ARC 3
PART 3: King of the Monsters and Death's champion
The reality of the war began to sink in. Remus. Not faring well. Sirius. Dead. Remus. Not fairing well. Sirius. dead. These thoughts began to run rampant throughout Harry's mind. Constantly. Non-stop. He could not let Remus die as well. No, not the last link to his parents. "Sir, where is he? Can you take me to him?" asked Harry. Dumbledore replied "Go to the floo, take some floo powder, firmly say 'Healer Tranis' and you should be connected to the Order's healer. Go my boy go." and Harry hurried away at that.
Dumbledore then muttered to himself "No, now is not the time to inform him of the prophecies. No."
Harry rushed to the floo, took the aforementioned floo powder and threw it into the fireplace firmly naming "Healer Tranis" and said Healer came through yelling.
'WHAT IS IT DUMBLEDORE? Can't you see I am busy- what is it Potter? " Finished Tranis as he finally took notice of Harry.
"Um….Healer Tranis, I just want to see Remus. I just want to see if he is okay " and as he said that, his voice choked on the last word but he desperately hoped the Healer didn't notice it. "Come with me Potter." And Harry followed. Once they flooed back to the hospital, Harry stuck close to Remus and the Healer kept going at a steady rate. Once they reached Remus, Harry nearly broke and almost began to sob.
What Dumbledore said was a huge alternation of the real truth. Remus was lying on the bed where his left arm was heavily bandaged and his eyes looked red while his skin was unnaturally pale. He looked over to the Healer in confusion and he cleared his confusion. "Silver poisoning, doubt it that he might live. It is a ruddy surprise that he didn't die on the spot when the silver came into contact. Should've died there. But he didn't. He either is dying as we speak or he is in a comatose state. Neither dying nor living, like in a limbo. The bone fractures and the internal bleeding has been treated. Hol' on a ruddy second, let me see if he is actually dying or not. Egritudo." and he casted a diagnostic charm.
The results were jaw dropping.
"Bloody merlin, HOW? HOW IS HE LIVING?" questioned Tranis to no one in particular. "He is supposed to be dying, not resisting the silver. HOW IS HE ALIVE? THIS CHANGES OUR PERCEPTION OF WEREWOLF HEALING CAPABILITIES!" he half questioned- half yelled to nobody in particular.
In Remus's mind.
He was in a big area of an endless void. The entire thing was black. So black in fact, he couldn't tell how high was the place he was in, or how big it was, or how deep down it stretched to. Then suddenly, the room changed. He was in a very old memory.
*Flashback*
A sandy haired boy was walking down a dirt. He looked to be 8 years old. His face was riddled with scars. This boy was none other than young Remus Lupin. As he went down the lane to go home, he didn't see a boy, who is most likely 16, bump into him. He fell to the ground. Once he got up, he seethed "Watch it Lupin. Or else you might very well die one day by those street dogs that are running 'round here if you walk blindly like that.
*Cut flashback*
He was shifted into another memory.
*Flashback*
That same sandy haired boy looked to be 10 now. He had got many death threats in his short life. A few days ago, his only acquaintance, had turned his back on him because he figured it out, that he was a werewolf.
"Watch it werewolf. Do you want to die?"
*Cut flashback*
He recalled many more memories where he was being threatened. So many people wanted him to die. And when he is actually dying, these memories are coming back.
But he remembered one thing. The only thing that made him live through the first war and not do anything stupid.
The cry of a boy. The happy gurgles whenever he was laughing, or the wails that he made when he was sad. Or the angry cries he cried when he was angry.
That boy made him live through the war.
Harry.
He deeply regretted not looking after him in his childhood. He regretted not even checking up on him even ONCE. Dumbledore had said he is fine. He is ok. But Remus could see he is troubled.
So, he would live.
For Harry.
He began pushing away the silver from his important organs and slowly began to spill it out of the wound that it came through. God, it hurts. Everything hurts. He feels like he is on fire. But he will live through it. There was a boy he had to look after. It should've been Sirius that looked after Harry but now it's him.
HE. WILL. LIVE.
