CHAPTER 80: Lost Souls (Part 4)

Godric's Hollow

April 2nd, 1996

11:45 p.m.

The moment Harry had apparated into the centre of the town, he immediately felt it. There was just something about it all, an itch he couldn't quite place. Maybe it was in the way the cool spring breeze hit his face as he walked through the village or the familiar structure made up of the houses and shops spread out, creating countless small alleys and pathways to travel around. It was a sense of familiarity, one he hadn't felt in any of the dozen small wizarding towns he had visited over the past couple of months. At first, he had thought it was because this village was the most reminiscent of Hogsmeade, but that was still far from a satisfying answer.

Perhaps it was because he already knew why he was feeling the way he was.

He should have come sooner. This should have been the first place he'd visited after he had escaped from Grimmauld Place. It was what he had always wanted to do, the very first place he had promised himself he'd visit as soon as he mastered apparition. Unfortunately, life never really panned out how he expected it to. And how could he come to visit his parents when he hadn't done the one thing they had asked of him? Even now, as his feet dragged him closer and closer to their graves, he was still unworthy of seeing them.

But he was still walking anyway.

It was dark. Most of the residents had gone to sleep already, leaving only the stars above and the light of the full moon to guide him to the graveyard at the centre of the village. And as he walked, Harry couldn't help but wonder which one of these houses had been the one where his parents had lived. He didn't know if it had been torn down or rebuilt or if any damage it had taken had been fixed or left intact until he came of age and made a decision on it. He could walk right past it and he'd never even know it. And though he was tempted to look all over the village until he found it, revealing himself in public was a risk in of itself. Wasting his time like that would lead him to an early grave. Or more blood dripping from his hands.

It took him ten minutes of walking before he found it. Surrounding a small church was a vast graveyard, filled with headstones ranging from freshly carved to barely legible. And though there were no ghosts to be seen, there was an otherworldly aura in the air that made the hair on the back of his neck stand alert. And the thought of even a slim chance of actually seeing his parents inside that graveyard nearly made him turn on the spot. But he didn't, mustering courage from whatever depleting source he still had, he kept on walking and crossed the threshold.

Harry wandered around, searching for his parents' names on the tombstones as he read about all the other people who had died before him. He recognized some surnames from wizards, Dumbledore's being the most surprising of them all, and even some from the muggle world. And though it took him time, he eventually found his parents. Or at least the two slabs of stone that were the last thing on the planet to commemorate their lives. And he felt nothing as he looked at them.

He didn't know what he was expecting. Maybe he thought he would have burst into tears at the sight of it, or feel some joy or somehow closer to them just by being there. But they were still gone. Seeing their graves, standing right on top of their bodies… it wouldn't change that. It wouldn't bring them back. It wouldn't change the past. And he didn't know if he was saddened or relieved by it all. There was only a consuming numbness that began spreading all over his body, infecting his very soul.

"I don't know if you're here… I don't know if you can even hear me," Harry said to the air, almost expecting it to give him some sort of confirmation that there was a purpose to all of this. That he wasn't talking out of his arse for no reason. "Hell, I don't even know why I came here, after all."

The wind kept blowing, and as a large cloud began to hover right above him, covering the moon, the graveyard grew darker.

"I failed you," he said, and his voice shook with the words. "It wasn't really you, in my head - I know that. And I… I never got to meet you. I don't actually know the type of people you were or what you would have wanted from me… but I still failed at what you asked of me. All this time I've been convincing myself that everything I'm doing, murdering all those people just to hunt Montague down… that it was to honour your memories. That it was my way of doing the right thing. To make you proud of me… to make your lives have some sort of meaning. But it was all a lie. It was an excuse. A free pass so that I could justify doing all those things and then just… wash my hands of it all."

Harry scoffed, trying to ignore the shame he felt and the traitorous wish that they knew and didn't care. That they would support him. That he wasn't the one who was wrong, and the world had gone mad.

"The truth is that I don't regret it. Not really. Not where it counts. I keep trying to convince myself that what I did was wrong. To force that belief into my head when it's clear I don't feel that way. If it wasn't for the Trials… if I could just… if I could just forget. Ignore what this is turning me into… how I'm just one shit day away from leaning into dark magic and becoming just like the bastards who killed you. I would. I want to. God knows I've tried. But I can't. And even as I want to keep going, how I truly believe that all these sons of bitches got what they deserved - that they got off easy with me - I can't."

Harry stared down at the headstones at his feet but didn't say anything. And once again he felt like he was back with Mrs Weasley, felt how every word he said somehow served to pick away at the ball of anger inside of him.

