A/N: Making up for lost time on these updates.


Harry Potter and the Heartlands of Time

Chapter 18 – Riau's Romantic Revenge

Scars have the strange power to remind us
that our past is real.

~Cormac McCarthy

The forgotten, corrupted temple at the heart of the island of Riau was home to many dark and unpleasant things. The walls that bled poisoned magical residue, death to the touch, caverns and caves burrowed through the temple walls and down into the earth full of slow, decrepit creatures that had never—and Merlin willing, would never—see daylight, and the bones of hundreds of lost fools who had thought to claim treasure from this cursed place.

There was also a genus loci, a protective spirit, of the same sort that I had bargained with to gain my ability to travel back in time to the summer after my fifth year whenever I died. A being from the Fae and Forget, something wholly alien that enjoyed bartering with mankind, and making us trip over our own feet for the favour.

Which went to show, perhaps, the level of malice we were dealing with here. The spirit in the temple had the power to string along time like it was, well, string, or a thread of flimsy cotton.

It had a name, the spirit that guarded Riau. Something ancient, ageless, nigh-on unpronounceable, a name that would not have looked out of place on the pages of a Lovecraft story, or scrawled along the walls of an insane asylum in blood and shit.

La-rae'unselsh, the genus loci of Corrupted Riau.

Or Larry, for short. I called it Larry.

My friends and I entered that bleeding temple wands held aloft, spheres of ethereal white light floating at the tips, but the light struggled against the dark. Shadow seemed to surround the light, attack it, for daring to disturb midnight in the heart of hell.

Ahead in the dark, something laughed—a low, guttural sound that shook dust and globules of slick magical residue from the walls. The blobs sizzled like meat on the grill when they struck the floor.

"What was that?" Hermione whispered. "Oh, it's awful."

"Nothing," I said. "Just an old friend."

The entrance corridor widened about a mile in—well, what felt like a mile and was more like a hundred, agonising feet—and steered us downward on a wide ramp toward the core of the temple. Although we could only see about six feet ahead with our wands ablaze, the sense that the walls had receded and we stood in a wider space, a much wider space, came over all of us. I saw it in the way my friends huddled closer together against the unseen menace in the dark.

"Wait for it," I said.

When we were in the very centre of the chamber, torches of oily black light flared to life on a dozen support pillars across the room. Unlike our wand light, this fetid radiance lit up the temple in that dim, dangerous way. It was almost better without it.

We stood in a large central chamber, from which branched a few dozen twisted corridors, winding up and down the temple, leading to hells half-imagined and better left alone. The black stone bled with more of that poisoned magic, the air cloyed like syrup, hot, tanged with burnt copper. A pressure, as if we were sinking, built in our ears and a dull moan became a hushed roar.

An empty throne sat on a dais at the head of the chamber—one of those tall, gangly jobs with spears of twisted, rusted metal thrust from its back like broken porcupine quills. Nothing sat upon that chair of engineered wickedness and spite, not yet, but the air just above the seat was hazy, blackened even against the blackness of the temple. A swarm of flies, perhaps, but I knew better.

So did my friends, who had been here before in lives they would never know. We all of us turned to behold that contrived throne, Riau's seat of dominion.

Precious minutes ticked by in silence. I stood tall, crossed my hands behind my back politely, and stared at the throne like I had all the time in the world.

My friends, sensing something unspoken, knew not to break the delicate silence.

After about five minutes, the swarm above the throne darkened, solidified, and a man appeared in the seat, dressed immaculately in a fine pinstriped suit, taking his ease leaning back and resting his chin on his palm. He was a handsome man, close to seven feet tall, rake thin. His pale face formed a series of sharp, disappointing angles, two chits of silver diamond for eyes, and his salt-and-pepper hair was cut short back and sides.

I inclined my head and he grinned.

"Back again, Harry?" he whispered, his voice soft and smooth, carried to every corner of the chamber. The words were charming, deceptive, drenched in magic and the potential for mischief. "I see you are still keeping the same company. Honestly, lad, you strive for a pittance. There are realities and levels of consciousness beyond this world where your resolve and courage could really be tested."

"Larry," I said carefully. "How've you been?"

