He didn't try to open it, simply wanting to hold some part of the house.
"You're not going to go inside?" Remus asked, watching Harry with a neutral expression.
"I am," Harry said lowly. "There's something…strange here. I sense a lot of twisted and heavy magic wrapped up around this place. It feels dark and…sad."
"Might be echoes of what happened here all those years ago," Remus remarked, looking up at the cottage again with a new and inquisitive stare. Shaking his head, he moved forward to stand next to Harry, "Well then, let's get in there, Harry."
"No, I want to go alone," Harry said. Feeling Remus's gaze on his shoulders, he turned and looked the older man in eye with a pleading but determined gaze. "Please. This is something I have to do on my own."
Staring at Harry for several long moments as indecision warred within him, Remus finally let out a low sigh. "You're not alone, Harry. Not anymore. Don't forget that." With that said, he stepped back to watch and wait.
Turning back to the cottage, Harry finally pushed the gate open, ignoring the rusted metal that squeaked loudly under the movement. The journey to the front door was quiet, but very tense for Harry. The tension was at an all-time high as he reached forward and grasped the rusted doorknob, which squeaked and groaned loudly in protest at the movement of opening. A strange feeling shivered through him as he passed across the threshold, the door closing shut behind him in a loud but somehow muted slam. But Harry's mind was elsewhere as he tried understand just what he was feeling. It was like someone had reached across universes to touch him. Unable to stop himself, he reached up to where his scar was prickling into his forehead like a thousand burning needles.
Suddenly…
The night was wet and windy, two children dressed as pumpkins waddling across the square, and the shop windows covered in paper spiders, all the tawdry Muggle trappings of a world in which they did not believe… And he was gliding along, that sense of purpose, power, and rightness in him that he always knew on these occasions… Not anger, that was for weaker souls than he… but triumph, yes… He waited for this, he had hoped for it…
"Nice costume, mister!"
He saw the small boy's smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his painted face. Then the child turned and ran away… Beneath the robe, he fingered the handle of his wand… One simple movement and the child would never reach his mother…but unnecessary, quite unnecessary…
And along a new and darker street he moved. Now his destination was in sight at last, the Fidelius Charm broken, though they did not know yet… And he made less noise than the dead leaves slithering along the pavement as he drew level with the dark hedge, and stared over it…
They had not drawn the curtains. He saw them quite clearly in their little sitting room, the tall black-haired man in his glasses, making puffs of colored smoke erupt from his wand for the amusement of the small black-haired boy in his blue pajamas. The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in his small fist…
A door opened and the mother entered, saying words he could not hear, her long dark-red hair falling over her face. Now the father scooped up the son and handed him to the mother. He threw his wand down upon the sofa and stretched, yawning…
The gate creaked a little as he pushed it open, but James Potter did not hear. His white hand pulled the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open. He was over the threshold as James came sprinting into the hall. It was easy, too easy. He had not even picked up his wand…
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"
Hold him off, without a wand in his hand! He laughed before casting the curse. "Avada Kedavra!"
The green light filled the cramped hallway. It lit the pram pushed against the wall. It made the banisters glare like lightning rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut…
He could hear her screaming from the upper floor, trapped, but as long as she was sensible, she, at least, had nothing to fear… He climbed the steps, listening with faint amusement to her attempts to barricade herself in… She had no wand upon her either… How stupid they were, and how trusting, thinking that their safety lay in friends, that weapons could be discarded even for moments…
He forced the door open, cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one lazy wave of his wand…and there she stood, the child in her arms. At the sight of him, she dropped her son into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, as if in shielding him from sight she hoped to be chosen instead…
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl… Stand aside, now."
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—"
"This is my last warning—"
"Not Harry! Please…have mercy…have mercy…Not Harry! Not Harry! Please—I'll do anything—"
"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" He could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all…
The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time. He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib, and he looked up into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest. Perhaps the boy was thinking it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing—
He pointed his wand very carefully into the boy's face. He wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The child began to cry. It had seen that he was not James. He did not like it crying. He had never been able to stomach the small ones whining in the orphanage— "Avada Kedavra!"
And then he broke. He was nothing, nothing but pain and terror. He must hide himself! Not here in the rubble of the ruined house, where the child was trapped and screaming, but far away…far away…
"No," he moaned.
He was inside a locked chest, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to do anything but wait. So he waited, watching as that disgusting creature made its regular visits to him, glaring and cursing at him under its breath continuously. Oh, if only he had his wand…
"No," he moaned.
The snake rustled on the fine carpet, next to its master and soulmate. Enjoying the light rubs upon its head that its master administered to her. There was a bright, large fire that burned nearby, filling the room with a comforting warmth…
"NO!" Harry yelled, finally collecting himself and wrenching himself from the visions he was trapped in. Blinking, he found himself standing, frozen, staring at the very spot where the body of his father had fallen when Voldemort arrived on the scene. The body was of course long gone, buried next to his wife in the cemetery. Unnoticed by him, tears were streaming down his cheeks and dripping to the floorboards below him.
What was that that he had just seen? A long repressed memory of his baby-years? A memory fragment from Voldemort that had reached him through their shared bond? Why had he been the Dark Lord to begin with?!
Taking his hand away from where it had been previously been clutching his scar, Harry just stared at the large smear of blood that coated his palm as it came away. This was something he had gotten use to a long time ago, so he paid the blood and his bleeding scar no mind. Instead, other questions began to race through his mind. What was that thing he had been? That which was locked away inside a chest? And why was Kreacher there, angry at whatever it was?