"How is that fair, huh? Some arsehole rapes and murders innocent people for a bag of galleons, and they can walk around just fine. They can rest and sleep and not be consumed by it all. But when I take action… when I use my anger on them. On helping. On trying to make things right. Trying to avenge Susan's death… why do I feel like this? Why am I so crippled by the thought I'm straying from being the person you would want me to be. Why don't they get to feel that? Why can they enjoy themselves rotten while I hurt like this? After everything that's happened to me, everything that Montague and Tom and Snape and Sirius and everyone else in this bloody world did to me… why am I the one who feels like shit?"

He gave a bitter snort, an odd sound from deep within his soul as he felt the need to laugh and sob at the same time.

"It doesn't matter, does it? Whining about this won't change anything in the end. It won't make me feel better. It won't make me forget."

His knees nearly giving out on him, Harry gently sat down on the ground and stared at the space between the two graves in front of him.

"I don't want to turn out like them. I don't want to become another Montague or Dolohov… I know you guys wouldn't want that. And even though I hate it, I hate the mental block, the restraint… as much as I would want to give in to it and forget… I couldn't bear to let you down. To let Susan down. Not again… not after what you did for me. But I don't know what to do. Everyone keeps telling me what it is that I'm supposed to do with my life. They tell me to stop, to run, to jump, to fight, to stand my ground… and I don't know what is right anymore. I don't think I've known for a while. I wouldn't be here if I didn't need your help - really need it. I just want to do the right thing… but I don't even know where to start. I know I'm going to kill again. I know I'm going to do a lot of shit that will push me to the edge… that will damage my soul more than it already is. I just want to know that I'm doing it for the right reason. That in the few times when I do that… it isn't because I want to, but because I need to. Because it's what you would want me to do."

Harry finally turned towards his father's headstone, staring at the words etched onto the stone as he spoke.

"I'm going to go after Montague. And Dolohov. I'm going to make them pay for what they did. And then… then it'll be the other Death Eaters all the way up until I reach the Dark Lord. That's what I'm gonna do. But I… I need to know if what I'm doing is what is right. I need to know that I'm going down the right path. You- you have to tell me, you have to give me a sign. Please."

But as the words were uttered, nothing changed. The wind blew just the same, the darkness of the night crept further and further into the graveyard… and not a voice was heard for miles. There was nothing.

"Just give me a sign."

But there were no signs… because no one was listening.

Parkinson Palace

April 3rd, 1996

10:10 p.m.

To say the past couple of weeks had been anything other than infuriating would be a major understatement. Between evading the Knights of Walpurgis as well as planting several lures to keep them off his trail and ensure they didn't reach the workspace, all the while having to attend to Bedivere every time the old man called as well as continuing his work on finding the other Horcruxes. Corban had barely had time to sleep for more than a few hours each night.

Still, maintaining his relationship with Bedivere had become a high priority once his position with the Knights had been burned. And though he was pissed off at Potter and Montague and everybody in between, he kept his head down and continued his work. It was the way he survived, how he was going to come out of this coming war on the winning side regardless of who the victor actually was.

In truth, he had no qualms if the Dark Lord ended up taking over and ridding Britain of Muggles and Mudbloods. He had no qualms if Bedivere and Potter somehow pulled it off and defeated the Dark Lord and his loyalists. And before he had been cast out, he'd had no issue with the Knights of Walpurgis somehow coming out on top of both groups. He was a member of the three societies, after all. He only needed one of them to win… and make sure the others never found out about his treachery.

It had all gone to shit now, of course, but it had been a good plan from the start. And if Potter managed to beat Montague properly, there was no doubt in Yaxley's mind that he could return to his previous position with the Knights. He just needed to weather this storm and ensure neither Bedivere nor the Dark Lord had any reason to doubt him or expel him. This was just a bad moment that would pass.

That's how he found himself at Parkinson Palacefor the dozenth time in the past few weeks. He'd been helping Bedivere with the improvements for the dementor treatment and testing its effects on the convulsing vegetable that Augustus Rookwood had become. Potions had never been his area of expertise, and though he would much rather tinker around with the Horcruxes than focus on the treatment, he wasn't in a position to deny Bedivere's requests. Besides, a man like Bedivere never made requests. He gave out orders.

"Thank you for coming, Corban," Bedivere greeted him as he arrived at Rookwood's dungeon.

"Are the new brews ready?"

The old man motioned to the five separate vials on the table right outside the cell. What was curious about them was the vast difference between them, not just in colour but as well in their texture and other easily discernible features. It seemed the vastly different approaches that were taken with each potential improvement of the treatment led to a great difference in the results.

