P*T*E*N Page is up and running, slightly ahead of FFN and AO3. This pace will change to significantly ahead of FFN/AO3 once we reach the next hiatus point (at the end of the Durmstrang Arc). Visit P*T*E*N / 521dream if interested. Posted stories include A Flaw in Fate and Sacred Sight (A King's Path Rewrite/Remaster).
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The next chapter will be published . . . yeah I ain't gon lie I dunno when. Enjoy!
Harry Potter: Sacred Sight
The Goblet of Fire
II. Little Hangleton
Bam.
Harry's eyes slipped open. The cozy insides of his tent stared back at him, glowing gold from the fires that danced beneath the mantle. Harry sat up, blinking slowly as he reached for his glasses.
Something's off . . .
Harry rose from his bed, waving his wrist. A black cloak soared across the room. Harry allowed it to wrap around him, throwing the pointed hood over his head. He carefully strode toward the tent's exit, plucking his wand from the kitchen table. Harry held his wand aloft, reaching for the door . . .
Bang!
Harry flinched, jumping back. A hazy mixture of hot fear seeped into the tent as a sea of bodies pushed and shoved their way through the campground -
"What's going on?" Harry shouted as the people ran past. No one stopped to answer.
Bang!
Something exploded off in the distance. The crowd shrieked, hurrying toward the edge of the grounds. Harry swore as the strength of the wild crowd pushed him back into his tent. Behind them, several bodies rose high up in the sky.
Someone's attacking.
Harry dashed around the tent, gathering the few belongings he possessed. He quickly brandished his wand above them, shouting, "Reducio!"
The objects shrunk to the size of a thimble. Harry stepped toward the table, reaching for them -
The flames within the fireplace went out, and a bright blue glow overtook the tent.
"The Aurors are coming," Kingsley's deep voice rang through the tent. Harry turned around, facing the man's glowing Lynx Patronus, "You are to stay put. The Aurors are coming . . . you are to stay put -"
"Fat fucking chance," Harry snarled. He swiped the newly smaller objects into his palm, dropping them haphazardly into his robe pocket.
I'm not in the mood to die.
"Depulso!" Harry whispered, his wand pointed at the door. The few people in his path were quickly pushed aside, giving him room to leave.
"The fuck do you think you're doing?" a middle-aged man roared, shoving him, "You'll be getting us killed -"
"You're getting yourself killed," Harry frowned, "Running around like headless chickens -"
Bang!
He and the man spun around, watching as a mushroom cloud of flames and dust grew behind them. Several figures marched beneath it. Tall and imposing, they were each adorned in pure-black robes and decorated skull masks.
"Death Eaters," the man muttered in horror.
Harry spun around.
"Death Eaters?" he asked, his eyes wide, "As in Voldemort's Servants?"
But the man didn't linger long enough to answer. Harry watched as he fell back into the crowd, hurrying to put as much distance between him and the robed men as possible.
Tom's servants . . .
Harry slipped through the crowd, heading toward the Death Eaters. His robes grew darker with a single thought, and he produced a jewel-coated skull mask with little more than a wave of his wand.
"Not entirely accurate," Harry frowned, glancing between the Death Eaters' masks and his own. The jewels that aligned his were not nearly as shiny, "But good enough."
He hid his face beneath the mask, stepping out from the dwindling crowd. There were no tents here, nor any signs of joyous livelihood Harry had seen just hours ago. Ash coated the earthen floor, joined by heaps of soot and dust.
"Look at the fucking whore!" a rough voice jeered loudly.
Harry turned. One of the Death Eaters, short and broad-shouldered, was pointing up at the sky. The limp body of a woman danced in the air, her clothes tattered and torn. Her pale breasts shone between the light of the roiling flames and the moon's rays.
"Pretty thing, she is," the broad-shouldered man whispered, "Wouldn't mind helping myself -"
"She's a muggle," a curt voice said. Harry turned, watching as a tall, thin man approached, "The wife of the groundskeeper. You'd best not sully yourself."
