INTRODUCTION: This is my attempt to write something that feels like a true continuation of the Harry Potter series(post-epilogue, post-CursedChild). The golden trio of Harry, Ron and Hermione will lead my story, as in the original works.
This is the Book 2/3 of my Fourth Curse Trilogy. IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE FIRST BOOK, I STRONGLY RECOMMEND READING IT FIRST.
Harry Potter was a highly unusual man in many ways. For one thing, he had defeated Lord Voldemort — the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time — when he had just turned into an age of one, to become a famous wizard whose name was known throughout the Wizarding world. For another, he had destroyed the resurrected Voldemort down to the last fragment of his soul in his youth, solidifying his reputation as one of the greatest wizards in history. But he happened to be a wizard no more.
Harry jolted awake with a blood-curdling scream just before the break of dawn. The same nightmare haunted him every time. . . . In his horrible dream, he had faced a terror beyond death in the Forbidden Forest, in the clearing where death had once visited him decades ago. It was darker than a lunar eclipse, colder than the depths of winter, and emptier than the vast void of space . . . the Fourth Curse was closing in on his heart, ready to freeze it and end the flow of warm blood, to take away his greatest source of happiness forever. . . .
Every cell of his body had been screaming in protest, the primal instincts within him begging him to flee from the curse. Yet, he had been frozen, unable to move a single muscle. His mind had become foggy as if he had been surrounded by hundreds of dementors. Perhaps it would have been easier to let one of them take his soul; at least there would be no more pain then. . . . But the Fourth Curse, which had almost reached him, was utterly merciless, even more so than the dementors. . . .
Harry hit his head against the low sloped ceiling as he screamed and woke up. The pain was severe, but it was nothing compared to the nightmare he had just lived. Spiders scrambled to climb the wall or fell over in a panic when he pulled a string and turned on the light. Sitting on his bed, he panted. When his body moved the way he wanted it to, he felt somewhat relieved. But then, painful memories flooded back to him like a raging river rushing past a collapsed embankment. Rubeus Hagrid, his old friend and protector, had been brutally murdered, and Harry had been plagued by the Fourth Curse even before he could take revenge on the killer. Having lost all magical powers as a result of the curse, he was now as powerless as any Muggle. . . .
There was heavy reverberation above at that moment, and fine dust fell whenever footsteps hit the stairs. There was a knock on the door to the cupboard under the stairs. "Is everything all right with you, Harry? I heard a scream," Dudley Dursley's dull, drowsy voice said outside the door.
"I'm fine, Big D," said Harry, despite not being fine. "It's no big deal — just a nightmare. Sorry to wake you up."
"You know, Harry," Dudley hesitated outside the door before continuing, "have you dreamed about Cedric again? You used to call his name in your nightmares when we were young."
"No, it wasn't about Cedric," said Harry firmly. It was worse than that, he thought, now feeling even more depressed.
"All right, then. See you at breakfast!" Dudley said as he left.
Harry turned back to the wall and tried to lie down again. It was hard to in the narrow cupboard where he couldn't fully stretch his legs. He had stood bravely against the Death Eaters and confronted Voldemort in Little Hangleton's cemetery on the night Cedric had died. He would have died honorably even if he had failed to survive then . . . but now? Now he had been reduced to nobody — he was nothing now. Harry silently wept facing the musty wall.
When Harry came to the kitchen to have breakfast, Dudley and his wife Mary were already there. Dudley was reading the news on his smartphone with sleepy eyes, and Mary was turning over the bacon and eggs in a frying pan.
"Good morning, Harry," Mary said as she dished out bacon onto his plate. "I heard you scream. . . . You didn't sleep well last night, did you?"
"Nope — I had a nightmare. But nothing to worry about," Harry forced a smile. "Anyway, thanks for letting me stay here, Dudley. You said you rented out that cupboard in the past, didn't you? I'll pay the rent, of course —"
"What are you talking about! We're family, we should help each other out," Dudley said firmly, taking his gaze away from his smartphone. He hastily gobbled up a whole egg and picked at the crumbs on his mustache and went on, "Harry, I told you before — why don't you move upstairs? We have two rooms empty since the kids are at boarding school, and there's always the spare bedroom."
"Right, Harry — we have three extra rooms," said Mary. "I don't understand why you're staying in that cramped cupboard. . . . Don't you think it's so dreary and damp in there that you keep having nightmares?"
