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: How will Harry react to the death of his oldest friend? Find out in this chapter. Trust me when I say that Harry will be a changed man after this, a motivated man.
S/N 2: This story is going to be moving quickly after this, I can see the finish line and it's coming up soon. After all, Harry only has a couple more Horcruxes to destroy, and now he has even more of a reason to go after them with all of his might and intelligence.
Chapter 31: When You Were There
The funeral for Roger Davies started at midday on January 3rd. His body was being laid to rest on the back portion of his family's estate, where close to seven generations of other Davies' were buried. Over sixty people attended the ceremony, most of them being various family members, friends, or members of the Order of the Phoenix. Lisa, his wife, sat in the front along with his parents, her daughter Harmony nestled protectively in her arms. Both Harry and Tonks sat in the second row, along with Viktor and Hermione, and Cedric and Gaetana, whom seemingly had ended the charade and had become a couple; or at the very least, Gaetana wanted to be there for Cedric to make sure he would be all right.
The rest of the Order was situated sporadically in the rows behind, with Sirius and Remus sitting next to one another—Sirius' arm was wrapped around Emmeline Vance, which made Harry guess that their relationship had been still going on, hidden away from the world. He would have to talk to Sirius about that, he knew, but he smiled, knowing that his godfather was having the life he always wanted to have. Remus wasn't alone, either, with Hestia Jones, his on again off again flame, sitting right there, holding his hand tightly. Harry knew that Roger's death had also hit Remus hard, as the werewolf had taught Roger in Hogwarts, and had watched him grow into the man that he was. Remus had even attended not only Roger's wedding, but the birth of Harmony, as well.
Behind them sat Lilyre Moon and Wayne Hopkins, their Spungen sister girlfriends sitting on the other side of them. They were both around the same age of Lilyre and Wayne, and had long blonde hair that was reminiscent of Lucius and Draco Malfoy—which was a family trait, as the Spungen sisters' great aunt was married to Abraxas Malfoy and was the mother of Lucius. They pair listened to the service politely, though they did not know Roger, and really only attended because Lilyre and Wayne were friends of the man. While they were pureblooded and rich, they did not act down to anybody and were quite pleasant to be around. In fact, often times they allowed muggleborns or other Order members refuge in their Scottish highlands estate, knowing that the Dark Lord neither knew about it nor was able to get there if he did.
Shacklebolt stood in the background, and while he tried to hide it, his eyes were watering, the weight of Roger's death pressing down on his heart and shoulders. As Declan Tennyson, the overseer of the funeral began, Shacklebolt turned his back to the procession, making sure his Aurors were scattered around the grounds, preventing any Death Eater from attacking. This was Roger's day, and no matter what Shacklebolt had to do, he would not allow Voldemort or his cronies to ruin it. With deep breath and a wipe of his eyes, Shacklebolt returned his attention to Tennyson, intent on listening to his every word.
Neville Longbottom and Despereaux Barnaud sat off to the left, five rows behind Harry. While they were not really friends with Roger, nor did they ever really talk to him, they both knew that he would be incredibly missed within the Order of the Phoenix; Neville also felt a pang of guilt, knowing that the Death Eater he was going to duel, Rabastan Lestrange, left him alone, but he didn't immediate run over to help Roger in his duel against Rookwood. It was like back in Hogwarts, where Roger and Harry would sometimes stick up to Malfoy for Neville, out of hatred for Draco and not loyalty to Neville, and Neville would never pay them back: it was the same situation, Neville owing a debt to Roger that could not be paid. It was something that infuriated Neville to no end, something that made him feel weak and incompetent.
"Despereaux, I have a question for you." Neville asked in a whisper, as he leaned towards the other man. Despereaux gave a small nod of his head, and Neville continued. "When you say you're a Lestrange, what do you mean by that?"
Despereaux gave him a sideways glance. "My father is Rabastan Lestrange." He said, knowing exactly who Neville was and what his parents had gone through by his father's magic. In truth, though Despereaux would admit it to no one, it was why he had become friends with Neville in the first place. Their friendship, however, had blossomed since then and now Neville was more than just a sorrowful story in the eyes of Despereaux.
"Then we have a lot to talk about." Neville whispered back, knowing that Despereaux deserved to hear about his father. Despereaux cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing in response.
