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: I know, it's been awhile since my last update, I'm sorry! I've been busy with school and another story that I've been writing that will be in route to a publisher soon!
S/N 2: This chapter really pushes the story forward, somewhat fast, but this was always my plan. I hope you enjoy, and are excited for the coming chapters—trust me, some of the stuff that is going down is exciting!
Chapter 25: When one door closes…
The Death Eaters bowed as Voldemort spoke to them; his voice a snake-like hiss. He barked his orders, duties that the Death Eaters were to perform for the week, as he had other things to attend to—more important, more precious jobs that had to be performed by the Dark Lord himself. Then he was done and he dismissed them with a wave of his hand, not saying anything as he marched out of the room, arrogantly and quietly, his crimson eyes narrowed in concentration. The meetings had been like this for the last few weeks, short and to the point, the Dark Lord always seeming to be busy with something else; what that something else was, however, was unknown to the unwashed masses, to his loyal and feared Death Eaters.
Quirinus Quirrell's eyes darted around the room as the Death Eaters made to leave; he was scanning, searching for someone or something. They stopped on a stout figure for a second, and he made his way towards him, reaching out and tapping his shoulder with his right pointer finger. The man, who was dressed in a long black cloak, turned around snarling, his teeth yellow and pointed, before stopping, having seen who it was. "Greyback," Quirrell said, a smirk forming on his pale features. "I'm in need of your…services."
Fenrir Greyback cocked an eyebrow, knowing this was going to be good as he could see the crazy gleam in Quirrell's eyes. "Tell me when and where." Greyback guffawed, his disgusting and blood-soaked teeth showing. Even in human form, his features were akin to a wolf, being bestial and wolf-like. He had wild gray and brown hair, long, sharp fingernails, and an amber tint to his eyes that were so alike an animal's.
Quirrell spoke to Greyback quickly and quietly, making sure no one overheard, and then ran after another Death Eater who was just exiting the room, needing to talk to Yaxley: Yaxley's entry point would be pivotal to the plan, and would decide just what it was that Quirrell was going to do. "How is your son getting us into Hogwarts, Yaxley?" The ex-professor asked, a touch of venom in his voice.
"I…we don't know yet." Yaxley replied, nervously. His eyes darted up to Quirrell's, a look of concern and fear in them. Yaxley was known for his political powers, for his talent to garner power within the Ministry, rather than his magical powers; his ability with his wand wasn't near Quirrell's.
"What do you mean you don't know?" Quirrell spat, disgustedly. He hated ineptitude, and could barely live with himself in Azkaban, knowing that he was too incompetent to get the Sorcerer's stone for his master. "If he fails, I fail…and that I will not accept."
"Please," Yaxley begged, putting his hand on Quirrell's shoulder. "Help him, help us. Carelton shouldn't be punished for my mistakes, for my problems."
Quirrell threw Yaxley's hand off of his shoulder, but looked at the man curiously, as if sizing him up. "There is a room," He said, slowly, enunciating every word. "That can give the person who asks any room shape they want. If, and only if, your son asks for a way into Hogsmeade via that room, we just might be able to sneak in."
Yaxley's eyes went wide, as excitement radiated off of him. Finally, at long last, he had a way to protect his son, a way to do what Voldemort had asked for him. He had stayed up night after night, losing sleep, going over plans, searching for something, any way past the almost impeccable wards of the school. He had come up with nothing, and he knew, knew in his heart, that his son, his only son, was going to die just because his father was inept.
"Calm down, Yaxley, you look like a dog that's about to go for a walk." Rabastan Lestrange said, leaning up against the wall a few feet behind Yaxley. Silently, he had watched the exchange go down, hidden in the shadows, snooping around.
The man turned around quickly, not liking nor trusting Rabastan. "Shut up, you have no idea what you're talking about. You might have been in Azkaban, but you're still a nobody." Yaxley sneered, his eyes twitching in hatred.
Rabastan gave a smirk; it was eerie and calm, not showing any anger at the insult that he was just paid. "Oh? I don't know that for payment of not being in Azkaban," He paused for a second, allowing the prison of Azkaban to strike fear into Yaxley's heart. "That now your son has to get Death Eaters into Hogwarts, or else he'll die? Is that something I supposedly don't know, or was there something else?"
"Don't you dare mention, speak, or even think about my son!" Yaxley growled, angry at Rabastan's gall. He gripped his wand, flashing it at Rabastan underneath his cloak.