Harry hesitated, his mind racing as he poked at the bacon on his plate with a fork. He had often wondered why he felt drawn to the cupboard under the stairs where he had spent his miserable childhood: Was he still waiting for some kind of salvation there? Hagrid had rescued him from that cramped cupboard decades ago, and he had also brought him to the Wizarding world full of wonder, where he had truly belonged. . . . Harry's eyes filled with tears at the memory of Hagrid's wild mane of hair and bushy beard, and the beetle-black eyes that had sparkled with delight whenever they looked at him. But now Hagrid was gone, and so was the magical world he had belonged to, already consigned to the past. . . .
"Well," began Harry, taking a big bite of bacon with his fork, "I just feel like magic in the air is stronger when I'm in the cupboard . . . it feels quite cozy down there."
"Perhaps wizards are different from us ordinary folk," said Mary, and handed Dudley two more eggs and slices of bacon on his empty plate. "Why, the Lady of the Lake who used to date Merlin also liked damp places, didn't she? Wet places are strong in magic, I guess. . . ."
"Ha ha ha, that makes sense," chuckled Dudley. Harry forced a laugh along with the Dursleys. In truth, he would have preferred drier places — with his tear-stained cheeks, there was more than enough moisture already.
Harry arrived downtown in Dudley's car, who was on his way to work; after parting with his cousin, Harry went to the Underground station alone. He purchased a ticket from an automatic ticket machine he had become accustomed to using and boarded the train, joining a crowd of tired-looking Muggle commuters. His body swayed like a broken doll with the rattling of the train. While reading the internet news on his smartphone as usual, Harry suddenly looked up. Everyone around him was holding their smartphones just like he was, and no one paid the slightest attention to him.
Wish they could all see mighty Harry Potter now, he thought savagely as he tightened his grip on the vibrating handrail.
The Underground train reached London's center. Taking a step onto the platform, Harry followed suit-clad men and women off the train. The hard briefcases of passersby bumped into him as he pushed through the crowd. A bright sun was bathing the street full of cars when he had finally gotten out of the station. Harry felt somewhat intimidated by the towering buildings covered in black glass, looking down on him like arrogant giants. Turning off the main road, he walked down a narrow side street as if fleeing.
Along the way to his destination, the tall, majestic buildings on either side gradually disappeared and were replaced by lower, dirtier structures; passersby became sloppy and shabby in their clothing in the same way. Upon reaching the dingy street where the Ministry of Magic's visitors' entrance was located, he found a desolate, bleak landscape filled with small offices and a pub. Approaching an old telephone box with its red paint peeling off, he looked around to see if anyone recognized him. Besides Faraday Prewett, the new Treasurer, and Harry himself, no one would use this entrance, but still it was worth being careful.
Once he had taken out his wizard robes from his bag and worn them, Harry entered the red telephone box. The box began to sink into the ground and he was left alone in the darkness. Harry leaned against the cold iron frame and dusty glass. He had not told anyone, not even his closest friends Ron or Hermione, or even his family, about his situation. He kept the bitter truth that he was no longer a wizard concealed, perhaps because of a superstitious belief that by keeping it hidden he might be able to fix it somehow. It was for that very reason that he lived alone under the stairs of number four, Privet Drive, keeping his deepest secrets.
From his feet upwards, a golden beam of light emanated from the dazzling hall of the Ministry of Magic, dispelling the darkness inside. The growing light seemed to make Harry even more depressed, for it was his wish to hide forever in this cramped space. Nevertheless, he was forced out of the resting place when the door of the telephone box sprang open without any help.
All eyes flitted to Harry as he stepped across the polished black floor of the Atrium. Now there was a hint of pity in those gazes, which had previously been filled with respect or awe. In the previous battle in the Forbidden Forest, he had lost not only four veteran Aurors under his command, but also Rubeus Hagrid — one of his dearest friends. It was Harry who wept most sorrowfully at Hagrid's funeral among the many guests. Let them feel pity for him, thought Harry. Despite their efforts, no one felt as sorry for him as he did. Particularly in light of the secret he was hiding. . . .
At that moment, he felt a rush of cold dizziness, similar to when he was struck by the Fourth Curse. He barely managed to keep his balance as the wand lodged in his pocket hit his thigh. Formerly a faithful companion, it was now nothing more than a useless wooden stick. . . . Harry pulled out the wand and headed towards the lifts, suppressing the urge to break it in half.
