CHAPTER 78: Lost Souls (Part 2)

37 Castle Hill Road

March 25th, 1996

4:20 p.m.

Harry had spent the past few days in his old room in Grimmauld Place, though the situation felt vastly different from before. He no longer felt like a prisoner, if he so wished he could leave from the front door and never look back. Unfortunately for him, Grimmauld seemed to be his new home for the foreseeable future as Bedivere hadn't given him any updates on his new accommodation.

In all truth, it wasn't as bad as he had expected when he first arrived. Most of the Order seemed oblivious to his activities over the past two months, which lead to him still being treated as the poor victim they saw him as. And just as he did over January, he used that as his weapon. Andromeda kept attempting to get him to sit down and open his heart to her, or whatever therapy was supposed to do, and Mrs Weasley treated him like he was her own son. She cooked for him in the mornings, afternoons, and evenings, and when he was alone she'd try to initiate conversation with him.

In some ways, it must have also been for her sake. If Fate were to shine a light on every person and give them a role for their time above ground, six large and bold letters spelling mother would appear over Mrs Weasley's head. Alone in a dingy, crooked manor for most of the day, Harry was beginning to think his return had been the best thing that had happened to her since Hogwarts started back up again. But so help me God, if she tries to make me do chores to fix up this shithole…

The whole thing was slightly overbearing, and it began to grate on Harry. Seeing Andromeda and Mrs Weasley and nearly every other Order member who came into the house look at him with pity and compassion - like he was a three-month-old baby who had been left at their doorstep and given a black eye no less - was getting on his nerves. He'd always hated being pitied, it meant people saw him as weak, and he had promised himself he would never be again. But that wasn't what was getting at him this time.

He felt like a fraud. Playing with them the same way Graham had toyed with him. Dumbledore and Moody knew the truth of it all, but no one else did. They weren't seeing him for the monster he had become. They'd give him these comforting smiles and make gestures of support while he could still feel the stickiness on his skin from the blood of his victims. He'd been so tempted to tell them. To reveal the truth. To shout it to the skies until they understood who he really was. But every time he'd opened his mouth to do so, no words came out.

It was selfish, but that didn't make a difference. He still went about for three days without telling them anything. And at this latest lunch he'd had with Mrs Weasley it had just become too much. He had stood up and left the house without saying a word. He needed some air. Needed to get away from Dumbledore's constant attempts at talking to him. From Mrs Weasley's kind smiles and Moody's solemn looks of camaraderie, as if he had been there all the way while he ploughed his way through the dirt-bags and lowlifes of Magical Britain.

All his friends were at Hogwarts, and Bedivere and Yaxley had made it clear enough that he couldn't be seen near Parkinson Palace. The desperation grew to be so much that Harry was nearly tempted to send Kieran a letter asking to meet up, only for him to remember the boy was worse than even Malfoy. And so, with nowhere to go, he finally mustered up the courage to return to 37 Castle Hill Road. It was another place that Bedivere had warned him against going, but he'd left most of his stuff there before Montague had shown up. And besides his clothes and trunk and everything, there was still Regulus and Kreacher. And Harry only grew more concerned as the days passed and Kreacher still didn't answer his calls.

The house was in shambles, barely standing. If Harry hadn't known any better, he would have thought Montague had gone off on a rampage and torn it down in anger after he managed to apparate away. Then again, that didn't seem something the methodical and cold Ravenclaw would do, it was more likely his men had scoured the place for him or anything else of value. Harry only hoped Montague's men didn't think of his boxers as worthy trophies, he had been using the same ones for the past week, and they were beginning to make his inner thighs itch.

Harry managed to enter the house unnoticed by the three men guarding the perimeter of the wreckage. The invisibility cloak had once again proved to be a good purchase, and he didn't take it off even within the safety of the walls. He moved slowly, making sure not to make any noise as he searched the house. Scenes from that night began flashing in his head, sparking pain out of injuries that had already been fully healed. But he pushed through, stepping over the spots of dried blood and through the collapsed kitchen until he reached Regulus' portrait. It was still static, the damn thing hadn't moved an inch since that night. And even after Harry tried hissing Regulus' name, the portrait remained unmoved. A muggle picture would have been more lifelike than it at the moment.