Rabastan nodded and smiled, still calm, still serene. It seemed as if no matter what Yaxley said, whatever insults were thrown his way, whatever threats were laid, nothing could or would get under Rabastan's skin. He put up his hands in mock surrender, not wanting to fight the other man. "I know what you're going through, I was simply throwing out a hand, something that doesn't come very often in our circle."
"What would you know?" Yaxley spat, though his anger didn't quite reach his eyes. "You don't know what it's like having a son that could be ripped from you, just because of the mistakes you've made in your life. He doesn't deserve that; he's a good boy, smart, funny, like his mother."
"I know a lot more than you think." Rabastan replied, his tone turning sorrowful. He took a breath, his eyes closing for just a second, and then continued. "I know what its like to have a son and be a Death Eater, a servant of our lord, at the same time. It's almost, unless you're like Malfoy, Nott, or those two idiots in Crabbe and Goyle, impossible to have those two parts of you coexist. Tell me, does your son believe in pureblood supremacy?"
Yaxley looked down at the floor, his thoughts muddled. "I…I don't actually know. We've raised him pretty good, but I've never seen him hate on a mudblood before, now that I think about it."
"Hm." Rabastan huffed, a small smile appearing on his face. "If I were in your shoes, I'd get Quirrell into Hogwarts, then get your son out and safe as soon as I could."
"You expect me to be able to hide him from the Dark Lord?" Yaxley asked, though it was rhetorical. "We both know that isn't possible; the Dark Lord always knows."
"If you do your job, and he does his job, the Dark Lord shouldn't be after him once he accomplishes it." Rabastan reminded Yaxley, turning and walking down the hall, blending into the shadows and disappearing from sight. Yaxley, from his spot, stared at where Rabastan was for a second, before sighing and walking out of the manor, past the wards and apparating out.
At Grimmauld Place, Harry and Dumbledore were sitting at the kitchen table, sipping on tea and eating teacakes. A meeting was set to begin in a little less than an hour, and the pair was deeply engrossed in a conversation about the security of the muggle Prime Minister; Kingsley had assigned another Auror to work alongside him in the Prime Minister's office, afraid that a Death Eater attack was imminent. The Auror's name was Proudfoot, and was quickly rising in the Auror ranks ever since Voldemort had shown himself.
"You almost got me killed!" A voice roared out, suddenly as a person entered the house. There was a clatter, and the front door slammed shut, another voice entering the conversation. Harry and Dumbledore both jumped up, running out to the main entrance wanting to see what was happening. There, facing one another, were the two spies of the Order, not ten feet away from the other, ready and willing to attack.
"Yes," Severus Snape sneered back; his dark eyes stared straight at Kylie's shadowed face, almost mockingly. "And if I didn't, then the Order would have lost both of their spies within Voldemort's ranks." He continued, righteous anger and contempt rising up in his belly, like some great wave of emotion that had been waiting to be let free for a long, long time. He was the spy; he was the one that risked his life gathering information, not some two-bit friend of Potter's.
"I saved your butt last time, and you just throw me under the bus?" Kylie, the wizard only known by a pseudonym, growled, as anger began to radiate off of him. His voice was crackling, losing the masked effect it normally had.
"Well, maybe if you were a better wizard then you wouldn't need to be thrown under said bus." Snape smirked at him, clearly and undeniably in a mocking fashion.
"Better?" The man laughed. "I'm twice the wizard that you'll ever be."
"What happened?" Harry questioned, wondering what was going on, what it was that the pair was arguing about.
"He said there might be another spy within Voldemort's ranks." Kylie said, pointing a deadly finger at Snape. "And, almost immediately, Voldemort came over to my side of the circle, to my group of Death Eaters."
"I had to say it; Voldemort was already suspecting it, at least now it looks like I'm loyal to him." Snape answered, though there was a smirk, the same smirk that the students of Hogwarts had familiarized themselves with, on his sallow face. Kylie growled, threw Snape a dirty look, and walked out of the room, Harry following him all the way.
At the next meeting, two new wizards joined the Order: Tynan Davis, brother of Tracey Davis; and Wayne Hopkins, Harry's friend and former classmate. Invited into the Order by Harry to bolster the groups ranks, the two would secure much needed information from the outskirts of the Wizarding community, the people who weren't known, outright, to be fighting for or against Voldemort. As such, in a way, the pair were like spies, covertly gathering information from the ground up.
