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: This chapter is out quickly because I'm trying to finish this story before I graduate in two weeks. There are only another three, maybe four chapters left in the story, with an epilogue at the end, so its coming to an end soon.
S/N 2: I've been setting up this chapter and the next one since chapter seven way back to a time before "Deathly Hallows," was released. If you read the story note or the S/N of that chapter, you'll see that I mentioned Gringotts.
Chapter 32: The Venom and the Lie
Harry Potter sat on the stool that was in front of his workbench, a look of concentration on his face. On the desk in front of him laid the Horcruxes of Voldemort, each spread apart in an effort to prevent them from touching one another. Tom Riddle's diary was to the left; it was closed and showed golden cursive writing on its cover. In the middle stood Ravenclaw's diadem, shimmering with beauty in the room's light, seemingly remembering all of the beautiful women who had adorned their heads with it before. And to the right, in the corner of the bench were the two destroyed Horcruxes, the locket of Salazar Slytherin and the Peverell ring, which also doubled as the resurrection stone of the Three Hallows.
He pulled the diary towards him, and opened up to a blank page in the middle of the book. Grabbing a quill, he dipped it gently into the bottle of black ink that was next to him and scrawled in messy cursive a single word: Hello.
Ink appeared on the paper from nowhere, and after a few seconds, formed into a response. "Hello?"
"It is Athelstan Black," Harry wrote, using the name that he had made up when he first wrote in the journal a few days ago. He figured that the sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle would be more willing to divulge information about himself if he thought he was talking to a very pure wizard. Plus, he argued to himself when he was creating his new identity, the Black family held a connection to the Dark Arts, further increasing his chances of gaining information. He knew that Dumbledore had been doing this since he first received the diary during Harry's fourth year, when he had found it in the office of Argus Filch, and he now wanted to continue the practice further.
"Black? How are you?" Tom Riddle replied in black ink that appeared from nowhere once again.
"Quite well, thank you." Harry wrote back. "I am having trouble hiding my…more questionable items, but other than that, I am well."
"Don't we all have those problems? When I was in Hogwarts, the filthy little mudbloods always tried to pilfer my things. I of course punished them in response; they should know that no one steals from me." The ink appeared from nowhere, and after a second, reformed itself into, "What year are you in Hogwarts, Black?"
"I am in my final year." Harry scribbled, inwardly frowning: it wasn't working, and he doubted it ever would. Dumbledore had already mined whatever information this version of Tom Riddle either knew or was willing to divulge, so now there was nothing left to find out. He could feel the piece of soul inside the journal trying to enter his heart and mind, trying to overtake Harry's body. Harry denied it and defended himself, deciding it would be best not to talk to the journal anymore after tonight.
"Slytherin, right?" The diary wrote, seemingly seething with the disgust that Tom Riddle felt for every Hogwarts house other than Slytherin.
"Correct." Harry wrote, biting his lip. He was contemplating how to end it, he didn't want to tell Tom he knew what he was, but he also didn't want to be tempted to write in it again. Deciding, he wrote a simple goodbye with his quill. "But I have to go, goodbye Tom."
"Bye." And with that, Harry closed the diary and leaned back in his seat, disappointment written all over his face.
"Knock, knock." Sirius' voice came from the entrance of the room. Harry swiveled around in his stool and moved his gaze over to the man, who smiled at his godson in response. "Can I come in?"
"Sure," said Harry, tiredly. He gestured with his left hand to a stool that was in the corner, and Sirius nodded and brought it over to where Harry was and sat down on it.
"What are you doing?" Sirius questioned as his eyes moved over the objects that lined Harry's workbench. He recognized Nymphadora's wedding tiara, but he had no idea why Harry was studying it like he appeared to be doing.
"You really want to know?" Harry laughed, running a hand through his long black hair. "These are the Horcruxes of Voldemort."
"Horcruxes?" Sirius asked, trying to remember where he had heard that word. Then it struck him, the day Harry was asking about R.A.B. was when he first heard his brother say the word Horcrux. "I meant to ask you before, and I know Regulus knows what one is though I don't know how, but…what is a Horcrux?"
"Short answer? Its how Voldemort survived all of those years without a body." Harry stretched his arms up in the air, as he gave out a yawn. "The long answer is that a Horcrux is a receptacle for one's soul, an item in which Dark Wizards place a piece of themselves inside to bond their being to the living world. It is created for the sole purpose of attaining immortality."
Sirius gave Harry an odd look, confused about how a Dark Wizard could do that. "How is it created?"
"By murder. When you kill someone, a small part of yourself is ripped from you, and Dark Wizards use that to place inside a relic that has some importance to them." Harry answered, picking up the broken locket of Slytherin to show Sirius. "They then hide it away from the world, in the hopes that no one will find it and destroy it. Though, to me, that is such a stupid idea, I don't see why they wouldn't just create a Horcrux out of a seashell and then throw it into the ocean. It would probably be lost forever, and more protected than the Dark Wizard could ever dream about doing by himself."
