Author's Note: Hello and most welcome to another one of my ventures into JK Rowling's Potterverse. This will be a HarryxOC story and will have something that I have never seen tried in fanfiction. Therefore, if you see a similar fic somewhere else, then it is purely coincidental because I can guarantee you that the plotline is entirely mine and no one else has the credits for it.
Now, for this one and all the future chapters, here's the disclaimer:
Harry Potter Franchise doesn't belong to me. I am just a simple guy playing in JK Rowling's sandbox. The franchise owners, as far as I am aware, are JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing and Warner Bros. This statement goes for the entire fic and will not be repeated again in every A.N.
Some General information for the fic:
1. The story starts after the third task in the Triwizard Tournament. And Hogwarts starts at fourteen, which means that in this story everyone is above the age of consent. So, please keep away your helpful solicitors, and remarks about possible lemon content.
2. It will have some aspects from the canon, other than that it will start as slightly AU and will progress to diverge more and more.
3. Story is in Third person P.O.V.
4. Pairing: Harryx OC. Those who have read my another ongoing fic 'INNOVATOR', will remember the OC named 'Ashley Petrovia', she's the main pair of the fic.
5. Story will have slow pace in the beginning because Harry is troubled and will try to find a few answers.
6. This is a Harry in Durmstrang fic. Will have world building.
7. Voldemort only has two horcruxes, which means he is saner and not a Avada Kedavring lunatic.
6. Any other queries or suggestions can be asked through Fanfiction PMs or you can always join my super private server on discord where I'll keep on updating new chapters, sneak peeks, All the character sketches will be uploaded, where you are free to talk and ask me anything regarding my fanfics (as I am most active there):
Beware: Loads of NSFW (Yes, Porn, and lots of it. Lol)
discord . gg / Gcbcv4dxGx (remove the spaces)
Name: Dev Black's Empire
Also note, this is prologue chapter of the story, means the next chapter is on my p treon. Link is on my profile and at the end of the chapter. Story will be updated once a month.
Hearty thanks to our four Guildmaster tier holders: Camo, I am Lord Dems, Stormfox and RyanMK6. (Check out my p treon profile for the tiers and their benefits. Only three seats left)
Now without any further ado, let me welcome you to... 'Whispers in the Woods'
"I am Talking."
'I am Thinking'
Spells
Whispers in the Woods
-Dev Sagittarius Black
~~Prologue~~
~The Scales of Nature~
.
'I don't think I deserve this…'
'...Ne, you are the one who should take it….'
"Harry..?"
'...alright, let's take it together…to victo-...'
"Ron! Call Madam Pomfrey! Quick!"
'Kill the spare….' A distant scream.
"MADAM POMFREY! MADAM POMF…."
'Harry….Potter…we meet again…' The scream was louder this time.
'...I won't let you leave alive!'
'AVADA KEDAVRA…' The scream was loudest, followed by unbearable pain.
"What happened?! Why are you two causing such a ruckus!" The voice halted, "Oh no…"
'HARRY! Hold this…' Bright flashes of lights. More screams.
And then absolute silence…
The matron of the hospital wing sighed in relief as she rubbed the small piece of linen across her temples, wiping the drops of perspiration that had formed on her brow. Her patient wasn't undergoing a seizure anymore, and the infamous scar on his forehead wasn't bleeding either.
"Madam Pomfrey?" A distinctly female voice broke the silence as there was the soft creak of a wooden door, "Is he alright now? Can we come in?"
"You can, Miss Granger," The matron nodded as she pulled her wand back in its holster, "But I wouldn't recommend you two to stay here any longer than you absolutely have to. He needs his rest. Enough to purge out the venom and for his magic to heal him. You two, on the other hand, have classes to attend to."
"Aren't they the last classes for the year, Hermione?" A hushed male voice whispered in the ear of his companion, "Couldn't they have just canceled it altogether."
The door opened fully and two people stepped inside. First was a male with bright red hair, long legs, and large hands with a smattering of freckles on his nose. His companion who he had been speaking to, a female, gorgeous in her own way with her long tresses flowing down in soft waves and intelligence shining in her chocolate brown eyes as she peered at their other friend who was lying unconscious on the bed.
"We will leave soon, madam," The girl, Hermione, stated, "We were worried for him as this is his third time undergoing a seizure like that."
