A/N: Howdy everyone! Early posting this week since I am out this weekend. Tomorrow is my birthday - yay me!
While I'm sure it probably doesn't need to be said... Fair warning that this chapter is pretty much the lowest point for Harry...
Check out the HAPHNE discord #fanart for the illustrations from my wife. As always, thank you to those who review, favorite, follow and PM! See you next week!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Just happy to be here!
Chapter 21
Daphne's mind barely registered the triumphant twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes at the resurrection of Voldemort. Had she not been so overwhelmed with emotions, then she may have contemplated the significance behind it more. Her mind, however, was focused on the outright lie her father had just told Harry.
Greengrass family magic had nothing to do with the mind arts.
But Harry didn't know that.
"Daph," Astoria rasped. "Is what… *wheeze*… Father said… *cough* …true?"
"No," Daphne spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.
"Fuck," Astoria swore vehemently before taking in a shaky breath.
Daphne nodded. That pretty much summed up her thoughts.
A coup de grâce if there ever was one, Daphne thought numbly. Father implanted the idea that I've been playing Harry all this time. That I'm some kind of master Legillimens…
On screen, Cyrus Greengrass, her father, draped a robe on the Dark Lord who slowly stepped out of the cauldron.
All I've been is a tool to be used, Daphne's vision blurred through her tears. Obliviations, compulsions, and whatever the hell father did that allowed Draco to control my emotions.
Daphne felt Astoria's hand clasp her own, giving her some measure of comfort. Merlin, she loved her little sister now more than ever.
Tori is right, I was fighting what they were doing. I saw it in my eyes when I watched myself tell Harry to win the tournament. She winced at the thought. Harry didn't interpret it that way though, how could he have known?
As Voldemort began speaking on screen, Daphne chewed her bottom lip worriedly and squeezed Astoria's hand with all her might. She remembered vividly the scars Harry had displayed in the Potions class.
And she was about to witness how he received them.
-GU-
"My wand," Voldemort held out his bony, chalk-colored hand.
Wormtail, whimpering and trembling while cradling his bleeding stump of an arm, held out his master's wand. Voldemort retrieved it from his minion at a languid pace, clearly relishing his newly reformed body.
"Your arm," Voldemort instructed casually, as if his servant wasn't bleeding out before him.
"T-Thank y-you, my Lord," Wormtail practically prostrated himself on the ground as he held out his stump.
"Your other arm!" Voldemort's soft voice cut through the air like a hot knife through butter.
"P-Please," Wormtail muttered as he genuflected.
Agitated, Voldemort reached down and grabbed Wormtail's remaining wrist and quickly revealed the Dark Mark. When the Dark Lord's wand touched the mark, Wormtail moaned in pain.
Harry watched Voldemort toss Wormtail to the ground and turn away, almost as if expecting company. Seconds later, several figures began apparating into the graveyard, all in midnight black robes and silver masks. Voldemort's Death Eater's were answering his summons.
A small semi-circle formed around Voldemort, who paced like a lion stalking his prey. Several of the Death Eater's shifted nervously, and Cyrus casually stepped into line at the end of the semi-circle, a smirk in place.
"So few have come," Voldemort noted with a casual tilt of his head. "I find myself… disappointed."
Almost faster than Harry could follow, the Dark Lord strode forward and ripped the mask off Lucius Malfoy before continuing down the line, revealing several notable people, Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Nott, Avery, Macnair, and Rookwood being the most prominent of them. Each was pale and sweating heavily.
"When I told you that I, only I, had delved further into magic than any before me, did you doubt?" Voldemort hissed dangerously. "When you thought me defeated by a mere child, did you secretly rejoice?"
"My Lord," Lucius swallowed heavily. "If we had but a sign…"
"There were signs, Lucius, my slippery friend," Voldemort's rebuttal was like a whip cracking. Malfoy Sr. flinched visibly. "Lord Voldemort rewards those who are faithful, my friends," he continued softly. "And my most faithful shall be rewarded, once they are set free."
Harry felt his vision darkening as he watched with morbid fascination. His scar was throbbing painfully, making his head feel as if it would split open at any moment. His arm was bleeding profusely and every motion as Harry struggled against his bonds sent shockwaves of pain throughout his body. The ropes binding him were tight and bit into his skin painfully, refusing to slacken.
"Ah, young Harry, I almost forgot you were here."
Harry's vision cleared to see Voldemort standing less than a foot away, his red eyes boring into Harry's emerald greens. A chorus of laughter echoed from the semi-circle of Death Eaters. Not one dared to move unless commanded.
"Shall I tell you of my defeat that night, my friends?" Voldemort scowled. "Shall I tell you how a mere babe nearly destroyed the great Lord Voldemort?"
Silence met his questions.
"It was old, ancient magic," Voldemort's voice, soft and lethal, radiated with power and authority. "Magic, I had long forgotten, disregarded even." He clenched his fist in agitation. "But no matter. I, as I always shall, have overcome such pitiful defenses."
The Dark Lord stepped forward and placed a single finger on Harry's scar. The pain was worse than any Crucio Harry had suffered previously. He was positive his head was going to explode any second. With every agonizing scream, Voldemort mocked and laughed giddily, as if Harry's screams fueled the hate he carried for the boy.
"I can touch him now!" Voldemort exclaimed triumphantly. "So much for the power of love that the muggle-loving fool spouts so often!"