He firmly yelled that in his mind and began pushing away the silver. When Remus was thrown off the edge, he was known to have one of the strongest wills. Once he set his mind onto something, he would be damned if he didn't do it. He kept on expelling the silver, He faintly heard echoes of the damned that kept yelling at him to join them. But he wouldn't. They kept saying he was so close to the other world. He was so close to the other life that his attempts at living are futile.
But he is not going to stop.
He pushed through, tried his hardest to live and he now was hearing echoes of some people familiar.
- THIS CHANGES OUR PERCEPTION OF WEREWOLF HEALING CAPABILITIES!" yelled a particular deep voice. "Healer TRANIS! LOOK AT HIS NECK!" said another voice. But this time it was a scratchy male voice. Harry. Remus recognized the voice as Harry. "Oh god, let me patch that right up. Oh, dear lord. This wasn't supposed to happen." Nyan Tranis. Who was he again? That's right. His healer. The Healer for the Order.
He then felt his neck sting for a second then it felt like it was burning. He couldn't tell what was happening but his neck was slowly feeling better.
"Harry…." He gasped out.
"Here. I am here Remus. Don't you worry, you are going to live." reassured Harry.
He could see faintly that Harry was sitting beside him. "Harry…" he tried to talk but ended up coughing.
"Ssh….quiet now Remus. If you talk, your neck is going to hurt cuz the wound from where the silver entered, is in your neck. Ssh…" he softly chastised Remus.
He sat absolutely still. At pure ease.
He then heard Tranis say "Leave him alone to rest and he would be ok now."
"Ok Healer Tranis, where is Hermione? I want to see her." Harry asked.
"Miss Granger? Ward 517. Just a few wards away. If you get out of this ward and go 8 wards to your right, that's Granger's ward."
"Ok sir. Thank you." He replied in earnest and took off like a bullet.
Healer Tranis chuckled and turned to Remus and said, "Just like 'ol James, eh? Fallen for the smart one. You owe me 5 Galleons Remus."
Said loser of the bet merely scowled.
When Harry reached Ward 517, he walked tentatively into the ward to visit Hermione. Her Healer noticed him and spared him 5 minutes to talk and she left.
As she left, Harry walked over, conjured a chair and sat on it. He tenderly grasped Hermione's hand and let it all out.
"H-Hey" he began shakily. " This wasn't supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen. You shouldn't have followed me. I-I- If you had died, I-I-I would've felt that it's on me. I would've felt its my fault Hermione. If you hadn't just followed me into the DoM, you would've been safe. You sh-should've played it smart. But I guess the Gryffindor in you shines when not needed. Us Gryffindors,so damn reckless eh?' he then gave a watery chuckle at that. "But we are meant to be brave and you exactly were that. It was a bit stupid really. But none the less, you shouldn't have followed me through Hermione. You have no bloody idea of how much I love you and how much it would hurt me to lose you. Padfoot died, you know that? Pads is dead. I still haven't gotten over the fact that P-Padfoot's dead" and he tightened his grasp on Hermione's hand and started to sob softly.
"And you know what? Mr. Weasley was killed. The war is coming to our very own doorsteps Hermione. And very soon, we would be losing people left, right and center and you may very well be one. But I will make sure that you WON'T be one of them. I promise you that you will not die. You know why Hermione? I-I- goddamnit I'll just say it. I love you, that's why. If you don't feel the same, that ain't any problem. But I swear on my magic that I would give up my very own life to protect you Hermione. And it would always be that way. It's meant to be that way Hermione. It's always was. It's getting a bit late now honestly. I have to go back. I hope you get better 'Mione. I have never been more scared. See you soon girl." And he kissed her forehead and left.
Little did he know, Hermione was listening to him and he just made a magical vow that would actually come into action.
4 Days Later.
Exams had been over with the History of Magic O.W.L., Hermione was due to be up now. The Healer had said she should be fine in four days. Those days had passed. He didn't see Hermione but he didn't know that she is resting in the Hospital Wing.
He was still pretty pissed at Dumbledore so he didn't want to talk to anyone.
4 days ago.
"Harry, can you come with me into my office? I want to talk to you about something." Said Dumbledore as he passed Harry is a hallway in Hogwarts.