The two of them didn't waste any time. Even though Rookwood's brain seemed to be completely fried, they still restrained him and prepped him for the procedure. With each potion they gave him, they analysed the different effects they had on him and discussed possible improvements they could make to obtain better results. The problem was that most of the potions delivered the same results, and none of them showed any clear change in Rookwood. Given his condition, the sole metric by which they could use to measure the effect was how much pain Rookwood seemed to be in after taking it. Screaming. Shaking. Any other clear visual cues.

And though Corban had prepared himself for an evening without any worthy results and facing more dead-ends, the last potion proved otherwise. It had been different from the others since the start. It didn't make any clear effect, not at first, he'd even thought the potion had been brewed wrongly. And then, Rookwood exploded. He began shaking uncontrollably, tearing at his binds with enough strength that he actually managed to break one of the ropes. And the screams that came out of him seemed to almost come out of his very soul.

And then it happened. His eyes turned fully black, and the surrounding air was slowly infested with black particles that almost seemed to be coming out of him. It lasted for nearly a minute, but when it passed Rookwood's body went completely still and Corban could tell he was about to pass out. But just before he did, a single word left Rookwood's lips. "Horcruxes…"

The two men stared at the prone body, stunned, before Bedivere turned to him. "I believe that means our concoction worked. We'll have to do more tests and make sure, however…"

"Will you inform the Dark Lord right away?" Corban asked.

"Yes," Bedivere answered. "I think that's wise. It would bring him back to Britain for a while, which would leave us more time to figure out why he's been leaving the country so often lately."

"That would mean the Azkaban loyalists will begin to gain consciousness soon."

"That, unfortunately, is inevitable at this point. The best we can do is make sure they do once it aids our goals."

"And him?" Corban asked, motioning towards Rookwood. "He knows about the Horcruxes. He could be of use."

"Perhaps, but it's best we figure out what he actually knows and where his allegiances lie before we consider involving him in our little crusade. We'll have to keep working on him… return him to his former state. Or as close as he can get."

The White Wyvern

April 4th, 1996

9:30 p.m.

Elijah Montague was the type of man who would rarely be seen in Knockturn Alley and much less in an establishment such as The White Wyvern. None of the members of the Knights of Walpurgis were. After all, they were all supposed to be upstanding citizens. Pillars of the wizarding community since its very inception. For them to have a beer in the White Wyvern, much less be the ones who organized the meeting for tonight, would be seen as very unseemly. It would taint the perfect image that was necessary to maintain their political advantages and remain in obscurity.

It was only in times of crisis in which a meeting such as this one would be hosted. And with everything that had happened over the past couple of months, this latest crisis was large enough that it wasn't only Elijah who was waiting at the pub for everyone to arrive - but also Robert Greengrass. And meetings like this… they drew a crowd.

The White Wyvern was rarely as filled as it currently was, and there were various guests missing. These were the worst of the worst, or at least those who remained after Potter's rampage over the wizarding underworld. On the guest list were not only all the contacts of the Knights of Walpurgis, but leaders of all the major gangs, and the most proficient thieves, mercenaries, and contract killers in the country. Elijah barely knew any of them as he usually didn't contact them directly, and though he wasn't sure who these people were or how they celebrated, he knew very few nights before this one would compare to what was about to happen.

"Seems about everyone," Robert said gruffly. "Why did you call this meeting, anyway? What's the point of it?"

"You confirmed Potter's still breathing, Robert," Elijah said. "That was all I needed to know."

"I know your family isn't exactly destitute anymore. But you aren't wealthy enough to just throw your money around carelessly. What's the point of going through all of this if you're cashing in the favour I owed you with the Prophet-"

"Do you have it here?" Elijah asked, staring deeply into Robert's eyes in the way he knew made people uneasy. And though he didn't have the same effect on a wizard such as Robert Greengrass, it still allowed him to get a better read on the man.

"Of course," Robert said as he reached into his robes and pulled it out. "Tomorrow's paper. Bright and early. I still believe this to be an unwise move-"

"Mister Snyde will understand."

"If you think you can fool Mister Sny-"

"I have no plans to fool him, Robert," Elijah said firmly. "He'll understand that, even with his apprehension about furthering this course of action, it's the best strategy we have without earning the wrath of the Dark Lord. Or have you forgotten what it is he's done? That we're not his allies to cover up his… extracurricular activities. Especially because of them."

"I understand," Robert said primly. "However, Mister Snyde is not someone as… understanding as I am. He'll see this for what it truly is… a way for you to undermine his power."