Finally, Voldemort pulled his hand away and Harry sagged forward, his head spinning, nearly delirious with the pain.
"You did well, getting him here, Cyrus," Voldemort praised, his eyes still focused solely on his nemesis. "You and your daughter shall be rewarded handsomely. Lord Voldemort always rewards those who please him."
"You do me great honor, my Lord," Cyrus placed his hand over his heart and bowed low.
He's lying! Harry thought in despair. Daphne can't-
"Ah, young love," Voldemort sneered. "It turns even the greatest of our kind into fools."
Harry's head snapped to the side as Voldemort backhanded him, hard. He saw stars, his mind echoed with agony, and he swore he heard a thunderclap from the magic Voldemort put into the blow. He felt his consciousness begin to slip.
"Now, now, Harry," Voldemort chided. "You cannot be leaving us so quickly."
Pain coursed through every nerve as the Dark Lord's Crucio revealed to Harry what true agony was. It went on for what felt like hours, and Harry screamed through every second of it.
"Much better!" Voldemort smiled savagely as he ended the torture.
Harry felt Voldemort smash into his mental shields like a tidal wave. Overwhelmed, off-guard, and barely lucid, Harry succumbed to the onslaught, allowing Voldemort access to his mind and memories. Once satisfied, the Dark Lord retreated and turned once more toward Cyrus.
"Devious!" He praised, clearly pleased. "Yes, Cyrus, you shall be rewarded greatly." Rounding back on Harry, Voldemort practically slithered forward until he was inches from Harry, who was gasping for air through the haze of pain.
"It would seem young Potter has proven more challenging than some of you anticipated," Voldemort addressed his minions as he appraised Harry. "Some of your failures are," he paused, searching for the right word, "monumental."
The Dark Lord struck like a cobra, turning on his heel and sending Lucius Malfoy writhing to his knees as, faster than he could register, Voldemort's cruciatus curse hit him. As Lucius screamed, Voldemort's rage manifested in his tone.
"Do you have any idea what you have lost?!" Voldemort doubled down on his curse and Lucius kicked and twitched on the ground until, mercifully, Voldemort ceased his punishment. "You disappoint me, Lucius, old friend," Voldemort tutted and shook his head.
"M-My L-Lord," Lucius choked out. "G-Give m-me a c-chance."
"You shall have your chance for redemption," Voldemort's eyes narrowed to slits. "The reason you still breathe is that you are far more useful alive than dead. Your work in the ministry has been… commendable."
Each Death Eater took a single step back as Voldemort's gaze fixed on them. "Each of you shall suffer," Voldemort promised, "for your failure to seek me out and believe a mere babe could defeat me."
"I.- I sought you," Wormtail whimpered from his place on the ground.
"Out of fear!" Voldemort spat then paused. "But you have proven useful," Voldemort mused aloud and waved his wand, gifting Pettigrew with a new silver arm.
"Thank you, my Lord!" Wormtail prostrated himself.
Voldemort stepped over the Worm and did not acknowledge him further.
"Harry Potter will die tonight," Voldemort announced matter-of-factly. "I give you a chance to reduce your punishment." He gestured with his wand at Harry, still bound to the tombstone. "Many of you have suffered humiliation from this boy's actions. I give you the opportunity to vent your frustrations upon him."
Voldemort held up his hand to stem the tide of volunteers.
"Leave him intact and alive," he warned dangerously. "For Harry Potter shall die by my hand alone."
Lucius stood with gritted teeth, a maniacal gleam and grin on his face. Cyrus stepped forward and Voldemort caught his eye before giving a subtle nod. Harry felt a tingle run over his skin but attributed it to the fact that his nerves seemed to be on fire.
And then it began.
One by one, the Death Eaters took turns casting the Crucio curse at the incapacitated Harry Potter. The pain, somehow amplified by magic that Cyrus had used upon approval from Voldemort, became all Harry knew. He screamed until he was hoarse, and his vocal cords strained nearly to breaking. Blood filled his mouth from his torn throat and yet still he screamed.
Then it was Lucius Malfoy's turn.
The man clearly poured every ounce of humiliation and resentment he felt into the curse that surged through Harry. To make matters worse, he laughed, unhinged, the entire time. Harry found himself unable to scream and convulsed so hard he nearly severed his tongue.
When Lucius finally finished, his magic spent, Harry was delirious from the pain. His vision swam, his head felt swollen and empty, and his body pulsed with every heartbeat as he spasmed uncontrollably.
Cyrus Greengrass strode forward casually, wand in hand.
"Did you know, boy, that there is a variation of the blood boiling curse that does not kill the recipient?"
Harry couldn't have answered even if he wanted to.
"It has an unfortunate side effect," Cyrus twirled his wand before sending a burnt orange curse at Harry.
Unable to dodge, Harry felt the curse collide with his right shoulder and learned that he still retained the capacity to scream. Through the agony, Harry was acutely aware of the laughter from his tormentors, each of them reveling in his torture. Inch by inch the curse traveled through his body as it followed his bloodstream.
Before the pain could travel below his waist, the pain receded, leaving a hefty burning sensation in Harry's torso. His head, lolled to the side, allowed him to see through blurry vision that his arm was now heavily scarred as if it had been burnt on the outside. A macabre spiderweb of scars traveling up his arm and, likely, across his entire upper body to his collar.