"Yes, but there is little you or I can do to heal him anymore than I already have," Pomfrey frowned at her regular patient who somehow managed to end up under her watchful eyes every year's end. She flicked her wand once more and did some more tests on the boy, a multitude of glowing orbs flew from the boy's chest and floated over him.
"Hmm…." She hummed and flicked her wand twice more, "Oh wait..this can be…hmm.."A look of utmost concentration fell over her aged face.
"Got some idea what she's doing?" The boy, Ron Weasley, muttered only to be hushed by Hermione who was watching the healer with creased brows that sang about her enraptured state of mind.
"Perdere LENTUS!" Pomfrey cried with her wand pointed at her patient. There was another bright flash of light and her patient screamed.
"HARRY!" The girl shouted as she shielded her eyes from the flash of light that erupted from the end of the matron's wand. For a few moments the room was bathed in the bright light before it vanished just as abruptly as it had appeared.
"Harry!"
"Stay away, Granger. I don't want either of your magic interfering with the test results," Pomfrey warned, her cerulean blue eyes fixated on the boy who had stopped screaming and was instead groaning softly. As if he just remembered the small regrets in life that one suffers from, thanks to either bouts of impudence or moments of foolishness.
"What did you do?"
"I overpowered Harry's magic with mine to remove the plague that was clogging its flow," Pomfrey answered, "You see Granger, just like human blood vessels, it is a theory– a combination of few facts and boundless imagination, if you would– that magic flows inside us in a similar manner. So, we healers have made spells to remove the blockage that a person's magic might be suffering from in accidental cases."
"You've made spells?!" Weasley asked, astonished, "Wicked!"
"Accidental magic can block our magic too?"
"I didn't know I was the only healer in the world, Weasley. Unfortunately, even though your confidence in my abilities of spell crafting is appreciated, it wasn't me who invented these spells, they predate my birth year," Pomfrey corrected him before she turned to Hermione. "Accidental cases, Granger, not accidental magic," The medi-witch announced, "Accidental magic and magical accidents are two entirely different things. And right now, your friend Harry is suffering from the latter."
"So, what does your spell do?" Hermione asked, "Did it work as intended?"
"I have just overpowered his system with my magic, Granger. If I performed the test right now, it would show me a false positive thanks to my magic which is circulating inside him," Pomfrey looked at her watch, "We'll have to wait for another five minutes before I can perform the test for actual results."
They waited for the allotted time. A time which Hermione utilized by chewing her bottom lip as she stared worriedly at Harry, while Ron employed the time to push his large hands in his pant pockets and use an unused bed as the seat of honor to rest his bottom on.
"Alright, let's see this," The matron flicked her wand once more, and this time instead of a frown. A wide smile stretched across her lips as she sighed in relief.
"What happened Madam? Is Harry alright now? Did it work?"
"It did," The elder witch smiled at the younger one, "The block has been pushed out. His magic is trickling within him again, soon it will be strong enough to heal him completely. We must give him time to rest and recuperate now. Your friend will probably wake up in a few hours."
Both the teens understood what the medi-witch meant, and therefore neither of them argued as they left the sickly clean hospital wing, and its pungent smell of cleaning charms, behind them. Pomfrey promised to tell them whenever their friend returned from the realms of Morpheus, and was able to actually entertain guests instead of whatever nightmares that were plaguing his comatose state of mind.
"Reckon he'll be alright?" Ron asked as they entered the halls of Hogwarts, "The schools will be leaving in a few days. Don't want him to miss the feast y'know."
"And here I thought you were worried for your friend, honestly Ronald!" Hermione shook her head, "Can you ever think of something 'not food' for once?"
"Well, obviously I thought about Harry, he hasn't eaten anything for three days now," Ron bit back, "Not my fault you're too much of a worrywart."
"What did you just say?!" The girl growled, "You know how much trouble Harry gets into, it's obvious that I worry about him. And, thanks to a certain someone's idol, we don't even know what happened to Harry that night."
"The same idol who you went to the Yule Ball with?" Ron argued as the duo went towards their class. It was the last day that Hogwarts was hosting classes for its students. Because thanks to the grand Triwizard tournament that took place in the school that year, the students had been pardoned from their yearly battle against the books, which they did at the end of each year to proceed to their next school year.
The days following the third task, which took place two nights ago, were full of speculation. The free minds of children followed the boundless whims of their imagination to conjure the wildest theories as to what might have actually happened that night, theories of what had left the resident fan-favorite boy comatose.