"Awful." Sirius muttered, though he did not react any more than that.
"Yeah." Harry nodded in agreement. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
"Oh, and here I thought I was always welcome." Sirius jested, earning a grunt from his godson. "I just wanted to see how you were and get together. We really haven't talked much since, well, since this whole Voldemort thing started again."
"Yeah," Harry agreed again, having missed spending time with Sirius. "I'm sorry about that, this isn't how I wanted it to be. It seems like forever ago that we were at the Quidditch World Cup."
"Its funny that you should say that, I was just thinking about it." Sirius replied with a grin. "You will be playing in the next one, won't you? Next time, you better win."
"The whole team's coming back." Harry replied, enthusiastically. "Honestly, I didn't know how I would feel when I got sent to the Welsh team, but now I wouldn't have it any other way. It just feels…right, you know?"
"Right for you, you mean. Having to root against your own country because your godson plays for another team is hard, Harry." Sirius smiled, and then changed the subject. "So are you busy, do you want to go have a drink, maybe get something to eat?"
"I'm not too busy," Harry said slowly as a thought popped into his mind. "In fact, I think you can help me with some things. I need a second opinion on this, and I want to keep it a secret."
"Kylie and Cedric aren't around?" Sirius replied, somewhat bitterly. In truth, he was a bit jealous that Kylie and Cedric were both privy to more information from Harry than he was, a fact he didn't quite understand himself.
Harry noticed the tone of Sirius' response but chose to ignore, not knowing why Sirius was angry to begin with. "Kylie has already helped me on one of my projects, it's your turn to help me now." Sirius gave him a quizzical look, but said nothing. "I need your opinion on the question that I've been trying to answer for the last two hours."
"Go on." Sirius urged, intrigued.
Harry gave a look to the Horcruxes and sighed. "Should I use the time to preserve these precious objects or should I just destroy them completely, like I did Slytherin's locket?"
"What do you mean by 'use the time?'" Sirius asked, trying to gain more information so he could better answer the question.
"I know of a way to strip them of the soul inside by use of a potion, but in order to complete that potion, I need a really rare ingredient. However, while I'm searching for this ingredient, as well as trying to find Voldemort's last Horcrux, I'm using precious time when I could just destroy the ones I have and not waste any more time." Harry answered, trying to explain the situation.
"Tell me, by trying to find this ingredient, are you being pulled from your search for the last Horcrux? Is it taking away your time from that endeavor?" Sirius inquired in a knowing tone.
"Not really." Harry answered after a moment's thought.
"Then what's the point of just destroying these objects? I presume we will not defeat Voldemort permanently without that last Horcrux, correct?" Sirius reasoned, though he admittedly had limited knowledge about the Horcrux situation in the first place. "So you're truly not wasting time if you haven't found that Horcrux yet, are you? What would be the difference between destroying them now or destroying them after finding that Horcrux that you're looking for?"
"I guess you're right." Harry replied tentatively, having never seen it like that. As long as it wasn't detracting him from finding the last Horcrux, it made no difference if he used some of his time to find the venom and concoct the potion.
"I know I am." Sirius grinned. "What is the other Horcrux, anyway?"
"I believe it's the cup of Hufflepuff." Harry pointed to a drawn picture of Helga Hufflepuff that was in a history of magic book that he had opened off to the side; the witch had her golden chalice in her hands, and wore a jolly smile on her plump face. "Its ironic, really, that Zacharias Smith, you know one of the Death Eaters that died?" Sirius nodded, so he continued. "Well, Zacharias Smith was related to Hepzibah Smith, the woman Voldemort conned out of the cup many years ago. They are direct descendents of Hufflepuff, the Smiths I mean, and to know that their family heirloom is the last thing that Voldemort has hidden from me is just funny, since it was Zacharias who always said I wouldn't be able to find what I was looking for back in Hogwarts."
Sirius cocked an eyebrow at what Harry had said. "What were you looking for?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't know what I was looking for, but he was specifically talking about me supposedly wanting to be pureblooded. He was basically saying that I'd always be scum, no matter what I did, just because I am a half-blood."
"Yet he's the one that's dead." Sirius drawled, knowing that it was probably insensitive but not really caring.
"Yeah, but…" Harry sighed, and Sirius moved closer to him, worried for his godson.
"What's wrong?" Sirius asked concernedly.
Harry looked down at the wood floor, and when he spoke his voice was soft and sounded nervous. "Nothing, its just that, well, I worry about not being able to find that last Horcrux."
"I'll help you, we'll find it together." Sirius assured him, putting his hand on Harry's knee and giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Its not just that." Harry admitted, meeting Sirius' gaze. "Another one of my fears is that I have become too fond of these objects. I should just destroy them, I know, but…I can't. Their history, proof of the Founders' greatness, the wizard inside of me can't just tarnish them like that. I'm just glad that Nymphie didn't wear the tiara more than she did, because I think she would be more attached to it than anything else in this world, barring myself, of course."