They both sat at the end of the table, looking around curiously, silently, taking it all in and allowing themselves to become acclimated to the way things worked. They listened to the first reports from the Aurors, from the Ministry officials, from the Diagon Alley workers, and from Remus, who relayed what was going on with the werewolves. Then, with a thundering shudder, the door at the top of the basement was thrown open, and a man, gigantic in size, marched down, his giant feet shaking and quaking the floor with every step.
"'Ello, everybody." Rubeus Hagrid said, waving, as he came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.
"Hagrid," Harry said, looking up at the tall, hairy groundskeeper. He was dirty, and had a few welts on his face, but he was smiling, clearly glad to be back after so long. "Glad you could make it. Come, come, take a seat." Harry gave him a small smile, happy to see the man.
Hagrid nodded, and took the chintz chair that was off to the side, it being the only one big enough to hold his frame. "Ah, right." The half-giant muttered, becoming more and more uncomfortably with the attention he was earning.
"I didn't think you would make it." Harry began, leaning back in his chair to get a better look at Hagrid. "Dumbledore told me you had arrived in the country a day or two ago, but he said you had some business to attend to that would take some time."
"Grawp." Hagrid answered, then, quickly, shook his head, closing his mouth tightly.
Harry laughed, nodded, knowing just what it was Hagrid was taking care of. "Anyway," He said, changing the subject, noticing the curious glances Hagrid was getting from everyone else, clearly wondering just what 'Grawp' was. "Tell us about your journey to the Giants, Hagrid. How did it go?"
"Took us about a month to get there." Hagrid said, starting his tale. "We tried to portkey in, but them ruddy Death Eaters had already protected it. Luckily, the Giants were at war with one another when we got there, so the Death Eaters didn't have that big of a jump on us; they, too, had to wait it out. The Gurg, Karkus, was able to fend off his usurpers the first time, and we got to meet him. He seemed taken with us, and we gave him his present the first day, left, and then came back the next. Unfortunately, the night before, Karkus was killed, decapitated, and the Giants weren't as accepting of us as they were the day before; the Death Eaters having gotten to the new Gurg before we could." Hagrid paused here, gathering his thoughts.
The group hung on Hagrid's every word, wondering just what he was going to say next: did he or did he not get the giants? They sat at the edge of their seats, intently staring upon the half-giant. Taking a breath, Hagrid continued, "Macnair was able to seduce a few of them to You-Know-Who's side." Hagrid laughed, nervously. "We were attacked; Golgomath, the Gurg, tried to kill us, but with a little help from Olympe's wand she protected both of us—ruddy marvelous with magic, she did some of the fastest spell work I've ever seen. When we saw it was a lost cause, we made sure they knew that joining the war for You-Know-Who wasn't in their best interests, and left."
"So the Giants aren't coming?" Hermione questioned, a little disappointed.
"No, don't count on it." Hagrid said, uncomfortably; his face was red, and sweat was beginning to mount on his forehead. He seemed, to Harry, to be hiding something, but the man did not push it, not wanting to cause a seen.
"Well," Harry sighed, taking a few notes with his quill. "We never expected them to actually come help after the way the Ministry's treated them, we just wanted to make sure they didn't come at Voldemort's request. So, in a way, the mission was a successful one, thank you, Hagrid." He looked around the table, seeing everyone and making eye contract, then, his attention turning to a parchment in front of him, he said, "If that's all, then this meeting is adjourned."
A month passed with Voldemort consistently attacking the wizarding world. Diagon Alley was flooded with Aurors and Hitwizards all day, constantly patrolling the area, trying to keep the wizards and witches who were brave enough to leave their houses safe. The muggle community was also noticing distinct changes, too, as 'terrorists' had blown up bridges and buildings; plus, there was a never-ending fog that seemed oddly out of season. The Dementors, of course, had been breeding, spreading their depression like a plague, creating a dark and moody atmosphere around the country.
It was late November, just a few days away from December that found Harry in the Headmaster's office. "Harry, I want to talk to you about…about Grindelwald." Dumbledore said, slowly, staring at Harry with his blue eyes. Underneath his light blue robes was his blackened hand, dead and lifeless, unmovable and unusable, hidden away from the eyes of the world.