The ceremony began in full, and with a hushed ambiance, Declan Tennyson described Roger Davies, telling the attendees just what kind of man he was. He was loving, caring, proud, and quiet, though he was somewhat arrogant. While sometimes he would not think things through completely, he was incredibly intelligent and witty as he was once a Ravenclaw. Where he wasn't as magically gifted as Cedric, Harry, or even Viktor, he was astoundingly savvy when it came to his business doings, somehow knowing what to do and when to do it: it was like a sixth sense for him. He would be leaving behind his wife and daughter, his two parents—who were crying in the front row next to Lisa—and his friends, all of whom loved him dearly.
Harry, just then, turned his gaze to a tree that was off in the distance, and through squinted eyes, he could barely make out the silhouette of an old man: the same old man that he had seen many times before now. His long gray hair was tied back into a ponytail, and his beard was well kept and nicely groom. He wore an elegant purple muggle suit with a dark black cloak covering it, and brown leather shoes that somehow seemed perfect for his attire. Harry stared at him, knowing that the man knew he was being observed, hoping that he would somehow figure out just who he was. The man continued to watch the services, and when Harry realized he was missing it, he pulled his attention back, as well, knowing that he would never forgive himself if he didn't give Roger the respect that he deserved. He promised himself that he would figure it out later, but right now was Roger's time, and he wouldn't miss it for some stupid problem that needed solving.
Hermione watched as Viktor stared off into the trees above Roger's tomb, his eyes glazed over. Put simply, Roger was his best friend. Harry had introduced the pair during Viktor's stay in the Ravenclaw house during the Tri-Wizard Cup, and ever since that day, the pair had talked everyday and had been nearly inseparable during their later teenage years. Not only that, but Roger and Viktor had worked so many hours together, starting their business and whatnot, and as a result they both knew each other better than anyone in the world, barring their respective wives. Viktor gave out a sigh, angry at the thought of not protecting his friend: Roger had been the weakest of their group of four, even though Roger was one of the more skilled wizards of the Order and was by no means weak himself, he had been the one that held the group together as they all wanted to protect him, to help him in anyway they could. If Roger called them for help, they would drop what they were doing and rush to Roger's side—though Roger never did ask for help, as he was especially bullheaded and arrogant to an extent.
"I'll miss you, my friend," Viktor said to himself, and with that one short sentence, Hermione knew that her husband had begun the grieving process, finally admitting that his friend was dead.
Cedric was holding Gaetana's hand so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. His palms were clammy, and perspiration was beginning to accumulate on his brow, even with the cold and chilly weather that came during the winter months. He was the most angry out of the entire group, with Harry instead being the riddled with guilt and Viktor overcome with grief; Cedric desired nothing more than vengeance for his fallen friend, and was consumed by a bloodlust that would only subside with Rookwood's death. Gaetana whispered something in his ear, and for a second, a smile appeared on his face, before he sighed out and released some of his anger, knowing that it was neither the time nor place. He would get his vengeance, but until that time came, he would not allow his rage to consume his life and ruin all of the good things around him.
A small reception was held after the ceremony. Roger's parents had rented a large tent that was able to hold over a hundred people, hoping to shield the attendees from the harsh climate. Food and drinks were served, and there was music playing lowly in the background, allowing people to enjoy the easy tones but still be able to converse with whomever they wanted. Tables and chairs were situated around the tent in no particular order, allowing everyone to socialize with each other, rather than just the table they were sitting at.
Harry's group of friends all sat together, and just as they were getting up to get something to eat, Lisa came by to greet them. "I'm glad you guys could come." She said, the sadness in her voice almost palpable.
"Yeah, well," Cedric shrugged, knowing she was just saying that to be polite and didn't intend for a response.
"I think we all wanted you to know that, well, we're here for you, Lisa," Viktor said, taking the witch's hand and giving it a tender rub. "And we'll always be there for Harmony, all of us." He finished, gesturing to everyone behind him, who were nodding their agreement.
Lisa smiled; tear stains on her puffy cheeks. She rolled her gaze over all of the people around her, making eye contact with everyone but Harry—a fact that he noticed and was puzzled about. "Thank you." She replied, simply, and then said her goodbyes and went over to sit with Roger's parents and her own.
"I'll be right back." Harry whispered to Tonks, whom nodded and took a sip out of her green drink. Harry walked over to Lisa's table and tapped the woman on her shoulder, saying, "Can I speak to you for a second?"
"I guess." Lisa responded, rising from her seat and taking a few steps to the side for some privacy.
"Is something the matter between us, Lisa?" Harry questioned in a low tone. "I know we've never talked all that much, and you're better friends with Tonks than you are with me, but I felt as if you hated me or something when you ignored me before."