Sirius bit his lip at that, not understanding what would be the big deal with becoming attached to them. "What happens if you get too attached to it?"
"The piece of soul that's within can slip out and overcome you, bending you to its will." Harry answered knowingly. That was an ability of the Horcruxes that was extremely powerful, and very well could create another Voldemort. "A possession of sorts, you could say." He added as he stood up and stretched.
"Wow." Sirius muttered, thinking about the implications of such an ability as that.
"Come, I want you to see something." Harry motioned for Sirius to follow him.
They both walked over to the corner where a trunk was sitting, and with a pop, Harry opened the trunk up. He jumped down into the chamber below, and moved off to the side so Sirius could land. When Sirius did finally jump in, his eyes were met with a beautifully decorated chamber, with marvelous images all around. His gaze roamed all around the room, trying to take in every inch of it.
The room was alight with torches that hung on the wall, burning with a green flame that was as bright as the green of Harry's eyes. In each of the four corners were four marble-like pillars, with big words engraved in them, like crevices in the stone: Storge, Agape, Philia, and Eros. Across from the entrance on the other side of the room, there was a mural of an Azkaban-like castle, a fortress, it was tall and constructed from black stone; it created shadows in the forefront of the picture, as the sky in the background magically flashed with lightning. On the floor, the carpet was a mural too, showing five pyramids located in a desert, each one bigger than the last; they all looked to be made of rock, and were placed in a sea of golden sand.
"Apparently, Dumbledore jokingly called this room the chamber of the forgotten names. It was the place he went to late at night when he felt alone or lonely; it comforted him. I've read a few of the books that are in the bookshelves, just as Dumbledore had done during his lifetime. It seems that he learned a lot from a man named Pyramidas Furmat, one of the first curse breakers of Gringotts that spent most of his time in Egypt. Hence the carpet," Harry laughed, pointing down to the floor.
"So this was Dumbledore's trunk?" Sirius questioned, as he ran a hand over the fortress of shadows mural.
"No, it was actually Nicholas Flamel's, but it was given to Dumbledore as a gift when he took over as the Headmaster of Hogwarts." Harry corrected, watching as Sirius studied everything. "I've only come in here three or four times, but not in a few weeks."
Sirius nodded, and walked in a circle around the chamber, scanning the place with his steady gaze. "Why the pillars of love? Or the Green flame torches?"
"The pillars are symbolism for love being able to hold up anyone or anything, every type of love has that ability: storge, or the love of a parent to a child; agape, or the general love shared between people; philia, the love between friends; and eros, the love shared between lovers." Harry recited, as if he had read a manual for the architecture of the room or something. "The torches? I have no idea what they're about, but I know the fortress is known as the Fortress of Shadows, a hypothetical castle where evil rules over all." Harry then gestured to the other side of the chamber, where the desk held a pensieve. "I wanted you to see this."
Sirius' eyes narrowed onto the pensieve, specifically the writing that went around the opening of the stone basin; in loopy, archaic cursive, it read: The Chariot of Light. He cocked an eyebrow towards Harry, wondering what it meant on the pensieve. "The Chariot of Light?"
"Exactly," Harry nodded. "This wasn't the pensieve that Dumbledore usually used, the one that was located in his office before his death. This one is positively ancient, maybe even older than the oldest tomes that I have in my library, some of which are a thousand years old."
"I have no idea what it means on this, Harry," Sirius said, running a hand over the runes. "But the Chariot of Light was, according to legend, a group of wizards and witches that fought against a Dark Wizard in the 1500s. In a way, it's sort of like a precursor to the Order of the Phoenix."
Harry blinked at the information, wondering why he had never known about that. "I've never heard of them."
"I read about them when I was younger. There's a book in my house library about them if you ever want to read it." Sirius responded with a shrug. "Its interesting that they would be on this pensieve, though. This isn't the pensieve you normally use, is it? I've never noticed it before."
"No, its not. The one I normally use is upstairs in my quidditch room. Dumbledore gave me that one when I became of age. This one," Harry gestured to the stone basin in front of him. "Was here in the trunk when I first came down here, set up by Dumbledore to react when I first got here. But this isn't his, either, so it's quite strange."
"Perhaps its symbolizes something like everything else in this place. Perhaps Dumbledore left this specific pensieve for you to make you remember that you are fighting the good fight, fighting for something that is noble and honorable, and most of all, you're fighting for what is right." Sirius mused out loud, wondering what it was that Harry was looking for. He noticed that Harry was confused lately, as if he was trying to find answers to unasked questions.
"Did this Chariot of Light win their battle? Did they defeat the Dark Lord they were up against?" Harry asked Sirius, showing that he wasn't the all-knowing wizard that most thought he was; for once since Sirius has known him, he was actually acting his age.
