Well, another day, another lack of dollars. Last chapter got a nice response. I'm glad that people liked what I started with Neville. By the way, several people have now guessed it: Harry's inner world is indeed based on Pride Rock from the Lion King. Naaaaaaaaants ingonyaaaaaaaaaama bagithi baba…right, sorry. The reason isn't just because of Gryffindor. There is a meaning to the inner world's component parts. A few people were concerned about Harry still taking Divination. Don't worry; he still has time to change courses. As a matter of fact…
The Wind began to rock the Grass
With threatening Tunes and low—
He threw a Menace at the Earth—
A Menace at the Sky.
Emily Dickinson
Disclaimer: Every time someone says they don't own Harry Potter, a puppy somewhere dies. The number of dogs in heaven has just increased by one.
Book One, Chapter Four: Veritas et Ensis
June 13, 1993 Hogwarts Castle
Direct my magic…shape it…and expel it!
"Way of Destruction Number Eleven: Bound Lightning!" Harry cried.
He felt his magic surge into motion, and yellow energy crackled around his hands. Slowly, he reached out and touched a piece of wood lying on the floor. There was a brief sizzle, followed by a loud snap-crack as the wood exploded. Harry covered his face with his arm, shielding himself from the blast. A few chips of wood bounced off his torso and arms, but none did any serious damage.
"Whoa."
Indeed, cub. These low level Kidō spells aren't very powerful, but they usually are more useful in many scenarios.
Harry raised an incredulous eyebrow as he lowered his arm, looking at the singed, blackened remains of the wood.
Not powerful? Gryffindor, if I hit someone with this…
They would most likely die, yes. And these are still the weakest of Kidō spells.
Harry's eyes widened. So the higher spells are even more powerful?
Gryffindor's voice was dead serious. In the hands of a powerful user, the strongest of the Hadō could reduce this castle to rubble in mere moments, Harry.
Harry was quiet for a long moment as the realization of what he was learning sunk in, before a voice broke through his train of thought.
"Harry?"
The Gryffindor jumped, turning to look at the door. Luna and Hermione had stuck their heads through, and both looked slightly anxious.
"You'll be late for breakfast if you don't stop soon, Harry."
Harry cocked his head, and pulled out his wand, swishing it and announcing Tempus under his breath. A clock face appeared in front of him, and he nearly yelped at how late in the morning it was. He frantically sheathed Gryffindor and dashed out the door.
Cub, I have a question for you.
What is it, Gryffindor? Harry responded as he buttered a piece of toast.
Why did you pick Divination?
Er…well, I hear it wasn't too difficult a course, and Ron's taking it as well…
I see. The lion's tone made it clear that he disapproved. I want you to drop Divination –
What?!
– and pick a more practical course. I can tell you right now, you are going to find little use with the ways that diviners and Seers predict the future. You have almost zero potential for it. Don't take insult, the lion amended. Godric and Salazar both lacked even the slightest talent in predicting the future. You would be better served taking Runes. It is a more difficult course, yes, but its applications are nearly endless.
Harry began to protest, but Gryffindor cut him off sharply before he could even form a coherent thought. This is not up for discussion, cub. You will drop Divination, you will take Runes, AND YOU WILL LIKE IT.
If it was possible to quail in one's own mind, Harry was doing it. Y-yes, Gryffindor.
The lion's voice was now unmistakably smug. Good.
The knock at her office door caused Professor McGonagall to look up from the stack of parchmentwork on her desk with a slight sigh of relief. As much as she enjoyed order and propriety, the sheer monotony of preparing all the proper documentation for next year's class grew tiresome. Doubly so when she realized that the incoming class was nearly three times larger than any class in the past eleven years. The war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had decimated Wizarding Britain, but a little over nine months after the Dark Lord's defeat, they had experienced a –what was the American term? – "Baby boom", a side effect of the celebrations following the events that transpired on Samhain 1981.
"Come in."
The door creaked slightly, just as she liked it to. That way, no one could enter her room without her noticing. It was maybe a bit paranoid, but old habits die hard, and the habits you fell into during war die even harder.