"So, you've finally come," a silky and terribly familiar voice spoke up. Harry's head instantly snapped up as he spotted Lord Voldemort come striding into the room, seeming to glide across the floor without actually touching it. "I was wondering when you'd grace me with your presence, Harry Potter."
"Voldemort," Harry hissed back, automatically grabbing his lightsaber and holding it up in preparation for the fight that was to come. But when he pushed the ignition button, the blade didn't spring to life as it always had before. "What the?!"
"Did you really think a fancy light stick would be enough to defeat me?" Voldemort asked snidely, sneering in triumph as he watched Harry struggle to ignite his beloved weapon.
But as Harry's frustrations mounted, he began applying too much strength and power, causing the emitter shroud to snap and separate from the hilt. This damage would take weeks of careful transfiguration, repair charms, and realignment to get back into working condition! Dropping his broken weapon, Harry withdrew his wand. But Voldemort merely swatted it from his hand with one casual flick of his own, sending it flying into the former sitting room and disappearing among the debris strewn about.
"I don't need my lightsaber or wand to destroy you!" Harry yelled angrily, thrusting both his hands forward. But no blast of power was released. Voldemort just continued to sneer at him, cackling slightly in conceit. "No, my Sorcery! What's wrong?! What's going on?!"
"Apparently, someone's not quite as skilled or powerful as they thought they were," Voldemort gloated, reveling in Harry's mounting fear and rage. "Time to die!"
"No, this isn't real," Harry said, fumbling for an explanation to these logic-defying mishaps he just happened to encounter. "What is this? Some kind of illusion?! Why? About what?!"
"Keep telling yourself, boy," Voldemort said, raising his wand in preparation of once again recasting the spell he'd been yearning to cast for more than fourteen years. "It'll make your demise that much more satisfying."
"My parents dying?" Harry was saying, more to himself than he was trying to listen to Voldemort. "That's the reason I came here! To put my past behind me! My lightsaber breaking? Maybe my fear of growing too dependent on it? Losing my wand? Happens all the time! My Sorcery not working? I've lived most of my life without it! I don't need my Sorcery to do great things!"
"Are those going to be your last words?" Voldemort demanded, torn between amusement and annoyance at Harry's continued ignoring him. "Feeble excuses to justify your worthlessness?"
Finding the courage that had long driven him to move forward, even when he faced seemingly hopeless odds, Harry looked up and stared right into Voldemort's red and unblinking eyes. "I'm not afraid of you. You're just a figment of my imagination. A memory." Standing up straight as he faced the Dark Lord, he finished saying, "Go back to where you belong."
Snarling, the Dark Lord jabbed his wand forward. "Avada Kedavra!" The deadly green beam raced at Harry, who stood in place and glared at Voldemort unflinchingly. Then the beam passed right through him, vanishing the moment it exited his backside, along with the phantom that was Voldemort.
Letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Harry blinked and looked around. The room was largely unchanged. Reaching for his belt, he found his wand and lightsaber both still strapped there, unbroken and whole as they had been prior to him entering this cottage. Sighing in heavy relief, Harry suddenly found his Sorcery senses once again flowing with the constant influx of information he'd long since grown accustomed to. He hadn't realized it until just now, but his Sorcery had all but vanished as soon as he'd entered. But now that the visions seemed to be over at long last, Harry found that the aura of the cottage had changed. It was no longer flowing with darkness and sadness…just an air of serene acceptance. The magic in the air had finally done the job it had been 'desiring' to do for more than a decade and now it was gone.
As he was starting to turn around to leave, a faint tickling at the edge of his senses stopped him. Turning back to where he could feel it coming from, Harry moved cautiously through the house, careful not to step on any floor boards that looked unstable or rotted. Entering what seemed to be an office, Harry looked around the room for a moment before he zeroed in on the desk. There was something…waiting in that desk.
Taking a seat in the creaking chair that was next to the desk, Harry gingerly began opening the various drawers. Most of whatever had been inside the drawers had been shredded by vermin over the years, or taken by looters. But as he was shuffling through the leaflets that remained of several books, his fingers scraped across something smooth and metallic. Digging in deeper, he grabbed and withdrew that metallic object he'd found.
Holding it up in the faint light, Harry gazed in curiosity and awe at what he held. It was a small cube, barely the size of an apple. The edges and corners of the cube were lined with gold and, if not for the years of neglect, would undoubtedly have been shining. It was the center of the cube that really caught his attention. It was quite clear that the gold corners were little more than a casing for the faintly glowing crystal sphere that was encased within. The center of the crystal was lit by a faint spark of blue-white light. The light seemed to ripple outwards from that spark, filling the sphere with little pulses and waves that faded gradually as they neared the edges of the crystal's surface. But it was that spark that really drew his attention. It pulsed faintly with an energy that was akin to that of the Werewolves he'd met, Sorcery that had been warped and changed into something else.
In all, it was a truly beautiful object, but one unlike anything Harry had ever seen or heard of.
"What are you?" he couldn't help whispering in awe. When he predictably didn't receive an answer, Harry slipped it into his pocket for later examination and experimentation.
Returning back to Remus, Harry found the man leaning upon the fence with his side, clearly quite patiently as he waited for the boy to return. Hearing the boy approach, the former Werewolf turned and stared with concern and curiosity at Harry. Seeing something strange in his expression or posture or maybe the smeared blood on his forehead, Remus asked, "How do you feel?"