"We're here right now, aren't we?" Sirius shrugged, and the pair went silent at that. They left Harry's home soon after that, going to the Leaky Cauldron for a meal and a drink.
The Dark Lord Voldemort strolled through the stone halls of the basement of Riddle Manor, his headquarters until he could conquer Hogwarts. After all, in his megalomaniac mind, there was no place on Earth other than Hogwarts that would be a suitable seat of power for him. But tonight he was not thinking about his plans for after he conquered Hogwarts, instead he was pondering on how to break the wards protecting the ancient school. His spider-like fingers were held up to his chin, and his eyes were staring at the ground as he walked, seemingly in deep concentration. As he entered his throne room, the Death Eaters that he had summoned bowed towards him, not daring or stupid enough to meet his gaze.
"I have heard some things throughout my travels." Voldemort began as Nagini slithered out of the shadows and circled around her master. "That my Death Eaters have been failing, that they have gotten more of our numbers caught. Travers, take a step forward."
A tall and thin wizard, wearing long black robes, inched out of the circle and closer to the Dark Lord. "Yes, my lord?"
"You were put in charge of your comrades by Lord Voldemort since Quirrell and Crouch are both busy right now, is that correct?"
Travers took a deep breath, fear rising in his belly. "…Yes, my lord."
Voldemort turned his back on Travers, taking a minute to find his thoughts. "And as such, it was you who ordered the raid upon that muggle village, was it not?"
"Again, yes, my lord." Travers replied, bracing himself to be punished. He knew that the Cruciatus curse would be coming soon, he only hoped that he wouldn't die after it, as well.
Voldemort whipped his head towards Travers, gripping his wand tightly in his hand, though he did not seem as angry as he normally would be. "What did your silly raid accomplish, Travers? It got more of you caught and, worse yet, Rookwood is now dead. He was twice the wizard you will ever be. " He stared at Travers for a lingering moment, and then ran his gaze down to the floor.
"I'm sorry, my lord. We did kill muggles, though, and that can never be a bad thing, can it?" Voldemort was looking down at the ground, seemingly so lost in his thoughts that he had not even heard what Travers had said. "My lord?"
"Oh, right." Voldemort sneered. "Next time, use the Dementors, that's what the beasts are for." He then rounded on a group of eight Death Eaters who were bowing down in front of him, their gaze firmly on their master's feet. "And you, I thought you were my most loyal? I thought you braved Azkaban, along with Travers here, for a purpose?"
"We did, my lord." They all said in unison; Bellatrix Lestrange was on the far right, and Antonin Dolohov was on the far left—in between them were Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Mulciber, Gibbon, the Elder Avery, and finally Jugson. Out of the twelve that had been in Azkaban while Voldemort was in hiding, only one had been either killed or captured so far and that was Augustus Rookwood, who had been killed by Harry just days beforehand.
"You fools! You're weaker than the rest of these idiots." He gestured around the stone room, pointing at the newer Death Eaters who weren't of the same quality as his older Death Eaters. "What was the point of me releasing you from Azkaban if the prison zapped away your powers and your knowledge?" Voldemort hissed, as his eyes were burning with the hatred he felt. "And you, Bellatrix, you haven't been the same since Potter hit you with his silly little curse all those months ago. I should kill you for being so weak."
"Please, my lord." Bellatrix pleaded, her violet eyes wide with fear. She could feel her position within the ranks slipping minute by minute, a fact that made her hate Harry Potter more than anybody in the world. He made her weak, made her have to depend upon her husband, something she didn't like doing and never would. "I feel my magic returning to me each and every day, it'll be completely back soon, I know it."
"It better be." Voldemort looked around his circle, counting the numbers: twenty-four. Then there's Pettigrew, Crouch, Quirrell, Macnair, and Greyback, all of whom are out on a mission, he thought to himself. Rookwood and Smith are dead; the Malfoys have defected in terror; Selwyn, Scabior and Rowle have all been captured; plus, there are all the other lowly and nameless Death Eaters who have been casualties in this war, too pathetic for me to even remember their names, he continued his musing, but now it seems that our numbers will not be enough.
Without saying another word, Voldemort turned and left the room, walking down a hallway before entering a small, stone chamber. There, in the corner, chained to the wall, was a silver-haired man, who was dirtied and on the verge of death. "No." The old man said, trying to move away from the Dark Lord.
"He was not there as you said he would be, Ollivander." Voldemort growled, his wand held tightly in his right hand. He looked down at the wretched wizard that was in front of him, disgust written all over his pale and snake-like face. "You lied! Lord Voldemort does not take being lied to lightly."
"No, no, I didn't!" Ollivander pleaded, his silver eyes wide with fright. "Anything you want to know, I'll tell you."
"Where is it, Ollivander? Where is it, tell me now!" Voldemort yelled, his anger radiating around the small room that served as a prison of sorts.