Harry sighed and cut his losses for the moment. Trying to snap it into attention wouldn't help, maybe Bedivere or someone at Grimmauld would know how to fix the portrait. After a brief mental reminder to not forget about Regulus when he left, Harry continued his trail through the house. Stepping past the living room and into the study, he found Kreacher slumped on the floor. He didn't have to step inside to know he was dead, the putrid smell and the dark brown stain all around him told him what he needed to know. It made him more annoyed than pissed off, Kreacher had been a useful helper, but they never had managed to form any relationship beyond their master and servant dynamic.

Regulus would be heartbroken by the news, though. If he ever woke up, that was.

"Nice trick," a voice said from behind him, and though Harry tensed at first, the recognition made him subsequently scowl. "Some shoddy invisibility cloak might have been enough for the morons out there, but there's no use still wearing it with me."

"Having fun snooping around on my business, Death Eater?" He said spitefully, taking off the cloak and throwing it to Junior's feet. "I didn't think I could think any lower of you, but becoming Montague's lackey? Really?"

Harry was ready to apparate, his body nearly twitching with anticipation as the two stared at each other from across the living room. But Junior never made a move to attack, he didn't move a single muscle, and as Harry's eyes trailed over the uniformed Death Eater, unable to miss Ares' horned mask in his hands before his eyes saw his closed trunk under one of his feet.

"Not exactly," he said calmly before kicking the trunk with enough force that it nearly reached his feet. "Once I knew what Montague had done, I apparated here. I was already too late, but I knew you'd still be alive."

Without taking his eyes off Junior, Harry knelt and opened his trunk. Everything look more or less how he'd left it, it was full and nothing seemed out of place. "So I'm supposed to thank you now?"

"No. I wished I could have done more, but Nemesis and Achlys-"

"Who?"

"Montague and Dolohov."

"Oh, they like to play make-believe too. That's nice."

"They suspect enough of me already," Junior continued. "If I had known what they were planning…"

"A Death Eater with a heart," Harry said mockingly. "My hero."

"I'm serious, Harry. I warned you. Montague is so fixated on seeing your head on a spike that the only reason he hasn't pressed his attack on you is because he thinks you're dead. And Dolohov… I really don't know what goes on in that sick bastard's mind, but he has plans for you. And you-"

"What about me?"

"You're not… well. Your magic is off, and if it weren't for your duelling abilities you would have died months ago."

"That's not true," Harry said stubbornly.

"For Merlin's sake, that's not even your wand Harry!"

"We're not having this discussion," he exclaimed. "Not with you. I told you to stay the fuck out of my life, so why are you even here?"

"Because Elijah Montague nearly beat you to death, that's why!" Junior screamed, slamming his fist on the table beside him, his eyes almost lighting up in flames. He couldn't help the hairs standing on the back of his neck, and for the first time, Harry managed to see why he'd earnt the title of the God of War. "You can act coy, revert to that tough guy persona you always do when you're fucked, but you can't tell me that didn't leave you scared out of your mind. And I, for one, am not willing to just stand around and let Montague do as he pleases with you. So stop acting like an impudent brat and take my bloody help."

Harry found himself unable to look Junior in the eyes, his heart racing as memories from that night began assaulting him again. It shouldn't be a surprise Junior was able to read him better than anyone else, but it was still infuriating. And he would rather die than admit the shock and fear he still felt when he saw Montague's cold gaze in his nightmares. It was enough to deflate all the anger he had towards Junior as Montague's threat became real once again.

"You can't," Harry said.

"What happened to your wand?"

"Sirius Black snapped it," Junior looked ready to growl at his words, but let him continue. "I can use other wands from time to time, but nothing like my own."