"Can't have you dying on us now," Cyrus noted cheerily as he observed his handiwork.
Voldemort stepped forth and the laughter and chatter ceased. The Dark Lord approached his haggard nemesis and leaned forward until his mouth was inches from Harry's ear.
"I can make the pain stop, Harry," he promised silkily. "Join me."
Harry nearly choked on his blood from the shock.
"I've seen what those filthy muggles did to you," Voldemort continued in faux gentle undertones. "You owe their world nothing. You owe this world nothing. Think of how quickly they have turned on you."
Harry panted, his mind swimming.
"Think, Harry," Voldemort's tone turned icy. "I know your thoughts as if you spoke them aloud."
Slytherin cunning suggested he accede and live to fight another day. Ravenclaw wit suggested he try and stall, as he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, Sirius was coming. But Harry Potter had been sorted into Gryffindor for a reason, and it was more than convincing the Sorting Hat to keep him out of Slytherin's house.
Harry mentally gave his answer, knowing Voldemort would know.
Fuck you.
The Dark Lord's Crucio eclipsed all those previous in both agony and length.
-GU-
"No more," Daphne pleaded in a voice that felt small, even to her own ears, as she watched, horrified, unable to look away. "Please… No more."
Her father… No… That monster she had the misfortune to be related to had looked jubilant when he'd tortured Harry. Pure revulsion ran through Daphne as she continued to witness the abhorrent torture of The-Boy-Who-Lived.
"Harry…!" Astoria choked out, sobbing heavily, and coughing into her hand, now coated with blood.
Daphne reached out and hugged her little sister, who returned the hug. The two Greengrass sisters continued, despite their minds screaming at them to stop, to watch the memory, each struggling to comprehend how their father could take part in something so repugnant.
-GU-
Harry faintly registered he was being cut down. He fell to the ground with a heavy thud, his body spasming so heavily it felt as if he were having a seizure. A mixture of drool and blood ran from his mouth as he struggled to get to his feet. He saw Voldemort's mouth moving, and the Death Eater's laughing, but heard none of it.
Harry's wand, tossed by Cyrus, landed in front of him, and he reached forward, his hand twitching. It took several attempts, but he finally recovered his wand and sluggishly managed to sit back on his knees as the ringing in his ears subsided enough for him to comprehend Voldemort's gloating.
"I trust you have been taught how to duel?" Voldemort smirked, clearly enjoying the show.
Harry frowned and dropped his wand. He wouldn't give the bastard the pleasure.
"Come now, Harry," Voldemort clicked his tongue. "The formalities should be observed. After all, Dumbledore would want you to die on your feet."
Harry answered by spitting out a wad of blood and mucus in Voldemort's direction.
Voldemort sighed dramatically and looked at his followers as if to ask, 'Do you see what I have to put up with?' before bringing his wand to bear. Harry closed his eyes, expecting the killing curse, when he heard Voldemort mutter, 'Imperio'. His mind went refreshingly numb, and a feeling of euphoria overtook him.
Harry wanted to give in to the demand to take up his wand, stand, and bow. Memories of Daphne flashed through his mind, bringing a mixture of pain and confusion. Had she truly betrayed him? Had she never felt what he felt when they kissed? Had his Merlin-forsaken family magic chosen wrong?
Snarling, Harry found his iron will temporarily invigorated and shook off the Dark Lord's Imperio. A round of shocked gasps echoed in the graveyard as the Death Eaters pondered how this beaten and damaged boy could refute the will of their Lord. Surprise flickered across Voldemort's expression before his features hardened.
"Cyrus," Voldemort called lazily.
"My Lord?"
"It would seem young Harry needs motivation," Voldemort smirked wickedly. "Do you still have access to your youngest?"
"Of course, my Lord."
"Harry seems to have an attachment to her," Voldemort drawled. "Bring her to me. Perhaps her screams will persuade Potter to take up his wand and face his end."
"…No..." Harry gasped, somehow finding his voice.
Cyrus appeared amused and offered a parting bow to his Lord.
"…She's…your…daughter…" Harry rasped as he grabbed his wand.
Cyrus hesitated, then snorted derisively. "Foolish boy," he spat. "Astoria is a walking corpse. It is my honor to sacrifice her as necessary to serve my Lord."
Harry felt appalled, saddened, and enraged all at once. Somehow, he managed to get a knee under him.
"I'll fight," he said, his voice raspy and a wheezing rattle sounding with every labored breath. "Not…Astoria."
"You see?" Voldemort crowed in victory. "All it takes is a little motivation. Love once again shows its weakness."
Harry ignored the Dark Lord and managed to stand, in spite of his spasms, on sheer willpower alone.
"Cyrus, tend to your duties," Voldemort instructed. "Should Potter's dedication be lacking, I will call for you to bring motivation."
"As you command, Lord," Cyrus bowed and, with a pop, was gone.
Voldemort grinned predatorily. "The formalities," he reminded Harry. "First, we bow."
Harry managed a half-bow without falling on his face, his body moving jerkily as he spasmed uncontrollably.
"Good," Voldemort praised mockingly. "Now, we begin."
Harry tensed and prepared to move once Voldemort began casting. It was the only option he had. His body was in shambles, and he wasn't naïve enough to believe he could contend with Voldemort in his current condition. Besides, Professor Flitwick had drilled into his head several rules, one of which was replaying over and over in Harry's head.
