Harry Potter and the Power of the Past
Disclaimer: All JKR's, not mine.
Summary: This is a complete AU- Harry Potter is a 21-year-old wizard, who's on top of the world. He's rich, in love, and loved by all, but his life is turned upside down as a spiral of events leads to the ultimate battle between good and evil. Can Harry lead the fight for the light, but yet manage to keep his life together?
A/N: Thanks for the reviews everybody. Oh, and review again!
S/N: The future: love, loss, fighting, redemption, death, and betrayal: which corresponds to what character, I ask? The places that they go to on their honeymoon, baring Salem, and Matreville (which I made up) and Esageard (which is a different spelling of Asgard), are all ghost towns around the world.
S/N 2: I know, this is pretty short, but I promise that next chapter will not only be the longest, but the best as of yet. Trust me when I say that this story is full steam ahead, and just getting better. Oh, and when he said "weeks", he's been searching for about a week and a half, but he's engaging in some hyperbole.
Chapter 19: Possession of the snitch
"Master!" A voice rung out through the darkness of a forest, as a man paced through the woods. There was a small light emanating off the tip of his wand, though it was too small to allow him to see farther than five feet. He spun around quickly, hearing a noise from behind him; it was a ruffling of leaves. He pushed his wand to the ground, seeing a snake come slithering out of a pile of dirt and moss. "Master?" He called out again, this time a little louder. The snake hissed again, and a translucent sphere, almost as if it were a head of a person, came floating out of it. The man stared down at the sphere, grinning wildly. "I have found you!" The sphere rushed into the man, entering him just as it had been inside the snake.
"Barty Crouch, I knew you were loyal; I knew you would come." Voldemort said inside Barty's head. His voice was low and screechy, as if it pained him to speak—yet Barty knew he wasn't really speaking, per se. Voldemort, being one of the most powerful Dark Lords ever, had found ways of possessing people in both mind and body, intergrading himself with a person so intrinsically that their souls touched for a short amount of time.
"I have been searching for you for weeks, my master." Barty replied out loud, not really knowing how to go about talking to Voldemort. It was the first time the Dark Lord had ever possessed him; apparently he had been unworthy of the honor before now.
"So I have heard." Voldemort agreed; Barty imagined him nodding, as if he had a body. "The snakes I have been possessing have told me about it, and I have been trying to find you, as well. Now," He said, reading through Barty's thoughts; flashes appeared in Barty's mind, images of his life. "Let's see why it took you so long to come. Ah, you were sent to Azkaban, smuggled out by your father, and then held captive under the Imperius curse by him for…nineteen years? You tried to come, yes, yes I can see it."
"Of course I did, master." Barty nodded, vehemently, disgusted by the thought of abandoning Lord Voldemort. "I pledged my allegiance to you the day I received your mark. There are others, too, who are still loyal, except they're confined to the prison of Azkaban." He scowled, hating all of the Death Eaters out in the world who had denied their master, and had been let go by the Ministry, allowed to roam free after the fall of Voldemort.
"Take me back to England, we have work to catch up on. Mudbloods and muggles are still living, and that is something we cannot have." Voldemort laughed, knowing that, with Barty's help, he would return to power, this time twice as strong. He was so close last time, so very close, and this time, perhaps his last chance at it, he could not fail: he would not fail.
"Do you have anywhere we can go, master?" Barty questioned, having no clue on where they could be safe, where they could reform Voldemort's body. "I took all of my father's valuables when I left, and now the Crouch manor is covered in Aurors." The man said, remembering how he had ransacked his father's home, stealing everything that would help him and putting it in a trunk that was shrunken down, safely tucked away in his pocket. The contents of the trunk ranged from a few magical books, to a rare and expensive invisibility cloak that would surely help the Death Eater's cause. He couldn't, however, take his father's wand, as that would draw suspicion, since the older man had died of a natural death; luckily enough his mother, having loved young Barty immensely, kept his wand inside their home, so Barty was able to take it from its resting place and use it like he did before he was imprisoned.
"Yes," Voldemort responded, his tone was greedy, like a child in a candy story. After being alone, hidden from the world for so long, ten years, he couldn't help but have a flicker of giddiness inside him at the sight of an able bodied supporter. "I know of a place."
Two days later found Tonks and Hermione sitting next to each other in the bleachers, holding one another's hand, each dressed in different colors: scarlet red for Hermione, and green for Tonks. The other members of the group were split even, with Roger, Cedric, and Lisa rooting for Viktor; and Sirius, Remus, Ted, and Andromeda cheering for Harry. The two teams made their entrances, flashing skill and glamour that was customary at the Quidditch World Cup. "May the best team win?" Tonks said right before the snitch was released.
Hermione smiled, gripping Tonks' hand more tightly and nodding. "Of course." Then, with a great whistle, the game commenced, and the players took off, zooming after the quaffle, snitch, and bludgers. Her eyes followed her husband, never leaving him for a second; they were wide with wonder and pride.