"Different, but the same," Harry said, not really sure how to fluently describe just what he felt after experiencing such strange visions.
"What happened in there? You were gone for almost a half hour."
"Really?" Harry asked, surprised. If sure felt a lot longer than that. "Well, the short version is that I saw how my parents died."
"You okay?" the older man asked, immediately concerned.
"I'm fine," Harry said. "It's…nice to finally have closure with that." After a long moment, Remus finally nodded in agreement. As he did, Harry dug into his pocket and pulled out the gold and crystal trinket he'd found. "Found this. Do you know what it is?"
"Well, I'll be…" Remus uttered in surprise as he stared down at the cube. "It was still here? I'd have thought the Ministry would've found and confiscated that long before now."
"What is it?" Harry repeated, somewhat impatiently.
"Your father became something of a collector of rare or obscure magical artifacts towards the end," Remus answered. "And this was his pride and joy. I don't know where he got it or found it, but he told me that this is one of the few true crystal balls of the ancients."
"Crystal balls?" Harry asked surprised, staring at the cube much more closely. Now that he knew what to look for, he could indeed see the curved edges of the crystal sliding inwards from the gold corners. "You mean like they use in Divination? Ron showed me the one he used once, but it didn't look anything like this."
"Of course not, Harry," Remus said, a slight smile on his aging face as he subconsciously adjusted to his old professor voice as he taught the boy further in the mysteries of magic. "The crystal balls of today are cheap knockoffs. Much knowledge and history has been lost on the origins and uses of crystal balls. Modern Seers and Prophets developed their arts from only a small set of rumors that have endured about crystal balls over the centuries. For instance, crystal balls were said to contain a vast trove of secret or forbidden knowledge that only the properly trained could access. The knowledge was so vast that these users had to spend hours in secluded meditation just to navigate it and find what they desired to learn."
"Hence the practice of gazing into a crystal ball's depths," Harry uttered quietly to himself as realization dawned on him.
"Exactly," Remus agreed. "As you can imagine, something happened about fifteen to eighteen centuries ago that had many of the crystal balls be hunted down and destroyed. Very few still exist today, and no one knows how to access them anymore."
"Is that why it's encased in gold?" Harry asked, as he tentatively started examining the cube again. "I can sense…something from the crystal ball, but the gold seems to be blocking me somehow."
"You can sense… It's Sorcery?" Remus asked, both startled and, once it had time to sink in, understanding. Then realization suddenly dawned on him. "Of course, that was when Sorcerers had started being actively hunted down and killed! No wonder no Wizard or Witch could enter a crystal ball, they don't have Sorcery!"
"Remus, why's it wrapped up in gold?" Harry answered, somewhat impatiently. His yearning to 'enter' the crystal ball and explore its untapped knowledge growing. 'I wonder if this is how Hermione feels all the time.'
"Gold is a magical insulator," the man said, gazing down at Harry sternly. "That is one of the reasons that Witches and Wizards can't and don't perform magic on it, because we can't. Gold is immune to all…known forms of magic."
"So whoever's this crystal ball belonged to probably was trying to protect their secrets," Harry said in understanding.
Remus could only shrug in agreement. "Come, Harry, we really should be moving on. I'm sure the Order is very concerned for your well-being at this point."
Sighing as he stuffed the crystal ball back into his pocket, Harry turned and looked up at the man again. "Can we make one more stop first, please? I made a promise and I want to show that I'm following through on it. This one is important to not only me, but someone else."
Sighing himself, Remus nodded in acceptance. "Where are we going?"
"Warwickshire."
Warwickshire, England
Dudley could say with absolute certainty that this was the most aggravating time of his life. Following his parents' sudden and unexpected comatose states, the civil services had had no choice but to transfer him over to his Aunt Marge's care until he was sufficiently old enough to care himself and get a job. He found after some digging that he needed to be at least sixteen to enroll in a military academy, which meant that he'd have to wait until next year to even consider trying to get accepted. And Aunt Marge and her many bulldogs, he found, were highly unpleasant to live with for a substantial length of time.
The woman seemed unable to decide how to treat him. Either she'd bark and snap at him for doing something wrong that she never bothered to explain why it was wrong in the first place, merely ordering him to obey her like he was one of her dogs. Or she'd try to coddle him like he was still a five-year-old child and had the mentality of one, which was both embarrassing and infuriating to him. Aunt Marge had always been a favorite of his and he'd always enjoyed her few visits because she so rarely came down to Surrey. But now he could see that it was only because he'd never had to a chance to see the 'real her'. Dudley had quickly found his childhood love of his only living Aunt deteriorating into a teenaged repulsion as she constantly pestered him to obey her house rules and tried to dominate his life.
Never before had Dudley ever considered his school to be a haven of freedom, but that's what it had quickly become. His classmates were all friendly, but didn't immediately throw themselves at him to be his friends. They treated him with a type of reserved observance. It wasn't until a week had gone by at his new school that he'd learned they'd heard a rumor of his parents and were treating him like he was a potentially dangerous homicidal delinquent. That realization had hurt him, deeply, and it still stained his relationship with them. He became recluse who grew increasingly obsessive in his studies of mathematics, science, and computers. Once done with his schoolwork, he'd head over to the local gym and start his bodybuilding training. The bodybuilding process was very slow and painful going for a boy who had never been physically active his entire life previously. Nonetheless, he had still made a fair deal of progress in the two months he'd been enduring it and he was finding himself rather enjoying the physical exhaustions now that he was slowly becoming accustomed to it.