"To be quite honest, Harry," Lisa said, not meeting Harry's eyes. "I blame you for Roger's death. I know its probably not fair, nor rational, but still, in my heart I know that Roger would not have died if he hadn't joined your precious Order. If you hadn't been involved, neither would he have been, and for that, I blame you for his death."
Harry's reared back in shock, thunderstruck by what Lisa had said. "I'm sorry." He replied in a measly voice, not knowing how to react.
"I know you are, Harry. But right now, that just isn't good enough." She nodded to Harry, and walked over to talk to another group of people, presumably to accept their condolences.
"Are you all right?" Tonks asked Harry as she came up behind him. She noticed he was watching Lisa leave, and could tell that something had happened between them, but had no idea what.
"No." Harry said, honestly, putting his arm around his wife. The pair stayed at the reception for another hour or so, before leaving and going back home.
Once they arrived, Harry braved the cold weather and sat outside in the gazebo that Ted and Andromeda Tonks had given the couple for Christmas. It was made from cherry wood, and was situated on the cliffs above the ocean, allowing those who sat within a great view of the crashing waves and deep blue water. Ted had designed and worked on it, but the idea came from Andromeda, who knew that Harry and Nymphadora loved to just sit out on the cliffs and watch the water, with Harry doing it almost every night. This night, Harry noticed immediately, was dark and foreboding, with many of the stars being blocked out by the giant gray clouds in the sky.
Nymphadora closed the front door behind her as she trenched through the cold and wet snow to the gazebo. She carried a large fleece blanket in her arms, one big enough to be able to fit a whole group underneath it, let alone two people. Seeing that Harry was slightly shivering as she neared him, she quickened her pace and arrived a few moments later. Before doing anything else, she wrapped the blanket over his shoulders tightly, making sure he was warm, and then sat down, nestling in close to him. They stayed silent for a while, Harry gazing at the waves hitting the rocks and Tonks staring at the stars, trying to figure out which constellation was which—even though most of her relatives were named after them, she never really could figure out the constellations.
Tonks felt Harry turn his head, and she moved her eyes to the side and saw that he was looking at her. "I let this war against Voldemort go on for too long." Harry cried, suddenly, his cheeks turning a tear-stricken pink. "If I had only done something sooner, Roger would still be here."
"Oh, Harry." Tonks cooed, trying to console him. Her heart broke at the pain that Harry's face showed, how sad he was. "This isn't your fault."
"No, don't you dare say that!" Harry snarled, pushing away from Tonks slightly. "You know it is. You know that I, and I alone, have the ability to defeat Voldemort. No one else can!"
"Roger wanted to fight with you, Harry." Tonks responded calmly, knowing that it was the truth. Roger was a brave man, and Harry's grief was blinding him to the facts. "He wanted to be there, right next to you, helping you win this war for us. Don't you dare try and say that he was a coward, that he wouldn't have rather died than hide away."
"He was my oldest friend! He was there when I first entered the magical world. He was there; he's always been there. You don't understand how much we experienced together, how close we were." He smiled as a thought popped into his mind, a memory of days long since past. "Did I ever tell you about the time where we found this hidden door on the second floor? Yeah, it wasn't even on the Marauder's map; it was one the few secrets of Hogwarts that wasn't on there. After Remus had told me the story behind the map's creation, Roger and I would always go exploring the castle, trying to find what my father and his friends couldn't. We tried to get Cedric to come along with us, but it was too hard to smuggle him out of his common room at first: that is, of course, until I found a secret way in and out of your Hufflepuff common room."
Tonks grinned at that, remembering her Hufflepuff days, how happy and easy those days were. "I remember you telling me about that a long time ago. You didn't find it until his sixth year, and late in the year at that, right?"
"Yeah." Harry nodded. "And by then it was useless as the next year he was Headboy, so he could come out anytime he wanted."
"That's a shame. Why couldn't you find it earlier than that? Then all of you could have had some fun running around the halls of Hogwarts together, maybe even learn more secrets." Tonks said, trying to get Harry's mind onto happy memories, knowing that grief was right on the doorstep of his mind.
"I didn't find the spell that allowed me to figure out the doorway's secret until too late, that's why." Harry answered, somewhat mournfully. "Remus knew that I was trying to figure it out, but he was no help, all he did was laugh and wish me luck. I never did know if he knew about it before I found it, I would hope he did but you never know."
"Who knew Hogwarts better, you or Roger? Or did Remus know Hogwarts better than both of you?" Tonks questioned, still trying to keep Harry on the happy memories, hoping to ease his grief.