Immediately, Harry and Viktor streaked up into the sky, searching, scanning the land for the golden snitch. The quaffle passed between teams a few times, before Bulgaria scored, taking the lead. In response, the Welsh beaters, Robins and Jones, began hammering the bludgers at the Bulgarian chasers, preventing them from performing their moves: the chasers of Bulgaria were so intoned with each other that it seemed as if they could read each other's minds. The talents of the chasers caught Wales off guard, as Bulgaria was always known for weak chasers: good beaters, a great keeper, a fantastic seeker, but below average chasers.
The next points came from Bulgaria again, as one of their chasers, Ivanova, dodged a bludger, and was able to sneak a shot past Owen Keitch. The Bulgarian crowd erupted in yells of support, and the veelas, Bulgaria's mascots, came dancing out, ensnaring the male attendees into their thrall. Fortunately for Wales, Aderyn Clagg, being the only female chaser, was able to grab the quaffle and score on the enamored Bulgarian keeper—who was captured by his very own mascots—Zograf, tying the match up. Bulgaria's coach threw her arms up from the ground, chasing the veelas away, not wanting her team to lose because of them. The veelas, for the most part, went over to the side without complaint, though a few of them did hiss at the coach, showing their bird-like features.
Bulgaria flew down the pitch, but had the quaffle stolen by Timms, who passed it to Clagg. She flew with it, dodging and dipping around chasers and bludgers, and tossed the ball at one of the goals. Zograf caught the quaffle smoothly and easily, and then threw it to Ivanova; who, upon catching it, was immediately hit with a bludger, and the quaffle fell out of his hands and to the ground. The ref swooped down and picked it up, blowing her whistle and restarting the game, throwing the quaffle up into the air to be caught. Then, suddenly, the stadium's attention was drawn away from the chasers.
One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two seekers, Viktor and Harry, plummeted through the center of the chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes. They both, at the same time, had seen the snitch: it was racing down to the ground, ahead of the two seekers. It zoomed, quickly, speedily towards the grass, as if it knew the pair was after it. "You're not beating me, Harry." Viktor mocked, slamming into Harry. Harry used his shoulder to push back, ducking a bludger that came flying at him; Viktor swerved a little, too, moving away from the bludger.
"So you say." Harry laughed, accelerating a little, though Viktor was right there with him. They both twirled downward, speeding towards the ground before leveling off just a few feet above the grass, making the stadium 'ooh' and 'ahh'. Flying parallel now, they took off, heading straight towards the wall of the bleachers, the snitch feet from their grasp. Before it crashed into the bleachers, the snitch shot up into the air, everybody losing it in the glare of the sun. Meanwhile, Harry and Viktor both veered away from each other, one went left and one went right, each having come close to hitting the bleachers themselves.
The spectators stared, unbelievingly, at Harry and Viktor, having never seen anybody, let alone two competitors, fly like that. They seemed as though they weren't using brooms at all; they moved so easily through the air that they seemed unsupported and weightless. They were so good, so talented, that every feint they did, the other wouldn't budge—unlike against other teams, where the opposing seeker would crash into the ground. They were equals, both as incredibly talented at flying as the other, neither one had surpassing prowess when it came to brooms.
The Welsh beater Jones swung heavily at a passing bludger, and hit it as hard as possible toward Viktor, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him full in the face. There was a yelp from Hermione and a deafening groan from the Bulgarian crowd; Viktor's nose looked broken, there was blood everywhere, but the referee did not blow her whistle. "He can't play like that." Hermione mumbled, a mix of fear and anger in her voice. "Look at him!" She screamed out to the announcer, though his attention was on the veelas that were dancing over on the Bulgarian side. Viktor used his scarlet robes to wipe the blood away, even though the pain would stay, at least now he could see.
After twenty more fast and furious minutes, the match was tied up at fifty points apiece. With every passing goal, the game was getting dirtier and dirtier, with each player throwing whatever elbows they could. Play, by now, had reached a level of ferocity beyond anything they had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy: Volkov and Vulchanov, Robins and Jones seemed to not care whether their clubs hit bludger or human as they swung them violently through the air. "Dimitrov—Levski—oh, stolen by Timms—over to Whisp, then to Clagg—goal for Wales!" The announcer screamed out, making a thunder of cheers erupt from the crowd. "What is this? I think the Seekers have made an eye on the Snitch!"
And it was true, as Krum and Potter both circled high in the air, the snitch was zigzagging all about, each everyway. One could cut the tension in the stadium, as all the spectators were holding their breath somehow knowing this was it, with a simple severing charm. Then, with a flap of its wings, the snitch zoomed higher into the air, and the two made a break for it. They raced towards the snitch, Viktor somewhat behind, each hoping to gain the win for their team. Suddenly, as if guided by spells, the two bludgers came whizzing towards them, nailing the tail end of their brooms, sending them both spinning.