"Bored," he said idly, picking at an imaginary thread on his sleeve. "Your visits, and those of the creature Voldemort, every decade or so are my only distraction."

I swallowed and tried not to feel afraid, though I was a touch unnerved. Larry remembered all of my other visits, the thousands of times I'd hunted horcrux here. Which was another sign of his power, of his… alien nature. Larry stood aside of time, beyond the wasteland. Riau itself was of a similar nature—a boil on the face of the earth, unnatural, unwanted. An aberration of an abomination.

Every time I reset, Larry and Riau did, too, but they remembered the stolen years. All my crimes, my mistakes, my avarice.

"Did you and Voldemort speak?" I asked.

Larry grinned, flashing bright white teeth, almost glaring against the dark in the chamber. "I like him better than you," he said. "He gets what we're selling here in Riau. Alas, much like you, Harry, his vision is far too narrow."

"Not many buyers in that market for what you're selling," I said. "Will this be a fight, Larry, or will you point me in the right direction?"

"Now that's an interesting question this time, Harry," he said. "Because this is the last time, isn't it? Your cursed coil has run its course—the game is all but over. We will never speak again."

"Not to offend, but I can only hope. This place grates on the soul, you know."

Larry gave me a mock scowl. "Souls are poor treasure. I think I may demand a sacrifice for that insult, though. Take one of your allies here as prize, perhaps. The redhead looks like he'd take some time in dying."

I nodded amicably. "Yes, but Ron here would eat you out of house and home inside a week."

"The curious blonde girl then." Larry waved at Luna. "She sees the true turning of the world. I can twist that, use it to open pathways to extend Riau's influence across distant dimensions."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"The tall, gangly fellow?" He smiled at Neville. "Bravery there, and a keenness. My, my, quite the character, aren't you? Do you know, Harry, if you didn't bear death's scar, it would sit just as comfortably on his head."

Neville raised a hand to his forehead and rubbed the skin softly, glancing at me nervously.

"No? Not him?" Larry sighed. "That leaves bushy haired and bright eyed then. What of you, my dear. Care to shake the hand that will one day shake the world?"

Hermione bristled and stood a little taller. "No, thank you."

"Ah, a pity." He stroked his chin. "So you come with nothing to bargain, Harry. You wish a treasure of Riau, a piece of the Dark Lord's soul. A trinket to me, but invaluable to you."

"I was hoping you'd be in one of your indifferent moods."

"No, no. No, you weren't."

I sighed and raised my hands in defeat. "It's been a long week, Larry. I'd rather not do it the hard way."

"Eight hundred years ago," Larry said idly. "When you were young, I asked you for something—you refused, and I slaughtered the two of your friends on the left there."

I glanced at Hermione and Ron and offered them half a shrug. "I killed myself not long after," I said. "So fear not, you weren't dead long."

"Do you remember what I asked you for?" Larry leaned forward in his throne, looking interested for the first time in the conversation.

That was a subtle trick. If I hadn't known him, bartered with him for the better part of a millennium, I wouldn't have been able to see through his casual veneer, his carefully worn mask of off-the-cuff, spontaneous tenacity. Larry had been twisting the conversation toward this moment since we entered the temple, first threatening my friends, raising the stakes.

I hated that kind of manipulative bullshit. Say what you want, mean it, own it.

"You sly son of a bitch," I said, offering a true insult.

Larry's face darkened and he leaned back in his chair. "Come now, do not be like that." His words weren't an admonishment, a scolding—his words were a demand.

"Why would you do this now? My last damned chance to save this shitty world? Larry, I thought we had an understanding."

"You, for all your lives and years, understand nothing."

I considered my options, weighed my resolve, felt my nerve turn toward fear and back again. Hell, I did remember what he asked on one of my first handful of visits to Riau. I'd been smart enough, sane enough, to avoid agreeing—even guaranteed a reset. Because the malevolent spirit didn't have to obey the rules, didn't forget like the rest of the world when the needle skipped a bet and the song started over.

What options did I have? Retreat? No, we wouldn't leave alive. Only way out was through, only way through was forward. I laughed, low and slow, and ran a hand back through my scruffy black hair.