When faced with a stronger opponent, defend yourself and conserve your energy. If they tire out, you will find yourself in a much more advantageous position.
Harry attempted to chuckle, but it came out as a gurgling wheeze.
Advantageous… Yeah right.
Not against this monster.
"You flatter me, Harry," Voldemort cocked his head to the side. "But I'm afraid that Flitwick's teachings will not aid you in your current plight."
Stay out of my head!
Why? I find your mind fascinating in how polluted with weakness it is.
Harry tried to clamp down on his Occlumency shields. Voldemort shattered them without effort.
There are so many ways to approach duels when you are a Legillimens, young Harry, Voldemort's voice echoed in Harry's head. So many wonderful, horrible ways to wear down your opponent.
Harry ground his teeth and shook his head, refusing to fire the first spell. He needed time. Time meant recovery, regardless of how little it allotted. Time meant Sirius was drawing closer. He had to be.
Fawkes, I need you.
Ah yes, you have a connection with Dumbledore's bird- I almost forgot. The creature cannot help you here.
"Dobby," Harry wheezed.
Nor can your pet elf, Voldemort taunted. You think I am so short-sighted that I would allow you the opportunity to escape?
Harry's eyes flickered to the Triwizard cup, lying inert in the grass. It felt like it was miles away from him.
It's not active, Voldemort informed with relish. Retrieving it will do you no good.
Why not destroy it then?
Because, foolish boy, it is where your head will reside. A reminder to any who believes they can stand against Lord Voldemort.
Harry felt a true tremor of fear reverberate from within. Realization began to dawn on him that he was truly going to die, and it wouldn't be quick or painless.
"Did you expect a simple killing curse?" Voldemort spoke aloud with a smirk.
No, you will beg for death before I grant it to you, Voldemort spoke once more in Harry's mind. But if you refuse to commence our duel, perhaps persuasion is still required? How to proceed… Do I have Cyrus bring the youngest Greengrass girl and take her apart piece by piece while you watch, unable to prevent it?
Voldemort chuckled as he felt Harry's emotions.
Yes, your attachment to her is obvious. But it is the elder sister that holds your heart, isn't it? How does it feel to be betrayed by one you loved? One you believed loved you. The irony is poetic, considering how one of your father's friends betrayed him so readily by delivering to me their location.
Shut. Up.
Cyrus will not be happy if I kill his eldest... But there are ways around such trivial obstacles. A new wife, or a concubine, and the promise of a male heir. Oh yes, that would ensure he gives her over to me. She would protest, of course, having faithfully served, but minions are only useful until they are used up. Then they are to be discarded.
"You better fucking pray I die tonight, Tom," Harry said, his voice strained and weak.
Voldemort snorted and began pacing a slow circle around Harry, who turned slowly to keep the Dark Lord in view.
Bold words, Harry. Very bold. I think I will, in fact, make you watch while I kill both of Cyrus's daughters. Girls you so foolishly love. For you are indeed a fool, Harry Potter. I have seen your mind and know your greatest fears. You will watch while the Malfoy scion does as he pleases with the eldest Greengrass girl. Then, after I have utterly destroyed both her and her sister, I will allow you to die with your failure before your very eyes.
Something in Harry snapped with that statement and he felt a surge of magical power come from somewhere deep within himself. The pain subsided, his mind cleared, and pure magic roiled around him, turbulent and wild. Voldemort's eyes widened and he barely managed to shield as Harry's first curse struck the invisible wall with thunderous, murderous intent.
A gong-like sound reverberated throughout the graveyard as Harry brought to the forefront every Black family curse he knew. Voldemort gleefully shielded, dodged, and batted aside each, laughing mockingly as he did so. Harry used his raw emotion to slam down on his Occlumency shields, forcing Voldemort from his mind.
The Dark Lord stopped laughing as he was forced to react without foresight of his opponent's intent.
Minutes went by and Harry showed no signs of tiring as he continued to work his way through the Black family library. The voices of Sirius, Andromeda and Tonks echoed in his mind, pushing him to greater heights.
Seemingly intrigued, Voldemort continued to deflect Harry's spells while occasionally sending his own curses at the boy, who would dodge or bat them aside with practiced ease.
"Good, Harry," Voldemort acknowledged. "Rage against your impending doom."
Harry snarled and escalated his casting into his Ravenclaw and Slytherin heritage, automatically switching to parseltongue. Apparently, this was the wrong decision, as Voldemort screamed, outraged.
"You dare use the tongue of my ancestor?!"
Despite his mysterious boost in energy, Harry quickly found himself on his backfoot and was pointedly reminded that he was dueling against a Wizard who feared only one man, and his name was not Harry Potter. Harry conjured walls of stone, hid behind tombstones, dodged devastating curses, and shielded with his magic as Voldemort rained down a continuous onslaught of curses.
It seemed all pretense of dragging out the duel was gone as Harry was in a fight for his life.
With his magic strained to its limits, Harry felt exhaustion begin to worm its way back into his body. His hand spasmed, sending an organ-expelling curse awry where it splashed harmlessly into a tombstone.
Fucking Crucio curse, Harry thought bitterly.
