Hello one and all, to my lovely lords and ladies! It's wonderful to hear and see (at least in typing form) from all of you, I'll get right down to it this time :) Here is the latest chapter:
P.S./Disclaimer: I don't own this stuff get your facts straight!
With a title like Dark Lord, Harry would have expected more subtly. He felt like Petunia, peering through the gaps in the curtains to spy on the neighbors, never mind that his neighbors were Death Eaters, and they were attempting to catch him on his unawares.
Honestly, it was obvious, even the muggles should have recognized that there was something just A BIT creepy about the two cloaked figures who stood on the corner of the street exactly one house down from Number 12. So that it was impossible to LEAVE Number 12 without being noticed.
If HE was a muggle he wouldn't have sent his children out to play while to creepers were in such close vicinity; what is they were murderers, child kidnappers, pedephiles, rapists!?
He hadn't left the house in over a week, and now was truly beginning to feel how insane Sirius had begun to feel inside this house. It was claustrophobic, dark, musky; prime breeding grounds for bubonic plague version two point zero.
Harry was getting paranoid. It wasn't enough that each night he was constantly being assaulted by dreams and visions of Voldemort as Minister doing a variety of things. Signing new bills, speaking in front of crowds of reporters, sentencing people to Azkaban for crimes against magic. The most jarring turn of events (for Dumbledore) was that Riddle was completely justified in every move he made.
He signed bills which erected the foundations for equality between purebloods and halfbloods in the magical world. Speaking in front of large crowds detailing the progress he'd made with the three step ward program and it's effectiveness against larger magical creatures such as dragons and manticores (without causing them harm and only with their express permission of course).
He had sentenced three of his own Death Eaters to Azkaban, not for crimes they'd committed ten years ago but for more recent ones, MacNair had gone to Azkaban for "deadly crimes against a series of magical beings and creatures," in muggle terms, he was a budding psychopath who enjoyed killing puppies.
Dumbledore himself was, it seemed, the only one speaking out against Riddle as Minister. However unlike Tom, he hadn't submitted to a variety of press conferences which detailed out both Tom's long term and short term goals.
Dumbledore claimed that the facade Tom showed the world, was just that, a facade. Something to hide the monster beneath, and yes, Dumbledore had called the Minister for Magic a monster in front of a sea of reporters.
Just like the summer before Harry's fifth year, Dumbledore was being trashed, being called anti-progressive, anti-pro-creatures, anti-pro-beings and alot of other confusing names which appeared to mean basically the same thing. Dumbledore's done, his career is dead and in the ground. It's time to move forward with the times.
Voldemort had managed to do the impossible, he'd managed to turn the entire wizarding world against their icon in less than a month. He did it through fear, Harry realized, because all the people of the wizarding world had expected to be under harsh new laws with Voldemort's rise, and for all the muggleborns and half bloods to have been rooted out and killed. It would have been genocide.
Tom had used that fear against them, holding on to the last tendrils so that there was still a VERY healthy amount of fear/respect for the Minister, but also to get everything he put in front of the Wizengamot passed.
It just so happened that the wizarding world was very happy with the new additions to their laws. A happy coincidence, I'm sure.
But still, no matter how many times Harry rolled it over in his head, there was still that nagging question. What did Voldemort want with him? What had the prophecy said? And less importantly; why was he having these visions? Without a doubt the green eyed teen disbelieved what Dumbledore had said back when he was a first year; that a piece of Voldemort had entered Harry that night in Godric's Hollow. How did that make any sense? what had the prophecy said?
Harry supposed it had to be important, and with the Floo blocked, being unable to Apparate, and unwilling to open his front door, there was only one solution to the growing list of questions he couldn't answer.
The library. More specifically the Black library.
Top to bottom, ceiling to floor, shelf to shelf, right to left; there was no way anyone could deny it.
The Black's had a lot of books.
They had so many books the library had to be magically extended and all the books had to be shrunk down to the size of a match box, which instantly regrew to it's original size after being taken off the shelf.