Hesitantly, as though approaching an Inquisitional Judge, a head of tousled black hair stuck through the door. A set of green eyes followed the mop of hair.
"Er, am I interrupting anything, Professor?"
"Not all Mr. Potter. Do come in."
The second-year Gryffindor obeyed, closing the door behind him. Even now, he looked somewhat apprehensive of his Head of House. Minerva folded her hands in front of her, and peered over her spectacles at him.
"Was there something you needed, Mr. Potter?"
"Yes Professor. I was wondering," Harry swallowed, "would- would it be possible for me to change electives for next year?"
The Transfiguration teacher arched an eyebrow only slightly. "What elective, Mr. Potter?"
The black-haired boy was quiet for a moment, and then his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, as if in resignation, before answering. "I'd like to switch Divination for Ancient Runes."
Had Minerva been a woman with less restraint, she probably would have jumped up with a victorious shout. As it was, her eyes warmed slightly, and the corners of her mouth twitched upwards.
"Are you sure you wish to change courses, Mr. Potter? Divination is a…popular course here at Hogwarts, and you may find it…useful in your future."
And that, Professor McGonagall reflected sardonically, was the biggest load of cack that she had uttered in years. But far be it from her to deny her students a chance to change their mind – even if she didn't want them to.
"Very sure professor."
McGonagall felt a familiar ache in her chest at the expression on the young wizard's face. The resolve, the stubbornness… it was pure James. Her eyes watered ever so slightly, but she swallowed the tears, and addressed the boy who was so like his parents.
"It is rather fortunate that you came to speak with me, Mr. Potter. Headmaster Dumbledore requested that if I was to see you today, I was to notify you that he wishes to speak with you in his office. The password at the moment is, I believe, Lines of Lots of Lorries Loaded with Ludicrously Long Lengths of Lovely Luscious Liquorice."
The Gryffindor's brow furrowed for a moment. "Lines of Lots of Lorries Loaded with Ludicrously Long Lengths of Lovely Luscious Liquorice?"
Professor McGonagall's lips twitched. "Yes, Lines of Lots of Lorries Loaded with Ludicrously Long Lengths of Lovely Luscious Liquorice."
Harry nodded hesitantly. "Thank you, Professor."
"My pleasure, Mr. Potter."
The second year made his exit, and Minerva went back to her work with a slight smile on her face.
What do you think Dumbledore wants to speak with me about?
Gryffindor was quiet for a moment, before replying. His voice was dead serious.
I have a hunch. I just hope I'm wrong cub.
Harry tried asking Gryffindor what he meant, but the lion didn't respond. Minutes later, Harry was at the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office.
"Right…what was the password again? Erm…Lines of Lots of Lorries Loaded with Ludicrously Long Lengths of Lovely Luscious Liquorice."
I can't believe I just said that.
There was a flash of humour from the sword spirit, but nothing more. Now even more nervous, Harry climbed the staircase into the Headmaster's remarkable office. Fawkes trilled a greeting from his perch, and the Headmaster turned from his place at the window to smile tiredly at Harry.
"Harry. It is good to see you again." The white-bearded wizard gestured with a hand. "Please, take a seat."
With growing trepidation, Harry obliged, followed shortly by Dumbledore himself. The old man laced his fingers together and rested them on the large, ornate desk between the two wizards.
"Did you enjoy the password, Harry?"
Harry blinked. "Erm…yes sir."
"Yes, I find that the added alliterative appeal abrogates any aggressive attitude those who attend my appointments may have accidentally acquired." Dumbledore chuckled slightly at the deer-in-the-headlights expression on Harry's face, before sobering once again. "But…that is not why I've called you here."
"Sir?"
"You have asked me, Harry, why Lord Voldemort targeted your family when you were a child. As you probably suspected, it was no random act of violence. He came to your house with a specific target in mind; you."
Harry nodded. This he had expected.
"The reason, I'm afraid, is a bit convoluted. You see, shortly before you were born, I was conducting an interview for a teaching position, Divination, as it would happen, when the woman whom I was interviewing entered a Sibylline Trance, and made a prophecy. A prophecy that concerned Lord Voldemort." Dumbledore took a breath. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."