Harry turned away, ignoring the shorter man's muttered protests. Loathing pooled deep within his chest. A few feet away, a small huddle of Death Eaters toyed with the other bodies that hung up in the air.
"Fly, boy, fly!" a man giggled. Harry watched as a child writhed lifelessly, looking like little more than a kite caught in the wind, "You can go higher -"
"You're cheating," another Death Eater accused. He was controlling a young girl, likely only a few years older than the boy, "Yours weighs less. He'll be easier to fly -"
"That's no fault of mine!" the man laughed, "I chose 'im! It was clever, if anything . . ."
Harry's fingers wrapped tightly around his wand. They paled from the lack of blood swimming beneath his skin.
"Not one to toy with your food, are you?"
Harry turned. It was the man from before, he who'd admonished the broad-shouldered monster. The man stepped up to Harry, nearly a head taller than him.
"No point," Harry said in a voice far deeper than his own, "Doesn't do more than scare them, and they're already scared."
The tall man nodded approvingly.
"They're like children," he whispered, his grey eyes tracking the other Death Eaters through the slits in his mask, "Lumbering about without a care in the world. So uncultivated. Yet they have their uses . . ."
He strode off. Harry stared at the back of the man's skull, almost seeing the long blonde hair he knew to be hidden beneath his pointed hood.
Draco's father. Lucius.
He watched as the elder Malfoy stepped toward the opposite side of the gathering, bending down to speak with several other wizards. They too seemed unimpressed by the huddle below.
What do you see in them, Tom? This is fear, not charm . . .
"They have their uses, I suppose," he repeated, unsure, "Foot soldiers to fight the few battles not won through cunning or words . . ."
Harry glanced back at the sky. The woman from before was naked now. The Death Eaters watched, jeering, as the broad-shouldered man banished a burning stake at the woman's back -
Harry looked away. The sound of laughter rang beneath the midnight sky.
"Filthy, worthless, whore!" the short, broad-shouldered man laughed, jumping up and down with excitement. He waved his wand with every word, "You'd best be grateful. Not many with your blood get to meet someone like me -"
"STUPEFY!"
A frenzy of scarlet magic swam through the ashy plains. Harry watched as at least a dozen different witches and wizards twisted into existence, each adorned in familiar red robes.
"Don't let them get away!" Kingsley's voice cut through the thick, smoke-filled air, "Anti-Apparation Wards, now!"
A surge of magic coated the burnt fields. Harry watched, fascinated as the Death Eaters scattered. The four lifeless bodies fell from the sky. Harry's wand rose -
Don't. The Aurors will save them.
Gritting his teeth, Harry sprinted through the black smoke, running along with the other Death Eaters toward the forest. Screams tore through the night as they approached, but each was silenced with little more than a wand's wave.
"The Anti-Apparation wards can't reach too far," one of the Death Eaters barked, "That'd risk too many lives."
"It'll cut off somewhere in the forest," Lucius Malfoy said firmly, "Split up and go."
The group quickly broke apart. Harry followed the broad-shouldered man through a group of tall, thick trees and into the forest.
"You with me then?" the man sniffled. Harry nodded, "Come on, we ought to get going."
They clambered through the gaps in the trees, the man muttering all the while -
"Fucking Aurors," he swore, barely hopping over a set of vines that covered a large patch of the earthen floor, "Never know when they're not wanted. And don't get me started on - on -"
"Malfoy?" Harry guessed.
"So you know," the man muttered, "What d'ya think of 'im?"
Harry stared carefully at the man, drinking in his expression. The shorter man's eyes twitched.
"He's a bit of a cunt," Harry said at last, "Too uptight."
The broad-shouldered man relaxed.
"Fucking Malfoy," he swore, shaking his head, "Might be gay, the way that bastard always preaches ideology over a bit of fuckin fun -"
Harry nodded absentmindedly, his emerald eyes trailing over the man. His body seemed hunched with age.
"What about Voldemort?" he asked thoughtfully, "You ever met him?"
The man froze.
"The - the Dark Lord?" the man said nervously, "We're not supposed to call him by h-his name, even if he is gone -"
Of course they're not. Ego, the enemy within . . .