Harry must have gone through dozens of them. Hundreds maybe.
Dark Arts for Beginners
Dark Arts for the Repressed
Magick Moste Evile
12,001 Prophecies of the Last Century and and In Depth Exploration of Their Meanings
98 Dark Rituals and Their Effects on Society
But it was in Secrets of the Darkest Art that Harry found something interesting, or at least pertained to his situation.
It was a large tome, bound in faded black leather, and contained precise instructions on several rituals Harry didn't even want to believe existed. It was published in 1487 and detailed the finer workings of a magical object called; a Horcrux.
The book began with an overview of the human soul, describing it as; the center of our emotions, the storehouse for our memories, and the driving force behind our will to live. And claimed that without souls our bodies would be like husks, being both unable and unwilling to function.
The Dementors Kiss was a wonderful representation, Harry thought.
A soul that is untouched and whole in life shall continue to be as such after death. However, a soul that is split in life and partially concealed outside the body in a Horcrux shall endure in life for so long as the Horcrux doth survive.
The way Mantheon spoke of it, having a Horcrux sounded more about managing to survive through life than really enjoying and living life to the fullest. As though having a Horcrux was something painful that needed to be endured through to arrive at the end game.
The soul is an intangible entity that resideth within us all. It can not be measured or touched, and it can only be affected by certain circumstances. A soul can only be destroyed in one way, through digestion by a Dementor. However, the theory behind the Horcrux relieth on the one other proven method of affecting the soul. This other method of affecting the soul is through measured tears of the soul, creating an incision of which great advantage can be taken.
These tears in the soul doth make it possible to excise a portion of the soul and encase it within an object, creating a Horcrux. So long as that Horcrux surviveth, its creator shall have eternal life. Fortunately, Horcruxes are nigh indestructible, only affected by some of the most dangerous substances and spells in existence.
This was soul magic. Through his previous research attempts Harry knew enough about soul magic to know it was related closely to blood magic. And all kinds of blood magic required a sacrifice behind it to power the spell; usually it was magical blood that had to be spilt. But with soul magic, the only requirement behind the sacrifice would have been that the object being sacrificed contained a soul; no magical blood required.
Harry swallowed, this text... he tried again, this text was speaking of splitting one's SOUL, of tearing it apart, and sticking it in some object. The way the author spoke you could almost envision the soul fragment latching onto its receptacle like a parasite, twisting its tendrils and becoming entangled enough to clutch on for dear life.
What would happen then, when the human body died, what would happen to the persons soul?
To illustrate the difference between a soul fragment enclosed within a Horcrux and a soul in its natural and untouched state, a simple comparison can be made. The Horcrux and the human behave oppositely with regards to damage. A human, whilst incredibly easy to harm and destroy, suffereth no damage to the soul contained inside. However, the Horcrux, whilst rather difficult to harm and even more difficult to destroy, suffereth the greatest imaginable damage to the soul fragment contained inside. When a human suffereth death, the soul passeth on as is. When a Horcrux is destroyed, the soul fragment within ceaseth to exist. It doth not pass on to the afterlife; it doth not continue to exist in this world as a ghost. The soul fragment is destroyed utterly, as if by the Dementor's Kiss. Without the Horcrux, its creator is once again vulnerable to death.
It was immortality made attainable. But instead of it being through an elixir, or a serum, it was through this. This parasitical transformation. It was brilliant! It was disgusting. It was amazing. It was horrifying. It was something Harry fully expected Voldemort of doing.
What better way was there? Vampire blood perhaps... it would certainly slow the aging process by hundreds of years, but with its repeated... consumption, the partakers had a habit of... going insane.
From the conflicting reports of Voldemort between the past ten years and his attitude now that he'd taken over the Ministry, Harry didn't know what to believe.