The room seemed to chill for a moment, and the drapes by the closed window fluttered in a nonexistent breeze. Harry shuddered. It felt as if someone had just stepped over his grave. Dumbledore looked very old in that moment.
"You have, of course, heard of self-fulfilling prophecies, Harry?"
"Yes sir."
"What many people fail to grasp about divination is that every prophecy is self-fulfilling. When a prophecy is made, it is greatly dependent upon who hears it, and if they believe it. If they do not believe in the prophecy, if they simply discount its possibility of coming true, then the predicted event will not happen. Prophecies, after all, are a glimpse of a single possible future.
"However, if anyone who hears the prophecy lends it even slight credence, then their magic will anchor the flow of time to that prophecies future. In effect, they make the prophecy come true. Even if they try to prevent it, the mere fact that they believe the prophecy could come true gives it power. What is worse, though, is that the more powerful the magic of any person who hears it, the greater power the prophecy has. An appropriate analogy would be the question 'If a tree falls in the forest, but no one is there to hear it, does it make a noise?'
"The answer is that, for all intents and purposes, no, it does not make a noise. But if someone hears it, then it did make a noise. And if that person tells another person that they heard the tree fall, and the other person believes them, then, by proxy, they too have heard the tree fall. This is why true Seers do not remember the prophecies they make. It is the prophecy's way of giving us a fair chance to prevent it from happening. On the other hand, no prophecy is made when no one else is around to hear it. And unfortunately, I was not the only one who heard that prophecy. An agent of Lord Voldemort overheard part of the prophecy, and informed his Master. Both of them believed it, and so the prophecy became set in stone. You must be the one to defeat Voldemort, Harry."
Harry thought for a moment, and then shrugged slightly.
"Well, I expected that, sir. I mean, he probably would have come after me anyways, eventually."
Dumbledore nodded gravely, though there was a hint of pride in his eyes at Harry's calm acceptance, before continuing.
"It will not, I fear, be as easy as meeting him in battle or sticking him with a knife. Voldemort has chosen a path that even Dark Wizards do not tread. He has made Horcruxes."
Within Harry, Gryffindor growled, a low, menacing noise.
"Horcruxes, sir?"
"Among the vilest magics of our world. A Horcrux is essentially a container in which a wizard stores a fragment of their soul. This fragment anchors them to the living world, so that even if they should be killed, they would not truly die. What makes it so vile is what must be done in order to split off that fragment of soul: cold, calculated murder of an innocent."
"An innocent?"
"A child, Harry. The younger, the better."
The office was dead quiet for a long moment, as Harry's face slowly formed into an expression of absolute revulsion.
"And this is not the worst of his crimes, either. Voldemort has made more than one of these. One of them," Dumbledore paused a moment, "has already been destroyed."
"Sir?"
"The diary of Tom Riddle, Junior was the first Horcrux he ever made, done while he was still a student here. When you stabbed it with the fang of Slytherin's basilisk, you destroyed the soul within it. There are very few ways to destroy a Horcrux, Harry. The original creator of the vessel can destroy it. Basilisk venom, the ultimate poison, can do it. A magical fire of high enough temperature can as well. Fiendfyre, dragonfire, and active volcanoes can all accomplish this."
"Volcanoes?"
"Volcanoes are a manifestation of the power within the Earth, Harry. They are extremely powerful magical locations. Magical items wrought in volcanoes can only be destroyed by volcanoes."
"Like Mount Doom?"
"Ah yes, John's books. He was an impressive Unspeakable. One of the best in decades, from what I hear."
Before Harry could digest what Dumbledore had just said, the Headmaster continued.
"The reason I tell you these things, Harry, is that a Horcrux vessel need not be an actual vessel. It could be an old jewel, an ancient relic, a magical animal…even a person," he finished, looking directly at Harry.
A sinking feeling made itself known in the pit of Harry's stomach.
"What do you mean, Professor?"