Upon entering the Auror Headquarters, Harry walked straight to his office without looking at anyone. Since many of his Aurors had died and their positions were now vacant, it wasn't a challenging task. Sitting at his desk, he twirled his wand to retrieve the pile of reports from the bookcase. The reports remained stubbornly in place, of course; now his spell had no effect at all. Harry swore under his breath before standing up to grab the pile and slamming it to the desk with a loud thud. Angry and frustrated, he sat back down, heavy breaths escaping him. . . . A sudden impulse drove him to take out his wand and examine it closely.
Simple yet sophisticated, the handle retained the rough texture of holly, its main material. Within the wooden shell would be a fiery red feather of Fawkes, the phoenix who had been Albus Dumbledore's longtime companion and had even saved Harry's own life. On one occasion, the wand had subdued Voldemort, the most feared Dark wizard in history, by shooting a spurt of golden fire on its own. If such a surprising thing happened once more . . . just like he had experienced so many times since the day he turned eleven. . . .
"I need your help, my dear friend." Holding his wand carefully in his palms, Harry whispered to it. "Let's take a moment to reflect on all the years we have spent together — we've had so many adventures. . . . Please show me once again how powerful you are."
As if responding to the owner's earnest call, the warmth of the wand was transmitted through his skin, and a slight trembling was felt in his palm. With his heart swollen with hope, Harry raised his wand and pointed it at the wall.
"Expecto Patronum!"
He waited for some time after reciting the spell, but no miracle happened. Having cooled down again, the wand did not react as though it were a common twig. As Harry's arm sagged, his wand fell to the ground. At that moment, Teddy Lupin, his godson, burst through the door with a short knock. He glanced back and forth between Harry and the wand at his feet.
"Harry, what were you doing there?
"Just doing some exercise." Harry picked up his wand and placed it in his pocket. He didn't want to seem defeated in front of his godson, for whom he was willing to give his life, even in this hopeless situation. "What brings you here?"
"We need to talk, Harry," Teddy said as he magically summoned an armchair. Harry felt a burning thirst of envy at the sight of such a simple magic. Taking a seat in his chair, Teddy looked straight into Harry's eyes.
"Harry, I know you are going through a tough time right now," began Teddy carefully. "Hagrid's death must have caused you great grief, and I understand that."
"No, you don't," Harry said coldly, averting his gaze. Nevertheless, Teddy stubbornly turned his head to look into his green eyes again.
"Yes, I do — those are the feelings I would have felt if I had failed to save my dear godfather. . . . My heart would break, and it would feel like I had committed an unforgivable sin."
Harry lowered his head and averted his godson's gaze once again. In the event that Hagrid's death had been the sole cause of his suffering, he might have been able to get over it. Hadn't he lost a lot of people, starting with his parents, his godfather, his closest professors Remus Lupin, Albus Dumbledore and many more? In spite of all the sorrow and pain, he had refused to give up and eventually defeated Voldemort. Yet he could do nothing now, helpless like so many Muggles passing by the streets.
"I stopped by your house a few days ago," said Teddy quietly. "Ginny and your children are waiting for you, Harry . . . I am sorry for your loss, but it would be helpful if you could share your sorrow with them."
"I didn't leave home out of sadness," said Harry. "It's just . . . I have something to think about. And there are some things I need to investigate alone."
His godson's face showed that he was aware Harry had lied. Teddy, however, only sighed and stood up instead of asking him questions.
"Hope all is well with you, Harry. By the way, there's an event you've got to attend: A commissioning ceremony for the new Aurors is planned for today."
"Is it really?" Harry looked at the calendar on his desk in disbelief. Today's date, which was approaching autumn's peak, was circled in red on the calendar, in keeping with Teddy's words. "But do I need to attend? The Minister will be there, as well as Head of the Auror office."
"Those new recruits applied to our office because of you! From a very young age, they grew up hearing the legend of Harry Potter and dreamed of becoming a hero like you. Your absence will deeply disappoint them."
This made Harry even more hesitant to attend the event, but there seemed to be no other option. Harry sighed and got up to put his coat on.
Unlike what was usually expected, the Ministry of Magic's Grand Meeting Room was magnificently decorated. Red curtains with antique lace trim lined the walls, along with banners representing three of the Hogwarts Houses: red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, and yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff. The new Aurors stood in line in front of each House banner; all together, there seemed to be about thirty of them. As Harry entered inside with Teddy, he felt the already solemn atmosphere stiffen with increased tension. Most of the Gryffindors displayed this tendency more, and many flinched their right arms as if they wanted to salute Harry.