The quest for immortality is but a natural extension of the human drive to endure, to conquer death and continue on. Ghosts can tell us that there is an afterlife, and even the prospect of being a ghost is a sort of eternity. The alchemist's quest for the Philosopher's Stone, rumoured to have been achieved by Nicolas Flamel as recently as one hundred years ago, is yet another method of achieving the immortality desired by would-be conquerors of death. Even the mythical Deathly Hallows, supposedly created by Death himself, are said to make the man who unites them the Master of Death.
So why, with so many methods (both real and myth) of achieving an eternal existence, would one elect to create a Horcrux in order to become immortal?
The answer is quite simple: the Horcrux is by far the most reliable method. It is true that becoming a ghost is more reliable for one who simply seeketh to persist, however ghosts are unable to affect the world around them and so are accordingly discounted from this debate. It is the need; the instinct to survive that drives people to create Horcruxes.
Of the Philosopher's Stone, the simple fact of the matter is that the Stone can be depleted. Eternal life lasteth only as long as there is a Stone to provide the Elixir, and death by non-natural causes is still possible. Not so with the Horcrux. Rather, the Horcrux is eternal, and its power can never be depleted.
Of the Deathly Hallows, it can only be said that the legend may well be based in fact. Long ago, around the time at which Queen Mæve established her school in Ireland, there lived three brothers by the name of Peverell. Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus were immensely creative and powerful wizards, capable of great feats of magick. If the old færie tale is at all based in fact, it would be sensible for it to be based on these three brothers.
Together these three items are rumoured to make the owner the Master of Death. But what that doth entail is a mystery. Not even when they were first created are the items said to have been united. It can be argued that the Wand granteth the ability to dispense death, the Stone the ability to recall the dead, and the Cloak the ability to evade death, but this argument leaveth the owner at even less advantage than doth the Philosopher's Stone.
The so-called 'Master of Death' will die as any man dies, as early as any other man ordinarily dies.
And once again, it all returneth to the Horcrux. As the only reliable way to earn immortality for any significant time, Horcrux magick can be trusted to preserve the life of the user. It merely taketh a sort of moral flexibility to master the art.
It was a vicious cycle, Harry realized, with little hope for a break amidst it. The book laid it out quite clearly; Philosophers stone would run out, you could be the so-called "master of death" with the supposed "hallows" but it would no more prolong a person's life than eating well would.
It appeared all roads really did lead to Rome. What more could Voldemort have asked for? Say you made more than one, it was a backup for your backup!
The theory of the Horcrux doth begin with and end with the soul. It hath been noted that in order to create a Horcrux, one must tear the soul and then, in a precise ritual process, sevreth the portion that is to be encased from the main body of the soul.
To tear the soul, it is necessary that the prospective creator of the Horcrux kill another being. It is through deliberate murder that the soul is torn, allowing for the future possibility of Horcrux magicks.
They were talking about murder. About killing another person, in order to rip your own soul to pieces. They were talking about rendering YOUR SOUL into a children's puzzle game.
This book contained SPECIFIC INSTRUCTIONS on how to go about doing such a thing, the incantation, the correct wand movements, pronunciation warnings, what the effects on your soul after killing a person should be, and the warning not to follow through with any of the proceedings lightly. That death was the outcome should someone desist after either the first step or the second to last step.
Finally at the bottom of the yellowing parchment page was a footnote that someone appeared to have hurriedly scrawled in as an afterthought.
On unmaking a Horcrux, it was discovered about seven hundred years ago that the only way to mend a broken soul is to feel remorse for the actions that led to the creation of the Horcrux, to truly feel that what he hath done is wrong. The pain of it could easily kill any man who dareth to attempt it.
Doing so, hath in fact, killed one of the two wizards to ever attempt this feat. For this reason, it is recommended that creating a Horcrux be reserved only for those who truly wish to pursue immortality and possess the moral strength to pursue that course of action guilt-free.
Was Voldemort truly this driven, truly this fanatic about living forever he would ever do something like this?
"For Merlin's sake, Tom!" Harry whispered, "Splitting your soul." there was pain in his voice, an utter horror that anyone would willingly choose to put their soul through this sort of monstrosity. He could only imagine the effects left on a person's psyche from doing such a thing.