And that was where Dudley was preparing to head to now. It was Sunday, all his schoolwork was finished, and Aunt Marge was thankfully sleeping in this morning. Since he'd given Marge's many bulldogs their morning meal in the exact specified quantities and food types as his aunt constantly harped on him to, he could now easily slip away without her being able to lecture him about slacking off his chores.
"Now I know why she always smelled like a dog," a voice said from behind Dudley as he was tying his shoes. Spinning around, Dudley blinked in surprise as he saw his cousin and an unfamiliar man standing behind at the screen door to outside.
"Harry?!" Dudley said, surprised. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at Hogwarts?"
For some reason, that question caused the boy to both smile and wince. "That's the second time someone has asked that. I'll explain everything. Can we come in?"
Hesitating for only a moment, Dudley quickly waved the newcomers inside. Entering the sitting room, Dudley was surprised when Harry pulled him into a brief hug which he awkwardly returned. But after only a moment, they pulled away and Dudley turned towards the stranger. "Who are you, sir?"
"Oh, where are my manners?" the man chided himself. "I am Remus Lupin, a former professor of Harry's and a long-time friend of his parents."
"H-Hello," Dudley said, hesitantly. Though he'd stated that he wanted to help Harry kill that Dark Lord, he still wasn't quite over his instilled fear of all things magical. And while the man's appearance was quite ordinary and friendly-looking, if a bit haggard, he knew that appearances were extremely deceptive, especially in the magical world. "I'm Dudley Dursley."
"Dursley?" the man said in obvious surprise, glancing down at Harry questioningly. But Harry just shrugged as he met his glance briefly. Turning back to him, Mr. Lupin said, "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Dursley. And I'm very sorry about your loss."
"I-It's okay," Dudley partially lied. He wasn't over their deaths, but he was having an easier time dealing with it now. Not much, but enough to get by. But his anger towards those who'd done it and allowed it to happen burned as brightly as ever.
"That's actually why I wanted to come see you," Harry said, reaching into one of his pockets. "I've got some good news, bad news, and some really bad news for you, Dudley. Which do you want first?"
Blinking, Dudley just shrugged. "How about all of it?"
Chuckling slightly, Harry pulled what looked like a pistol out of his pocket. How he managed to fit it there, Dudley tried not to think about as he was handed the device. Taking it, he looked it over very carefully, noticing several obvious differences to the standard appearance of a normal firearm pistol. The most noticeable of these changes was the large clip that was attached to the underside of the pistol, just ahead of the trigger. Sliding back the top of the pistol, Dudley saw not the internal workings of a gunpowder magazine firing chamber, but what looked like a faintly glowing crystal and a churning blue liquid he couldn't recognize encased in a transparent filtering tube that led up into the barrel, just in front of the crystal.
Sliding the top back into place, Dudley looked up at his grinning cousin as he suddenly realized what he was holding. "Is this what I think it is?"
Humming in acknowledgement as he nodded, Harry said, "It's still largely a prototype, but it works just fine. And you've enough plasma for at least twenty shots before reloading. I've also made a few other goodies, but those can wait for later."
Despite himself, an eager grin crossed Dudley's face at the thought of yet more surprises his cousin may yet have in store. Forcing himself to concentrate and not be distracted by the blaster in his hand, Dudley set it aside. "Okay, if that's the good news, what's the bad and really bad?"
"I've learned a new type of…magic," Harry said, whispering 'magic' as he glanced over his shoulder towards where Dudley knew Aunt Marge was sleeping. Looking back at him, Harry's face was a strange twist of weariness and excitement. "I've learned something called Sorcery. But, in simple terms, I suppose you could say I've learned how to use the Force of Star Wars."
"What?!" Dudley couldn't help yelping. "Really?! Show me!"
Harry shrugged lightly as he gazed around the room, lifting one hand slightly. Under Dudley's wide eyes, various pieces of furniture and knickknacks of the sitting room began rising up and floating in the air for a moment. As they settled back down, Harry's gaze turned back to him and there was a hint of something different in them. "Unfortunately, this type of magic is apparently outlawed and highly illegal in the Wizarding World."
"What?!" Dudley couldn't help asking. "Why?"
"A few of its previous users over the ages turned into Sith Lords and tried to devastate or control the world," Harry said, his eyes narrowing in anger at the thought.
"Seriously?" he asked, a deadpan stare in his eyes and his voice flat. Harry just nodded in acknowledgement.
"Wait, if it's illegal, and you're here…"
"Yup," Harry nodded, admitting to his cousin's revelation. "They found out and weren't too happy with me."
"What happened?"
"The bigot of a Minister tried to arrest me and have me throw in prison without a trial," Harry admitted, a twitch of his lips hinting at something in his memory. "I made a point of embarrassing him before I had to run. But I'm now expelled from Hogwarts and a wanted fugitive in the Wizarding World."
"That…sucks," Dudley said, unable to find any other words to properly enunciate himself. It was hard to imagine, being on the run from the entire country he was born and raised in.
"But before I left, I…" Harry trailed off, a look of uncertainty on his face. But as he looked up again at Dudley, that uncertainty soon faded away to resignation. "I found out who sent the Dementors after me this summer. Who was responsible for…their conditions."
Perking up instantly as his gaze narrowed, Dudley all but growled out, "Who?"