"Sure Headmaster." And he followed him.
As they entered into his office, Dumbledore began.
"You would be pleased to hear that none of your fellow students are going to suffer lasting damage from the nights events.". Harry tried to say "Good" but no sound came out. He couldn't match Dumbledore's eyes. It seemed that he was accusing Harry of what happened. "Madam Pomphrey is patching everybody up. Miss Granger had to be sent to Saint Mungo's along with Remus." Said Dumbledore.
After a moment of silence, Dumbledore continued.
"I know how you are feeling, Harry," said Dumbledore very quietly. "No, you don't," said Harry, and his voice was suddenly loud and strong. White-hot anger leapt inside him. Dumbledore knew nothing about his feelings. "You see, Dumbledore?" said Phineas Nigellus slyly. "Never try to understand the students. They hate it. They would much rather be tragically misunderstood, wallow in self-pity, stew in their own —"
"That's enough, Phineas," said Dumbledore. Harry turned his back on Dumbledore and stared determinedly out of the opposite window. He could see the Quidditch stadium in the distance. Sirius had appeared there once, disguised as the shaggy black dog, so he could watch Harry play. . . . He had probably come to see whether Harry was as good as James had been. . . . Harry had never asked him. . . . "There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry," said Dumbledore's voice.
"On the contrary . . . the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength." Harry felt the white-hot anger lick his insides, blazing in the terrible emptiness, filling him with the desire to hurt Dumbledore for his calmness and his empty words. "My greatest strength, is it?" said Harry, his voice shaking as he stared out at the Quidditch stadium, no longer seeing it. "You haven't got a clue. . . . You don't know . . ." "What don't I know?" asked Dumbledore calmly. It was too much. Harry turned around, shaking with rage.
"I don't want to talk about how I feel, all right?"
"Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human —"
"THEN — I — DON'T — WANT — TO — BE — HUMAN!" Harry roared, and he seized one of the delicate silver instruments from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room. It shattered into a hundred tiny pieces against the wall. Several of the pictures let out yells of anger and fright, and the portrait of Armando Dippet said, "Really!" "I DON'T CARE!" Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace.
"I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE —" He seized the table on which the silver instrument had stood and threw that too. It broke apart on the floor and the legs rolled in different directions.
"You do care," said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it." "I — DON'T!" Harry screamed, so loudly that he felt his throat might tear, and for a second, he wanted to rush at Dumbledore and break him too; shatter that calm old face, shake him, hurt him, make him feel some tiny part of the horror inside Harry.
"Oh yes, you do," said Dumbledore, still more calmly. "You have now lost your mother, your father, and the closest thing to a parent you have ever known. Of course, you care."
"YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL!" Harry roared. "YOU — STANDING THERE — YOU —" But words were no longer enough, smashing things was no more help. He wanted to run, he wanted to keep running and never look back, he wanted to be somewhere he could not see the clear blue eyes staring at him, that hatefully calm old face. He ran to the door, seized the doorknob again, and wrenched at it. But the door would not open. Harry turned back to Dumbledore.
"Let me out," he said. He was shaking from head to foot. "No," said Dumbledore simply. For a few seconds they stared at each other. "Let me out," Harry said again. "No," Dumbledore repeated. "If you don't — if you keep me in here — if you don't let me —" "By all means continue destroying my possessions," said Dumbledore serenely. "I daresay I have too many."
He walked around his desk and sat down behind it, watching Harry. "Let me out," Harry said yet again, in a voice that was cold and almost as calm as Dumbledore's. "Not until I have had my say," said Dumbledore. "Do you — do you think I want to — do you think I give a — I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'VE GOT TO SAY!" Harry roared. "I don't want to hear anything you've got to say!" "You will," said Dumbledore sadly. "Because you are not nearly as angry with me as you ought to be. If you are to attack me, as I know you are close to doing, I would like to have thoroughly earned it."