"I'm aware," Harry said soothingly, "I forget, sometimes. I didn't fight in the war . . . I don't understand the norms as well as those who did."
The man stepped back.
"Who recruited you?"
"Malfoy, of course."
"Which one?"
Harry paused, uncertainty slipping along his spine. He met the man's frantic gaze, placating him with a practiced smile -
The world blurred. Harry looked through him, delving past dark brown pupils. He glimpsed little more than the faintest memory: an old, withering man with short white hair and ornate robes.
Snap.
The connection shattered. Harry watched as the broad-shouldered man straightened up, his wand raised.
"Legilimency," he whispered, "You - you broke into my mind -"
"Don't be silly," Harry waved a hand dismissively, "I only graduated Hogwarts last year, I can't -"
"Imperio!"
An easy feeling washed over him. Harry felt his body relax.
Tell the truth . . . a strange, soft voice whispered in his ear, Go on. It's so easy . . . I bet you'd love nothing more than to tell the truth . . .
"What's your name?" the shorter man barked worriedly. Harry sturred -
"I - I -"
Tell the truth . . .
"No."
The sense of ease crumbled to dust. Harry watched as the broad-shouldered man hobbled backward, falling to the ground.
"That was the Imperious Curse, wasn't it?" Harry asked curiously, "Using it is one thing, but I always wondered . . ."
I beat it. I can beat it.
Harry's wand rose with jubilation.
"Imperio."
The man's eyes went blank. Harry twitched as the connection between them quickly burst to life.
"Tell me about Voldemort," Harry began, "What's he like?"
The man grimaced. Harry frowned, pouring more magic into the spell.
"I asked you something."
"Powerful," the man exhaled, "Very, very powerful -"
"No shit," Harry hissed, brandishing his wand. The man flinched, "I meant his personality. What is he like?"
"Unforgiving. Mistrusting. Prefers to deal in secrets."
Sounds about right.
"Why did he lose?"
The man frowned.
"I - I don't understand."
"Why did he lose?" Harry repeated, "Surely Tom - Voldemort - charmed his way into the Ministry? Did he have lots of people on the inside?"
"Obviously."
"Obviously," Harry laughed, "So what went wrong? Why didn't he win?"
"Because . . ."
"Yes?"
"Because of Harry Potter."
Harry swore angrily.
"Why do you care, anyway?" the man murmured. Harry watched as his dull eyes slowly became more focused, "What does it matter to you?"
Harry thought for a moment.
"Voldemort had a good blueprint, you know," he said, "But it failed. I need to know why."
"And you need to know because . . ."
Harry grinned.
"I'm following the same blueprint," he laughed, "I'd be fucking pissed if it didn't prove worthwhile."
The broad-shouldered man shook his head.
"Avoid any Harry Potters, then," he muttered blankly, "That should be all you need."
"Right," Harry smiled, "I'll keep that in mind. But, one more thing before I go -"
His wand twisted through the air. The short man slammed into a nearby tree.
"You ever kill anyone?"
The man shook his head.
"What about rape?"
The man paused. Harry felt rivulets of disgust trickle down his neck.
"You have, haven't you?"
The man nodded. Harry took a deep breath -
Familiar voices tore through the forest. Harry turned back to the man.
"The other Death Eaters," he began thoughtfully, "You reckon they'll know more about Voldemort than you did?"
"The oldheads, probably," the man nodded, "Maybe their kids, too."
Harry nodded, waving his wand. The Imperious Curse faded into nothingness. He watched as the man fell to the floor in a crumpled mess.
"I lied," Harry said decidedly, watching as the man struggled to push himself off the ground, "I've got something else for you."
His wand rose, sparks jumping from its end.
"Avada Kedavra."
The man fell limp.
"Divine retribution," Harry murmured, "Or it would be, were I divine -"
He flicked his wand. The man's sweat-covered body contorted, shifting into a quill as black as night. Harry bent over, plucking it from the dirt and shoving it into an already-filled pocket.
"Time to interview the others . . ."
I'll have to pick them off, one by one -
"MORSMORDRE!"