"Harry," Dumbledore swallowed, his expression pained, "You are a Horcrux."
Harry froze as his gut dropped straight through the floor. Sound and color seemed to drain away. There was no point in responding cub? to Dumbledore's soundless concern, because Harry was Cub! going to have to die to kill Voldemort
CUB!
Gryffindor's shout broke through the downward spiral of Harry's thoughts, and color and sound snapped back into his world.
"-arry? Are you alright?"
Harry didn't respond, his thoughts running at high speed for a long moment, before he looked back at the concerned Headmaster.
"Professor, you said basilisk venom can destroy Horcruxes?"
"Yes."
"And phoenix tears can counteract basilisk venom?"
"Yes…"
"Professor, I still have the fang I used to stab the diary. And you have Fawkes."
Dumbledore stared at Harry for nearly a full minute, before smacking himself in the face with his own hand. Harry blinked, before managing to open his mouth.
"Shall I go get the fang, sir?"
"Please do, Harry. I will meet you in the infirmary."
Harry nodded, before making a hasty retreat. For a while after he left, the only sound in the office was the sound of the "bits and bobs", as Hagrid called them, as they merrily whistled and hummed along.
"Fawkes, my friend…" Dumbledore slowly stood up and made his way towards the door. The phoenix fluttered off his perch and followed.
"I am an idiot."
Are you sure about this, cub? Gryffindor asked, as Harry bounded back down the stairs to his Common Room, the fang wrapped up in one of Vernon's old socks.
Absolutely. If there is a part of Voldemort's soul stuck in my forehead, I WANT IT OUT.
I understand, but…this is risky. Basilisk venom is not the sort of thing that you ever want in your system for longer than a few seconds.
What happened to "Gryffindors Forward?"
It's the House of the Brave, cub. Not the House of the Borderline-Suicidal.
You say poh-tay-toh, I say poh-tah-toh…
Harry entered the Hospital Wing to the sight of a disapproving Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall arguing with the Headmaster.
"-madness, Albus! You can't tell me you are seriously considering allowing Mister Potter to poison himself with basilisk venom a second time! Even to excise such an abomination!"
"I understand your hesitation, Minerva, but this is Harry's decision. If he chooses to take this risk, far be it from me to forbid him from it."
"Headmaster, we are speaking of basilisk venom. It is every venom perfected; neurotoxin, hæmotoxin, thaumatoxin, and necrotoxin all in one. Mister Potter was lucky in the Chamber; had Fawkes been mere seconds slower, he would have died. This can't be the only way to remove a spirit. What about that Walker child you met a few years ago, Albus?"
"Regretfully, Allen is beyond my ability to contact him, and even if he was here, this is beyond simple exorcism. This is the only option we have. Unless you'd rather have Harry walk into a dragon's lair and hope that the flame only hits his scar? Or perhaps perform soul-surgery with Fiendfyre?"
Pomfrey flinched, but nodded her consent. Without turning around, Dumbledore continued.
"Come, Harry. Madam Pomfrey has already prepared a bed for you."
"Against my better judgment." She answered, glaring at Harry as though it was the greatest inconvenience in the world that he had forced her to prepare a bed.
Harry quailed slightly under the gaze of the Healer, but sat himself on the bed, and carefully extricated the fang, blunted end first, from the sock.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled slightly. "I see that you also appreciate just how many uses a sock can serve, Harry. That may be one of the most important lessons you ever learn in life."
Harry, Pomfrey, and McGonagall all stared for a moment at the Headmaster, before Gryffindor spoke up.
He is trying to be humourous, cub, to relieve some of their anxiety.
Ohh…
Harry smiled at the Headmaster, then offered the fang to Madam Pomfrey. She took it gingerly with her fingers, holding it like one would hold a particularly repulsive insect. Dumbledore produced a clear vial of what Harry gathered to be phoenix tears, and set it on the tray next to the bed. Harry laid back on the bed, and Dumbledore began casting spells with his wand.
"The moment we detect that the Horcrux has been destroyed, we will apply the tears, Harry. If the fragment is not gone before three minutes passes, we will apply the tears anyway, and hope that the venom will still destroy it before it is canceled by the tears."