"Gregorovitch might know." Ollivander said quickly, trying to think about what he knew. "There was a rumor a century ago, supposedly spread around by him personally, saying that he was trying to replicate its powers. Gregorovitch, he'll know. I beg you, spare me, spare me, please." Ollivander begged, not wanting to die.
"For now." Voldemort spat, turning around and exciting the room.
Harry awoke in a sweat, his breathing heavy and his arms shaking. He didn't know why it happened, for his Occlumency shields were up and working, but he had somehow entered Voldemort's mind once again. He could still feel Voldemort's emotions, his anger and his disappointment; he somehow knew that Voldemort was trying to figure something out at that precise moment. He did not know what it was that Voldemort was looking for, but if he were to bet on it, he'd wager that it was the Elder Wand.
Meanwhile, Nymphadora opened up her left eye—for she was laying on her right said, facing Harry—and watched her husband. She didn't want him to know that she had woken up, in the hopes that he would lay back down and fall asleep again. She noticed the sweat that was on his forehead, and wondered just what it was that he had seen. In truth, Harry rarely ever slept peacefully, though he didn't know anything about it; she never told him about how he always tossed and turned, mumbling all the while. A confused look popped onto her face, however, as Harry hissed something in parseltongue, which was something he hadn't done in awhile, specifically since before the return of Voldemort. She didn't know what he said, but figured it was nothing as he laid back down and quickly returned to sleep. She sighed and continued to stare at Harry as he slept, wondering just what it was that was on his mind.
The next day, Harry and Nymphadora entered 12 Grimmauld Place in time for the Order meeting that was to start a half an hour later. A few people were sitting in the kitchen, drinking butterbeer and discussing various unimportant things; they all said their greetings to the pair. Tonks stayed and talked with them while Harry continued on past them to the staircase and descended down into the basement. He spotted the man he was looking for and smiled, hoping to hear what he wanted to hear. "Mundungus, can I speak with you for a moment?" Harry said, walking down the stairs and heading towards the shady wizard sitting by the fireplace, smoking his pipe.
Mundungus Fletcher had been away for most of the war, having fled the country in fear of being arrested for impersonating an Inferi. He had just returned the other day, and had immediately reclaimed his position within the Order, knowing that he had information about the black market that no one else did. Harry had accepted him back with no questions, understanding that in spite of all his bad characteristics, he was loyal to the cause; plus, Harry saw many uses for the ginger-haired wizard.
"You can, sure, I say." Mundungus replied, turning towards Harry. "Is it about those cauldrons that I have for sale, top quality they are. Got them from a shipment of Goblins just the other day, I did."
Harry shook his head, trying to decipher what it was Mundungus had said. He had a strange way of speaking that often confused those around him, but he didn't seem to notice, or perhaps he just didn't care. "I was wondering, would you be able to get Acromantula venom? I know you have certain sources that might be able to help me."
"Acromantula, you say?" Mundungus gave Harry a curious glance, taking another puff of his pipe all the while. His eyes seemingly changed from the way they were before, taking on a more serious look that Harry had never witnessed from them before. "I don't believe I can get that for you, Harry. Even if I could, it would be incredibly expensive depending on how much you would want or need. Acromantula venom is especially rare, with the only real chance of getting it being in Asia."
Harry cocked an eyebrow at the change of demeanor that he saw in Mundungus, having never known about this side of the man. Thinking back, he said to himself, I suppose this is why Albus trusted him so much. "Thanks anyway, Mundungus."
"Aye." Mundungus nodded, keeping his gaze on Harry's back as he walked away. "What would that boy need with Acromantula venom?" He whispered to himself.
"There's no one else." Harry muttered, taking his seat at the head of the table. His face was crestfallen and sad, showing the disappointment that he felt inside. "Unless, somehow, Hagrid could possibly help me. He always liked those dangerous beasts back in Hogwarts, maybe he knows a thing or two."
He knew that Hagrid would not be at the meeting as the man stayed on the Hogwarts ground all of the time. He was afraid that without Dumbledore there, the school was open for attack and as such, he guarded it every waking minute. He had even given up his class to further provide safety for the school, allowing Professor Grubby-Plank to take over for the time being. So after the meeting ended, he made his way over to Hogwarts with Nymphadora, needing to talk to Hagrid as soon as possible.
The pair made walked up to the gates of the school, and Harry took out his wand and sent a silver stag over to Hagrid's hut. Like he had when Harry first came to Hogwarts looking for an Acromantula, the half-giant came over and opened the gates for them, greeting them jovially with a smile. "Good to see you again, 'Arry. And it's always a pleasure, Tonks."
"Same to you, Hagrid. We've missed you at the meetings." Tonks pleasantly replied, having always enjoyed the half-giant's company.
"Yeah, but with Dumbledore gone, I don't feel comfortable leavin'." Hagrid returned, giving her a small, halfhearted smile. He deeply missed Dumbledore, and felt that the school wasn't the same without him. "So what can I do for ya, 'Arry?"