An overwhelming wave of magical energy sizzled around his cover, disintegrating it entirely. Harry rolled away from a sickly red bolt of light, not wanting to contemplate exactly what it would have done to him and got to his feet. He shielded the next two curses and attempted to spin away from a third, but it connected and nearly took his arm off at the elbow.
His wand arm now hung useless at his side.
Harry gagged from the pain as he watched a killing curse rocket toward him. He sighed internally as he felt the burst of magic leave him.
It's over.
A large chunk of rock, from Harry's conjured wall, levitated to block the incoming killing curse which impacted and caused the obstacle to explode in a shower of dust.
Harry sagged to his knees in relief as he watched his Godfather rush forward and shield him.
"Sirius…" Harry trailed off.
"Stay with me, pup," Sirius panted, out of breath. "We're not out of this yet."
"Leave him!" Voldemort commanded as his Death Eaters prepared to enter the fray. "Greetings, Sirius Black. I trust you enjoyed your time in Azkaban?"
"Worm over there did a good job framing me," Sirius quipped. "I trust you've enjoyed him servicing you?"
Voldemort scowled and shot a killing curse at Sirius who levitated more debris to intercept it.
"Touched a nerve, did I, Moldyshorts?"
"You are going to die!" Voldemort shrieked, his composure slipping.
Sirius muttered something under his breath and Harry found himself being lifted up and half-carried, half-dragged away.
"I can't hold the shield long, pup," Sirius gasped as he ran. "You have to get out of here."
Harry hardly registered the words.
"Shit," Sirius swore as he looked down at his barely lucid Godson. "Accio Triwizard Cup!"
Harry fell to the ground as he was propped up against a large tombstone. Sirius caught the flying cup deftly and began waving his wand around it.
"Portus."
Sirius thrust the cup into his Godson's hands as the graveyard exploded with various colored lights as Voldemort authorized his Death Eaters to join him. The shield Sirius had conjured shattered in a sound of breaking glass. Sirius swore softly again and knelt down to Harry.
"Listen, pup," he panted. "The portkey is going to activate in another sixty seconds. It will take you back to Hogwarts."
Harry numbly registered Sirius's words until understanding hit him. "No…"
"There's too much time before activation," Sirius ducked as a spell impacted the tombstone they were hiding behind, sending a large chunk sliding down. "I'll have to stall."
Harry found a desperate strength surge through him. "Sirius, no!"
"It's going to be okay, son," Sirius smiled, a knowing look in his gaze. "You're going to marry Daphne one day and have that beautiful daughter you told me about."
Harry shook his head, tears raining from his eyes.
"Come with me," he begged.
"You know I can't, pup," Sirius sighed. "Whether it's in this graveyard or on the school grounds of Hogwarts, I'm dead either way. Dumbledore won't vouch for me, and I'd be administered the dementor's kiss. Besides, I'd rather die fighting." He stood and fired several curses, smirking at the enraged shouts that followed. "Just like James did," he said grimly.
Harry choked out a heavy sob, his body failing him.
"I'll buy you the time you need," Sirius prepared to leap from what little remained of their cover and hesitated. "Promise me you'll live, Harry," he demanded. "Promise me I'll get to see you confess your love, get married, and have children."
"Y-You'll b-be d-dead," Harry wept in despair.
Sirius placed a comforting hand on Harry's chest, where his heart was. "I'll always be with you, right here, kiddo." Sirius glanced down and sighed, "Take Cedric's body with you."
Looking down, Harry noticed the still-open eyes of Cedric Diggory, whose body lay nearby. Harry sobbed and grabbed his wand with his left hand, barely managing to hold it due to the wound inflicted by Cyrus's dagger.
"I love you, son," Sirius whispered as the remnants of the tombstone erupted in a shower of rock and rubble. Sirius erected a hasty Protego to shield his Godson.
"Futile," Voldemort drawled lazily as he stalked forward. "You cannot escape."
Sirius stood tall and proud as he faced the Dark Lord. "I'm not going anywhere, Snakeface."
"A rabid mutt that must be put down," Voldemort observed, completely at ease. "I commend your bravery, Lord Black."
"Promise me, Harry," Sirius dared not look away from his adversary.
"What good is a promise when he will die shortly?" Voldemort cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he regarded his nemesis.
Sirius chose that moment to attack, forcing Voldemort's attention away while Harry wept bitterly and cradled the portkey that was set to activate in seconds. Voldemort seemed to catch on as his spells shifted to killing curses, forcing Sirius to focus on dodging for his life.
"I promise!" Harry cried out, completely broken, as he weakly latched on to Cedric's robes.
"DO NOT LET POTTER ESCAPE!" Voldemort bellowed at his followers.
"I love you, son!" Sirius panted as he lost his footing. "I'll always be with you! Forever!"
Harry looked up just in time to see the green killing curse leave Voldemort's wand.
"DAD! NO!"
The killing curse connected, and Sirius limply collapsed, a victorious smile on his face.
The portkey activated, and the enraged scream of the now-resurrected Dark Lord followed Harry as he felt the pull at his navel, whisking him away to Hogwarts once more.
-GU-
Chaos erupted as Harry appeared at the entrance of the hedge maze. Aurors, Professors, and Event Organizers scrambled about, trying to restore some semblance of order. Harry sobbed bitterly atop the corpse of Cedric Diggory, but his tears were not for the older boy.
They were for Sirius Black.
A man who would never be remembered for the sacrifice he just made. A man who would forever be branded as a betrayer of friends. It made Harry sick to his stomach.