Harry nodded at the Healer, and then glanced at Dumbledore.
"Are you ready, Harry?"
The Gryffindor gave a weak grin. "I was born ready, Professor."
Madam Pomfrey lowered the fang, and cut across Harry's scar. There was the slight pain of the cut, but nothing more.
"Huh." Harry mused. "That wasn't so –"
"Bad?" he finished, looking around . "Bloody hell."
He was once again in his mindscape, but it was no longer the idyllic, sunlit world of before. A cold wind gusted across the darkened plains around the great rock formation, and lightning flashed in black clouds overhead. In the distance, a grey curtain betrayed the approaching rain.
"What's happening here?"
"The fragment of Voldemort's soul is struggling to maintain its toehold within you, Harry." Gryffindor's calm voice made Harry turn on the spot, to see the great lion padding out onto the spur of rock. "The basilisk venom unseated it from its original spot in your scar, but it is has not yet been forced completely from your soul. Your own soul and magic are rejecting it, but it has gathered enough strength for one last gambit. When that rain reaches us…" Gryffindor glared out at the storm, which was growing closer by the second, "We will have to fight it off."
"We?"
"Well, you actually."
"Me?"
"This is your soul, Harry. I am a part of it, but only you can decide what stays and what goes."
"Can't you help?"
"I can force the soul to take a coherent form, but other than that? No."
"Not even using your powers?"
Gryffindor smiled slightly. "Ah, but therein lies the loophole. It is your soul, Harry. All parts of your soul are yours to do with as you will. Including me."
Harry felt a weight press against his left hip. A glance down revealed his Sword, slung from a leather sword-belt. A soft hum came from the blade. A smile found its way onto his face, and his right hand drew the sword with a quiet sliding sound.
"Remember, Harry, that as twisted and malformed as his soul may be, Voldemort is still as cunning as the snakes he is so attached to. Be wary."
Harry nodded, and, on a whim, leapt from the edge of the rock, landing lightly on the grass of the plain. The wind began to pick up, and the long grass rustled like a thousand hushed voices. The gusts that rode before the approaching curtain carried a foul scent of rot and decay. The skies grew even darker, until it was almost as if night had fallen over the plains.
Harry felt the Sword warm in his hand, and all at once, his senses exploded. He could hear the sound of the raindrops as they fell through the air, the plop-plop as those raindrops struck the ground. The rumbles of thunder were as the beat of a great drum, and the rustling of each blade of grass was like a wave breaking on the shoreline. Even in the near darkness, Harry could see the long grass as it rippled violently with the building wind. Had anyone been there to watch, they would have seen Harry's eyes glowing gold.
The wind built to a screaming apex, the curtain of torrential rain now less than a football pitch away. Beneath the sound of the wind, Harry's newly sensitive ears picked up the sound of…something moving through the tall grass, growing closer and closer with every passing moment.
And then, the rain was upon him. Great fat drops of water pelted from the heavens, and the ground went almost instantly from slightly damp but firm to an utter mud pit.
There was a brief pause as the rain cascaded like a waterfall, and then a great, sinuous mass of black erupted from the grasses and lunged at him. Without really thinking about it, Harry wove to one side, the Sword lashing out in an arc of red-gold light, catching the dark shape on its side. It reared back, its long body just barely visible against the sky, a furious sound issuing from it. It sounded like the unholy union between a snake's hiss, an infant's scream, and nails on a chalkboard. There was a flash of lightning, and it briefly illuminated the creature.
The body was that of a massive serpent, but the tail bore ugly spikes like those on a porcupine. The head was a horrible cross between a human face and a snake's snout, with slitted red eyes and jagged, uneven teeth that would have looked more at home on a shark than in a snake's mouth. Quick as a flash, the abomination's head lunged forward, fangs bared. Harry sidestepped again, and the fangs missed by less than an inch. Harry sprang backwards, narrowly avoiding the next strike of the head. His left hand came up, tracing a glowing red sigil in the air.