"I don't know. I mean," Harry rubbed his chin in thought, weighing the question. "I guess I did, because I was able to go to places he couldn't go to in my tiger form, but he and Cedric went to places as a pair without me when I was first trying my animagus transformation, so they might have found something out and never told me. And as for Remus, we never knew just how much about Hogwarts he actually knew, since he was a teacher, he couldn't just outright tell us all he knew. We never got around to question him about it over the years, either."
"They would have told you, Harry." Tonks replied, having experienced the bond that Harry and his friends shared first hand. "You guys never had any secrets between you, except for the animagus one."
Harry stayed silent for a few minutes, his eyes still gazing at the water below. Then, in a low voice, he muttered, "I should have protected him."
Tonks sighed, and ran a hand over Harry's face. "You couldn't have done anything more, Harry. Trust me, I know you; I know that you are going to beat yourself up over this, but you need to know that you are a hero. You protect so many people, including Roger when he was alive. Roger's death does not disprove that fact, do you understand?"
"I've just lost so much to Voldemort: my parents, our baby, Dumbledore, and now Roger? If I lose you, no, I can't…I wouldn't be able to live." Harry cried, hot tears rushing down his face.
"I'm right here, Harry. You won't ever, ever lose me, you got that?" Tonks soothed, leaning into him. She rubbed her left hand over his back, and closed her eyes, the safety of his arms overcoming her. "I'll always be here." She whispered again, though it was more to herself than to Harry.
Later that night, Harry sat alone in his workshop, his stone pensieve placed in front of him as a gray substance swirled inside its large bowl. He prodded the substance with his wand, and two memories took form side by side, showcasing an old man's face. One memory was of the time when he encountered the old man within the Ministry, the other was from just that morning at Roger's funeral. He studied every wrinkle, every freckle that the man had, trying to find the smallest of hints of who he was, the minimalist of clues. He scanned every inch of the man, from as many angles as he could, searching for something, anything that would give him an idea.
Then, after nearly a half an hour, Harry leaned back in his chair, put his wand down on the table, and muttered: "I know who he is." The only problem was he didn't know just what to do with that knowledge.
The Death Eaters attacked a small muggle village in the north of Scotland the next day. Houses were burning to the ground, while the muggles who lived in them were screaming as they ran out of them; the Death Eaters all the while laughed at their pain, their suffering. The Order of the Phoenix arrived just as the Aurors did, and all of the good wizards and witches jumped into the fray by either dueling a Death Eater or putting out the flames of the fires that were spreading quickly. Some of the Aurors were doing their best to heal the injuries of the muggles, many of whom had very serious burns all over their body, but most of the muggles were unattended and on the verge of death. The Death Eaters were seemingly confident, as none of them had disapparated away like they usually did during other raids of the like.
All the while, Harry, Viktor, and Cedric were grouped together as a trio, searching for a specific Death Eater. Then, dueling Boderick Bode, Rookwood showed his face, and they headed straight for him, like men on a mission. Harry led the way, flicking and swishing his wand, blocking the spells that zoomed towards them easily. Sometimes he would even fling them back at their casters, showing an understanding and knowledge of magic that was previously hidden from the world. Rookwood hit Bode with a curse, and the Unspeakable went down, hitting the floor with a deafening screech, though he was still alive. In the corner of his eye, Rookwood saw the trio coming towards him, their wands raised and their pace quickening with each step. Knowing that he didn't stand a chance against them, he turned and ran, and just as he was about to apparate out, Harry grabbed his cloak, forcing the Death Eater to take him with him; Viktor and Cedric had grabbed onto Harry in turn, making Rookwood take all three of them along.
Rookwood tumbled as he arrived on a small, narrow dirt road, barely big enough for a muggle car to drive on. Quickly and frightfully, he dashed back to his feet, gripping his wand as he spun around, his eyes wide, staring at Cedric, Viktor, and Harry; all of whom surrounded him, pointing their wands his way. "Come to make me pay for killing your pitiful friend, huh, Potter?" He sneered, angrily and dangerously. He would not go down without a fight, and would not show the trio his fear of them.
"Simply put," Harry said, swishing his wand quicker than Rookwood could see; a great spell hit the former Unspeakable, pushing him down onto bended knee. "Yes." Again, Harry flicked his wand, and a spell shot out, hitting Rookwood's wand arm, and Rookwood's wand flew away as a result.
"He was a good man, he had a daughter." Viktor screamed, losing himself in his hatred, his anger for the scum that was before him. "My god daughter is without a father now, all because of you!"