There are physical changes associated with creating a Horcrux. The body seemeth to react to the absence of a portion of the soul and thus regresseth. Different Horcrux creators regress in different ways and in varying degrees of severity. Most simply appear slightly more fierce, taller, darker, or, in rare cases, more handsome. Some rare few, though, seem to become less human appearing.
Scholars in the field of Horcrux Magick believe that the body is transforming to become a physical representation of what the soul is, of what the person truly is in their heart of hearts.
Harry froze. His mind casting itself back to fourth year, getting awful flashes.
flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimy, and blind
but worse, a hundred times worse.
crouched human child,
hairless, scaly-looking, a dark raw reddish black,
arms and legs thin and feeble
its face, its face no child alive ever had a face like that
flat and snake like with gleaming red eyes.
let it drown
please... let it have gone wrong...
please.. let it drown...
The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry... and Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his nightmares for three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils. Lord Voldemort.
hands like large, pale spiders
pupils were slits, like a cat's...
That... that awful night, that had been a physical representation of Voldemort's soul. Lurching from his seat in the library, Harry barely made it to the bathroom.
Throwing himself over the toilet, he retched. Sickness overtaking him in a cold sweat, heat seemed to flush his body, and emotional turmoil filled him. His throat felt like he'd swallowed a handful of broken glass, as though it had been HIS body to go through that. Like it was him feeling the awful pain.
But he could feel it. It was in his head, reverberating throughout the room in large gasping breaths. Tears ran down from emerald green eyes.
Why, why oh why?! Would anyone have ever chosen to do such a thing. It was VILE. HORRIBLE. He leaned back over the toilet, trying to breath.
Trying to think, to focus, to reassure himself that-that THAT wasn't what had happened, or THAT wasn't currently happening. He'd SEEN Voldemort he'd SEEN him, Tom didn't look like that anymore.
There was no snake face, no cat slit eyes, no more slits for nostrils. NO! nononono! He managed an awful laugh, Tom looked nothing like that.
Nothing like that anymore, an awful voice whispered in his head.
No, he told himself firmly. Tom was tall, with wavy black hair, he had an aquiline nose, he had pale skin yes, but nothing like that bone white he'd seen just a year ago. He wasn't skeletally thin, he had eyebrows, his lips were red not white, there were no scales. No scales, Tom's face had the signature aristocratic features Harry saw to be common among purebloods. He himself had them, from his father.
Tom was human. Not a monster... not a monster.
Talking to himself down, Harry wondered why'd he'd been so badly affected. It was his Gryffindor side, he concluded, hero complex and self sacrificing made it too easy to empathize with others.
Was is possible such a transformation had only been temporary? A minor (ok, major) side effect of the potion, I mean the potion had had several ingredients from Nagini. And she was a snake. By all other accounts Voldemort appeared to have taken on the characteristics of the other potential Horcrux side effects.
Fiercer, taller, darker.
Pushing himself to his feet, he paused in consideration, was it possible he was wrong? Possible that all this was simply a horrible coincidence, that Voldemort might have found some alternate way to attain immortality. That this Horcrux business was just... well phooey, total crap, and had never in fact been enacted by Voldemort.
He didn't even know if Tom had even read the book! There was only one solution, Harry mused, pushing himself up, and stumbling into the shower.
Dumbledore.
Did the man live at Hogwarts? Really what kind of teachers stayed there all year? Even Snape left for the summer.
"Hello, Harry my boy I must say this is quite the unexpected surprise." Dumbledore was twinkling again, and he really didn't like it.
"Hello Professor."
"Well, my boy what can I help you with?"
He'd keep it short, blunt and to the point.
"I want to talk about Horcruxes."
Dumbledore seemed to freeze, even his twinkling eyes went still.
"Excuse me, my boy? I'm not sure I heard you correctly."
Harry tossed the book on the Headmaster's desk, the one entitled: Secrets of the Darkest Art.