A surge of glowing green magic shot up into the sky, forming a skull and serpent. Harry quickly pointed his wand into the clearing -
"Incarcerous!"
Thump.
Harry hurried forward, pushing through the foliage. A sweaty man with dark brown hair lay in the grass, wrapped tight in ropes Harry had conjured. Beside him, just out of grasp, was a rather familiar wand.
Harry's wand rose.
"Who are you?
The man screeched, reaching for Neville's wand -
"Imperio!" Harry shouted. The man slowed, his eyes falling blank once more, "Who are you?"
The man twitched.
"Barty Crouch."
"The ex-head of the DMLE?" Harry asked, surprised. The man furiously grit his teeth.
"No. His son."
"Barty Crouch Jr., then."
The man nodded blankly.
"That green stuff in the sky. That's Voldemort's mark, right?"
The man nodded.
"How do you cast it? Just say Morsmordre while imagining the shape?"
"Yes."
Something flickered beneath Harry's skin. He pushed more magic into the Imperious Curse.
"Are you telling me the truth?"
The man grimaced.
"N-no."
"What did you lie about?"
"The m-mark. It's like a Patronus, only different. Needs willpower. Lots of it."
"Anything else you lied about?"
"No."
Harry nodded slowly.
"Who all knows about it?"
"Death Eaters. Only the ones he trusted the most."
"He," Harry repeated, "You mean Voldemort, right?"
Barty nodded.
"He trusted you?"
"More than anyone," said Barty. There was a hint of pride in his voice, "We were similar, him and I. So very similar. He shared with me his secrets -"
"Like?"
Barty was shaking now. Harry poured more and more magic into the spell. He could feel a tense ache growing in his chest.
"Both named after our fathers," Barty panted, "He killed his. I'll be following in his footsteps soon . . . so very soon -"
"You know about his parents?"
Barty nodded.
"And you know he's a half-blood, don't you?"
"Those fucking fools," Barty hissed, "He was wise not to tell them. Best to use their stupidity against them."
"He made the right choice," Harry agreed earnestly.
Yet he told you . . .
"Do the other Death Eaters know as much about Tom as you do?"
Somehow, Barty laughed.
"Not at all," he slurred, "I'm special, you see? None of them know as much as I - not Dolohov, not Rookwood - maybe Rookwood, actually . . ."
"Do you know what happened to him?"
"What happened to who?"
"Voldemort, obviously," Harry frowned, "What happened to Voldemort that Halloween night, thirteen years ago?"
"He was halted," Barty sneered, "An oversight. Sometimes, though, that's all it takes to be set back."
"Set back," Harry repeated thoughtfully, "Not killed. Set back."
He leaned closer, looking Barty in the eye.
"You know he's alive, don't you?"
Barty's eyes focused. The man shook with fury, prying at the ropes, reaching desperately for Neville's stolen wand -
"You know, your master and I have a lot in common, too," Harry murmured, his wand rising, "In fact, he taught me this little trick . . ."
He pointed his wand between Barty's eyes.
"Legilimens."
Harry jumped through the man's eyes, flicking from one vision to the next. He eventually stopped at something odd. A large, wooden sign sat before a small village. Dozens of cottages lined a winded road, careening up to one of the largest manors he'd ever seen. Harry quickly turned, his eyes reading the decrepit words adorning the withered sign:
'Little Hangleton'
Snap.
The image faded. Harry stared back at Barty, breathing heavily.
"Little Hangleton," he repeated, "What's Little Hangleton?"
But Barty was fighting now, the Imperious Curse having long faded. Harry waved his wand, strengthening the ropes that bound Barty.
"I know he's not from there," said Harry thoughtfully, "Tom grew up in an Orphanage. But his parents . . ."
"You dare," Barty snarled, "You dare say his name -"
The ropes tore. Harry pointed his wand at Neville's, his eyes widening as Barty reached for it -
Crack.
"STUPEFY!" several Aurors shouted. Crimson magic veered just past his ear, "They're here, get the Anti-Apparation wards up!"
Bam.