Junior hummed, nodding to himself as the silence began filling the room. And in it, he had a sparse thought. Dangerous and desperate, and he hated that he even thought of it. Hated that he would consider going that far. But he needed his wand. Black's wand always felt cold, and empty, but he was fine with going about his life feeling like he'd lost a limb. But if people like Eli and Dolohov could exploit his weaknesses so easily, what would the rest of the Death Eaters be able to do once they found out? What would everyone do? If he didn't get another wand, he may as well fill out his last will and testament.

"You're a Death Eater… are you close with… with the Dark Lord?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Has he ever come across some magic strong enough to… to fix up a wand?"

"You mean Dark Magic?" Junior said carefully. "You can't be serious."

"What if I am?"

Junior gave him a long look. He didn't say anything, didn't even move from his place. And though his face didn't hold much of an expression, Harry could feel the disappointment pouring from it.

"Absolutely not."

"What do you mean?"

"Even if there was something, some dark obscure magic that could manage to fix a snapped wand - though I have never heard of anything like it - you're not going to use it."

"The hell I'm not."

"I'm not going to let you," Junior said coldly.

Harry barked out a laugh. "You're not-"

"No," he interrupted him. "I won't. You may have chosen to forget about what we went through after you found out who I really was, but I didn't. You told me you hated Dark Magic. That no matter what happened, you wouldn't use it. That you would never become like the people you hate. I'm not going to let you throw that all away for the vaguest of chances to get your wand back."

"You're a fucking Death Eater!" Harry snapped, crossing the room until he was just a few inches away from Junior's face. "You use Dark Magic to wipe your arse after taking a shit. You probably cream your pants wishing I'd join your Dark Lord in killing anyone who dares oppose him. Who are you to tell me what I should or shouldn't do?"

"Someone who gives a shit, that's who."

"No, you're a hypocrite."

"Call me whatever you want," Junior shrugged. "But I didn't spend that whole year training you just so that you can turn out just like me. That's not what your parents would have wanted you to-"

Harry's fist clashed against Junior's jaw before he managed to finish his sentence. It took him by surprise, and the punch had done its damage. But Junior didn't look angry or try to hit him back. He just looked at him with that same disappointment. "One day, you'll thank me for this."

"Fuck you."

Grimmauld Place

March 27th, 1996

8:35 a.m.

Junior's surprise appearance had left him with nothing but bitterness and even fewer solutions. Sure, it was nice that he didn't have to buy a totally new wardrobe and that the irreplaceable stuff like the Marauder's Map hadn't been torched by Montague or whatever. But it still left him sulking for the following days, and Harry didn't know if it was because Junior had been right about what his parents would feel about Harry considering using Dark Magic, or because it had taken one of the Death Eaters that was involved in their murder to talk some sense into him.

It was scary. With everything that had happened over the past few months, he could feel the line between what was right and what was wrong slowly fading away. And he wasn't just slipping into making some terrible decisions, he was plunging downwards into them at full speed. More than the Dark Magic, that was probably why Junior had shut down his idea. The moment you give into desperation, you'll lose the fight. Keep your cool or you'll die afraid. They sounded like Moody's words at the time. They still did in a way. If there was anyone who would be the equivalent of a Moody within the Death Eaters, Junior would definitely be the guy.

Still, he'd mastered remaining calm under pressure. He could face Voldemort himself and still manage to stay more collected and centred than anyone other than Dumbledore. And he'd felt really proud of it too. Had even viewed himself as more Slytherin than the others because of it. What would they do when faced with true danger? They'd scream and cry and shout and he… he would remain calm. He'd solve the situation because that's what he had trained to do. It was almost funny just how quickly that image of himself had been shattered.

Sure, he was still as prepared as ever for a fight. In those high-intensity situations, he would always manage to find a way to come out alive. It didn't matter how many opponents he had to face or how handicapped he was. But for five years he trained himself to only be a warrior, a weapon, while everybody else learned how to be a leader. A person. If he wasn't cursing someone or dodging something, Harry felt unnerved. He needed that battle state to keep himself calm. And because of it, it had led him to become as rash and mindless as all the Gryffindors he mocked.