Larry grinned alongside my laughter, nodding once. He got the joke.

I cleared my throat and stepped forward. "La-rae'unselsh," I called, my voice laced with command and authority, "I demand a boon." My words rang across the chamber, light against the blight. "Or, you know, whatever."

Larry stood and addressed me formally, "Harry Potter, son of James, I will grant what you seek, should you survive me in contest. I require you to defeat me in battle. In exchange, I will grant your boon."

"Harry, no!" Hermione whispered. Her voice echoed across the chamber.

"What do you seek from me?" I asked, voice weary but determined.

"Should I defeat you," Larry said, and from his lazy grin you could guess what he thought would happen, "I seek to claim your life and your soul. Your friends, unless they too wish to challenge me, will become the playthings of Riau."

I spun my hand in slow circles, hurrying him along. "Yes, yes. All the same old bullshit."

Larry allowed that one to slide, given that I was about to forfeit my soul. He'd been waiting for this for a very long time, but patience was easy for the immortal. "What do you seek from me?" Larry asked.

I wanted the horcrux, of course, and the spirit knew that. A ragged piece of my old enemy was enough to claw from this terrible place, but a wild thought occurred to me, I considered it slowly, like tasting something hated in youth and finding you'd grown to like it in time.

"I seek the Throne of Riau, and all her treasures within."

That wiped the smug smile off the handsome bastard's face.


Why'd you push him so far? When it caused you so much pain, so much hurt? You did as much damage to yourself as to him.

Why? Because fuck him, that's why.


Larry stood, a staff of ice appeared in his hands, and he laughed—a high, clear sound that shook the very foundations of the temple.

I remember you well, I thought, a bit of old song lyric stuck in my head, in the Chelsea Hotel.

"Follow me, Harry and friends. Oh yes, follow me. This will be fun." He skipped down from the throne and headed across the chamber toward a set of stairs that spiralled down into deeper, drearier rooms of the temple.

"Does that mean you accept?" I called after him.

"Quite," Larry said. He reached the head of the stairs and tapped his ice rod once, twice, thrice on the ground. Each strike chimed like bells of an immense clock. From the deep, the harsh cries of orc-mare, demons, monsters, the foul things lurking in the dark corners of the world, echoed throughout the temple. "Let's fight in the arena, Harry."

"You made me fight a godforsaken balrog in that arena once," I muttered. "It snuffed me out like a candle."

Larry smiled fondly. "Yes, I remember… six hundred and fifty years ago for you and I, Harry."

"Balrog?" Hermione's eyebrows disappeared into her frizzy hair. "Like in the Lord of the Rings?"

"Eh," I said. "Sort of, loosely based upon. Not to worry, I swatted it like a fly a few lives later. The trick was cutting its tendons and blinding it. They die slow, but they die."

"I don't die," Larry said cheerily as we drew level. He nodded at me, a formal nod, respectful, and together we descended the spiral staircase.

The walk through the temple was glum, worrisome, and took half an hour, circling deeper into the earth. My friends said little, though Larry was a wealth of knowledge and experience, pointing out rooms and vaults that held treasure beyond imagining, tombs older than the sun, given how time was messed up here, and knowledge—magical knowledge—unrivalled even by our new friends the Atlanteans.

"And all this could be yours, Harry," Larry said, grinning at me over his shoulder. "Should you defeat me."

"About that, any tips or tricks you care to share? Even the playing field a touch?"

Larry shook his head, never losing that spring in his step. I imagined he was imagining just how tasty the ragged morsel of soul I had left was going to be. I was like a fine single malt, only got better with age. There was a good chance I'd be the oldest soul he'd ever devoured.

"You would be," he said, and I slammed down a mental barrier harder and faster than I ever have in my long life. "Sorry, that's not fair, is it? Reading your mind. I'll give you a tip for that. Just one."

I raised a curious eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Don't turn your back on me."

My hopes fell a touch. "Right. Anything else?"

"Your friends may fight with you, if they wish. They are dead either way, once our contest is over."

I glanced at Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Luna. No four closer friends in the world I'd rather have by my side. "Don't listen to that tosh—we're gonna paste this son of a bitch."