"You've never spoken to me about him, about your battle, before." Harry replied, leaning forward in his chair. Whatever information he had about the Dark Lord came from books, not personal accounts from his defeater himself. Albus Dumbledore solidified himself as the greatest wizard in the world by defeating Grindelwald, a man who was touted at the time to be the most evil and dangerous wizard that's ever been; that was a time before Lord Voldemort had risen, of course. Even so, even to this day, Grindelwald was still looked upon as a person, as a wizard to be feared, the second to worst evil wizard the world had ever seen: ahead of Herpo the Foul, ahead of Morgana, and even ahead of Salazar Slytherin.
"I've never spoken about it and him ever, not to you, not to anyone." Dumbledore replied, solemnly. "Truth is, I'm embarrassed and ashamed."
"Of what, sir?" Harry questioned, not understanding why his mentor would be ashamed. What could have possibly happened, what could have went down, that would have the man, the most noble and respected man Harry knew, embarrassed?
"Grindelwald, Gellert rather, was and is my best friend; the only one I've ever been able to call a peer, an equal. He's the only one I've ever felt…normal to be around, because he was brilliant. He's the only one I've felt comfortable talking to, asking for help, sharing my feelings with, etc." Dumbledore ran a finger across his aged forehead. "I was the one who had to stop him, and for that…for betraying him, I'm ashamed. I know that it was for the greater good, and he has no ill will towards me for doing it, but that still does not change anything or lessen my feelings." Seeing Harry's face, the great wizard sighed. "I know I could do all those things with you, Harry, but I think of you as a grandson and a student. Someone who is learning from me, not someone who has learned with me; although, we all learn from each and every day of our lives."
"I understand, sir, don't try to defend yourself for me. I know I'm young and ignorant still." Harry gave Dumbledore a small smile, hoping to bring a little lightheartedness to the conversation; he could see the older wizard was in pain, both mentally and physically. "I'd like to hear more about Grindelwald, sir."
"He was brilliant, maybe even more so than myself." Dumbledore stated, looking out of the window; his eyes were full of emotion. "I met him a week after I got out of Hogwarts, he had moved to Godric's Hollow to live with Bathilda Bagshot, his great-aunt, after having been expelled from Durmstrang. We immediately hit it off, and for a time, we were not unlike you and your group of friends: we both wanted the same thing. Then, however, something happened: my brother, Aberforth, came home from Hogwarts and told us that we couldn't take Ariana, my sister, with us on our world tour. That tour, of course, was to gather followers for us to help in our desire to rule muggles for the greater good." His eyes shifted over to Harry, wondering how the man would react at the pronouncement.
"Your mother had died and you took over as the breadwinner of the family, right?" Harry questioned, not surprised that Dumbledore had had those thoughts, thoughts about taking over the muggle world, since he, himself, had had those feelings once. "And your sister was attacked by muggles, which is why your father went to Azkaban, right? I don't know how you do it, Albus, how you continue feeling so happy and cheerful." Harry said, shaking his head.
"Same way you do, Harry." Albus replied, turning his attention from the window to Harry. "Now, Gellert didn't like to be told that he couldn't do something so he turned his wand on Aberforth, using the Cruciatus curse to torture him. There I was, standing in the middle of my living room, watching my best friend torture my younger brother: I acted quickly, rashly, and started a duel with Gellert to get him to stop. Surprised by my actions, Gellert instinctively fought back, with Aberforth joining the fray a second later. Then, suddenly, Ariana came out to help, and I don't know who it was that sent it, but a curse hit her, killing her instantly. The duel immediately stopped, and not wanting to go down for this, Gellert left, leaving Aberforth and I to handle it. A few days later we had her funeral, my brother punched me in the face, and I didn't talk to Gellert for twenty years; though, I know that he was at her funeral, in the back, but he dared not come up."
"You still don't know who it was? Who it was that sent the curse?" Harry asked in a whisper. What happened to Dumbledore's sister, Ariana, was terrible; a tragedy of the highest degree.
"It could have been any one of us: me, Aberforth, Gellert. Who knows?" Dumbledore sighed, looking aged and worn. He couldn't help but blame himself, and holding that burden for over a hundred years was tiring, wearing him out. With his life coming to an end soon, for he knew it was just a few weeks till he'd be gone from this world, he couldn't live with the burden anymore; he wanted and needed to free his mind, his heart, his soul. He was preparing himself for death in more than one way, and his preparations reached out to other people, especially to Harry, who was posed to inherit the most from the Headmaster.