Harry swore, hunching over as Barty's fist slammed into his stomach. The man reached for Neville's wand, and with a loud crack, vanished into the night.
"Almost up!" someone shouted, "Three - two -"
Harry scrunched his eyes, picturing a sea of ice and stone -
"- one -"
Crack.
The world twisted, and Harry left the forest of the Quidditch World Cup behind.
(-{- S S -}-)
"Calorem Focis," Harry whispered. Warmth surged beneath his robes, the snow that surrounded him suddenly feeling oddly lukewarm. He removed his jewel-strewn mask with a heavy sigh.
Pointless. That was completely pointless.
"I could've helped the muggles," Harry muttered, holding his mask before him. A thin cut marred the left side, "I could have protected them."
But instead, I asked about Riddle. Pointless.
"I did apparate for the first time," Harry gave himself some credit, "I suppose that's something -"
Bark!
Harry looked up. A beautiful snowy owl soared from a nearby tombstone, landing gracefully atop his shoulder.
"I'll never understand how you always know," Harry said softly, "You're the most clever girl in the world."
Hedwig pressed against his temple, nibbling his ear affectionately. Harry sighed.
"Do you think I'm obsessed, Hed?" Harry asked her, "With Tom?"
The owl poked at him gently. Harry frowned, striding through two rows before coming to a stop. He stared at the graves that sat before him:
'James Potter
1960 - 1981
Lily Potter
1960 - 1981'
"They're not even decorated," Harry noted, "No one bothered to put a quote, or a saying, or anything."
They only did that for the house. Because the house is a national treasure, and they aren't.
Harry frowned. A smooth, Riddle-like voice lulled in his ear, whispering to him . . .
"You can't really be mad, can you?" Riddle laughed, "You disgrace them on a daily basis, following in my footsteps -"
"Quiet," Harry hissed angrily. Hedwig barked at him, "I - I'm sorry."
He stepped past the two gravestones, unable to glance back. A large, withered grave sat off in the distance.
"You know whose that is?" Harry asked Hedwig, edging closer, "I only just discovered it a few months ago."
He slowed to a stop. Written across the top of the gravestone was little more than a name:
'Ignotus Peverell'
"The third brother," Harry muttered, "He used to own my cloak, you know . . ."
His eyes fell to the grave's center. A small pattern adorned the gravestone: a circle within a triangle, and a line intersecting the two.
The Deathly Hallows.
"I used to hate this place," Harry admitted aloud, shaking his head, "I still do. But it's home. My real home - the Dursley's place hardly counts. This is where I'm from."
Where the roots were planted . . .
"Little Hangleton . . ." Harry whispered. His breath fogged up in the cold air, "That's where Tom's from, Hedwig. Little Hangleton . . ."
A muggle place, probably. The world would've known of it, were it magical.
"Maybe not," Harry frowned. He straightened up, "Tom's definitely the type to just erase it from history books . . ."
He let out a heavy sigh of frustration.
"He hasn't visited the damn place yet," Harry noted, "I'd have seen it by now if he had . . ."
And it could be years before he visits. My dreams only ever show what he was up to when he was my age.
"I can't wait years, Hedwig," Harry stepped away from the Peverell tombstone, moving back toward the main path, "I might have to force it. I reckon I can do it again, with a bit of Occlumency . . ."
He trailed off, lost in his thoughts.
"Will you look for me?" he asked absentmindedly. Hedwig barked faintly in acknowledgment, "Search through muggle maps, just in case. I can search the library once I get to Hogwarts. Just find Little Hangleton, wherever it is."
Hedwig barked loudly, nibbling at his ear. Harry watched as the bird rose majestically into the air.
"Stay safe, Hed," Harry whispered. He heard a faint trill in response. Hedwig flew off into the distance, shrinking and shrinking until Harry could no longer spot her amidst the falling snow. His gaze fell from the sky, returning to his parents' graves. A cold, lifeless feeling settled in his stomach.
They're gone. It's not like they're losing any sleep over you.
"So why should I . . ."
Harry turned away, disapparating with a loud crack.