But nothing made him want to retch more than seeing Cyrus Greengrass in the stands, next to his wife and daughters, wearing a look of faux concern. As Dumbledore shook him, demanding to know what happened, Harry knew he could never reveal the whole truth.
No, despite his fatigue and exhaustion, his Ravenclaw blood was still pulsing vividly and keeping his mind sharp. Harry Potter had spent the entire year being vilified and mocked by various news articles. He would be branded a lunatic, a liar, an attention seeker.
But as he looked down at the body of Cedric Diggory, currently being held by the distraught and inconsolable Amos Diggory, Harry knew that his own reputation meant nothing when faced with the harsh reality that had to be shared.
Damn his Gryffindor courage.
"He's back," Harry rasped, coughing heavily, "Voldemort is back."
The area around Harry went silent. Then a chorus of voices spoke all at once. Crowds of people began to close in, and Harry felt himself being painfully jerked away from the masses by Mad-Eye Moody. He didn't bother resisting and allowed the grizzled auror to lead him back to the castle.
I can't implicate Greengrass, Harry thought bitterly. No one would believe me. He's got an alibi too since he returned to spectate. Plus, it would endanger… He grimaced as Moody helped keep him upright when he stumbled. Astoria. I have to protect Tori.
Harry vaguely recognized they were headed to Moody's office.
Odd, why are we not going to the hospital wing?
They arrived in the Defense Professor's office and Harry watched Moody begin rummaging around. The grizzled auror had his wand in his hand.
"What was he like, Potter?"
Something's wrong.
"What?"
"The Dark Lord, what was he like?"
Harry blinked. "Voldemort?"
Moody scowled, affronted, and Harry knew.
"You're not Moody, are you?" Harry coughed weakly as he felt light-headed. "You put my name in the cup." It wasn't a question.
Fake-Moody appeared impressed. "Hmph. You're smarter than you look, Potter." He pointed his wand at Harry. "But no matter, you'll be dead soon anyway. Think of how my Lord will reward me when I show him the memory of your body dropping lifeless to the ground."
"Right beneath Dumbledore's nose," Harry quipped.
Something was happening within Harry, and he found it hard to explain. Magic, old magic was surging through his body at an alarming rate. But it wasn't magic Harry could expend, it was a latent, dormant magic that was tied to the very stones around him.
And suddenly he remembered.
As Heir, the school will likely feel more sentient to you and protect you as best it can.
Harry began laughing, and despite it having an unnatural rattle, it was still strong enough to sound mocking and unhinged. Fake-Moody hesitated, his wand shaking just briefly before he narrowed his eyes.
"You're awfully happy for someone who is about to die, Potter."
"Well, you bloody wanker, that's because I know something you and your Dark Lord do not."
Fake-Moody sneered. "And what's that, boy?"
He really was quite tired of hearing that damn word.
Harry smiled savagely as he allowed the latent magic to erupt around him. "This fucking school is mine now."
Several things happened at once.
Fake-Moody shot a killing curse at Harry which was intercepted by a wooden chair which rose of its own accord. As it exploded, the splinters deflected away from Harry and at his assailant.
Fawkes appeared in a flash of flame, screeching indignantly and raking at Fake-Moody's eyes and plucking the non-magical eye from its socket. Fake-Moody shrieked like a banshee as Fawkes landed on Harry's shoulder.
Desks, chairs, books, portraits, and everything else in the office assaulted Fake-Moody with the intensity of a Bludger. Bone-breaking snaps echoed in the room as Fake-Moody screamed.
All of this led to Fake-Moody being blasted into his office chair which ricocheted off the wall while ropes came fluttering in from outside the office and tied themselves around the broken body of the polyjuiced Death Eater. Harry watched Hogwarts come to the defense of its heir with grim satisfaction while Fawkes started crying tears in the hole in his arm.
In less than ten seconds, Fake-Moody was tied to a chair, both legs and arms broken, missing an eye, and bleeding from numerous cuts and gouges along his body. His face was heavily bruised from a complete collection of Gilderoy Lockhart's books that had, somehow, been left behind and overlooked.
They appeared quite incensed with having been ignored and unread. Or at least that's what Harry thought.
At least those books were good for something, Harry mused as he felt the wonderful healing tears do their magic. He looked down at the spiderweb of burn-like scars running up his arm, starting at the wrist, and sighed. Looks like Phoenix tears can't heal whatever the hell Cyrus Greengrass did to me.
Harry's hand spasmed and twitched, courtesy of exposure to the cruciatus.
"Thanks, buddy," Harry smiled wearily at Fawkes who chirruped sadly.
Fake-Moody coughed brutally and barked out a laugh.
"I'll tell him, boy. My Lord will know what you are."
Harry realized his heirship rings were currently visible on his hand. He shrugged and drew his wand.
"You won't have the chance," Harry said simply. "Because you won't remember. Obliviate!"
Harry had just finished erasing and modifying the encounter when Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape approached. The three seemed thunderstruck when they saw the condition of the best auror the Ministry had ever produced, reduced to a bruised, bleeding lump by a half-dead Harry Potter.
"He's a Death Eater," Harry said nonchalantly, feeling much better, courtesy of Fawkes. He worriedly looked down at his hand and was relieved to see his heirship rings once more invisible.