Later that day, Kylie stood in a small alleyway, off of Diagon Alley, next to Flourish and Blotts. He was with someone, a medium sized man, both of their hoods up, blocking out their identities. "You're brave for meeting me here, Rosier, thank you." Kylie said, flicking his wand around and reciting a spell so whoever was near them would hear a buzzing noise in their ears, preventing them from eavesdropping.
"The Order knows of my help, right? They know that I've been helping the right, the light, and the proper side?" Rosier said, nervously, his voice just a whisper. His eyes darted around, looking each everyway, making sure no one was around. He wasn't scared, he could handle himself, but extra attention and caution wasn't too much to ask for; he'd rather be safe than sorry.
"Harry has already been informed, and he thanks you for your help." Kylie nodded, having already told Harry about Rosier's help. Having an allotment of informants, Kylie was able to gather information without showing himself, without putting himself in danger; a trick he began to use after his tussle with Snape.
"You still wont tell me who you are, then?" Rosier asked, quizzically. Having lost his only son, his only heir, Rosier had made up his mind to betray the Dark Lord, and bring about the wizard's end. Truthfully, he didn't know what he was going to do when Voldemort had called him and the other Death Eaters to the graveyard on the night of the Dark Lord's rebirth, but he had made up is mind, after intense deliberation, a few days later; though, at the time, he had no idea on what would be the most effective way to go about his decision. It wasn't until a man calling himself Kylie, a supposed Death Eater on the side of light, came to him one night, asking for help that he began leaking information.
"Not yet, Rosier." Kylie replied, quietly, his tone even. "With time, I will. What do you know?" He questioned, wanting to hear what information the man had, whatever it was.
"Quirrell is planning something with Yaxley and Greyback, something big." Rosier answered, quickly. "Only a few upper levels Death Eaters know about it; they were the ones who whispered a few kernels of information to me, allowing me to splice it together from the combined information."
"I see, I see." Kylie nodded, trying to figure out what was happening. It seemed as if Voldemort had given control of the Death Eaters to Quirrell and Barty Crouch, the two highest Death Eaters since Bellatrix Lestrange was still out of commission, for the time being—it looked as if the Dark Lord was up to something. Bellatrix, on the other hand, ever since the duel she had with Harry, where she was hit in the face with a very dangerous and powerful curse, she had not been seen by anyone but Rodolphus, her husband, and rumor had it that the witch was dead— though, Kylie didn't believe it. "Dig around, find out more, but do it carefully."
It was dinnertime a week later, and Harry and the rest were sitting at the table, enjoying one another's presence. He was in the basement of Grimmauld Place, reading the Daily Prophet, tiredly, as the group chatted about random quidditch matches that were being played. "HARRY!" A voice screamed through Grimmauld Place, as a greenish face sprouted up in the fireplace; it was the face of a man, covered by a shadow and wearing a hood.
Harry turned from his seat, dropping his fork on his plate, and looked down into the flames, a nervous energy overtaking him. "What, what is it?" He questioned, hurriedly, wondering what was happening. His eyes met a shadow, but he knew who it was, he knew that voice anywhere.
"There's an attack." Kylie said, his tone loud and reverberating. "Voldemort's attacking Hogwarts!"
"What, where, how?" Sirius gasped, cocking an eyebrow, fearing for the safety of the children. Hogwarts was a bastion of light, a fortress of safety, guarded by the ancient powers of the founders and the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Voldemort getting to Hogwarts, getting to the children was all but impossible in most people's minds.
"I don't know where it's coming from, but it's coming soon!" Kylie all but screamed, fear in his eyes. "Go!" Harry looked over to the table, counting up who was there: six people—Tonks, Sirius, Viktor, Gaetana, Neville, and Charlie. They all jumped to their feet, turning and running out of the room, leaving the anti-disapparation wards and immediately apparating to Hogsmeade.
What they saw made them gasp: there, high above the tallest tower, the Astronomy tower, was the Dark Mark. A colossal skull, the dark mark was comprised of what looked to be emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. It was burning in the sky in a haze of greenish smoke, and if you listened closely it seemed to be wailing, an eerie noise that hissed from its mouth. They rushed down the main street of Hogsmeade, Harry muttering the counter jinxes that would open the gates that were nearing, just a hundred feet away.