The guesses were wild; going from something as simple as a portkey splinching accident to as convoluted and flamboyant as fighting three gorgons head-on in the Dark Forests of some far off, secluded land that no human had yet chanced upon.
The only person who actually knew about it was the one that had brought their resident hero back from whatever venture the duo had been to. He was Harry's fellow Champion in the tournament. This made it even more worrisome, if one considered the fact that the Tournament was infamous to have its roots soaked in the blood of the Champions, as the man who brought Harry back was from a school that openly practiced the Dark Arts.
Viktor Krum, the Durmstrang school's Champion, and the youngest Quidditch sensation in the wizarding world, was the man who had been whisked off alongside Harry Potter. The duo had last been witnessed together by Severus Snape and Rubeus Hagrid, who had ventured into the deadly maze that was the third task to retrieve the unconscious and heavily battered, yet alive forms of Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour. The other two Champions who had dreamed of bringing glory to their school by competing in the deadly tournament.
Viktor Krum and Harry Potter, on the other hand, had taken the portkey that was the beautiful Triwizard Cup, together. Both the boys had remained untraceable for the next forty minutes, during which Hogwarts had been under a constant state of hushed whispers, and occasional shouts of confusion, as theories ran rampant regarding the disappearance of the two Champions.
Forty minutes later, a half-conscious Viktor landed back on Hogwarts grounds, his clothes torn and dirty were drenched in blood. His strong hands held the glowing and beautiful Cup, which was smeared with dust and blood, no one knew where from. But this wasn't what surprised everyone, no.
It was the person who accompanied Viktor that shocked them. Krum held the prone and completely unconscious form of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Hogwarts' second Champion. The boy didn't look a single bit of the relatively healthy mage that had entered the maze.
No, the boy looked as if a gazillion hippogriffs had trampled over him while an acromantula spewed its venom inside his veins. There were cuts and ruptured skin, accompanied with caked dust that was plaguing the wounds, on the boy's body. As if the boy had been sliced and then thrown down a hill to roll.
Everyone from old bones like Albus Dumbledore– Headmaster of Hogwarts, to younger ones like Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley sprinted towards the two as fast as they could. Krum looked around himself and opened his mouth to tell everyone something before his eyes rolled back in his skull and he fell face first on Harry's stomach. Right on the spot where the black blood from the boy's ruptured and still bleeding lightning bolt scar had soaked into.
Pandemonium ensued, the strange happening had been witnessed by every single witch and wizard who was present on Hogwarts grounds that night. And the next day, the entirety of the wizarding world that read the magical newspapers knew about the less than savory conditions of the two brave Champions who had risked their lives to return back without losing a limb or, god forbid, the dead body of the other one.
It had been three days since that night, and no one knew what had really happened. Viktor Krum had decided to heed his father's advice and not speak about the incident at all. While the only other person who could've told everyone about the debacle was currently comatose, and under the watchful eyes of the medi-witch, Poppy Pomfrey.
~o}{o~
It was during dusk, as the June sun started to fall beneath the visible horizon painting the canvas of clouds in a beautiful plethora of colors, that Harry Potter's mind began to recognise the state of his consciousness as he started to slowly pull back from the unknown an into the known.
There was a soft chime that echoed through the hall in which the lone boy slept. The chime was the breaking of an alert ward placed by the matron around the boy's bed, and was linked to his consciousness so that when he was brought back, it would alert the medi-witch to her patient's state. She immediately summoned a diminutive creature with horrendously marked features and wore a dirty pillowcase. His big, floppy ears twitched as he looked at his human friend– Harry, with large, green eyes the size of tennis balls. He then broke his gaze and turned to look at the witch who had summoned him.
"Missy Pomfy be summoning Dobby," Dobby said in a downtrodden tone, "What can Dobby be doing for Missy Pomfy today?"
Poppy smiled at the house elf, she knew about the special bond this particular elf shared with Harry, as the boy was the one responsible for freeing the elf from his previous masters who had tortured the little creature for almost everything that went wrong with them. It was this reason why the elf was expressively loyal to Harry, and would go so far as to die for his one true friend.
"Dobby," Pomfrey began, "I want you to go and tell Headmaster Dumbledore, and then Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, that Harry is regaining his consciousness and if they want to, they can join me in twenty minutes, after I have finished with the tests. Although do make sure to tell the Headmaster ten minutes before the students, at the very least.
