Chapter VI:
All Harry saw was fire.
Fire that carpeted the world around him, licking the air with its tongue, searing away anything that dared stand in its path. He could almost feel the heat on his skin. Black, scalding heat.
Despite everything he had been through, Harry found himself unwilling to take a step forward. Everything felt so unreal, so distant, like he was consumed by a dream. He could feel himself being pulled, as if being towed by an invisible string. Only vaguely was he aware that Wanda was following behind him.
The hill soon gave way to the battlefield. The air was thick with smoke, the ground stained by the tears of the desperate, the cries of the sorrowful. But the only sound Harry heard was his own heart beating, the burning of his scar increasing with every step.
The figure, whose face remained shrouded, turned to face them.
Its long, dark hair billowed with the wind, eerily reminiscent of the ink-black robes that had once haunted Harry's dreams.
For the longest time they stared at each other, locked in a silent standoff.
The lines on this variant of him were deeper, his eyes darker and face paler than anything Harry had seen before. But beyond the shock of staring himself in the eyes, Harry was struck by overwhelming sorrow.
"I wouldn't take another step, if I were you." His variant said, but instead of words, only a hollow laughter seemed to escape his lips.
"I've been sent to stop you." Harry replied.
The wind seemed to pick up, the dead roots of trees desperately holding on to the ground.
"By who?" His variant asked.
Harry took another step forward. "Doesn't matter."
"What magic is this!" His variant sneered. "A ghost? A figment? You think this is funny? Appearing before me as myself!"
Before Harry could respond, his variant lunged, a blur of motion. No spell was spoken, no wand raised, yet the ground beneath their feet erupted. With a crash, shards of rock exploded upward like deadly shrapnel.
Wanda reacted before Harry could even process what had happened. A shimmering shield blinked into existence, transmuting the hurtling rocks into fine dust that drifted harmlessly to the ground.
His variant staggered back, but Harry sensed something else in his movements. A wand appeared.
"You think you can defeat me?" His variant contorted with rage, brandishing the Elder Wand like a butchering knife. The wood gleamed in the dying moonlight. "I am everything you should fear."
Dark energy surged toward Harry and Wanda with terrifying speed. Harry countered with a flick of his own wand. The impact of the blast sent shockwaves through the air, throwing them off balance. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a shower of debris.
Wanda began hurtling fallen chunks of the castle, fists of brick crashing toward his variant at breakneck speed. But his variant was relentless, his attacks and counters coming in a furious barrage. He seemed to wield the Elder Wand with an almost unnatural proficiency, his spells faster, more powerful than anything Harry had seen in a long, long time.
"You're nothing but a pale imitation!" His variant screamed as he evaporated what had once been the doors to the Great Hall. A torrent of crimson energy erupted from the Elder Wand, not a recognizable spell, but raw, chaotic power. A manifestation of unbridled rage.
Harry met him with a streak of his own. Yet that still didn't stop the feeling of a searing pain shoot through his body. It was as if his soul were being pierced by a thousand needles, every nerve ending screaming in protest. A cry escaped Harry as he broke off the engagement. The taste of blood was coppery and thick on his tongue.
Wanda countered with a blast of raw magic that saw his variant thrown off his feet. The slam of his body against the rubble crackled like fireworks.
His variant snarled, recovering with frightening speed, conjuring a torrent of black flames that surged towards them. Not ordinary fire, but something darker, colder, flames that seemed to suck what little light was left from the air. Harry thrust his hand forward and a swirling vortex of air materialized, pulling the black flames into its center and compressing them into a dense, harmless sphere of obsidian, which he then flicked away with a dismissive gesture. He followed up with a swift, silent incantation, and the ground beneath his variant's feet flowed like water, becoming a viscous, sticky mire that trapped his ankles.
His variant, unfazed, only momentarily slowed by the magical quicksand, raised the Elder Wand once more.
The Killing Curse hurtled toward Harry and Wanda, a green jet of pure death. Wanda flew up as Harry threw himself again to the side, the curse narrowly passing between them, impacting the ground where they stood with a sickening thud, leaving a path of withered, lifeless earth.
Harry, seeing an opening, a split-second where his variant's focus wavered, focused his will. Instead of the Disarming Charm, he cast a spell he'd only theorized about, a spell gleaned from ancient texts, a spell to disrupt the connection between wand and wizard, to sever the very flow of magic itself. A shimmering, golden net shot from Harry's wand, wrapping around the Elder Wand and his variant's hand. His variant cried out, a mixture of pain and surprise.
The Elder Wand flew, clattering to the ground as his variant fell with a thud. He lay on the ground, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with disbelief and something that looked almost like… fear. Wanda raised her hands. Scarlet energy enveloped his fallen variant, lifting him into the air, suspending him in a helpless stasis. Before he could recover, before the darkness could reassert itself, Harry pointed his own wand and shouted,
"Stupefy!"
A jet of red light struck his variant squarely in the chest. His struggles ceased, his body going limp.
"It's over," Harry said, his voice firm. He approached cautiously, his wand still raised.
Wanda followed close behind, her eyes fixed. "What do we do now?" she asked.
Harry hesitated. He felt the reset charges clanking against the TemPad in his robes. It would be so easy to use them, to wipe the slate clean. But something held him back. He looked at his variant, his own face twisted with such pure, utter agony even in unconsciousness. It was like staring in a mirror. A reflection of what he could have become.
He couldn't bring himself to destroy himself. To erase everything about him so that the world would never know that he'd even existed. Not like this.