With a jolt, the metal gates creaked open, their rusty hinges cringing in old age. On the group sprinted, running up the wet and shadowy hills, crossing the dewy terrain, hoping the students of Hogwarts hadn't been hurt. Then, with a great rush of fear, they heard it: howling that sounded through the dark night. The moon, which was high above, was full and round, shinning with a silver brightness that couldn't be matched. Out of the shadows of the Forbidden forest crept a pack of great beasts, as big as the biggest dogs with a thick gray coat of hair and amber eyes that seemed to glow in the night.
"Werewolves." Harry growled, his eyes turning to the pack of six wolves that was racing towards them, not three hundred feet away. "Go, Sirius and I will buy you sometime." He said, turning his back on them: Sirius took a step forward, too. "GO!" He yelled, and the group took off to Hogwarts, Tonks giving one last look to her husband. Immediately, Harry shifted into his tiger form, a big, black dog appearing next to him a second or two later.
The werewolves ran towards them, their amber eyes filled with a bloodlust that went unmatched; their howls of excitement being barked out into the cold, dark night. Their attack, upon reaching the tiger and dog, was quick and rough, though went equally matched in Sirius and Harry's counter attacks. The tiger, being the strongest of all the animals, quickly subdued two of the wolves, pinning them down to the ground with his big, white paws. Then, with a flash of blood, one of the wolves, a third one that was fighting Harry, bit into the tiger's hind leg.
The tiger gave a great roar, though it was more of a snarl, aimed directly at his attacker. The wolf, entrenched in animal instincts that clouded its better judgment, didn't release, instead tightening its grip. Harry shook him off, the wolf being flown across the ground as a result, and then pounced on it. His jaws wrapped around the beast's back, and with a nod of his gigantic white head, the wolf was sent flying; crashing against the boulder, it released a pain-filled yelp and fell to the ground, unconscious.
Sirius, meanwhile, was having a harder time with his wolves. Being the same size as the great black dog, the wolves triple teamed him, biting and scratching, drawing crimson red blood. Finally, with a great shake of his canine body, Sirius threw a wolf off, allowing him to attack the other two with all his attention. His pointed teeth bit into one of the werewolves, who howled in pain, and then he pushed the werewolf's body down into the ground, grinding him up against the rocks and dirt. The other werewolf Sirius was fighting lunged towards the unattentive dog, but was tackled to the ground by the tiger; they rolled around for a few seconds before the wolf was pinned, hurt. Harry went to go help Sirius with the last wolf, but before he could, a howl, loud and eerie, cut across the darkness.
Bruised, bloodied, and tired, Harry, in tiger form, turned his white head towards the tree line, and came in eyesight of the biggest, most ferocious looking werewolf he had ever seen. Greyback, he thought to himself, bracing for a fight. Sure enough, the wolf came charging out, barking loud with a hint of madness in his amber, canine eyes. Greyback leaped at Harry, knocking the tiger back onto his hind legs, where the tiger was able to claw at the wolf's face with his front paws. The wolf ducked, bringing his head up into the tiger's chest, painfully.
The pair rolled around, Greyback being surprisingly stronger than the other werewolves, taking Harry back in shock. They continued to roll, scratching, clawing and biting at each other, blood and fur being thrown into the air. Then, with a deep bark, the gigantic black dog tackled the wolf, pinning him, though it wouldn't last, as the wolf was stronger, somehow. Harry slashed the wolf's side with his claws, making Greyback howl in pain, as blood began to seep out of the wound. Again Harry slashed, knowing that Sirius was growing just as tired as he was and they wouldn't be able to keep it up much longer, drawing blood on Greyback's muzzle.
Greyback howled, long and deep, as he kicked the dog off of him using his hind legs; the black dog, Sirius, landed hardly and did not rise, leaving Harry alone with Greyback. The tiger, limping, circled around the wolf, which looked worse for the wear. Again the wolf howled, his amber, canine eyes looking into the sky, as if he was calling someone or something. Taking one last look at the tiger, the wolf ran back into the woods, anticlimactically. Harry, in tiger form, titled his head to the side, confusedly, before dropping, too tired to stand, too tired to do anything. He didn't notice, however, the black masses that came flying out of the forest, racing towards them.
A pack of Dementors, twenty in number, flew towards the downed tiger and dog—the dew on the lawn icing up around them. The moon, which was high and bright, seemed to be dulled by their presence, as if the very darkness that the Dementors brought were more powerful than the moon, a force of nature. They swooped down, bringing with them their ability to make people see their worst memories, their worst fears. Immediately, even in their animal forms, Sirius and Harry felt it, as thoughts, the worst thoughts they could have, flooded into the mind.