Falling. The two Seekers fell through the air, each having one hand loosely gripping their brooms, as their heels fell over their heads; they were somersaulting down to the ground. Fearful screams echoed around the stadium: two hundred feet, one hundred and seventy five feet. The snitch flew the other way, crossing in front of their eyesight, though they could barely make it out. Then, like gymnasts performing a gold medal routine, the pair twisted back onto their brooms, concurrently, and shot towards the snitch. They both reached out for the snitch as they neared it, each going faster than they've ever flown before, wanting, needing to win.
A bludger, becoming a common occurrence during the match, hit Harry's outstretched left arm, breaking it instantly. He yelped in pain, losing focus on the snitch for just a second: Viktor's dark, black eyes shifted over to his friend for a second, but he stayed slouched, rushing towards the snitch. Harry bumped into Viktor's broom, hoping to catch up to the little distance that Viktor had gained over him. Neck and neck, the snitch was coming closer and closer to being caught, Harry and Viktor continued their pursuit. Then it happened: the snitch shot towards the ground, having been around fifty feet up, and the seekers rushed after it, catching up to it before crashing into the ground, unable to stop their momentum.
A great, big cloud of dust rose into the air, blocking the sight of what had happened. Then, with a swirl of the ref's wand, as if it wasn't there in the first place, the cloud disappeared, and Viktor and Harry came into sight: they stood, together. They were unhurt, other than Harry's broken arm and Viktor's crushed nose, but something had changed: neither was in a rush to get back onto their brooms and renew the match. Then, without saying a word, Harry threw his right arm up and released the snitch, showing everyone he had captured it.
The Welsh supporters didn't seem to realize what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet was revving its engines, the rumbling from the Welsh fans grew louder and louder and erupted into cheers of delight. With a great wave of green, they all stood up and clapped, whistled, and otherwise supported the Welsh victory. "What…what just happened?" Sirius questioned, confusedly. The pair had crashed into the ground, following the snitch, and in the commotion, Harry had somehow caught it. The snitch continued to hover next to Harry for a bit, before zooming off, it's metal wings flapping wildly.
"Who cares!" Tonks grinned, screaming out in excitement. "Harry won!" She hooted and hollered, glowing with pride. Harry mounted his broom and did a victory lap with the rest of the Welsh team, having won the game by the score of two hundred and ten to fifty. Hermione frowned down at Viktor, who had a small smile on his face, as he watched Harry fly; he was still on the ground, standing in the middle of the pitch.
Back at the group's tents later that night, a celebration dinner was happening for Wales' victory. Even Viktor, who had been on the losing side and was out of the Cup, had a smile on his face, enjoying the dinner: it was peaceful with friends and family. The group, which had previously been divided in who they were rooting for, united, and declared themselves Welsh fans, changing the colors of their tents to green, red, and white. Though loyal to Bulgaria, Viktor took part in the color change as well, and was a vocal fan of Wales in the rest of their games.
The Welsh team lost in the quarterfinals to Russia, who would go on to win the whole tournament. Even though they were out before the finals, it still had been the farthest the Welsh had been in over twenty years: five World Cups. Before Harry had joined the team, Wales considered themselves past their glory days, out of their prime. With Gwenog Jones nearing retirement age, the team needed another younger player to step up and take over the reins, which Harry more than did. Now, with the prospects of Demelza Robins and Taffy Timms having experience, the team was in great shape for a few years: no one on the team, other than Gwenog, was older than twenty-five years of age.
After the tournament, the gang dispersed, each going to different places. Viktor and Hermione were going to Bulgaria, to Viktor's house there, visiting friends and family of Viktor's; since Viktor had moved to England, his parents were the only family that he saw more than once a year, so annual trips back to Bulgaria were a must. It was an honor, in Hermione's mind, to have a husband who was willing to leave everything he knew, everyone he knew for his wife, moving to her country, to her home without a complaint. The least Hermione could do for Viktor, the man that she loved, was spend a few weeks in Bulgaria, seeing Viktor's friends and family.
And with great excitement, Harry and Tonks went on their planned honeymoon, exactly four months after their wedding. It was a fun adventure that allowed them to see wonderful animals, grizzly beasts, and beautiful magical birds and other magicks. They traveled far and wide, by magical boat, going to different wizarding towns located around the globe: Salem, Massachusettes; Matreville, France; Chang'an, China; Vijayanagara, India; Kolmanskop, Namibia; and Esageard, Norway—the town where Freyjavangr, the Norse School of Magic, is. The pair enjoyed it immensely, learning about themselves and magic, as well as having fun as a married couple. And when September 1st came around, they returned to their home in Wales, falling back into their normal routine.