In spite of its (and Harry's) age, the Firebolt flew as straight and fast as it always had. He flew over the Forbidden Forest, barely looking at the world around him, heading straight for his goal: the place where he'd died.
Perhaps there was another name for it, but he called it Voldemort's Clearing. He spiraled down from above, marveling at how little it was changed. Although he'd only been there a short while, many years ago, his memory of it was etched in his brain.
The fallen tree and small boulders were still arranged in the same places. The same moss still grew over everything like a blanket. He landed and leaned his broom against a tree.
Yes, he remembered it all. That was where Voldemort sat, waiting. That was where the Death Eaters stood nearby. That was where he fell. That was where Narcissa Malfoy betrayed her master. And that was where he left the forest and stepped into the clearing. That was why he had come.
He turned his back on his death and headed into the forest. It was dark instantly. He lit his wand, but it did little to illuminate the path at his feet.
"Accio Resurrection Stone!" he said.
Nothing. Of course there was nothing. It hadn't worked on his invisibility cloak. Hallows were probably immune. He'd have to find it with his eyes. The problem was, the Resurrection Stone was black. The problem was, the Forbidden Forest was dark. The problem was, he was too old to bend over for hours, but he'd have to try.
So, he found himself cramped as he scoured the forest floor. He held his lit wand with one hand and used his other to pick up every rock he found. One stone after another he held up for a moment, concentrated on, then threw aside. After a few hours, he wondered if it had been buried in the dirt over the years. A few hours later, he wondered if someone else had found it. Another few hours and his back seized up, and he had to sit down against a tree and bury his face in his muddy hands.
How had he been so stupid? How could have dropped one of the greatest treasures ever created on the ground and left it there? Just left it there for no one.
His mind flitted briefly to the other two hallows. Lily had the invisibility cloak. Dumbledore was buried with the wand, although (and he realized this with a combination of relief and disappointment) he was no longer its master; it would have transferred its allegiance to the wizard who had cursed him.
Anger rose inside him. He still didn't know who had attacked him. He still had no idea who killed his wife.
"I know a clarity spell," Luna's voice said from behind him.
"Oh, shut up!" he said.
Something chittered in response.
He jumped to his feet, holding his lit wand above his head. The shadows were deep here, and his eyes could have been playing tricks on him. It seemed like dark, hairy things were surrounding him. It seemed like hundreds of eyes were glittering in the wandlight.
No, it wasn't a trick of the light. He was surrounded. A dozen, giant, hairy spiders encircled him. A hundred black legs closed in on him.
He'd been attacked by spiders before. They grabbed him in his second year, and he'd only been saved when Ron's magic Ford Anglia came to save the day. There was little chance of that now, though. Last he'd heard, the little car had disappeared from the forest, and nobody knew if it had moved on or lost its magic and just stopped.
He stood and sank into a dueling crouch. He was a much more skilled wizard now. Years as an auror left him trained in curses and counter curses, jinxes, and every manner of attack spell. Although even that might not be enough against the twelve monsters closing in on him. Large creatures were naturally resistant to curses and jinxes. Dragons and manticores were notoriously hard to control with magic. Even Hagrid had once shrugged off curses thrown at him by several trained wizards.
Twelve of them. He counted again. Yes, a dozen giant spiders had come for him. Even at his best, he didn't know if he could take that many.
If he wanted to survive, he couldn't rely on magic. He'd have to use one weapon he found the most successful in his career. He'd have to use fear.
"I don't know if you can understand human speech," he said, "but I knew Aragog. If you're his descendants, then maybe you can hear what I'm saying."
The spiders paused. Perhaps they could understand him. He had a chance.
"My name is Harry Potter, and I am the most dangerous wizard you'll ever meet. I died and was reborn. I killed Voldemort."
The spiders seemed to cringe back at the name. Yes, they definitely understood. Had they been at the Battle of Hogwarts? Had they seen him defeat Voldemort?
"I fought and killed dozens of witches and wizards. I even…" He faltered, wanting to stop the words from coming out. He wanted to stop them, but they were made of guilt and loss, and he couldn't control them. All his hate and anguish was flowing out, and he was powerless against it. "I even watched my parents die and didn't do anything to save them. I watched them die twice and didn't lift a finger."
The spiders were waiting, mesmerized.
"I am a living curse. I am the worst thing you will ever find in this forest. I will kill every single one of you without a thought. You do not want to fuck with me."
He understood Ginny's distaste for the word now. It was more than profane. It had power. Even the spiders flinched at it.
"I am giving you a chance," he lowered his voice. "Just one chance. Walk away. Walk away now and you can go back to your webs and your children and your lives. Turn back now, and you can avoid the hell I'm about to bring down on you."
He fell silent. Without a moment's hesitation, the spiders moved in. So much for fear.
He cast stupefy. It bounced off a spider's body, barely slowing it. Stupefy worked best against the head of its target, but he couldn't waste time trying again, not at the speed they were closing on him.
He cast sectumsempra. Nothing. Had they bred with blast-ended skrewts? He tried petrificus totalus. Nothing. He tried fire, ice, electricity, pain. Nothing. He even tried flipendo. His wand was moving on its own, swinging from side to side, casting spells before he could finish saying the words. It had always had a mind of its own.
They were on him now, grabbing him about the legs, rearing up with their fangs. They would paralyze him, bind him, feed on him slowly in the dark. Nobody would even know he was gone. Famous Harry Potter simply disappeared.
And somewhere… Somewhere the wizard who cursed him, the wizard who shattered his memory and killed his wife… Somewhere that man would smile.
"You have to mean it," Bellatrix had said. The Unforgivable Curses. He'd used mind control. He'd tried pain and failed.
He'd never tried death. Not really. No matter what had happened to him, he'd never really wanted to kill anyone. He'd never meant it.
He meant it now.
"Avada kedavara!" he said.
Green light shot out of his wand. It struck the nearest spider a glancing blow, barely touching a leg. His heart sank. He'd missed. He'd failed.
But the spider collapsed, dead. You didn't need to hit your target in the right place to kill. He wondered if you even needed to strike your target at all. It was merely the desire to kill that ended another's life.
He watched the dead spider's legs curling up around it and smiled. Harry felt right. While the imperious curse made the caster feel euphoria, the killing curse made the caster feel right.
Killing was correct. It was appropriate. You were righteous. Your victim deserved it. Anything you did, no matter how terrible, was good.
Harry was vindicated. Harry was powerful. Harry was doing good with each murder.
And there were so many murders to do.
Green light shot in every direction. The spiders fell in horrible, crumpling husks. Some screamed as they died. Some hissed. Most just fell dead.
Harry laughed. It wasn't the high, cold laugh of Voldemort. That would have brought him up short. It was his laugh, and it was so gleeful.
Finally realizing their mistake, the few spiders who didn't die in his first onslaught turned and ran into the dark. Harry - charged with hatred and power - chased after them. Green light flew again and again until there was only one left.
Only then did he stop himself. Only then did he show some restraint. Let that last spider go tell its friends. Let them know a new danger had entered the forest. They'd treat people with a little more deference in the future.
He held his wand up and stared at it. It had changed. It looked the same but felt different in his palm. It was smaller somehow, weaker, less alive. He returned it to his pocket.
He was ready at last. He could teach Barty Crouch Jr's class on the Unforgivable Curses. He could teach anything, not that it mattered anymore. He could do anything he wanted.
Harry wanted revenge. He was finally ready for it. He would find his wife's killer and end him. It would be murder, but it was a good kind of murder. It was the just kind.
"I know a clarity spell," Luna's voice said behind him.
"So do I," Harry said.