However, the hero the young people had been waiting for was already dead, and entering the Grand Meeting Room was just a shell of what it had been. Harry Potter had died along with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest; his shadow was all that remained. Taking his eyes off the newcomers, Harry walked straight to the podium. On the stage leading up the narrow spiral staircase, Hermione Granger, Minister of Magic, and Susan Bones, Head of Auror Office, awaited his arrival. When Hermione saw Harry, she seemed eager to talk to him, but he stood far away, avoiding her gaze. Eventually, Hermione gave up, picked up her wand, and cast an Amplifying Charm on herself before she stepped onto the podium. An extended round of warm applause followed. Hermione waited patiently for it to end before she began speaking.
"From wherever you are coming from, we all know you've enjoyed a wonderful time at Hogwarts. Everyone here has."
A meaningful grin appeared on Hermione's face as she glanced at Harry. Harry tried to smile, too, but his hardened lips barely moved. A slightly disappointed look crossed her face as she looked back at the audience below.
"I sincerely hope you will continue your exciting journey here as promising new Aurors. Now, let me introduce you to Mr. Harry Potter, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement!"
When Harry reluctantly stepped up to the podium, thunderous applause greeted him. He would have thought it came from hundreds, not just dozens, from the sound alone. He pulled out his wand that now seemed unfamiliar to him, placed its tip around his neck, and muttered "Sonorus."
"Greetings, young Aurors," addressed Harry. Since his spell was no longer effective, he was forced to speak out loud. "Our world is in danger again after decades of peace, as you all know. A powerful Dark wizard and the Dawn Breakers under his command have already killed four of my Aurors, and they pose a serious threat to our neighbors and families. It is a great honor to have talented young wizards and witches like you in these dangerous times."
Since Harry's throat hurt from speaking loudly, he just finished his speech by bowing. There was once again a huge round of applause. In the past, this would have been a joy to hear, but now the applause felt like a mockery of his false existence; the claps echoed like the flaps of wings of a lone bat in a hollow cave. The excited new Aurors were escortedd out of the Grand Meeting Room by Susan and Teddy. Just as Harry tried to run down the stairs, Hermione followed him hurriedly and grabbed his coat.
"Harry, we need to talk. How long have you been avoiding me like this?"
Harry had no choice but to face her. Seeing Hermione's searching gaze frightened him; he feared she would discover what he really was. "It's just . . . it's just that I need some time alone. That's all."
"That time has passed, Harry — we're at war! Many lives are at stake!" said Hermione. "Ron's in my office now — let's discuss what needs to be done. Nothing was impossible when we were together, remember?"
He had been a wizard then, but not now — those words echoed in his mind as he followed Hermione down the corridor. Entering the Minister's office against his will, he found himself surrounded by shelves of books, much like entering a library. With a grim expression on his face, Ron Weasley looked up from a large desk.
"Long time no see, mate," Ron said, the gleam in his eyes as intense as his flaming hair. But when Harry merely nodded curtly, the glow quickly faded.
"It's our first time seeing each other since . . . since Hagrid's funeral, right?" Ron's voice faltered, but he went on, "Harry, you were not the only one consumed by sadness. Hermine and I also grieved to the point of exhaustion. But giving up like this would be an injustice to Hagrid."
"Ron's right. It wasn't your fault, Harry! You were the bravest of us. You were always ready to fight," said Hermione pleadingly. "At least for Hagrid's sake —"
"Please, I'm begging you. Stop mentioning that name — you have no right to!" yelled Harry. "What happened that night? Even after Hagrid was gone, all you could think about was getting out of there. You never even considered looking for Hagrid when we were under attack. All you could do was cower in your hideout and tremble! You two are just a bunch of cowards. . . "
Ron emitted a horrified cry and clamped his mouth shut, and tears welled up in Hermione's eyes in an instant. But Harry couldn't stop. Since that night — the night when Mars burned brightest — his anger and grief that had been building up for so long suddenly erupted.
"I had to go into the forest by myself in the end! 'Cause you didn't care whether Hagrid lived or died!"
Hermionne now buried her face in her hands and began to sob. Ron leapt to his feet and embraced her, glaring at Harry with an angry face.
"Harry, I can't take it any longer. Apologize!"
"Oh, really? Would a dead person come back to life then? Will you apologise to Hagrid for abandoning him, then?"