The elf's downtrodden demeanor changed in a moment's notice when he heard the news regarding his only friend's good health. He cried in delight and jumped about a foot from the stone floor where he had been standing as his eyes filled with unshed tears of happiness.
"At once, Missy Pompy! At once!" cried the elf, "Dobby be telling Headmaster Dumblydoor and Great Master Harry Potter's Grangy and Weasel at once! Thank you Missy Pompy! Dobby is happy!" And with that, the relatively crazy elf snapped his fingers and disappeared in a small puff of blue smoke to deliver the message to the respective recipients.
The first one to enter through the doors was, as she had planned, the Headmaster. He had been quite busy lately. Working with the tournament officials and summing up for a successful closure of an international tournament was taking its toll on the old warlock's health, as Poppy could clearly see the dark circles and bags under his crystal blue eyes. The Headmaster was looking every bit of his century old self, rather than the jovial and happy seventy he normally seemed to be.
"Poppy, I trust that Mr. Potter is in a relatively safer condition and has enough strength for me to ask of his well being?" Dumbledore asked her with his trademark grandfatherly smile, unfortunately Pomfrey translated his words as they had been– 'I need Harry Potter to answer a few questions, urgently.'
"Sure, Albus," Pomfrey said and pointed towards the door which led to the hall in which Harry was having quite a simple platter of bread and cheese, along with lukewarm honeyed water for his tonsils that had, for some reason, not healed quite yet, causing him trouble in the form of a piercing ache if he spoke for long.
Dumbledore moved toward the hall while Pomfrey, even though she wanted to, did not follow the aged Headmaster. The reason was quite simple: Headmaster Dumbledore wanted his talk with the Boy-Who-Lived to be private and wanted no one, not her or anyone else, to know about what was being said between the two of them.
The matron thanked her lucky stars that Dumbledore's unhealthy amount of interest in the boy and his life seemed to encircle only Harry and none of her other patients. Otherwise it would have been quite a hassle to give the warlock privacy every time someone came under her wand to get healed, be it from a simple case of broom-induced-nausea or potion-induced-calamities.
"Hello Harry."
Harry Potter, the most famous celebrity of younger generations, and the fourth Champion of Triwizard Tournament, looked up from his plate. A sandwich halfway to his ajar lips as his bright green eyes took in the appearance of his first visitor. He immediately dropped the half-eaten sandwich back on the plate and set it aside on the bedside table.
"Ah, don't mind me, Harry," Dumbledore smiled, "Two things that one must never try to hold are his need for bread and loo. One never knows how long they'd have to wait for another."
Harry gave a hesitating chuckle, knowing full well that the Headmaster was being his usual eccentric self while imparting some sort of knowledge that would be missed by the one it was imparted on. Said man took the chair beside Harry's bed and looked imploringly at the teenage mage, "Now, I must ask you dear boy, how are you feeling?"
"Been better, sir," Harry answered, wincing from the slight ache that coursed through the nerves surrounding his tonsils. He picked up the glass of honey water and took a delighted gulp of the liquid.
"Then can you answer a few curious questions that have been eating up this old man's mind for some time?" asked the elder mage, "I must say, you can refrain from answering if you don't feel like it, I don't want you to feel pressured into doing something for me."
"I am all good, sir," Harry gave a small smile which came out more like a grimace, "In fact, I think it's quite good that you are the first person I am meeting, as I have extremely important news for you."
"Oh? I am all ears, Harry. Also, for curiosity's sake, is this important news somehow related to the reason as to why you and young Mr. Krum had disappeared from the face of earth for some time during the third task of the tournament?"
Harry bobbed his head but then paused, "How much did Krum tell you?"
"Mr. Krum has kept his lips completely shut on anything regarding that night. There was nothing that we, or the Bulgarian ministry for that matter, could do to make him speak. Curiously enough, the only thing he has done since his return is stay in his room on the Durmstrang ship and give you the Triwizard Cup, declaring you the winner of the tournament. Congratulations on that dear boy, you have made your school proud once more. Your award was given to young Mr. Weasley for safekeeping until you rejoined us once more."
Harry ignored the pleased smile and the proud, twinkling eyes that Dumbledore showered him with. His mind was in quite a mess right now, as for one, he didn't know why Krum had not told anyone anything regarding that night, and secondly, why would Krum not come out of his room. Fear of the audience and their curious minds that might have harassed him for the tale, perhaps? Or perhaps he had decided something on his own and wanted Harry to do something too? But what would that be?
"Harry?"