"What are you talking — ?" "It is my fault that Sirius died," said Dumbledore clearly. "Or I should say almost entirely my fault — I will not be so arrogant as to claim responsibility for the whole. Sirius was a brave, clever, and energetic man, and such men are not usually content to sit at home in hiding while they believe others to be in danger. Nevertheless, you should never have believed for an instant that there was any necessity for you to go to the Department of Mysteries tonight. If I had been open with you, Harry, as I should have been, you would have known a long time ago that Voldemort might try and lure you to the Department of Mysteries, and you would never have been tricked into going there tonight. And Sirius would not have had to come after you. That blame lies with me, and with me alone."
Harry was still standing with his hand on the doorknob but he was unaware of it. He was gazing at Dumbledore, hardly breathing, listening yet barely understanding what he was hearing. "Please sit down," said Dumbledore. It was not an order; it was a request. Harry hesitated, then walked slowly across the room now littered with silver cogs and fragments of wood and took the seat facing Dumbledore's desk.
"Am I to understand," said Phineas Nigellus slowly from Harry's left, "that my great-great-grandson — the last of the Blacks — is dead?"
"Yes, Phineas," said Dumbledore. "I don't believe it," said Phineas brusquely. Harry turned his head in time to see Phineas marching out of his portrait and knew that he had gone to visit his other painting in Grimmauld Place.
He would walk, perhaps, from portrait to portrait, calling for Sirius through the house. . . .
"Sir, when I saw the vision, I tried. I tried really hard to push it away with the help of Occlumency. I tried. Believe me I did. It was just too powerful." Harry admitted.
"You tried your best, that's the point. You tried to stop it and I am proud of you for that my boy and I believe I owe you an explanation."
"An explanation of an old man's mistakes. For I see now that what I have done, and not done, with regard to you, bears all the hallmarks of the failings of age. Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young . . . and I seem to have forgotten lately. . . ." The sun was rising properly now. There was a rim of dazzling orange visible over the mountains and the sky above it was colorless and bright. The light fell upon Dumbledore, upon the silver of his eyebrows and beard, upon the lines gouged deeply into his face. "I guessed, fifteen years ago," said Dumbledore, "when I saw the scar upon your forehead, what it might mean. I guessed that it might be the sign of a connection forged between you and Voldemort."
"You've told me this before, Professor," said Harry bluntly. He did not care about being rude. He did not care about anything very much anymore. "Yes," said Dumbledore apologetically.
"Yes, but you see — it is necessary to start with your scar. For it became apparent, shortly after you rejoined the magical world, that I was correct, and that your scar was giving you warnings when Voldemort was close to you, or else feeling powerful emotion." "I know," said Harry wearily. "And this ability of yours — to detect Voldemort's presence, even when he is disguised, and to know what he is feeling when his emotions are roused — has become more and more pronounced since Voldemort returned to his own body and his full powers." Harry did not bother to nod. He knew all of this already. Dumbledore had informed this when his training started. He practiced Occlumency for such a situation and it had never been his strong suite.
"Since I knew this, I taught you and Mr. Longbottom, Occlumency in the forest near my home. So that Tom would not be able to identify where we are."
"Sirius told me that you felt Voldemort awake inside you the very night that you had the vision of Arthur Weasley's attack. I knew at once that my worst fears were correct: Voldemort from that point had realized he could use you. In an attempt to arm you against Voldemort's assaults on your mind, I increased my Occlumency lessons with you. An attempt, to arm you against a mental assault from Tom himself. You tried Harry. You even said so earlier. You tried but he managed to overpower you. You faced defeat is not the point, you tried. That is the point and I believe Harry that it is high time that I have to tell you that I should have a long time ago. The reason why I chose to train you three for the upcoming fight against Tom's dark forces. I said it's your destiny. But why? Let me show you."
He got up, extracted 2 memories from his mind and they began to play in the Pensieve.
'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ...'
As soon as this ended, the other started.
"Monster Zero shall rise again. He has met his demise but always has returned. As he would rise, so would the King of the Monsters. Neither can live while the other survives. Hell-bent on restoring natural world order, the King shall fight the Dark King. The King and the Lord have powers matched by no other, shall fight. And only one shall be known as the true King of the Monsters...
...The era of great destruction looms near. Half of all life... would cease to exist. He arrives and brings balance to the universe. He is coming. ...Death's champion is coming. As the False Lord dies, he would arrive. He is coming. The era of great destruction looms near."….