"Well," Harry said, as Hagrid closed the gates behind them and the trio began walking up the path that led to both the school and Hagrid's hut. "I came to ask if you could get me Acromantula venom. I need it for something that I have to do for the Order."
"Acromantual venom, you say, eh? Well, 'Arry, that'll be hard, as ever since Aragog died, the colony does not speak to me. I have no control over them than the normal person does. I could capture one for you, however, if it'll help the Order. Although," Hagrid said, running a hand through his long beard.
"What? What is it, Hagrid?" Harry questioned, hoping the half-giant had thought of something useful. He knew the rumors were true, that there was a colony of Acromantulas in the Forbidden forest, but he never imagined that Hagrid was connected to them in any way.
"Oh, right, 'Arry," Hagrid shook his head, apparently forgetting that either Harry or Tonks was there. "Years ago, I helped nurse one of Aragog's sons back to health, he was sick with a disease only they can catch. Perhaps, Gignea, I think his name was, remembers me and will be willing to help."
For the first time all day, Harry was filled with hope. "See what you can do, Hagrid." Harry nodded, patting him on the small of his back; it was the only place he could reach. "Thanks for all of your help."
"Don't mention it, 'Arry." Hagrid grinned, running a hand through Harry's hair and messing it up as if he was a child. Hagrid then offered them both a cup of tea, which the couple gladly accepted, knowing that Hagrid would be heartbroken or sad if they didn't. Plus, Harry figured, he owed it to Hagrid for helping him out with his Acromantula problem.
It was an hour later that Harry and Tonks were walking out of the gates of Hogwarts, holding hands as the wind picked up around them, making them both shiver in response. "Can I ask you something, Harry?" Nymphadora said lowly, giving her husband a look.
"Sure." Harry nodded, moving his gaze over to her.
"Why are you so obsessed with saving those relics? Why not just destroy them." She questioned, interested in why he was working so hard on the subject.
Harry sighed, not out of anger or grief, instead he was just trying to release the stress that had built up inside of him. "Its history, Nymphie, that's why. Voldemort has taken so much from me, from the world, I will not allow him to take these artifacts from us, because if I do, then he wins no matter what."
"I guess I can understand that." Tonks nodded slowly, then flashed him a large smile, loving that they were spending so much time together. Usually one of them was busy, which prevented them from seeing each other a lot, but today they were both off and had promised one another that they would share the day together.
"Plus," Harry added with a wry grin. "I want to be able to give the tiara to our daughter or daughter-in-law on her wedding day some time in the future."
"The daughter that I am naming, correct?" Tonks stuck her tongue out at him. "Don't think you're getting out of that deal we made, Mr. Potter. I give the name to our daughters and you give the name to our boys, remember?"
"I wouldn't dream of changing our deal, Mrs. Potter." Harry replied professionally, trying to hide the smile that was creeping onto his face. He wrapped his arms around his wife and with a small pop, the pair was gone from the streets of Hogsmeade, returning to their home in western Wales.
In the Death Eaters quarters, Rabastan Lestrange was laying on top of his bed when he heard a tap at the window. Looking over, he saw an owl perched next to the window, so he got up and popped open the window. The owl stuck out its leg and Rabastan took the parchment that was rolled around it, and then watched as the owl took off once again. Looking down at the piece of parchment, he cocked an eyebrow in wonder of who it was that was writing to him: he had no friends that would go out of their way to write to him, and the only would who ever did was his ex-wife Solange.
The letter was short and to the point, and was scrawled in red ink. It read: Meet me at this address at 6:30. Underneath the script was an address of a building in Manchester, quite the distance away from where Rabastan was. Rabastan had no idea who it was from, as he didn't recognize the handwriting, but in his heart he hoped it was Despereaux. Had his son finally given in and was willing to meet him at long last? Did he want to talk to him for some reason; perhaps he was he in trouble?
He looked down at his pocket watch, and cursed when he saw it was six o'clock already. He quickly got ready to leave, and then threw on a jacket, grabbed his wand, and exited the house, apparating away as soon as he could. He arrived near the address just moments later, and looked around at his environment; he realized that he was about a block away from the number of the building he had to be at. He walked down the street, reading the numbers that passed with each building, and then gave a smile when he arrived at the place he was told to be at. It was what seemed to be an abandoned restaurant, with an alley right next to it that housed a few garbage cans and a dumpster.
"I didn't think you would come." Despereaux Barnaud said from the shadows as he took a step out of the alleyway. "I decided not to sign it just in case it got intercepted by someone."
Rabastan's heart jumped at the sight of his son, and for the first time in a long while, he felt joy. "Very few people within the Death Eater circle know who you are, Despereaux. Really only Bellatrix and Rodolphus would be able to point you out. Not even the Dark Lord knows about you."
"Is it true?" Despereaux questioned, looking at his father. Next to one another, they looked so similar, both with dark eyes and straw colored hair, and the same skinny frame. "What Neville told me? That you've been helping him out."