Harry blinked as he pulled his mind from the swirls of 'what ifs' and, in its stead, focused it firmly in the present, "Uhh…sorry sir, I lost myself a bit there," He smiled sheepishly. "Thank you for the award sir. I know why Krum gave it to me, but I don't think I would have survived him if it hadn't been for Krum, therefore I would like to make two winners for the tournament, or atleast share the prize money and fame with him."
"Survive who, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, but he ignored the boy's request for a shared championship as it was impossible. There had always been only one Triwizard Champion. At best he could divide the prize money between them, but he wondered what good would five-hundred galleons do to a world renowned Quidditch celebrity like Viktor Krum. Nonetheless, a wish was a wish.
Harry took another sip from the glass in his hand, he internally sighed when he felt the pain recede to bearable levels once more, "He is back, sir," the boy mumbled, "Voldemort. He was the one who we fought that night, in a graveyard of sorts. And he's back! Not like the spirit that had possessed Professor Quirrell in my first year, sir. But back, as in in-person. Used my blood to resurrect himself so that my touch couldn't harm him anymore."
Dumbledore's features had turned pasty white with shock. Voldemort, Tom Riddle, the boy who had turned out to become one of the most powerful dark lords of the century was back? And he had used Harry's blood to resurrect? The news had been last on the list of things that he had expected to hear today. He hadn't, in his wildest dreams, expected that when the two Champions had been whisked away by the faulty portkey they would have ended up facing Tom in a graveyard of all places. And what graveyard for that matter?
"Are you really sure it was him, Harry?" Dumbledore whispered, his face betrayed the urgency that he felt, "Because I don't think you understand the implications of Tom's revival. Therefore, I want you to remember it clearly once more, whatever it was that happened with you and Viktor. I want you to remember every last detail of it and tell me everything, including the graveyard that you two fought him in."
Harry gulped at the serious tone of the usually jovial Headmaster. This was not the Dumbledore that he had ever witnessed before, and he had spent a considerable amount of time with him to say that.
There was no sign of the grandfatherly Headmaster who enjoyed pranks and offered sweets to everyone who ventured into his office, no matter their age. No, this was a man who had seen two wars, fought in them, and was righteously afraid of the deaths and destruction that a third one would cause to him and all those who were unfortunate enough to be present in the crossfire.
Harry, on the other hand, told the Headmaster about his night full of misadventures. How he ended up in the graveyard with a grave of Voldemort's father–Tom Riddle senior, with Viktor. How the Durmstrang Champion was knocked out and how Wormtail, of all people, had been the one who led Voldemort's resurrection. The young mage then went on to explain the fight that both he and Viktor fought against Voldemort and his band of Death Eaters, whom he had summoned after his rebirth.
"I am absolutely astonished, my dear boy. You two suffered much during that night. It's a miracle that Mr. Krum decided to keep his silence on such an important matter, makes me wonder what he and his advisors think is more important," Dumbledore muttered as he trailed his thin and wrinkled fingers through his long silvery white beard. "But enough about that, I am more interested in knowing how both of you were able to return, for I am quite sure that Tom would have never allowed it."
Harry frowned in concentration, he tried to think of what had happened after he had started the duel with Voldemort, while Viktor fought with the Death Eaters, but all he remembered was a bright flash of green and then Madam Pomfrey standing over him a few moments ago.
"I don't remember much, sir. Much to my consternation, the last thing that I can think of is jumping in front of Voldemort's killing curse, which was meant for Viktor," Harry supplied.
"A…A Killing Curse, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, completely shocked and his eyes involuntarily traversed towards the still-healing lightning bolt scar on his forehead, "Are you sure it was a killing curse that you took? And that too from Tom's wand?"
Harry thought about that particular chain of events once more, they were a bit hazy but he was quite sure that it was indeed a killing curse from Voldemort that had knocked him out, "I am, sir," said the Boy-Who-lived, "I remember watching Viktor fight the Death Eaters with his back towards Tom who sent a killing curse towards Victor. At that moment, I don't know why–I really don't– but the only thing my mind supplied was to jump in front of the incoming curse– and so I did. I jumped in front of the curse and it impacted my chest."
"And then?"
"I don't know, sir. There were a lot of bright flashes, someone screamed loudly and all I could feel was pain, as if Voldemort had again cast the cruciatus on me, only it was a hundred times more potent than before," Harry mumbled trying his best to remember the night more clearly as he took another sip of the soothing drink in his hand, "I think Viktor was the one who bought both of us back, I don't know how. You will have to ask him, sir."