"Dolores Jane Umbridge," Harry said. "Last I heard, she was the right hand man of the Minister of Magic, the 'High Inquisitor' of Hogwarts, and one of the new professors at the school. She was basically the Minister's spy in Hogwarts. But she sent the Dementors to try and shut me up from speaking against the Ministry about Voldemort's return…or maybe to help the Dark Lord by removing me."
"She definitely is the type to underhanded tactics to backstab her opponents," Mr. Lupin agreed quietly from beside Harry.
Mulling over this information for a moment, Dudley finally nodded. "Thank you for telling me, Harry."
"How have you been?" Harry asked suddenly, no doubt trying to break the tension that had formed upon these many unhappy revelations. "Having a good time Aunt Marge? Did you ever manage to get into that academy you wanted?"
"No," Dudley answered, his mood quickly souring. "Things have been terrible lately."
"Why?"
"Uuuughhh, my head!" a loud voice whined from the master bedroom, causing several of the dogs in the room to awaken and begin barking at one another. There was even a couple of thumping noises that sounded suspiciously like bottles hitting the wooden carpeted floor. "Ugh, shut that racket, you mangy mongrels! Dudley, where's my tea?"
"That's why," Dudley said simply, frowning as he glared at Marge's room. He had hoped to be long gone by this time so he didn't have to deal with his hung-over aunt.
As he was moving to stand up, a faint scratching at one of the windows drew the trio's attention. Though it took a moment, Dudley was able to recognize the fluttering form outside as Harry's snow owl pet that he had often had to keep locked up in a cage in years' past.
"Hedwig?" Harry asked, sounding and looking quite concerned as he quickly moved over to the window and opened it, letting the owl inside. The owl landed upon his offered arm, flapping her wings in obvious agitation. "What is it, girl?"
"Something's wrong," the man, Mr. Lupin Dudley had to remind himself, said, his nose visibly twitching as he took deep but quick sniffs of the air. "Something—no, someone is approaching. They smell like blood, steel, and…death."
"How do you know that?" Dudley asked wearily, grabbing his new blaster pistol and holding it ready.
"I'm a werewolf," Mr. Lupin said.
"He's here!" Harry hissed suddenly, before Dudley had a chance to really react to what Mr. Lupin had revealed. He was glaring out of the opened window. Turning back to the others, he said, "It's time to leave!"
"Agreed," Remus said, quickly standing up and following the boy as they hurriedly rushed for the door.
"What's going on?" Dudley asked, following them out the door, not wanting to be left out.
"Dudley!" Marge called out once again, but Dudley ignored her as he followed the pair outside.
What he saw when he exited the house was a tall, cloaked being striding towards the house from down the country lane that Aunt Marge lived on. The cloaked figure's clothes were obviously frayed, threadbare, and were in serious need of replacement from the number of holes and slashes that were in them. Though the man's cloak hid most of his figure and clothes from view, it was clear that he wore high boots with his pants stuffed inside them, a dark leather belt holding them up, and loose dark shirt. It was also obvious to Dudley that the man wore a set of chainmail under his shirt, as the clinking of steel and the small flashes of metal between the cuts and holes of the clothes made abundantly clear. But the most interesting detail that stood out to Dudley was the large broadsword that was strapped to the man's waist, which one of his hands was resting upon.
"Who are you?" Harry called out, an edge of warning in his voice that Dudley hadn't heard before.
At first the man didn't reply or move, just stared at the three of them for a moment. Then, just as Dudley's patience was starting to wane, the man's free hand moved to his waist pocket and extracted something that sparkled in his palm. Dudley couldn't see what it was, but it was clear that once he held up in front of his shadowed face, that he started gazing quite pointedly at Harry. Harry quickly noticed this, hands sliding to his belt where his lightsaber and wand were both strapped.
"So, it is you," a hoarse voice with a harsh accent of some kind uttered from the depths of that black hood. "The Awakened one."
That simple statement caused Harry to flinch in surprise for some reason that Dudley didn't understand.
"Who are you?!" Mr. Lupin demanded, stepping ahead of Harry and assuming a much more threatening posture, as though he was preparing to leap for the man. "Answer me now!"
"You won't get a second chance!" Dudley called out, stepping to the side as he kept his blaster leveled on the stranger.
"You two are unneeded," the stranger stated in a cold, almost robotic voice. Lifting his arm off his sword, the man quickly whipped out a short black wand that he used in one efficient sweeping gesture as he grunted out, "Be gone!"
An unseen force slammed into Dudley and Remus, knocking them tumbling to the side a considerable distance. Though Mr. Lupin was fast to bounce back to his feet, Dudley was a bit less coordinated and took a few seconds longer to recover. And by the time he did crawl back to his feet, he couldn't help yelping in surprise at the monstrous creature that now stood only a few short meters away from him. The werewolf spared him barely a glance before lunging forward on all fours towards their attacker, snarling the whole way.
Much to Dudley's later shame, he kept his eyes on the monster form of Mr. Lupin as it sprinted across the gap between them and the stranger. It wasn't until he actually saw the strange once again easily throw the werewolf aside, continuing his quiet conversation with Harry as though they were alone, that Dudley finally remembered what was happening. Tearing his gaze away from the monster, he hefted up his blaster and took aim. But even as he pulled the trigger, it was too late to stop what was going to happen. He watched it all happen in seeming slow motion.