Larry raised his staff and laughed again. "That's the spirit."

The corridor ahead began to look a little less grim and dark, and before long there was actually daylight—a little dull around the edges, but resilient, almost eager to please. Larry led us into Riau's battle arena—a massive bridge thrust out from the rear of the temple, overlooking acres of twisted, gnarled jungle, wreathed in fog and spider webs.

Creatures of all shapes and sizes clung to the nearby cliffs, scurried along the ground far below, flapped on disgusting wings in the cheap seats along the ruined brick of the other temple.

Larry raised his hands in greeting and a tremendous roar of approval echoed across the island.

"Today," he said, and his voice bellowed into the sky. "Today we slay a lord of time!"

The crowd of monsters cheered all the louder. Booed and hissed at me and my friends. I laughed, enjoying the spectacle, and gave a cheery wave of my own.

"Don't let them see your fear," I told my friends, grinning despite my own. "Wave to the nightmares, my friends. Wave and grin."

"Harry Potter," Larry said, and pointed at me with his ice rod, "has challenged your master to a duel, a fight to the death. He thinks to claim Riau as his own!"

Dead silence met that proclamation—the creatures and monsters couldn't believe it. A sound broke through that dread silence, the sound my soft chuckle.

"Let's get on with this, shall we, Larry?"

"By all means, Harry." He lifted his rod, spun it in the air, and hurled it a mile across the bridge and into the jungle. It struck a small pyramid rising from the trees and blazed like a beacon for all to see. "My challenge is this—reach the pyramid, seize my staff of power, and use it to slay me. Only then will you be considered victorious."

Larry laughed and raised his arms again. With a wink, he fell backwards off the bridge and disappeared into the wind like ash.

"What the hell?" Ron said. "I thought he wanted to fight."

"He does," I muttered. "But it's a game to him. He doesn't want it over in ten seconds. Wands at the ready! Whatever's about to happen will happen fast—"

A tremendous roar echoed across the length of the bridge, out over the creepy jungle, met by two, three, four accompanying roars. We came to a sudden stop halfway across the crystal bridge, hearts leaping into throats, goose bumps rippling up and down my arms.

A gust of fetid, heavy air struck us all, making us stumble a few steps. From within the jungle, on a cliff above us, a good half a mile away between our position and the pyramid, a bat-like creature fell through the sky, wingspan a good six-metres across, its face a ruin of bone and fire, elongated like a dragon's skull. Its body was mostly dead flesh fused to grey bones, rusted steel armour plates covering its heart.

"Oh. Oh, shit," I said. "If you're waiting for an order to fire, gang, fire!"

Four other bat-creatures circled the big bastard—Batsy—but they were smaller—wingspans at two, three metres at most. Much more reasonable.

Like an arrow loosed, Batsy shot straight towards us, and I had another one of my sneaking suspicions. This one told me Larry, bless his evil and ageless heart, had set monstrosities between here and the pyramid. Clever, and so be it. I'd cut a vicious path through to the prize.

Game on.

"Heart or the brain!" I shouted, standing tall and resplendent, my wand aimed skyward. "These things die if you destroy the heart or the brain! I've got Batsy—the big son of a bitch," I yelled. "Rest of you take down the pilot fish. Swat them like the vermin they are, ladies and gentlemen."

Neville raised his wand. "Right! Let's split up. Two either side of Harry—spread out!"

My friends split into groups of two and spread out across the bridge. Two back toward the temple, two to stay with us, and two to the west toward the pyramid. Wands were raised, curse light began to fly, just as we were slammed with another gust of air carrying the stink of the fell creatures.

This is going to cost us, I thought.

Batsy and I only had eyes for each other. I ran to the edge of the crystal bridge, placed a foot up against the railing to balance myself and my wand. "Come on…" I breathed.

My friends shot spells into the air—sparks and tracer shots, enchanted rounds of curse light, ignited slivers of metal, lit up the ugly purple sky. The creatures surrounding Batsy peeled away, evasive manoeuvres, but the hail of curse light punctured wings. Roars turned to rage turned to pain.