"But how are you still alive, Harry?" Dumbledore wondered out, "If it was the killing curse that hit you, I am quite sure that you would have been dead. Or there should be at least some sort of change inside you to affect your future. Hmm..you say you heard someone cry, right? What sort of cry was it? A painful one, one of joy, or one of anger? It would also help me if you tried to think of the night in more detail because it's of utmost importance that we don't leave any stone unturned."
Harry bobbed his head, "Yes sir, the cry was there. It seemed quite painful, as if someone was killing them. I am saying them, because the cry neither sounded male nor female. It was just that, a sharp shriek of horror which was heard. I don't know who else heard it either," Harry frowned once more, trying his best to think of something more. "Oh yes! I also remember a disfigured Voldemort, sir! He was there, I can't remember much, but a disfigured Voldemort was there when I closed my eyes after being hit by the curse, sir!"
The silvery white eyebrows on the chief warlock's forehead came closer as lines depicting both; his age and wisdom appeared on his forehead as he thought about what Harry had told him. From a normal person's view, the tale could not sound any more far-fetched than it did. But Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was anything but normal. He had witnessed miracles happen with his own two eyes that would make a learned man question his very knowledge about the world and how it functioned.
"So you're telling me, that you saw a disfigured form of Tom, twice in the same night. Once when you reached the graveyard and next when you were hit by his killing curse, am I correct?" Dumbledore surmised and saw the younger Gryffindor agree with a nod, "And can I also assume that you cannot remember anything other than what you have told me, Harry?"
"Yes sir, those were the two times I saw him in that form. There was a difference though, the first one looked a bit healthier than the second."
"Harry…"
"I know my words sound far-fetched sir, I understand that, Especially since, for some reason, Viktor decided to keep his silence on such an important and life-threatening matter. But you will have to believe me sir, I am not telling lies, and neither am I insane or deluded by something. This is exactly what happened when we were taken to that graveyard," Harry cried, "I am telling you sir, all of it is as true as my past experiences which I had every year in Hogwarts."
"I am not questioning your sanity or truthfulness my boy," Dumbledore tried to give him a reassuring smile, "I am just curious about a few things. Maybe…hmm.. maybe if you would allow this old man to conduct a few scans on you, I would be more inclined to not only believe you, but also support you."
Harry immediately adhered to Dumbledore's request, there was no way he would have stopped the Headmaster if it meant that he would gain such a powerful ally for the cause. This was Voldemort they were talking about. The Dark Lord who was resurrected a few days ago is probably amassing his army once more to attack the foundations of this nation. And this time, Harry knew that his name was probably first on Voldemort's 'to-kill-list'.
"Alright Harry," Dumbledore flicked his eighteen-inch long, knotted yew wood wand out and pointed the beautifully crafted wand at Harry's scar, "Brace yourself, my boy. For this will hurt a bit. Rest assured, I will try my best to be as gentle as possible so that it doesn't hurt much and rather stays as a minor discomfort instead," The elder wizard saw the younger one take a deep-breath and open his eyes, as if he was bracing himself for a particularly painful impact.
"Legillimens."
~o}{o~
Fiery orange liquid gently swirled in the glass that Albus held firmly in his wrinkled hands, the content wasn't much. Just a bare minimum to halt his mind that had gone into an overdrive to extract all of the information that had been available to him when he had entered Harry's mind. He swirled the whiskey in his glass as if it was the most priceless, yet at the same time worthless, beverage to be undertaken by humankind.
His mind, the one he tried to calm, took another road in the infinite bends of realities and thought processes as he began wondering the delights, the uses, and the misfortunes that the drink in his hand caused for the ones who created it in the first place. 'And so is the formation of everything, each and every thing has a side that has been utilized by its creator for their own benefits and cursed by the very same when it brought harm to what they held precious', he thought.
Harry Potter, the boy who he had left on the doorstep of his aunt's residence, and the one who had joined Hogwarts ten years after that, was in fact the one anomaly that Albus had never been able to solve. The Headmaster took a sip of the drink and let its fiery aftertaste burn his tonsils, giving him a momentary lapse in thought process as he both enjoyed and suffered the perils of Ogden's finest.