Whatever the man had been saying, Harry had fervently denied or declined. The man then wasted no time in jabbing his wand forward, unleashing a large barrage of spells that Dudley couldn't recognize, even though he'd been reading and studying Harry's old schoolbooks like a religious zealot. Though Harry was able draw his own wand and cast a hurried shield charm, it only deflected the spells in his immediate vicinity. The other spells shot right past him and slammed into Aunt Marge's rather modest home. Whatever those spells were, they blasted right through the feeble wood and mortar of the house, destroying and incinerating everything they came into contact with as they shot through the structure. Thankfully for Dudley's later peace of mind, he never heard the short cry of surprise or agony that momentarily filled the house, or saw his dear unloved aunt and several of her many dogs become reduced to little more than a large blood stains on the walls and floor.
It was as the barrage was exiting the back of the house that Dudley's shot finally reached the man, slamming into his armored shoulder, throwing him haphazardly to the side, which time finally accelerated back up to its normal flow. The plasma bolt sheered right through the chainmail and punched into the compact muscle and tender flesh beneath, causing the man to reflexively cry out in pain. The blow was so powerful and unexpected that the man was thrown into a slight turn as his feet were knocked askew, disrupting his otherwise perfect balance. Harry capitalized on the distraction by shooting a series of ropes from his wand, rapidly binding the man's limbs tightly together. Seeing the obvious opening, the monstrous Mr. Lupin leapt into the air with his clawed arms swept back for a pair of lethal slashes.
However, just before the werewolf could land its hit, the man vanished in a strange twisting motion. Mr. Lupin landed roughly upon where the man had been standing, claws digging deeply into the dense gravel road, head twisting and turning rapidly as its nose flared with powerful sniffs of the air, searching.
"Don't worry, Remus," Harry called out, drawing Dudley and the monster's attentions. "He's long gone. I can faintly feel him now, about ten kilometers north and moving farther away. He's not coming back…not yet at least."
Then, before Dudley's gawking gaze, the monster seemed to shrink in on itself as it reformed into the man it had once been. Once he was sufficiently human enough to ask, Mr. Lupin said, "What did he want? What was he saying? I only caught slight phrases."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "He said I had a choice to serve his master or die. I tried to ask who his master was, if he was Voldemort, but he just demanded an answer. I said 'no' and he attacked."
Mr. Lupin nodded, apparently that was also much of what he'd also pieced together from what he'd heard. Then the man looked over at Dudley and shot him a small smile and a nod. "Good shot, Mr. Dursley! You may have saved our lives today."
"But I…I didn't do anything," Dudley said, feeling incomprehensibly small and weak as he stared at the powerful forms of his cousin and the shapeshifting monster of a man before him. "It was just a lucky shot."
"There's no such thing as 'luck,' Dudley," Harry said, also smiling at him encouragingly. "If you hadn't distracted him with that shot, I wouldn't have been able to bind him and Remus wouldn't have gotten him to flee. You did save our lives today."
A faint feeling of warmth filled Dudley at their praises. He had never been in a real life-or-death fight before, so he hadn't known how to act or behave. He just went along with the flow, acting when he could, doing what he could. They were doing the exact same, but more and better than he had. Why were they praising him? But nonetheless, it felt…nice. Glancing over at his cousin, he found Harry staring at him with a knowing gleam in his eyes and small smile on his face. Harry knew exactly what was going through Dudley's head at that time, for it had often gone through his own since he'd arrived at Hogwarts and been put in dangerous situations.
#12 Grimmauld Place, London
If Harry's first time arriving at Grimmauld Place left him with an impression of foreboding darkness, decay, and death, the second time guaranteed it. Dark Magic was so tightly bound up in the house that it almost seemed to have a physical presence to Harry's enhanced senses. It was cold, highly threatening, and menacing, even Harry's Gryffindor courage momentarily failed him when they arrived and he got his first true feel of it. Thankfully for his peace of mind, neither of his companions noticed his duress.
Remus had teleported them from the ruins of Aunt Marge's home to an alley next to the street outside Grimmauld Place. As his first exposure to the highly unpleasant sensation, Dudley was not taking it well at all. He'd fallen to his knees and was in the process of dry heaving his empty stomach. Fortunately for Dudley, Remus and Harry had arrived early enough in the morning that they'd caught him before he could eat breakfast. Otherwise, there most assuredly have been a giant puddle of partially eaten food under the poor boy by this time.
"Don't worry, Mr. Dursley," Remus was saying as he was casting minor healing charms on him to help ease his pain and nausea. "That's a common reaction for most first-timers. You'll get used to it in time."
"Ugh…There's gonna be…a 'next time'?!" Dudley groaned out, already looking pale at the thought of a repeat performance. "Can't we just…take a bus or…something?"
"Maybe…" Remus acquiesced consolingly. "But Apparation is much faster."
"Where are we going?" Dudley asked as he pushed himself to his feet, looking around the street curiously.
"See that sign there?" Remus asked, pointing out the missing '12'. "We're going to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, childhood home of one of our friends."
"Okay, but where's—HEY! Where'd that place come from?!" Dudley gasped, suddenly seeing the additional house that hadn't been there seconds ago.
"We'll explain later," Harry said, finally overcoming his initial fear of the darkness and mustering up his courage once again. "Just be patient, Dudley. There's going to be a lot of awkward questions and unpleasant people inside who won't be happy to see us, either of us."