"Severus," Dumbledore motioned, and the Potions master pulled a vial and let three droplets fall from it into the open mouth of Fake-Moody.
"Are you Alastor Moody?" Dumbledore questioned.
"No."
"Where is he?"
Harry rolled his eyes and cast a silent Alohomora at Moody's trunk. It clicked open several times before revealing a seventh compartment where a barely alive Moody was being held hostage.
"Are you okay, Alastor?" Dumbledore called down.
"Yeah, bastard has been using my blood, Albus."
"Then he's as good as dead," Snape said silkily. "Polyjuice poisoning."
"Good Lord, Albus," McGonagall gasped. "What lunatic would willingly poison themselves by mixing blood into the Polyjuice potion?"
"A Death Eater," Harry deadpanned. "He's changing back now."
Sure enough, the features of Fake-Moody shifted, revealing a gaunt, wan male with thin black hair.
"Barty Crouch Jr.," Dumbledore said knowingly.
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Barty licked his lips, a nervous tick.
Snape drew back his sleeve and Barty showed his own Dark Mark. They were both writhing and fully visible.
"He's really back," Crouch coughed, blood trickling out of his mouth. "My Lord will see me rewarded!"
Harry snorted. "You will be dead in less than three minutes."
"What, you going to kill me, Potter?" Crouch snarled.
"No," Harry raised an eyebrow. "But that blood laced Polyjuice potion will." He turned to Snape. "Right, Professor?"
Snape gave a single, terse nod.
"I'll be in the hospital wing," Harry intoned as he thanked Merlin for Occlumency and its ability to control the torrent of emotion raging within. He wanted to let loose, but he couldn't in present company.
Fawkes, sensing Harry's desire, whisked him away in a ball of flame to the hospital wing. Harry didn't get to see the jaws of the three professors drop at his departure. He arrived at the bed he generally claimed as his own and sat down upon it while Madam Pomfrey began running diagnostics immediately.
He refused to take off his shirt, and Pomfrey quickly confirmed that Fawkes had, once again, done her job for her. Harry offered a small smile that didn't reach his eyes when she begged for Harry to convince the phoenix to spare some tears.
Fawkes refused the request with a single chirp before looking away in what could only be described as haughtiness.
Pomfrey was less than impressed.
-GU-
The Great Hall was filled with a mixture of sobbing, retching, and murmurs as people attempted to cope with the horror they had just witnessed, along with still reconciling that the Dark Lord had indeed returned once again.
"I think I'm going to vomit," Daphne said weakly.
"It's not true, Daph!" Astoria said vehemently. "You aren't some secret spy for Vo-Voldemort!"
"Are you sure?" Daphne turned to Astoria with haunted eyes. "I don't even know, Tori!"
Astoria inhaled slowly, her breath rattling in her chest. Daphne felt fear grip her heart as she saw the ragged condition her little sister was currently in.
Any more stress could kill her, Daphne thought bitterly.
Astoria smiled at Daphne, doing her best to ignore her own plight. "The Potions incident, Daph," she coughed again, sending a glob of blood and mucus into the sleeve of her robe. "That's how you can know."
Daphne blinked, ignoring the tears that continued to stream from her eyes. She'd forgotten she was still crying.
"What?"
Astoria held up two fingers. "Two agendas," she took a deep breath. "Father overplayed his hand."
Daphne scrunched her nose in confusion.
"Use that brain, Daffy," Astoria wheezed.
"Don't call me that!" Daphne snapped and then gasped. "Oh!"
Astoria nodded encouragingly.
"There's no way on earth that Voldemort wanted this," Daphne waved her hand at the screen, "to get out. Of course! It doesn't make sense for me to have been used to drive Harry to this point."
Daphne surged forward and brutally hugged her sister, uncaring about the blood, snot and tears that got on her person.
"Thank you, Tori!" she sobbed heavily as relief rushed through her. "My Gods, it feels good to have even a glimmer of hope."
"Voldemort said that stuff to hurt Harry," Astoria managed to catch her breath finally, but her voice sounded strained and weakened. "It was meant to make him doubt and believe the supposed betrayal."
Daphne shuddered and sobbed into her hands, a mixture of relief and sorrow.
"You're a victim too, Daph."
Daphne suddenly looked up, her eyes red and swollen. She held up three fingers.
"Daph?"
"Three agendas, Tori," Daphne swallowed heavily as she scrutinized Dumbledore, who appeared like he was trying to hide his satisfaction at what he'd witnessed.
But why?
-GU-
Harry trudged up to the Room of Requirement, Fawkes still on his shoulder, with the hood of his invisibility cloak pulled up.
Why didn't I think to use it? Harry pondered as he fingered the silky, near-ethereal material. A small voice in the back of his mind told him it was because he'd been tortured continually for… Well, he didn't really know how long.
He entered the Room and found himself immediately embraced by a sobbing Andromeda.
"Thank Merlin you're safe, Harry!" Andromeda sniffled and then stiffened as she held Harry at arm's length. "He… He's dead, isn't he?"
Harry felt his eyes water and he nodded, unable to speak.
"Shite!" Tonks swore and kicked over a chair.
Andromeda didn't even bother chastening her.
"That damn fool!" Tonks began a tirade. "Why the fuck wouldn't he let us help? We were standing by! He had this planned! He was never going to let us help. That's why he was the one the tracking charm alerted. And we, like bloody idiots, trusted him to be sensible…"
"Dora."