"Crucio!" Harry barked, pointing his wand at the downed Rookwood. As the red beam hit the Death Eater, his back arched, his eyes bulged, and he screamed…it was a terrible, blood-curdling scream. Viktor and Cedric both gripped their wands, and then, joining Harry, they too cast the Cruciatus curse, tripling Rookwood's pain.
They didn't laugh like Death Eaters would. They enjoyed it, yes, but they enjoyed the pain that it brought him, not the pain that it brought people in general. Maybe, just maybe, this was showing Rookwood the pain, the agony that he put them in by killing Roger; the pain and agony he put people's loved ones in when he went on his killing and torture sprees. Rookwood's screams continued on for a few seconds, getting louder and louder, before they stopped, his eyes rolling into the back of his head and blood accumulating at the corners of his mouth. They all lifted the curse at the same time, staring down at Rookwood's body in contempt: the man was convulsing on the ground, looking pale and sweaty.
"Any last words, Rookwood?" Harry snarled, giving the man his chance. He swallowed the lump that was in his throat, remembering that Rookwood deserved this. While he had killed before, he had never done it like this before, like an executioner.
Rookwood rolled his eyes to Harry; they were dull and listless, as if he was already dead. "The Dark Lord will kill you and your mudblood friends, Potter." He spat the blood in his mouth down at the ground in front of Harry, hitting the tops of his black shoes.
Harry shook his head, throwing his wand in an outwards fashion. "Aveda Kedavra!" Harry yelled, though his voice was not the only one saying the Killing Curse. Cedric had also cast the curse at the same time, an anger to him that Harry had never seen before and thought he would probably never see again. The two green bolts raced towards the downed Rookwood, nailing him in the chest in unison, killing him instantly. His body slumped in the mud; it was dead and lifeless. They stared disgustedly at the body, their hatred and rage suppressing somewhat, though their loss was still on their mind. "Give me your wands." Harry grunted, taking a few steps closer to the pair. They both threw their wands over to him, and watched as he performed the Deletrius spell on all of the wands, erasing the history of the Unforgiveables from them. After all, it wouldn't be good for the Order if two of their main wizards were thrown into Azkaban—Harry was sure he could have came up with a viable story for himself, as he was given the right to use whatever force necessary in his job as a Hitwizard, but he knew he would be hard pressed to defend Cedric and Victor's use of the curse.
Once done, Harry tossed the wands back and gave Rookwood's body one last look, staring at it with disdain. Then, with barely an audible pop, he apparated out and away, going back home and leaving the scene. Cedric and Viktor soon followed, their eyes red and their shoulders slumped. They both appeared in front of Harry's gates just a few seconds later, and with a screech, they popped open, granting the pair entrance to the their friend's house. Walking through the front door, they headed straight for Harry's sitting room, where they knew Harry would be waiting for them. Sure enough, Harry was there, along with Kingsley, Remus, and Sirius, all with drinks in their hand, having the discussions that Roger always loved; apparently, the raid had finished, and their services weren't needed as the Aurors and Obliviators were taking care of the clean up. They stayed well into the night, each telling their favorite stories about Roger, knowing that that would be the last night of their grief, that their friend's death would not haunt them anymore after that night. They would still remember him, and feel sadness for his death, but they would not be consumed by it, they would not lose themselves in the grief that it brought to them.
Meanwhile, the Dark Lord Voldemort appeared outside of a tall, dark-looking stone tower. Knowing that his prey would be on the top level, he flew high into the air with his wand clutched tightly in his spider-like fingers. He flicked his wand at the stone bricks that enclosed the prisoner, blowing a hole the size of a car within the structure. He smirked evilly as he landed inside the chamber, and then took a step forward, looking around expectantly. He gazed towards the bed, no one. Then over to the toilet, again no one…no one was there. "What?" He growled, looking to the door. It was closed, and he could feel the magic around it: it was locked.
"This is impossible. NO!" Voldemort screamed out, his red eyes burning with anger. He took his wand, gestured to the other wall, and blew it away with nothing but a flick; shards of stone and metal came rushing towards him, but he conjured a simple shield to deflect them before they were able to hit him. Lightning flashed down from the sky just then, and with barely suppressed rage, Voldemort floated out of the tower and took off into the air, going back the same way he came, having failed his mission.
AN: You will know who the old man is within two chapters, though I'm sure the curious ones of you readers have already figured it out—I have been leaving clues as to who it is for awhile. Any guesses as to who it is?