"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!" Ron shielded Hermionne's head to block her ears and drew his wand, brandishing it at Harry. Even Harry was surprised that he was hiding so much anger when all he was left with was a mere shell of former himself. He found himself almost hoping that Ron would attack; perhaps he could feel a fraction of the magical power he so deeply yearned for. . . . At that moment, Hermione yanked the wand from Ron's grasp and pulled it downward.
"Harry, what you say is true," whispered Hermione in a quivering voice, her face streaked with tears.
"How could that be true? How could he even say such words —"
Ron fidgeted, ready to wield his wand once again, but Hermione firmly grasped her husband's arm and stood up.
"You're right, Harry — we lacked courage that night, and we'll regret it for the rest of our lives. . . . Perhaps even until the day we die, whether you say it or not."
It was as if someone had just drained all the blood from Harry's body with a giant syringe. The anger that had filled him just moments ago solidified into a dense, sorrowful feeling of regret, filling the void left by his fury.
"Hermione, I. . . " Harry opened his mouth, but she silenced him with a raised hand.
"No need to say, Harry. No matter how much we suffer, it will be nothing compared to the emotions you have felt." Hermione looked at him, her eyes still glistening with tears. "But we mustn't give up! We can't stop fighting! That would only lead to greater regret. . . ."
Ron slumped back into his seat, defeated, his blank gaze at the ceiling. It was then that Harry suddenly realized the truth: The regret he had been feeling was not from failing to save Hagrid, but from attempting to save him in the first place. Deep within, he wished he had been a little less brave that night, in other words, a little more sensible. If he had not ventured alone into the depths of the forest to save Hagrid, if he had not fallen prey to the Fourth Curse . . . then he might still be a wizard. Harry was filled with self-disgust at the thought, realizing how shameful his longings were. It turned out that the accusations he had hurled at his two closest friends were actually meant for himself.
The two friends stared at him intently as he raised his head. Ron's face remained stiff, but with a more worried expression, while Hermione's eyes were misty but filled with determination. Was there something that needed to be said now? Must he now reveal the truth that he was no longer the person he once had been — that he was no longer a wizard? This was the bravest thing he could do at the moment.
"Ron, Hermione," said Harry. He had difficulty speaking as though his tongue were tied. "That night, that night I —"
Before he could finish, the door burst open and someone stumbled inside. In a reflex, Harry grabbed his wand and jerked around, only to find that it was Teddy, his face drenched in sweat.
"Harry, we have a situation! The Dawn Breakers are on the move."
"What? Where did they attack this time?" asked Hermione, startled.
"Gringotts," Ted replied, catching his breath. "Those bastards hit Gringotts Bank."
"Is there still any gold left for them to steal?" said Ron. A few months earlier, Eisenbein and his men had already exploited the Wizarding world's slack currency exchange system and cleaned out the Ministry's vault.
"Mr. Prewett, the new treasurer, has refilled the vault by some amount," said Teddy. "There are also vaults belonging to the oldest Wizarding families at the deepest level."
"Well, at least I shouldn't be worried. They'll find only a few Knuts and dust in my vault," said Ron, slumping back into his seat as if relieved.
"Ron, do you mean it? Have we forgotten why we went through all that trouble?" shouted Hermione indignantly. "We have to host the Quidditch World Cup, don't we?"
Ron jolted upright, having suddenly come to his senses. "Teddy, we have to stop it no matter what! All the hardships we've gone through to host that World Cup —"
"Stay here, you two," said Harry firmly.
"Harry, we'll go together. This time we'll help —"
"You stay here," said Harry again, his voice firm. As the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I'm responsible for overseeing all tactical operations. This is an order — no matter what anyone says, do not leave here."
He stared at his friends' faces like this was the last time he saw them. Hermione's face was white with worry, and Ron looked dazed, as if he had forgotten everything that they had just fought.
"Best of luck out there, mate," said Ron as he approached and shook Harry's hand. "Send your Patronus if you need us."
"Will do, Ron."
Hermione drew nearer and threw her arms around him suddenly, releasing him just as quickly.
"This silly Quidditch World Cup . . I don't care if we host it or not, as long as you're safe. Harry — there's no need to be brave, just be careful!"
"I will, Hermione," said Harry reassuringly. But he had never felt so brave as he did at that moment. The only advantage of being a victim of the Fourth Curse was that he was no longer afraid of dying, for he now certainly knew what was worse than death.