"…and let us know that Harry needed us…"
"Dora."
"…and now he's-" Tonks choked on a sob. "D-dead!"
Ted, who was watching with a remorseful expression, embraced his daughter. She quickly broke down, sobbing into his shoulder.
"He protected our family," Harry steeled his expression as he addressed his family. He was, after all, about to be Lord Black. "There's no way Sirius would have risked you three exposing your connection with me."
"Oh, Siri," Andromeda wept.
"He's really back?" Tonks asked huskily as she pulled away from her father.
"Yeah," Harry said grimly. "I can give you the memory, but I won't watch it."
A pensieve appeared and Harry withdrew the terrible memory and placed it within before walking toward the wall of portraits.
"I am sorry for your loss, my Heir," Salazar said solemnly, and Harry believed him.
"Oh, you poor dear," Rowena sniffled. "I wish so desperately that I could hug you."
"My grandson is dead then?" Arcturus asked tentatively, and Harry swore he heard a quaver in his tone.
"Yes," Harry sighed, unable to prevent tears running down his cheeks.
It felt good to cry.
To mourn.
"Then he did his duty as Lord Black," Arcturus nodded as he composed himself. "My grandson was everything a Black should aspire to be."
"He-" Harry sobbed heavily. "He was the only father I ever knew."
"And he died protecting his son," Rowena said gently.
Harry sniffled and wiped his nose, stubbornly reeling in his emotions. He had an important question he needed an answer to. There was something Harry had forgotten to ask Salazar when he'd first found his portrait. There had been too much excitement in the moment, and the question seemed inconsequential at the time. Now, Harry wasn't so sure about that.
"Mad-Eye Moody, the DADA professor, turned out to be a Death Eater," Harry informed emotionlessly. "I forgot to ask, because it didn't seem important, but what enchantments did you put on the Great Hall ceiling?"
Salazar raised an eyebrow and glanced at Rowena, who cleared her throat.
"Actually, the Great Hall ceiling was a joint effort between Godric and Helga," she revealed. "The exact enchantments and their intricacies are unknown to me."
"What about a general description of what the ceiling can do?" Harry prompted. "Does it only show the outside sky?"
"Oh, heavens no," Rowena shook her head. "I thought you wanted to understand the exact creation of the ceiling, not a general rundown of what it does."
Harry huffed. "When Mad-Eye Moody made his appearance in the Great Hall at the Opening Feast, the ceiling reacted violently, almost as if a lightning storm went off."
"Makes sense," Salazar snorted.
"Why?" Harry barked.
"Because the ceiling is enchanted to detect those who have ill-intentions towards the student body," Rowena replied. "Although it only does it during a person's initial foray into the Great Hall."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Don't ask us," Salazar said defensively. "Who knows the inner workings of Godric and Helga?"
Rowena rolled her eyes and gave an apologetic smile.
"Is it common knowledge, that alarm function?"
"Merlin's beard, no," Salazar scoffed. "Why would it be? It was meant only for the headmasters to know."
Harry bristled. "So, Dumbledore knows about this feature?"
"I should hope so!" Salazar seemed incensed. "I would assume the tradition of having a portrait commissioned of a retired headmaster still persists, no?" At Harry's nod of affirmation, he continued. "Then the knowledge is not lost, as the initial headmasters would have passed down such an important defense mechanism."
"Son of a bitch!" Harry shouted. Fawkes took flight from Harry's shoulder and began singing a comforting melody.
He knew! Harry seethed. Dumbledore fucking knew that Mad-Eye was an imposter! And he overlooked it!
"Can a blood laced Polyjuice potion perfectly replicate all mannerisms of the person you are taking the form of?"
"Merlin's beard!" Salazar's eyes widened comically. "What loon would take such a concoction?"
"A fanatic," Harry scowled. "Well?"
"No," Rowena cut in smoothly. "But it heavily aids in the deception and makes it much easier and faster to learn the mannerisms of the person you are taking the form of. However, it would be hard to deceive someone who knew that person well, like a spouse or best friend."
"Mad-Eye Moody fought alongside Dumbledore in the first war against Voldemort," Harry spat the Dark Lord's name viciously.
"Then I would be surprised if he was deceived or unable to determine that the man was an imposter," Rowena agreed while Salazar and Arcturus nodded along with her.
Harry felt the room spinning as he tried to process what he was being told. The tournament could have been prevented. Harry didn't have to be entered. Dumbledore had known and allowed Harry to be entered. The dragon, the lake, the maze, all could have been avoided.
The portkey.
Did he know about that too? Did Dumbledore know Harry was going to be tortured to within an inch of his life and forced to duel with the Dark Lord?
Harry felt a warm, comforting embrace, as Tonks held him. His composure shattered and he wailed, raged, and screamed. He fought and kicked as Tonks continued to hold him and gently coax him into a nearby bedroom the Room provided. Andromeda followed behind, methodically stroking Harry's head and whispering it was okay to let go.
To rage.
As Harry's magic swirled around the room, a singular thought repeated constantly in his mind.
Sirius, his Godfather… No, his dad, didn't have to die for him. Because one man had the power to stop the machinations of the Dark Lord. One man had known all along.
Sirius Black was dead because of Albus Dumbledore's inaction.
And Harry hated him for it.