The Sorting Hat had told him he could have gone either way, after all.

Harry had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't seen Moody barge into the kitchen until he pulled back the chair opposite Harry and threw himself on it. Mrs Weasley quickly gave him breakfast and the two of them had a brief and cryptic conversation about Mr Weasley and his whereabouts while Harry pretended not to listen as he kept to himself and his own scrambled eggs. By the time he had finished eating, Mrs Weasley had left the room and headed upstairs. Harry stood up and grabbed his plate, setting it in the sink where it began washing itself, and turned to leave only to be stopped by Moody's growl.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?" He nodded to the chair where Harry had just been seated before locking the door with his wand and adding a fair few privacy charms to it. Harry sighed, not really in the mood for talking with Moody, but sat down either way. He wasn't going to waste his magic for the day trying to open the door. "Since you're momentarily free from those fussy ladies upstairs and have taken a break from sulking in your room, I think it's past time we had a little chat."

"About what?"

"Don't play stupid."

"The attacks?" Harry asked. "So whose approach are you going to take? Sirius or Dumbledore? Am I an irredeemable monster or on my way to becoming part of your rag-tag group of people against genocide?"

"Neither," Moody grunted. "I'm not here to make you feel like the special butterfly the others think you are. You fooled us - masterfully done, by the way - but fooled us nonetheless, which means you're not the innocent victim everyone wants to see you as. Nor am I here to reprimand you. I'm not your father nor your godfather. But what I want you to understand is that we're at war."

Harry blinked. "What of it?"

"In war, you make difficult decisions. People die. And if you're not careful enough, you die. Or your friends die. You make a mistake, and you can get your whole team killed. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"So you have to stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop holding back. Especially now that you don't have your own wand."

Harry blinked again, narrowly avoiding picking at his ear to remove any excess wax that may have twisted Moody's words. "What?"

"Use your ears, boy!"

"I- I am. I just… you caught me off guard."

"Why? Because I'm not trying to convince you to win this war through stunners and disarming charms? Albus' got his heart in the right place, but he doesn't understand the gravity of the war. Not really. He's Albus Dumbledore, for Merlin's sake! If he so wished, he could take down a room full of Death Eaters with nothing but transfigurations. He advises non-lethal magic because he has rarely been in a position where he needs it to survive. That's a luxury no one else has here."

"Are you trying to tell me that I should have continued killing those people at the end?" Harry asked.

"He's a Ravenclaw, that one," Moody said sardonically.

"I wasn't just murdering people-"

"No, you were torturing as well, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Like I told you, Potter, this is a war. A soldier like you should understand. In war, we don't hope for the best. We kill, and we take what's necessary to survive. Were those men a bunch of wicked cunts?"

"Yes-"

"Did they have the information you needed to take down more evil bastards?"

"Yes, but-"

"No buts," Moody barked. "All of them would have turned to Voldemort's side the second he announced his return. In a conflict like this, we can't sit by and ponder which of our enemies could be redeemed in the future and which are just lost causes. If they're on the other side of your wand, and they present a threat, they're dead men. And you suddenly building a moral compass will only lead you to make mistakes."

"I'm not building a moral compass, I'm trying to save my soul!" Harry snapped back.

"And is your soul more important than the world at large? What good's it gonna be for you to have your soul intact - or as unharmed as you can, given what you've done - if Voldemort ends up taking over Britain? Over Europe? Over the whole blasted world? What consolation will that bring to the countless men and women who will be killed because you prioritised being able to sleep at night over doing what needs to be done?"

Harry gritted his teeth at the words. He'd heard them before, but not from Junior. It was the sort of thing he used to tell the Gryffindors when they were being too naive. What he would think to himself when he was doing something immoral or downright illegal. And what could he say against that when it had been5 that hesitancy that had got Susan killed in the first place?