Thankfully, the house was mostly empty at this point. That was because most of the Order members were either at work or at their individual homes still sleeping or preparing for the day. Harry could sense only four people inside; Sirius, Buckbeak, Kreacher, and Dumbledore. 'What is Dumbledore doing here?' Harry wondered to himself. 'Shouldn't he be at Hogwarts?—Oh no…'
"Hey, Sirius!" Harry called out once they were fully inside. "We're here with big news!"
"HARRY?!" Sirius cried out from the second floor, followed by a cracking sound as he literally teleported to the entrance and scooped up the nearest boy in his arms tightly. "You're finally here! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! What's this I hear of you being a Sorcerer?! Don't you know how dangerous such magic is?! Congratulations on becoming a convict, now we can go on the run together!"
"Eh, Sirius?" Harry asked from his position next to him, finally managing to break into his godfather's fast-paced ranting and questions. "I'm over here. That's my cousin you're squeezing to death."
Slacking off his tight embrace as his looked over towards where the voice had come from, Sirius saw that Harry was indeed off to the side. Looking down into his arms, he saw a boy he didn't immediately recognize and quickly released him as he bounced back a step or two. He made a feeble attempt at ignoring Remus's muted chuckling as he quickly brushed off imaginary dust from the new boy's shoulders. "Sorry about that, lad. Just grabbed the first boy I saw."
"N-N-No worries," Dudley managed to stutter out, staring up at the strange-looking and admittedly scary appearance that Sirius still wore after all his years in Azkaban. "I'm Dudley Dursley, Harry's cousin. N-Nice to meet you, sir."
Nodding almost benevolently to the newly-introduced Dudley, Sirius suddenly turned and swept up Harry into an exact mirror image crushing embrace as the one that'd held Dudley seconds earlier. This time without the shouting, Sirius pulled back and glared demandingly at his godson, "Now, talk, Harry. Where have you been this past week? You've had the Ministry and the Order up in arms for days because no one's been able to find you!"
"I'll tell you everything in a little bit," Harry promised, nodding his head. "But there's something else I'd like to do first. I need to speak with Kreacher."
"Why him?" Sirius asked, his voice taking on a noticeable tone of disgust.
"I think he might have something of Voldemort's that he's been hiding here from us," Harry said honestly, knowing that would garner an immediate response from his godfather.
"KREACHER!" Sirius yelled instantly as he spun around.
"Yes, what do you want, Master?" Kreacher asked as he appeared ver
y shortly afterwards. A quick glance around and he saw the newest visitors. "The mangy werewolf, unworthy Halfblood, and a new filth have entered my Mistress's home again? How much longer will this—"
"Kreacher!" Sirius interrupted loudly and sternly. "What's this I hear about you hiding something of Voldemort's in my house?!"
Kreacher visibly flinched back in surprise as he stared up at his hated master with wide eyes. "Kreacher knows nothing about any such thing." In a much quieter, but still audible voice, he said to himself, "How does Master know about Master's locket? It's impossible!"
"Bring me this locket, this instant!" Sirius barked angrily as he glared down at the house-elf. A few moments later, Kreacher reappeared tentatively holding a large locket with a stylized 'S' on it and held it out quite unwillingly to his master.
"This is it?" Sirius demanded, glaring down at Kreacher as he held the locket out for verification. "This is the real one? Not some fake that you grabbed to fool us with?"
"It's the real one, Sirius," Harry answered for the house-elf, his eyes glued to the golden locket. "I can…I can feel something dark, twisted, and disgusting coming from it. But it's weird, like…it's trying to hide its presence within itself."
"How you know so much about Master Regulus's locket?" Kreacher asked, glaring up at Harry in confusion and curiosity. "Kreacher told no one about the locket."
"What does my brother have to do with this?" Sirius demanded, interrupting Harry from answering the house-elf. Then he seemed to second guess himself, "Never mind, he was a Death Eater scum. That's all I need to know about the how and why. What is it doing here, though?!"
"Perhaps it would be better if we relocated to a more comfortable setting than just standing in the hallway, Sirius?" a familiar old voice spoke up from down the hall where the kitchen was. "Might I suggest the kitchen and thus our visitors might explain while we have breakfast?"
"Breakfast sounds good," Dudley said in a quiet voice, voting wholly in favor of Dumbledore's opinion. "Just no weird food, please?"
"Some eggs, potatoes, and bacon does sound nice," Harry agreed, while also trying to reassure his cousin of the familiar types of food they had.
"…Fine," Sirius grunted out, quite obviously very unhappy at having to postpone his interrogation of his apparent treacherous house-elf.
The next hour and a half was quite possibly the longest breakfast that any of them had ever had. It was filled with lengthy discussions and seemingly endless questions. The first topic brought up was quite obviously where Harry had been and what he had been doing. Both Dumbledore and Sirius had been nearly struck dumb to learn that Harry had come into contact with one of the Werewolf Packs and cleansed them of their Curse, changing it into something stronger and much more controllable. At first neither of them truly believed that what he had done was actually possible…until Remus unexpected transformed right at the dinner table.
Suffice to say, the Marauder in Moony was no doubt laughing his ass off at the admittedly comical scene he must've put on: a monstrous beast seated upon a chair at a table, eating his breakfast like a dainty aristocratic woman of the eighteenth century. Granted, he had been nearly cursed by both Wizards if not for Harry reacting quickly, using his Sorcery to keep them immobilized in their seats until they calmed down enough to realize that Remus's human conscience was still in control.