"How did you manage to escape that night, Harry…." Dumbledore mumbled as he looked at nothing in particular, his eyes fixed on the door's handle while his mind ran across all of the possibilities that came as to exactly how the two Champions would have escaped the Dark Lord. The memories he saw in Harry's mind were exactly as had been described. Every single thing had happened the same way, as far as being hit by the killing curse where the memory ended.
And then there was the killing curse. The one spell that no magical barrier could shield against, the one spell that did exactly what it said would do–Kill. No ifs, ands, or buts. The moment it impacted a living creature, the creature was meant to be dead in the next one. And yet, Harry Potter somehow managed to live through not one but TWO of those! What a phenomenon, as well as astonishing development, that would have usually made the unspeakables salivate if they knew about it.
"Well…at least I have a theory as to how you managed to survive the curse this time," Dumbledore smiled and took another sip. After the memory had ended, he had then performed the same tests on the boy which he had performed last year when Harry was in the hospital wing after the dementors had attacked him during a quidditch match.
Call it curiosity, but his mind was insistent on knowing as to why Dementors, the gatekeepers and watchers of Azkaban–one of the foulest things in existence–affected a young boy so much. A boy who had yet to witness the true joys and sorrows that life brought with itself. What was so fetching about such a life that attracted the very personification of darkness. Therefore, after the match when the young lad was in the care of the Hogwarts nurse, Dumbledore had asked for her permission and performed a few tests on the boy while he was unconscious.
The results had shocked him to the core. At first he had been sure that his test was delivering the wrong results but after the seventh positive, he knew that it wasn't the test that was wrong. It was the boy himself. The scar, the lightning bolt scar present on Harry's forehead, that he had received from Tom's wand when he had first attempted–and failed–to kill Harry was actually a container. The Boy-Who-Lived was a container.
A container that held a piece of the soul of one of the worst dark lords in the century.
Since then Dumbledore had tried everything he could. Searched for all the books to find something that could help him, and by extension Harry, to get rid of the piece of soul in it. This made him wonder as to why would Tom try to kill Harry when the dark lord had a piece of his own soul in the boy's scar? Which gave the very obvious answer: Tom was unaware of the fact that Harry was indeed a horcrux.
"What a cruel thing you are, Fate. What a cruel thing indeed," Dumbledore mumbled, deep in his thoughts as he downed the whiskey and placed the empty glass on the hardwood table with a soft clink. "In the end, you ended-up destroying a part of yourself, Tom. A part that kept you safe from death, the very being that you fear and the one that will one day get its claws on the rest of your soul too. No one who is born has the right to live forever, immortality is the worst curse that death protects us from. The cycle of life, starts from birth, works its marvelous magic in and around us as the wheels of time rotate, slowly taking us toward the end where Death patiently awaits us."
Distantly he heard Fawkes, his phoenix, give a soft trill that inspired hope in his old heart. It was not much, but for now it was enough. Voldemort might have returned and got his hands on Harry once, but that didn't mean that the Light had lost either. Call it Nature's way of creating balance in its scales, for one soul that returned from death was responsible for sending another into it. And with that exchange, the balance was returned.
There was a distinctive noise to his side as the fireplace flared up in bright green color once before it returned to its normal shades.
"Albus!" Came a grumpy old voice, "I was at the Marclay's when I received your letter and came home as soon as I could to contact you with the results."
The Headmaster stood from his chair and went towards the fireplace. The moment he had returned from the hospital wing, he had written a letter to one of his dear friends and comrades. The only one who would have agreed to perform such a task effectively and with perfection. He had sent the man to investigate the graveyard that he had seen in Harry's memories. He knew where it was and had asked his friend to search the place for anything that could help their case for when they would have to convince the government of Voldemort's return.
"Come through, Alastor," Dumbledore opened the floo and took his seat in one of the two chairs near it, sinking in the plush cushions beneath him as Alastor Moody, his old comrade came through the fireplace and took the other seat.
"Lemon drop?"
"This is serious, Albus," Moody shook his head, "I know you try your best to remain senile all the time, but for once try to be more serious."
The warlock gave a benign smile as he placed the bowl back on the table and instead summoned Ogden's finest once more along with two glasses. Moody didn't voice his concerns this time, probably knowing that this was a good thing that would help both of them share their tales of misadventures.
"So, what did you find in the graveyard?"
Moody raised his hand to halt the Headmaster's questions and took his glass instead, gulping the entire thing in one go.
"That bad?" Dumbledore asked him as Moody placed the glass on the table and wiped droplets of liquor from his scarred lips with the back of his sleeves.