"This right here is why the Order hasn't been able to get anything done ever since the last war. It's because of this divide in ideologies that Voldemort has managed to outplay us every time. Because he has the will to do whatever it takes while we sit around and try to measure out what's justice and what's crossing the line. Your parents knew this and that's why they were Aurors first rather than Order members."

"My parents?" Harry croaked out. "They were in the Order."

"At first…" Moody said cryptically. "They joined as soon as the war began, they were of the idealistic and naive sort. After their first year here they had so many differences with Dumbledore and other members of the Order like Black that they became full-time Aurors. They'd come by on the sparse emergency to help out, but they never became recognised as true Order members. Not like Lupin, Black and Pettigrew."

"What happened?"

"The Aurors were more lenient with their practices at the time. While the Order acted like a quick reaction force and even allowed its members to use lethal spells if push came to shove, it was heavily restricted. Dumbledore forbade any coercive questioning, and given the fact that Veritaserum doesn't actually force the answer out of a person like most believe, rather it merely makes it so the user can't lie while under its effects, there were very few things the Order could do. The Aurors on the other hand were given free rein to use whatever spells or methods necessary to hunt down Death Eaters and face Voldemort. While they called the Order vigilantes, they were much more violent and ruthless in their practices. But they were right… and your parents knew that."

"So I'm good to do whatever the hell I want?" Harry asked snidely. "So long as they're people on the other side, I'm good."

"You make your peace with whatever God or force you believe rules the universe, Potter. I'm not here to tell you what's morally correct or not. But if you want to win, if you want to live, you can't show these people mercy, even if it's for your own sake. You don't get to wonder just how much damage you're doing to your soul by killing or torturing the enemy… they certainly won't."

Grimmauld Place

March 29th, 1996

9:50 p.m.

Today had been the first day when his body hadn't reeled from the effects of the magical exhaustion. There were no more cramps, none of his limbs began to suddenly shake uncontrollably, and his legs didn't feel numb anymore. But with the week he'd had, the development had only been a small respite from it all as most of his problems remained confined to his mind.

Every major conversation he'd had only left him feeling more confused about his actions and more scared about his impending second round against Montague. The conversations began jumbling all into one, blending and mixing and making the real message about the whole thing much more complicated. To kill or not to kill. You can't beat Montague with a wand, but you can't beat him without one. You should have limits. You should show no remorse. Be smart. Be fierce. Be strong. Be calm.

He couldn't just be anymore.

The whole thing had done nothing but piss him off more. He hadn't tried contacting Bedivere again. Hadn't sought out Junior or engaged in conversation with anyone else. But the truth was that the uncertainty was eating up at him inside.

He was up in his room as he often was, sitting in the small study inside with drops of ink dripping onto the parchment as Harry couldn't decide what to jot down. Alone with nothing but his own thoughts for company, he had thought it a good idea to begin planning his new approach towards Montague. Of course, his mind had gone blank on him as it usually did when it involved long-term planning. But at least it served as a distraction from his inner conflicts.

He didn't know how long he sat there, dipping his quill into the ink jar only for it to slowly dry off as his hand stubbornly hovered above the paper. The result was a thick, black circle that had nearly torn through the parchment. It was a knock on the door that finally brought him back to the world of the living as he grunted "Come in," and shook his head.

"Harry, dear, are you sure you don't want some dinner?" Mrs Weasley asked as her head peered in from outside. The Order meeting must have ended already.

"No, not really," he muttered.

"You look tired, dear. Anything I can get you? A cup of tea, a pepper-up… it's a bit late, you could also go to sleep."

Harry turned to the bed weakly before shrugging. "I'm fine. I'm not t tired yet."

Mrs Weasley scrunched up her eyebrows before gently coming inside. She closed the door to the room before sitting on the bed just a few feet behind him. "You've been… off ever since you arrived." She said. "Is everything alright?"

Is everything alright?