"We're not going to use the reset charges," Harry said.
"Harry, are you sure?" Wanda's hand twitched. "He's dangerous."
"I know," Harry said. "But we're going to help him. We're going to help him remember."
After Wanda carefully lowered his variant to the ground, Harry awoke him into a calming trance, his body still limp as she casted a restraint over top him again. Like a heavy blanket, pinning him to the ground.
Harry knelt beside his variant, grimacing. "I know you're hurting," he lowered his voice. "I know you've lost so much. But you're not alone."
His variant stared back, lips unmoving.
"I know what it's like to lose," Harry continued. "I know what it's like to feel like there's nothing left. But there is. There's always something left."
He reached out toward his variant's shoulder. "Let me help you," he said.
His variant flinched and pulled away before Harry could reach him. Harry's hand hovered in the air of rejection. He recognized the instinct, the urge to push away any offer, to isolate oneself in the depths of despair.
"Wanda," Harry said, turning to her. "I need you to cut my hand."
"What?" Wanda's brow curled.
"Just do it," Harry commanded. "If I do it myself, he'll still think I'm an illusion."
Wanda hesitated, then nodded slowly. She approached, her fingers pulsing with scarlet. With a gentle touch, she traced a line across Harry's palm. Blood welled up, dripping onto the ground.
"I am you," Harry said, holding his bleeding hand up for his variant. "Can't you see?"
His variant stared at the blood, eyes widening. The tension in the air seemed to dissipate slightly.
"He's dead, isn't he?" Harry asked, his gaze shifting back to what little remained of Hogwarts. "Voldemort."
The blacks of his variant's eyes shattered like broken glass. "Doesn't matter, does it?" he echoed Harry's earlier words. "So is everybody else. There's nobody left. He won."
Harry's hand instinctively went to his scar, the burning sensation still lingering. "You managed to kill Voldemort," he said softly. "Without dying first."
"But at what cost?" His variant croaked.
Harry understood. He knew the price of victory. He had lost so much himself.
After much deliberation, Harry and Wanda began weaving a different kind of magic. A shimmering, ethereal construct began to take shape, resembling the Resurrection Stone in form, but its purpose was far different. Harry knew that it wouldn't be a cure-all, that the darkness within him might never fully disappear. But it was a start. It was a chance. A way to remember.
Harry approached the floating stone, his own memories flooding his mind. He reached out, infusing it with his own experiences, the moments of joy that had defined his life. He focused on the bond he shared with his friends, the love he felt for his family, the hope that had always guided him. The effort was straining, sweat beading on his forehead as he delved further into his own psyche, dredging up every last memory and weaving them into the fabric of the vessel.
His variant, still subdued, stared at the shimmering construct, his eyes flickering with recognition.
"This," Harry said once he was done, plucking the stone from the air, "is a reminder. A reminder of who you are. Of who you were. Of who we are, Harry."
Harry had never had kids of his own. The thought of it had never appealed to him in any profound way. But in this moment, he felt a surge of paternal instinct. Despite all the destruction and death that surrounded them, Harry felt as if he were looking down at his own son. His own flesh and blood. And right now, he was all Harry cared about.
He told his variant about a place, not in England, but in Europe, a small village nestled in the mountains. A place Harry himself had discovered. "You'll find peace there, I promise you," he said, blinking hard. "It will be nice to get away from all of this, for a while."
His variant's gaze was sunken, the darkness in his eyes receding. He reached out and touched the stone, crying out in pain as his body began to convulse. It was like the cold was being sucked out of his body, screams echoing throughout the sky, like the Dark Mark itself was crying out in anguish. His variant's eyes closed, and when he opened them again, they were no longer black. They were green. Emerald, like Harry's own.
"Thank you," his variant whispered. And with the stone in his hands, he apparated, leaving behind a trace of smoke.
The night returned to a cold, silent state, as if no one had ever been there at all.
Harry remained where he was for a long time. The bodies of those he'd once known still dormant, the school he'd once called a home now in more of a ruin. He let out a deep, shuddering breath, watching the way it crystallized in the cold air in front of him.
Reaching down, he picked up the Elder Wand, examining the long intricate curves. Decades ago, he'd destroyed it. Snapped it in half. Many called him crazy. And maybe they were right. He'd be lying if he said his choice hadn't kept him up some nights. Well, here was a second chance.
Inhaling, Harry palmed the wand.
"Harry," the familiar voice shook him from his thoughts, and he looked up to find Wanda standing just feet away. For a moment, he thought he saw something warm in her gaze, or not warm exactly, more like the red had become more pink, more alive.
"The TemPad," she said, gesturing to his robe.
He checked the device. The sequence violation seemed to be thwarted.
"Thanks for the help," Harry said, clearing his voice.
Wanda nodded. "If this is how they all are, I'm not looking forward to it."
Harry shook his head, slipping the Elder Wand into the folds of his pocket. "I reckon that we'll be just fine."
With that, they disappeared through the TemPad portal in a blinding flash of light. The world seemed to dissolve around them, the ruins of Hogwarts fading into nothingness.
Author's Note:
Surprise?
Really sorry for neglecting this story for so long. Just kinda fell out of love with HP for a while, but now I'm back! Hopefully this was a good read (I'm sure most of you don't even remember the story, can't fault you). Tried not to be overly corny and cliche. I know book Harry didn't destroy the Elder Wand. But for this story, let's just pretend he did.
I've been writing stories for a couple other fandoms as of late, so if you're interested, do check them out!
Until next time :)