Closer now, seconds away, I recognised Batsy as cousin to the beasts I had destroyed in the sky above London, after Voldemort and I had raced back to the real world from Atlantis. Those monstrosities hadn't had enough rotten flesh left on their wings to fly, but fly they did anyway. Batsy, my current predicament, had invested in some crude but effective armour plating over its bony chest.

Skeletal arms twice as long as I was tall reached for me, just beyond that ugly snarl of a face, ending in massive hands tipped with sharp claws.

I gazed down the wood of my wand, sighting the beast well. "Here, Batsy, Batsy, Batsy…" I whispered, as the calm before the storm descended on me. The cold, calculating battle rage that had seen me survive battle after battle, war after war.

Berserker rage, some called it, but it was never loud, or angry. True rage was frozen, indifferent, without mercy.

After all the years, I could flip that rage switch like turning on a lamp.

A jet of orange flame burst from Batsy's maw, a wave of blistering heat set to sear me where I stood. The beast thought I'd move, dive to the side.

I grinned and moved my wand seven perfect inches to the left—and unleashed a tremendous burst of magical heat and energy.

Blue lightning burst from the the tip of my wand, arcs of power jumping between four hundred or so shot nasty, bitey shot sparks of energy—like the blast from a shotgun. The blast tore a ragged hole the size of a soccer ball in Batsy's left wing, disrupting his aerodynamics entirely.

Batsy rolled in the air, the jet of flame veered away from me, striking and scorching the width of the crystal bridge on my right. With a tremendous boom, Batsy struck the bridge, knocking me back, almost knocking me from my feet, in a tangle of bone, steel, and flame.

"No, don't get up," I said, and realigned my want. I fired again into the heap of monster.

The blast of the from my wand tore across Riau, the fist of power separated that left wing at the joint on the beast's decaying back. Batsy screamed, that all too familiar symphony of rage and hurt.

I aimed again, smoke curling from the wood, so hot now the wand blistered my fingers.

Batsy turned his skull to face me, the red demon-light in his eyes flickering, narrowing.

As if I had all the time in the world, I fired again, wiping that smug look off his face, and sauntered over to the fallen creature. The torrent of light and fire from my wand ripped most of the beast's snout away—and took a good chunk of the crystal skybridge with it, punched a hole clean through to the quarter-mile drop below, where the jungle still swarmed with foul creatures.

"If you're the best Larry has," I said, hoping he could hear me, that he was watching, "this fight will be over before breakfast." It wasn't the best he had, not by a long shot, but it was a good opening round.

Knowing this would be my last shot, the business end of the wand glowing white-hot, I shoved the tip deep into Batsy's eye socket, getting an angle on his brain.

"Hey," I said. "Whatever your last thought is, I bet it's gonna blow your mind."

I muttered the final spell and unleashed death.

A rotten mix of bone and brain exited the back of Batsy's skull, along with the last torrent of redeeming blue lightning my wand would ever fire. The wood bulged and broke. I turned away from the blinding light as Batsy, his form broken, ignited in cleansing white fire, unable to hold its form together. Good riddance.

I held up my wand, the wood had splintered, shattered along the seam and fried the feather within. The tip had bloomed like in the cartoons, like a comical banana peel. I laughed and tossed the wand aside. Back to working with my hands.

I turned to see how the others were faring, and a stab of blinding pain pierced my right shoulder—I was yanked backwards, stabbed through the shoulder, caught in the claws of one of the pilot fish.

Mini-Batsy roared in triumph, hurled me over the edge of the skybridge and out into open air. A second Mini-Batsy caught me properly, it's clawed feet closing around my chest, my legs, pinning me to its form. Leathery wings beat in heavy gusts, taking to the sky, flying me away west, away from the skybridge and my friends.

I had time to glimpse Luna, her mouth fell in an 'o' of shock, surprise, dismay, and see my friends—Hermione and Ron back to back—doing battle with the three remaining Mini-Batsy's, who were covering the retreat of the one that had me in its grip.

This was planned, I thought in a moment of rare clarity. The plan was to separate me from my friends.

Well, fuck that.


She told me again she preferred handsome men, but for me she would make an exception.


A/N: Next update is scheduled for the 12th of July. It's going to be a heavy action effort. Let me know your thoughts in a review.