It was amazing the power that three simple words could have because that was all it took for Harry to literally feel a snap inside his mind. At that moment, he wanted to scream that no, nothing was alright. He wanted to tell her about the murders and the tortures. About the feeling of power he got from them, how they became nearly addictive to him. He wanted to tell her what everyone had been telling him to do. What not to do. He wanted to say so much, to blast the room to pieces… and it took every effort in his body to stay silent in his seat. And when he finally spoke, he kept his eyes fixed on the paper, refusing to even turn towards Mrs Weasley.

"You've heard them talk, haven't you?" He asked quietly. "Ron. Neville. Granger. Sirius. The Order… you've heard what they have said about me."

"I don't pay much mind to it… not after what you did to save my kids."

"But you've heard?"

"…yes," she admitted.

"I still remember the first time I met Graham. There have been so many times when I've wished, dreamed, of going back to that day. To turn around and walk away and maybe… maybe things would have been different. But I can't… and I didn't because back then I thought he was my guardian angel. He defended me against the other Slytherins, he humoured me, and hung out with me… he became my only friend. The only person who had ever cared about me until that point. And near the end of it, I came to think of him as my brother. As the one person that I could trust in this shitty world. The one I would gladly give my life for if it came to it."

Harry gave a bitter laugh, feeling his eyes burning.

"The next thing I know, he admits to his brother that he's been playing me all along. Some… twisted revenge for something my parents did, I don't know. And when I confront him about it he… his friends…" Harry shuddered, his body literally shook from the memory. "Everyone was asleep, and they took me into the Common Room. They chained me up to the ceiling. Mocked me. And just when I thought the betrayal and humiliation were the worst of it, Montague pulled out the knife. He laughed as he began carving me with that knife - they all did. And by the time they left, I was a puddle of blood and tears on the ground… that was my first Halloween at the castle."

"Harry…" Mrs Weasley tried to speak, but she couldn't muster more than that.

Tears fell down his face, but Harry continued to speak like a man possessed. "After that night… I don't know… something… something broke inside me. And it was just the beginning. Tom's diary… the dementors… with each passing year I felt a burst of anger started growing inside me. This… primal rage - unstoppable, consuming - and it's just kept growing and growing and growing. I can't go more than a few minutes awake without feeling it, feeling it scream and blaze and vibrate inside me. And every snide remark, every weird glance, or shitty thing that happened just fuelled it more and more. So when Montague kidnapped me again… when he was about to torture me and brand me again… I didn't care. I didn't stop. I grabbed his own knife and I carved into his face and for the first time in all my years at Hogwarts… I felt good. Satisfied. Overjoyed. I had never felt anything like it… and it was beautiful. But no more than five seconds passed, and it was gone. And the anger was back. Stronger. Begging for more."

Mrs Weasley wasn't saying anything. And Harry didn't dare turn back to see her face. He didn't know how she felt. If she was sad or terrified. But he didn't care, because with every word he got out, he could feel his chest lighter and lighter.

"And so when those men attacked The Three Broomsticks, I did the same thing. I gave into my anger and let it free, and it felt good. And when I escaped here, I let it out on Sirius. And I've let it out on a whole lot more people since. But it doesn't matter what I do, or how many people I hurt, I can't stop feeling it. It always comes back stronger. And now that I realise what I did… what I've done… the guilt I feel. The shame. The… dishonour. You and Andromeda and Ginny and Dumbledore… you've all asked me how I feel. The truth is… with all this rage and hurt and guilt inside me… I don't want to feel anything anymore."

Harry sniffed and scrubbed the tears from his face. "I wish I couldn't feel a fucking thing."

That's it for this chapter, thank you all for reading!

Next chapter will be a full Hogwarts chapter. Be excited!

By the time I'm posting this, I'm ELEVEN chapters ahead, and I have finished the arc titled Life Sentence, which is the final arc before the climax of 5th year begins! If you are interested in learning how to get early access to them, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT

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