"I don't know what you mean." Rabastan stated, not giving any signs that he was lying.
"It's a yes or no answer." Despereaux demanded, wanting the truth.
"No, it's not true." Rabastan replied with a shrug. "I have no idea what you're talking about, son."
"Don't call me that." Despereaux growled, angrily. He knew his father wasn't telling him the truth; he just had no idea why. "Why are you lying to me?"
Rabastan looked down the street for a brief moment, where a muggle was loading up his car with boxes, and then looked at Despereaux in the eyes. "I am a Death Eater, its what we do."
"Oh, then other Death Eaters save members of the Order of the Phoenix from certain death, as well?" Despereaux mocked, seeing the fault in Rabastan's logic. "Other Death Eaters attack Thorfinn Rowle so badly that he's still in St. Mungo's, unable to even string together a understandable sentence?"
Rabastan gave a small smirk as the memory of Thorfinn Rowle squirming on the ground came into his mind. "Who did that?" He questioned, stoically.
Despereaux tapped his foot on the ground, wanting his father to stop acting the way he was. "Longbottom has no reason to lie to me about this. I know it was you who attacked Thorfinn Rowle that night at Lilyre Moon's house."
"Neville Longbottom is imagining things, son." Rabastan replied gently, losing the even nature that his voice had before. "I'm sure he's deeply disturbed by what, well, by what he witnessed as a child, and as such, his mind is not right."
"Mother was right, you are too much of a coward to go against your brother." Despereaux spat, a mix of anger and sadness overcoming him. For the first time in his life, he hated his father not for what he had done in the past but what he couldn't do in the present. "You won't even admit that you've been helping out Neville because you're so afraid of him."
"Cowardice has nothing to do with it, Despereaux." Rabastan shot back, taken being called a coward to heart.
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." Despereaux growled, and with a loud crack, he disapparated from the scene. Rabastan released a deep sigh and stared at the retreating sun, knowing that he did the right thing by lying to his son. He continued to watch the sunset, and when it passed, he apparated back to his room, knowing that there would be another Death Eater meeting later that night that was to be led by Quirrell as Voldemort had left the country that morning for parts of the world unknown.
There was an attack by Dementors on a human village near London that same night. Unfortunately, no one could get there in time to stop the foul beasts from sucking the souls out of over twenty people. This was part of a recent string of attacks from Dementors, seemingly taking the place of the Death Eater raids. No one in the Order knew why the Dementors were attacking as such, they just hoped that they would be able to get there next time and help out the muggles, who were at such a disadvantage because they couldn't even see the foul beasts that were attacking them.
Kingsley had just finished his report on the Dementor attacks at the meeting the next day, all of the members seemingly disgusted by what they had heard. "Too bad Rapturors aren't still around." Harry muttered, shaking his head at the thought of Dementors. "They'd be able to show those Dementors a thing or two." He said as he scrawled something on a piece of parchment.
"What?" Neville questioned, cocking an eyebrow. He had no idea what a 'Rapturor' was, and the idea of Dementors being shown a thing or two intrigued him greatly. Ever since he was a child and had heard the stories around Azkaban, the disgusting beings or monsters had always spooked him.
"Never mind." Harry waved off what he said, distractedly; he meant nothing of his statements. Then, getting a sense of being watched, he looked around the table, noticing he had everyone's attention; they all looked confused, yet somewhat curious. "Fine," He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "A Rapturor is a being, beast, whatever, that used to exist a little over a thousand years ago. They were the complete antithesis of Dementors, and as such, they were each other's mortal enemies. Where as Dementors bring on coldness, depression, sadness, fear, and loss of hope, Rapturors brought about contentment, satiation, satisfaction, extreme happiness, and indolence. They basically killed you with happiness, and they wrecked havoc on the world and fought a bitter fight against humanity and the Dementors."
"What's wrong with happiness?" Questioned Dedalus Diggle, as if the very thought of people not being happy repulsed him.
"Nothing, but too much happiness, too much complacency makes you want to give up. They, supposedly, would put you in such a state of euphoria, for you saw all your dreams and desires come true when they were around, that you didn't want to do anything but revel in it, and you would go catatonic as a result. Imagine having all of your ambition zapped away from you, and that's what you'd get when a Rapturor came around." Harry answered, seriously, knowing the repercussions of having no will or desire to live.
"What happened to these Rapturors?" Charlie Weasley inquired, interested in learning more. He was fascinated with magical beasts and animals of all kinds, and as a Dragon tamer, he experienced a wide assortment of magical beasts, more so than almost any other profession in the world.