"The boy speaks truthfully, Albus," Moody began, "I went to the graveyard you sent me to, Little Hangleton, aye? Shabby place. Nothin' there resembles a human anymore. I've seen graveyards, Albus–Merlin knows I've seen a bloody lot of 'em in my time–from private ones like that of the Potters to the public ones where we buried aurors with no places to rest, I've seen them all. And yet the one in Little Hangleton was the worst, and reeked of dark magic the most!" Moody shook his head, his eyes taking a far away look as if he was remembering the perilous moment.
"Had to defile the grave o' Thomas Riddle senior, it's true, the bone o' his thigh wasn't there, it was missing. There was also an extensively made ritual circle as well as broken and smashed pieces of tombstones and graves, and a cauldron–I am assumin' it's all from the duel the lads had with him and his lot,'' Moody continued the tale and Dumbledore peered at his friend from behind his half-moon spectacles, urging him to continue with it.
"Did you find anything that could be used as evidence?" The chief warlock pressed, "We will need some solid evidence to make our case in the ministry, or we know what Cornelius will do otherwise."
"Bury his old head in the sand like a bloody Ostrich is what that gobshite will do!" Moody angrily banged his staff on the ground, "Never liked him, too much of a coward to have any position in my eyes. Don't know why you never took his place," Alastor grumbled, "Would've saved us a lot o' trouble dealing with stuck up purebloods and their fanciful laws against everything else."
"Now now, Alastor," Dumbledore tried to placate his friend, "We both know that my rightful place is not amid the politicians, but amongst the young minds that aspire to become role models for the upcoming generations. I quite like the peace that I have been granted in this school. Occasional moments of mischief and chaos are also welcomed, all thanks to Molly's twins and Peeves. It'd be a shame to miss such a beautiful thing for the stacks of paper and selfish politicians, don't you think so?"
Moody didn't argue and instead decided to lean forward grabbing a poker stick near the fireplace to deliver a few jabs to the wood that sustained the roaring blaze. He knew what his friend had said was true, there was no place like Hogwarts, but that didn't mean he agreed with the fact that Albus chose to teach rather than lead, it was a waste of potential in his eyes, a waste of potential as well as good opportunity that would've shaped magical Britain a lot better than how the current government had.
"But we are not here to discuss the mistakes I've made or the choices that I had no choice against, are we?" His smile dropped and Albus leaned back in his chair, "We need to think of some way to get people to believe that Voldemort is indeed back, and then we need to prepare for another war."
"It's inevitable, isn't it?" Moody asked, "When I took my retirement from the aurors, the first thing on my mind was the peaceful life that I would lead and the merciful death that awaited for me to wash off of my nightmares that I received in the two wars. The last thing I wanted was another war to sprout and disrupt my life, to throw it in the tangles of blood, limbs, and tears once more."
"I won't ask you to stay with me, Alastor. You have given-"
"Don't you dare complete that sentence, old man!" Moody harrumphed and glared at Dumbledore who tried his best to keep his facial muscles as they were and not to stretch them to form a smile like he wanted to. "You won't get another man to do the dirty side of the war, we both know you need me with you. And it's not like I would have been able to stop myself anyway, so it's just like you used to say all the time…"
"Better together than alone." The two men said together and nodded, they were in this once more. It might be a mess, it might take more from them than what it had left last time, but Merlin knew that neither of them would leave the other's side without death being the catalyst. And they would try their best to prevent it for as long as they could, just like they had for all these years.
"What now, Albus?" Moody asked after some time.
"We are a few people too short to fight a war on our own, old friend," Dumbledore released a deep breath and looked pointedly at the veteran auror as realization hit him.
"You don't mean…"
"As much as it saddens me to bring them to war once more, it's time to bring the old group again and maybe recruit a few younger spirits who are interested in supporting us against him." The warlock peered at the roaring fire, its colors of bright yellow, orange, and red very similar to his avian companion, after whom he had started the small group all those years ago. "It's time to restart the Order of the Phoenix."
Fawkes gave another trill that filled the office with emotions that brought hope, courage, health, and strength. It seemed as if the immortal bird already knew that those four were the prerequisites which both sides would need a lot on the battlefield. For the dark days were coming once more, and there was nothing one could do except prepare.
Ending Note: And there you have it people, The prologue of my next fanfiction, I really hope you liked it and will give this story the same love and support that you've given to my previous stories.
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Dev Sagittarius Black