"Mister Snyde has bigger fish to fry, at the moment." Elijah challenged. "Yaxley will be the victim of his wrath."

"How? We still haven't been able to track him. So unless we find him soon, then it'll be just the opposite of what you said. You'll suffer for the traitor's sins."

"Don't you worry… I have my own plans for making sure Yaxley pays his dues. But he's not my concern tonight."

Elijah turned back to the paper in his hands and couldn't help but smile. His eyes traced over the headline over and over again, and the surge of elation he felt never wavered. Nor so as he stared at the picture below the headline. Masterful work by Dolohov… prize-worthy indeed. He'd have to repay him for his efforts soon. And as he read the article once, twice, three times the anticipation kept building. But seeing as he could do nothing more than wait for the morning to come, Elijah took control of his emotions and calmed himself.

"Excellent work, Robert."

"Yes, pristine." Robert rolled his eyes. "Just get this over, will you? I'd rather not stay in this cesspool longer than I need to."

"Agreed," Elijah smiled before standing up and calling everyone to attention. It took a couple of tries before the room had fully quieted down, but once he became the centre of attention he continued. "Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen. It's been a while since we've had one of these… but given recent events, this is more than warranted."

There were various sounds of agreement from the crowd as they were all very aware of the elephant in the room.

"Over the past couple of months, we have all taken losses to this new group who have targeted us. Our friends and community - the people we look at as a family. Everyone in this room has known people who were murdered by these vigilantes… and I understand why fear has begun to run rampant. But I'm here to tell you that there is nothing to fear here. That our enemy isn't an army of countless, nameless men… but the tantrum of a scrawny teenager."

The pub exploded in outrage, nearly half of everyone there decrying it, calling it impossible, even threatening him. But Elijah didn't say anything, didn't move a muscle until the barkeep had managed to quiet them all down.

"I can understand your disbelief," Elijah said calmly, containing the anger and disdain he held towards the crowd. "But I did not call this meeting to spread fairy tales. My words are true… and I have proof of it." As he said this, various people around the pub began spreading the pictures to everyone. "I have been following him for weeks, witnessing how he has used polyjuice potion to trick us all. And in my search, I have learned everything about this kid. And he is no threat to us."

"Let's say your claims are true," someone called out from the crowd. "That it was only one person whose behind this. Who murdered all these people on his own. That makes him a bigger threat than we had previously thought."

"The boy is skilled, there is no denying that," Elijah said, barely being able to hold off his smile. "But he's weak. And I don't mean this in any abstract way… but in a magical sense. I've seen his attacks, I was there two weeks ago when he invaded my home and took down my men. His curses are very underpowered, even for a boy his age, and more than that… he can't use magic for long. He has a… a curse. His magic drains quicker than ours does - much quicker. If you catch him drained enough, if you force him to spend all his magic in a fight… that's it. The boy is dead."

"You said you have a name," a man called out as he stood leaning against the wall and staring intently at him. "Who is it?"

"Harry James Potter. He's outside Hogwarts… away from the Longbottom's grasp. He doesn't have a home or a place to stay. He's drifting out there with no one to help him, and I say it's time he answers for his crimes. The days of us running scared as he does what he pleases are over." He was beginning to catch their attention. The pictures were enough proof, and regardless of them, they'd all know by tomorrow. People in the crowd began agreeing. Chanting. Just like he'd wanted them to. "I say that we retake our roles in this society. Mister Potter has deemed himself worthy enough of hunting us down… let us show him just how wrong he was. Let us teach him the consequences of fucking with the wrong people."

More and more people began cheering and yelling. The name Harry James Potter would be engraved in all of their minds. And as they would walk around their villages, going about their lives, they would all keep an eye out for the boy that declared war against the criminals of the Wizarding World. The word would spread, and Harry Potter would become the most hunted person in the wizarding underworld. There would be no dingy pub where he could run for safety.

Eli turned to look back at the newspaper Robert had given him and finally allowed himself to smile as he re-read the headline.

HARRY POTTER: BRITAIN'S YOUNGEST SERIAL KILLER

With the Aurors hunting him in the light and the criminals in the dark… Harry Potter would become the most wanted man in Great Britain before the sun fully rose.

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

Next chapter will begin the arc titled Checkmate, as we explore Harry dealing with the aftermath of Montague's actions. Be excited!

By the time I'm posting this, I'm ELEVEN chapters ahead, and I have finished the short, two-part arc titled Two Minutes To Midnight, and will now begin writing the actual FINALE of Fifth Year! If you are interested in learning how to get early access to them, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT

As always, thank you for reading, favouriting, and commenting! I appreciate all of you! :)