Once they'd recovered, Dumbledore was visibly the most torn between the revolutionary actions Harry had taken. Simply put, the old man was so ingrained in his ways that, despite him always preaching for change and equality, he was hesitant and even quite fearful of just what the Werewolves would do with their newfound powers of control. They could now easily break away from the Wizarding World altogether, incite panic and wars, and even begin trying to spread their newfound 'gift' to far more people now. But just the same, the biggest contributing factor that had caused so many Werewolves to be driven into the depths of Darkness was the simple fact that the Ministry of Magic actively took measures in sabotaging any chance of them living semi-normal lives in either society. What the Werewolves now faced was perhaps the greatest gift that any man could be given: the power of choice. And the choices they now made would no doubt actively shape their destinies forever after…and all he or anyone else could do was wait.
After that revelation was made and he returned to his human form, Remus revealed that was how he'd found Harry and, after having cleansed most of the British Werewolves, how they'd decided to visit Godric's Hollow and Harry's parents' graves. Though they touched briefly on Harry's discovery of a magical artifact, they quickly pressed on to their visit of Dudley in Warwickshire and the following attack by a mysterious cloaked figure. This mysterious occurrence had all of Dumbledore, Sirius, and Remus assuming that the attacker was probably an agent of Voldemort's, perhaps a mercenary Sorcerer hunter sent to find and kill Harry. However, both Harry and Dudley were skeptical of that opinion. Dudley firmly believed that the man's accent was too foreign to have come from anywhere in Europe. And it was Harry's instinct that he was trusting. Something about the attacker (be it his accent or mannerisms) just didn't seem in line with Voldemort's style or the type of mercenary he'd hire. But in the end, they couldn't do anything about the man until he revealed himself once again.
After that, the conversation was finally brought back to the locket and Kreacher was made to tell his tale. Sirius quite clearly had the hardest time believing anything that Kreacher said as being anything remotely close to being truthful. But Harry could sense Kreacher's honesty and repeatedly assured his godfather that it was the truth. Nevertheless, that didn't stop Kreacher's tale from being quite fantastic and strange. Kreacher being loaned to Voldemort as he hid something in a cursed cave. Sirius's brother Regulus deciding that he wanted whatever it was that Voldemort had hidden, and yet sacrificing himself to allow Kreacher to escape. And the house-elf's lingering distraught over the emotional backlash that he had caused to his beloved family because of Regulus's final orders, as well as his inability to carry out the last and most important of orders by destroying the locket.
"Sirius?" Harry finally said once everything was said and done, Kreacher mournfully recovering on the floor from the many heartbreaking revelations he'd revealed. Once he gained his godfather's attention, Harry held up his lightsaber. "Let me destroy it."
"Go ahead," Sirius said, tossing the cursed jewelry across the table, where it came to a skidding halt in front of Harry.
"Harry, what is that device?" Dumbledore asked upon the hilt of the device that he'd seen Harry wield in front of the whole school. It was a strange, deceptively powerful, and quite versatile weapon, Dumbledore would've been lying if he said that he wasn't the least be interested in it.
"Later, sir," Harry said, igniting the blue blade as he glared down at the locket.
Angling the weapon's tip, he jabbed it powerfully down on it. Impossibly, the locket wasn't destroyed or damaged immediately. Instead, a green aura seemed to burst to life around the locket, protecting it from the deadly blade just as it was about to make contact. Grunting as he applied much more strength to his stab, Harry heaved down against the green barrier. Green, blue, and white sparks began bursting to life between the immoveable object and the unstoppable force. After several long moments of no progress, Harry finally pulled back to examine the green barrier much more closely.
Reaching out with his hand and closing his eyes, Harry delved deeply into his connection with the ambient magics that saturated the house and surroundings. He watched closely as the magic of the Dark Spirit that was inside the locket swiftly retreated back inside the safety of its otherwise impenetrable casing. That was when he sensed the charms cast upon the locket's exterior. Okay, if the shell was strong, maybe the inside was weak. And since this was Voldemort's handiwork he was dealing with…
"Open!" Harry hissed in Parseltongue.
Almost anticlimactically, the locket popped open. Then a massive green cloud erupted from it, the force of it blowing all but Harry back into the walls. Harry was fortunate because he'd unknowingly held his lightsaber in a semi-protective posture across his chest, which in turn acted as a type of shield against the outrush of power that he'd unleashed. In that green and black cloud, Harry could see only vague bodies and faces taking shape, voices yelling in muted shouts of accusation and rage. From the others, Harry sensed rising levels of fear, depression, powerlessness, and hopelessness. Looking over at them, he saw they were all staring into the churning cloud with grief stricken expressions at whatever they were seeing or experiencing.
'My lightsaber must be shielding me,' he realized. Then, seeing and sensing that they were all starting to succumb to the illusions and accusations, he hefted up his saber again. With one simple stab, he was killed the Dark Spirit that had claimed the locket as a home. In the time it took him to sheathe his lightsaber, the mass of evil floating above the table had vanished for all eternity.
Looking at the others around the table, Harry found them in varying states of distress. He could already tell that this was going to be a long day, especially when Dumbledore turned that gaze over upon him. Whatever the old man knew or suspected, Harry could already tell he wasn't going to like it.
(Author's Note) Quite an eventful chapter, much more so than I originally thought it'd be. What do you guys think? Am I speeding the storyline along too quickly or do you enjoy the nonstop action and revelations that have been happening recently?
I wonder how many people can guess just what inspired a certain key scene in this particular chapter.