"Well," Harry shrugged, trying to remember what Dumbledore had taught him all those years ago. Not many wizards or witches knew about Rapturors, and those that did rarely ever spoke about them; in that way, they were kind of like Horcrux lore, all but forgotten and unknown to the general public. "Being the enemy of the Dementors, those two species would always fight. And, in the end, the Dementors won and destroyed them. You must know that they were each other's opposites: where as Dementors are black cloak-like and appear in dank, dark places, Rapturors were white and silver cloak-like and appeared in blindingly bright places. Dementors can suck a soul out of a body, and, or legends says, Rapturors could put souls back in the body—though, I don't believe that myself. Legend also says that when a Dementor used its kiss against a Rapturor, they'd either be destroyed or transformed into a Dementor. Also, apparently Rapturors loved the snow because it reflected the sun, making it like heaven to them. Finally, when they would breed it would become hot and muggy, meanwhile, when Dementors do, it becomes cold and foggy."
"Silver and cloak-like," The Ravenclaw Terry Boot murmured, losing himself in thought. "Is that why Patronuses are silver?" He wondered out loud, the excitement at learning more about these Rapturors radiating off of him. While he had been friends with Harry during their Hogwarts days, and had even attended the man's bachelor party and wedding, they had not gotten together in awhile, and he was beginning to think that Harry didn't like him anymore.
"Maybe," Harry shrugged, not really knowing.
"Speaking of Patronuses, how would you stop a Rapturor from doing what it did?" Bill Weasley questioned, erupting a string of nods that showed many people wanted to know the answer to that question.
"That I don't know, though I do know that it's like a Patronus, but instead of good and happy memories, you put in all your hate and anger." Harry replied, honestly. "But don't think they were good just because they were the opposite of Dementors; no, in fact, they were just as evil, greedy, and foul. You would probably be able to get them to help you, though, because they hated Dementors more than they wanted humans."
Many of the Order members began muttering to the people next to them, and Harry, knowing that there was nothing else do discuss for the day, concluded the meeting. Many of the members such as Elphias Doge and Dedalus Diggle began to filter out, leaving only a handful of people who were staying for lunch. There were around ten people in the room, including Harry, and five of them were at the head of the table.
"Bill, can I speak with you for a second?" Harry asked as Bill headed for the stairs up to the kitchen, presumably to ask Dobby for something specific for lunch.
"Of course, Harry." Bill replied, stepping over to where Harry was sitting.
Harry stayed silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts, before he began. "I need you to find the name of Tom Riddle in Gringotts' records." Harry said, lowly, not wanting Sturgis Podmore and his friend, Terry Boot, from hearing what he was saying. "I need you to find out if he's ever had a vault within the bank."
"Okay," Bill replied. "Any reason why?" He questioned, having never heard the name before. Though, with what was happening around the wizarding world, he knew it was somehow connected, for Harry wouldn't waste time if it weren't.
Harry looked up at Bill, giving the man a small smile. "It's like Dumbledore once told me: very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. He sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy at Hogwarts." Harry recited, remembering the conversation that he had with Albus during his seventh year as if it was yesterday.
All those near to him—George and Bill Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Sirius Black, and Terry Boot, who had barely heard Harry over his conversation with Podmore—cocked an eyebrow, confused. They knew Harry was working on something, something that would hopefully end the war against Voldemort, but what could the Dark Lord possibly have in his vault? Was it really, truly efficient to look in Gringotts, instead of doing something else? Knowing that he wouldn't tell, even if they questioned why, they decided to drop it, trusting that Harry knew what he was doing. And Harry did know what he was doing: he was going to break into Gringotts Wizarding Bank.
AN: Here is a list of Death Eaters and Order members, in case you were interested or have forgotten. The Death Eaters are listed in terms of rank, with the highest at the beginning and the lowest at the end. The Order members are in no specific order.
Deatheaters: Crouch, Quirrell, Pettigrew, Bellatrix, Travers, Dolohov, Rodolphus, Macnair, Gibbon, Avery (the father), Snape, Rabastan, Mulciber, Jugson, the Carrows (2), the Crabbes (2), the Goyles (2), Stephen Cornfoot, Rosier, Kylie, the Notts, Greyback, Yaxley, Avery (the son), Marcus Flint, Graham Montague, Pansy Parkinson, and Cade Warrington.
Dead or captured: Rookwood, Zacharias Smith, Thorfinn Rowle, Selwyn, and Scabior.
Defected: Draco, Lucius, and Narcissa Malfoy.
Spies/disloyal: Kylie, Snape, and Rosier.
The Order: Harry, Tonks, Remus, Sirius, Cedric, Hermione, Viktor, Bill and Charlie Weasley, Fred and George Weasley, Kingsley, Severus Snape, Hestia Jones, Emmeline Vance, Kylie, Mundungus Fletcher, Sturgis Podmore, Boderick Bode, Dedalus Diggle, Elphias Doge, Terry Boot, Gaetana Robards, Wayne Hopkins, Lilyre Moon, Aberforth Dumbledore, Despereaux Barnaud and Neville Longbottom.
Dead or inactive: Dumbledore, Roger, Hagrid, and McGonagall.
Disloyal member: Tynan Davis.