The man went ghostly pale.
M-my dear boy, where did you get that book? You might not have realized, Harry but it's quite a dark text for someone as young as yourself to be reading. For someone as young as you to read this could have terrible consequences."
Harry looked at him, green eyes piercingn.
"Did you say that to Tom Riddle as well?"
No reply.
"Did you Headmaster? Or did you turn your eyes the other way when he carried this around learning about horcruxes? Did you? Tell me, professor! TELL THE TRUTH!"
Dumbledore flinched back, as though Harry had struck him. It was all the confirmation he needed, he'd hit a nerve in that last sentence, something that had cracked the wizened wizard's mask enough for a tinge of the truth to leak out.
By Circe, Merlin, and Morgana! Tom had made HORCRUXES! he'd really done it! The bile rose in his throat again, but Harry let his anger fuel the fire, not the disgust and horror at what Dumbledore had allowed as he continued in his second demand.
I want you to tell me the prophecy."
Dumbledore managed to look surprised, and maybe relieved Harry had dropped the Horcrux topic. But, he noticed, the man's eyes were gleaming madly away.
"My dear child, I was under the impression that you found the prophecy immaterial."
Harry looked at Dumbledore, "Professor, according to the inscription on the prophecy you were the single witness to its foretelling. And I as one of the prophecy's subjects have the right to be privy to the information given about me."
"Well, Harry you would be correct, however you are not of age, and so those terms enacted by the Department's Unspeakables do not apply while you are underage."
He smirked, looking at the older man, wanting to see his reaction.
"But, Professor, surely you know I've been declared emancipated. I do assume it's a bit different in the muggle world, with you having to apply and everything. But I thought someone..." he sneered, "like you would have known that after the deaths or imprisonment of the wards guardians the ward is automatically declared emancipated and given full access to the guardians bank accounts and resources so that the child is not left penniless."
The man should know, Tom Riddle some decades earlier had done something similar, although that had included murder, and in Harry's opinion death was too kind for the Dursley's. They had deserved to suffer.
A stricken expression briefly crossed Dumbledore's features, before melting away into a look of deep sadness. Harry wasn't fooled, there was a storm brewing behind the man's ancient eyes.
"Harry, what have you done?" it was a question mean to incite guilt and shame, Harry didn't bother to try and fake some of it.
"Professor?" he questioned innocently, "I"ve merely done what you should have done years ago."
Dumbledore looked horror stricken.
"They're your family, Harry. Your relatives, your blood. How could you ever have turned your back on them?" his voice was hoarse.
"How? You ask me how Dumbledore? Perhaps I should explain it clearly to you; I exposed them. I showed those muggles all the vile little secrets they had. And I have to admit, it worked better than I could have hoped for. A little Forgetful Potion and forgot all about me. It was Harry Potter who? Best words I've ever heard in my life." he grinned viciously.
"I didn't use a single drop of magic, fitting as those people don't carry a single drop of it in their veins."
He tossed something onto Dumbledore's desk. A newspaper. A muggle newspaper with the headline: ENTIRE FAMILY CONVICTED.
The wizened wizard gave a minute gasp of horror.
Harry looked at him.
"I could bring you up on charges too you know. For refusing to part with information that I'm requesting, would you like that? Brought up before the new MINISTER," he spat at Dumbledore, "and see just who he rules in favor of?"
He was shaken, that much was obvious. Harry himself couldn't believe it. The man had simply ordered him to go home with his relatives and never bothered to check to see if he'd actually done it! It was unbelievable!
Harry doubted the Headmaster had even known the wards had fallen.
At the threat of bringing Dumbledore up on charges the man seemed to snap forward, some of his mask breaking at this blatant display of willfullness.
"You, a sixteen year old boy mean to enter a legal dispute with the Head of the Wizengamot, Surpreme Mugwump, and the wizard leading the charge of the International Confederation of Wizards! What would your friends say about this Harry? I know you may have grown apart from the young Mr. Wealsey and Miss Granger but what about Mr's. Fred and George Weasley? As I recall you were quite close this year."