They couldn't take it, couldn't stand it. The Dementors directed their powers straight at the animals, somehow knowing, though neither Harry nor Sirius knew how, that they were humans. They both reverted to their human appearances at the same time, their skin pale and clammy as they convulsed on the ground. Harry raised his wand to the sky, saying "Expecto Patronum," but nothing came: not even an incorporeal shield. Again he tried, but the same effect. Nothing. His eyes dimmed, he was too tired to keep them open, and he passed out, his head hitting the ground. "Sirius." He muttered, before dropping into unconsciousness.
Albus Dumbledore whizzed up the circular stairs of Hogwarts, heading straight towards the Astronomy tower's entrance. He swished his wand, creating a hole in the wards that the Death Eaters had put, the same ones that Minerva McGonagall couldn't get through—she was the one who had alerted him of their, and the Death Eaters, presence. His dead right hand was hanging loosely by his side, its singed fingers curled up, locked in place, dead. He felt the magic tingle over him, granting him passage past the invisible barrier as he continued onto his destination. Coming to the top of the stairs, he glanced down the hallway to the left and right: shadowed and dark, but nothing there, yet even still he felt something.
He entered the round, circular room, its open archways in the wall, which allowed the students to gaze at the stars unhindered, allowing a cool wind to blow through. He stepped, slowly, towards one of the windows, his wand in front of him and his eyes wide, aware of the danger. Noticing no one was there, which was perplexing, he relaxed a little, and stepped towards the archways, his gaze traveling down to the lawn, the lands of Hogwarts. Immediately, he saw Harry and Sirius being attacked by Dementors, the fiends flying towards them, hovering above, intent on sucking out their souls.
"Harry," Dumbledore whispered under his breath, taking out his wand and reciting a spell. A silver, mist-like beam of energy left his wand, shaping and forming into a big, silver bird that sailed down to the grounds, circling around the black-cloaked Dementors. The patronus, which was clearly a Phoenix, drove the Dementors away, filling up Harry and Sirius with the joy and hope that the beasts had zapped away.
"Expelliarmus!" A voice said from behind, shooting Dumbledore's wand from out of his hands, where it landed on the ground, a few feet away. "Well, well, well, we have Dumbledore unarmed." Quirinus Quirrell mocked, coming into the room fully. Seven other Death Eaters came in behind him, each holding their wand pointed at Dumbledore, straight at his chest, ready and waiting.
"Quirinus." Dumbledore nodded, his eyes shifting around the room, while he hid his cursed arm behind him, hiding it from sight. The arm was making him so weak, slowly draining away his powers and energy, and he could feel his magic slipping away into oblivion.
"No need to draw this out," Quirrell drawled, moving his wand about. "Avada Kedavra!" He recited, and there was a jet of green light, which rushed towards Dumbledore as if it was a great beast, and hit him square in the chest.
The impact pushed him over the edge, and he fell from the tower, his lifeless body falling through the air, crashing down to the lawn below. Quirrell inched towards the window, an unbelieving look upon his face: his eyes slowly moved down to the tower bottom, hoping that Dumbledore's body wouldn't move—wouldn't miraculously rise from the dead. After a minute of studying, Quirrell smiled, a vicious and evil smile, concluding that Dumbledore really was dead. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the age, was dead, fallen on the grounds of the school that he loved so much—giving up his life in exchange for the life of his grandson, Harry Potter.
As Albus Dumbledore's breath left him, and his heart stopped its constant beating, the wards in place on a the peak of tall, black-stoned tower fell. The tip of the tower, which housed a lone room, stripped bear and cell-like, was the home of a single individual. Gaunt and toothless, the aged man furrowed his eyebrows, glancing around the cell confusedly. He rose to his feet, then frowned, realizing just what had happened; he's dead, he thought to himself. Walking over to the door, he slowly and cautiously reached for the knob, and held his breath as he gave it a small turn. It clicked open with a low creak, and he let out a breath, glad to finally be free. He continued on, down the stairs and out of the tower, where he looked at it once more, before disappearing in the darkened forest that reached out with its velvety blackness. "I'm sorry, my friend." He whispered to himself, a frown on his face in spite of the fact that he just got out of his prison.