"Disintegrate, you black dog of Rondanini! Look upon yourself with horror and then claw out your own throat! Way of Binding Number Nine: Strike!"
The manifestation of Voldemort's soul fragment froze in place, outlined in red energy. Harry darted forward, slashing the sword across the underside of the abomination. There was a brief spray of liquid – black and tarlike – before the wound closed, almost as quickly as it had been made.
Harry barely had time to curse in his head before the binding spell came undone, and the snake lunged at him again. On instinct, the Sword came up, intercepting the deadly fangs mere inches from Harry's face. The serpent's weight bore down on the blade, stopped only by Harry's straining arms. There was a blur in the corner of Harry's eye, and then the tail, with a force like a battering ram, slammed into Harry.
Harry choked back a scream as one of the ugly spikes dug into his side, but he couldn't help crying out as he slammed into the ground, skidding through the mud. The fragment hissed in triumph, rearing back to deliver another blow. Harry's hand, though, was already held out in front of him, fingers curled towards himself.
"Awaken still night waters! Ripple in the wind and shatter the moon's reflection! Way of Binding Number Eight: Repulsion!"
A blue sphere appeared a few inches from the back of Harry's hand, and not a second too soon. The head of the snake came down, eyes glowing with triumph, and struck the sphere with the speed of a derailing train. The blue globe exploded outward, tossing the abomination backward as easily as a child would a ragdoll.
Harry pulled himself to his feet as quickly as he could. The hand that held his sword was trembling, but he ignored it. He reached inward and found the flames that were his magic, and pulled it outward.
"Roar, Gryffindor!"
The blade blazed gold and crimson, much as it had in the Chamber. Tongues of magical fire danced along the edges, hissing as falling raindrops struck them and evaporated.
Warily, the abomination and the Gryffindor circled each other. The serpent hissed threateningly, and Harry found himself baring his teeth in a snarl.
"Come on, you stupid snake! COME ON!"
The serpent's eyes burned with rage, and it lunged. Harry took a single step forward, swinging the blade up from his left hip to above his right shoulder. There was a slight feeling of resistance, like the Sword had passed through water, and a pained scream-hiss that cut off halfway through. Then there were two heavy thuds, as the serpent's body, followed closely by its severed head, fell to the ground. The tail twitched once, then was still.
Harry slumped to the ground, exhausted. The rain almost instantly began to diminish, until it was nothing more than a drizzle from fast-clearing skies.
"Well done, Harry. Well done indeed."
Gryffindor was very clearly smiling as he padded down from the rock. Harry offered a tired smile in return. A sizzling sound drew their attention to where the remains of the soul were lying.
Harry blinked. The body and head of the soul fragment were dissolving rather rapidly into a puddle of the same black ichor that the diary and the snake itself had bled. In only a few moments, the abomination had vanished, leaving behind a single, curved fang. Gryffindor considered it for a long moment, before chuckling.
"As above, so below! I see! Rowena would have a field day with this!"
"What?"
For a moment, Harry could have sworn that Professor Dumbledore had found his way into Harry's mind, so bright was the twinkle in the lion's eye.
"Nothing, cub, nothing at all…"
"Gryffindor!"
Whew! Done! This chapter was hard to write, especially the reveal session with Dumbledore. But this is an important chapter, both in what happens, and what it will be setting up for. The battle within Harry was actually pretty hard to write, without making it identical to the basilisk fight. I feel like I did a pretty good job with it. Also, what do you think about my twist on prophecy? How about the chant for Bakudō Eight? I tried to make it match the theme of Bakudō Nine, and reflect the language typical of most Kidō.
Next chapter will wrap up second year, and start off the summer, but that chapter may be a while in coming. Despite the fact that I'm a second semester senior, my teachers have decided to pile on the workload for the next few weeks. Sorry. Let me reassure you, though, that I will NEVER CANCEL A STORY. The files are almost always sitting actively on my computer, and I try to write when I can. So it's never on hiatus, either.
Now…*Removes contact lens*
CracktheSkye commands you…all of you…REVIEW!
CracktheSkye, out!