The emerald eyed teen looked him in the eyes.
"No, no I don't. I Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and public Savior of the wizarding world mean to drag the FORMER Surpreme Mugwump's name through the mud in a very public legal battle. Really, Professor who do you believe will take your side in this debate after they examine my memories and see what the the people you left me with did to me? After they see the way you doped me up on potions for the past five years of my life? Do you think they'll be sympathetic? Understanding?"
He paused briefly to let Dumbledore see he was in no way messing around. If that's what it took, he would do it. He would drag himself through what would be a long and ardourus process; it that's what he had to do.
The Gryffindor wouldn't prefer to do it, he'd originally had something much more satisfying for Dumbledore in mind. After all the wizard was getting up there in age, and it wouldn't do for the man to die a martyr.
Light wizards loved a martyr.
"And as for Fred and George, maybe you should take a look a the Gryffindor qualities the hat spouts off every year; brave, courageous in the face of danger? Does righteous ring a bell? Fierce to protect their own? You of all people headmaster should realize what family means in the wizarding world, the Twins are my family, and family protects their own."
Even Dumbledore realized he'd lost, so with an imperceptible look of defeat the wizard rose from his seated position, and went over to the glass cabinet to the right of his desk.
It was the Pensieve that he'd fallen into during fourth year. Still swirling with memories that managed to spark Harry's attention and curiosity to an alarming degree. Dumbledore retrieved his wand, and began to swirl it in the shallow bowl's contents.
Until, finally drawing his wand away, Harry was clearly able to see a long strand of memory which gleamed silver in the dim light, slipping and crawling along the Headmaster's wand. It was bottled in seconds, and placed in Harry's hands moments later, where the fifteen year old barely restrained the urge to watch it there and then. Sirius had a Pensieve it would take mere seconds to dive in.
In fact Harry was just rising to leave when Snape burst through the doors panting as though he'd just run a mile in the sweltering heat. Only sparing Harry a single contemptuous glare the bat of the dungeons turned to Dumbledore.
"Headmaster... perhaps it would pertinent if we discussed a few matters alone." With the man covered in sweat, gasping for breath and practically leaning out the office's door Harry doubted Dumbledore would say no.
In fact, the elder man's grandfatherly persona was now plastered back on his face like slime on a blast ended skrewt.
"Of course Severus, Harry would you mind waiting for me to return? This shouldn't take more than a few minutes."
Harry nodded reluctantly.
When they left through the main door Harry waited patiently as their foot steps trailed off until he couldn't hear them any longer.
The instant that happened the fifteen year old was up and out of his seat, sliding eagerly toward the still open Pensieve. This time retrieving his own wand and scooping copious amounts of the memory strands out at random; this was no time to be picky.
Then when he'd enlarged the bottle and filled it to the brim before slipping the newly acquired memories into his robes. An engorging charm later on the remaining memories and he was good to go.
Retrieving the two way porkey he was off. Disappearing in a flurry of sickening sensations that reminded the boy he'd been sick just a few hours before. He clipped the coffee table on impact, sending the Gryffindor boy reeling in pain onto the couch.
Collapsing onto the sofa, the emerald eyed boy shut his eyes firmly, thanking whatever deity was out there for letting him find the old emergency porkey in Sirius's room. He didn't want to think about the reason it had been there, but instead chose to be thankful for its existence.
"Accio Pensieve."
It was time to see what else Dumbledore had been hiding from him.
AN- Hello my wonderful lords and ladies! Thank you so much for reading this and I would love to thank each and every one of you for your reviews and PM's they've been simply marvelous!
Request: Please REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! So far I've almost broken eighty reviews! Yah!
IMPORTANT: The words in italics are NOT MINE! They belong to a wonderful person called SaintRidley in the fanfic Secrets of the Darkest Art (which is absolute genius by the way). Much much thanks goes out to SaintRidley for the information.
Your friend in time,
*Kasamira