CHAPTER 56: COLLAPSING FACADES
Coilis had departed with a few stony farewells, those parting words heavy with the unspoken understanding of 'good luck' that both knew all too well. The serpent was at the manor, diligently preparing and gathering the snake army, plotting to bring down the Ministry and seize control.
Meanwhile, Harry found himself enveloped in darkness, walking silently through the dim corridors of Hogwarts as he searched for the elusive Draco Malfoy. His thoughts were consumed by the urgency of the moment, and he barely registered his surroundings. In a moment of desperation, he made a bold attempt at partial transformation, extending his forked tongue and flicking it out, catching the faintest trace of fear in the air. He quickly turned his head to the right, following the trail like a bloodhound on the hunt. He couldn't afford to fully transform into the Basilisk; the portraits lining the walls were watching closely, their eyes following him like watchful sentinels.
Harry pushed open the door to the girls' bathroom with a creak that echoed ominously in the stillness. He paused at the threshold, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in the scene before him: Daemon Potter stood defiantly across from an obviously distressed Draco Malfoy, whose face was pale and drawn.
"Just leave me alone, Daemon!" Draco snapped, his voice cracking under the pressure, and before Daemon could respond, he hurled a curse in desperation. Daemon dove into a stall just in time to avoid the spell's impact.
"Enough!" Harry's voice cut through the tension, firm and commanding. Draco spun around, his posture immediately shifting to one of submission, his head tilting downwards as if trying to become smaller in the face of authority.
Too bad Daemon didn't have the same instinct.
Harry swiftly raised his wand, blocking Draco's spell with a quick slash and a muttered incantation. In response, Draco sent a stunner in Harry's direction, narrowly missing him as Harry dodged to the side.
"Get out of here, Malfoy!" Harry muttered, fixing Draco with a glare so intense it froze him in place. With a quick nod, Draco turned and fled the bathroom, but instead of leaving, he paused at the door, lingering as if caught between instinct and fear.
'Idiot!' Harry thought viciously, frustration boiling within him. He turned his attention back to the stall where Daemon was hiding. With a surge of anger, he sent a cutting jinx toward the wood, watching it splinter under the force of the spell.
A sharp stinging pain shot through his ankles, causing Harry to buckle slightly as he hissed in surprise. "Coward!" he muttered, realizing Daemon was firing from under the stall.
Rolling to his feet, Harry prepared himself as Daemon retaliated with a hard repelling charm. Harry countered with a mild heat wave spell that washed over the floor, ignoring the water now soaking into his knees.
"Not so tough now, are you?" Daemon shouted as he dropped to the floor, panic lacing his voice. He sent a bright disarming jinx at Harry, who easily sidestepped it, his heart pounding in his chest.
'Stay calm. Easy spells only, since Malfoy's still lurking. I just need to withstand the next one—Protego—okay, the one after this,' Harry thought quickly, deflecting Daemon's surprisingly advanced spell with a flick of his wrist.
His brow furrowed as he pondered the origin of Daemon's skill. Where did he learn this?
"Sectasumpra!" Daemon shouted suddenly, and Harry's eyes widened in shock. He barely had time to conjure a curse of his own before the spell collided with him, a harsh force that sent him staggering back.
In the haze of the moment, Harry reminded himself that the spell had been obscured in the shadows—an excuse he could always cling to. But the confrontation was escalating, and he sensed the urgency of the situation. Oh, Potter was in deep trouble now.
He grunted in pain as he dropped to the floor, one arm struggling to prop himself up while the other instinctively reached for the wounds now tearing through his body. It felt as if fire coursed through his veins, igniting every injury—deep knife wounds littered his legs, arms, chest, and even ran down his neck, each cut a reminder of the escalating danger.
Daemon gasped in horror, his eyes wide as he stumbled backward, overwhelmed by the sight. "Obsidian! What happened?" he cried, his voice cracking with panic.
Draco Malfoy, who had been momentarily frozen in shock, quickly rushed forward, dropping to Harry's side. "Get back, Potter! I need to help you!" he shouted, frantically yanking at Harry's outer robe, black shirt, and pants, desperate to remove the fabric clinging to his wounds. But he halted as crimson soaked through, staining his hands in a stark contrast to his pale skin.
Harry managed a twisted smirk, despite the agony radiating through him. "How ironic, isn't it? The golden boy… murdering a Slytherin with a dark spell," he mused, savoring the horror that flashed across Daemon's face, the boy trembling as he processed the gravity of the situation.
"Stop it!" Daemon shouted, his voice laced with disbelief. He couldn't accept that anything was truly wrong, his mind racing with denial. Meanwhile, Draco pulled back, his blood-soaked hands shaking uncontrollably.
"Sh—Obsidian…I—I've got to get help," Draco stammered, his previous mental breakdown surfacing again, adding to the chaos. He met Harry's gaze, searching for reassurance, but Harry's expression was void of emotion, a stark mask of determination despite the pain.
"Then hurry, Draco Malfoy," Harry replied calmly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't hold on much longer." Draco nodded, his face pale, and bolted out of the bathroom, splashing through the water as he hurried to find help.
Daemon stood frozen in the corner, his expression a mix of disbelief and horror, unable to process that Harry was truly hurt. "Obsidian, don't go!" he pleaded, but the words fell on deaf ears.
Harry knew he could survive this—his demon blood allowed him to endure wounds that would incapacitate a normal person. He could survive on just half of his body's original blood volume, while a regular human required nearly eighty percent.
But even with that knowledge, pain clawed at him relentlessly. He gasped softly, and his arm finally gave out beneath him, causing him to slam against the slick, tiled floor. The water around him turned red and murky, swirling with his blood as his vision began to blur.
As he blinked, fighting against the darkness creeping in, he felt his eyelids growing heavy. When he opened them again, he found himself surrounded by familiar faces: Professor Slughorn, Madam Pomfrey, and Professor Dumbledore. Relief flooded him momentarily before reality crashed back; his outer cloak had been removed, and Draco stood nearby, chest heaving from exertion and anxiety. Daemon's blue shirt bore bloodstains, an unsettling sight that added to the chaos swirling in Harry's mind.
"Obsidian! What have you done?" Slughorn exclaimed, eyes wide with shock as he approached, panic etched across his features. "Stay with us, Harry. You're going to be alright!"
"Help me…please," Harry whispered, his voice barely a breath. As he lay there, blood pooling beneath him, he felt a spell lift him gently, his body cradled in a way that defied his current state.
"Madam Pomfrey!" Dumbledore's voice was firm and reassuring. "We need to stabilize him immediately." Harry felt the familiar warmth of magic envelop him, pulling him back from the precipice as shadows clung to the corners of his vision.
Draco's voice trembled as he took a step closer, still unable to comprehend the horror of what he had witnessed. "Obsidian, I—I didn't mean for this to happen," he stammered, his face pale.
"Just…don't let it be for nothing," Harry managed to murmur before slipping back into the darkness, his mind fading as his shadows seeped slightly from the walls, allowing him to drift into unconsciousness.
A huge crowd gathered, easily numbering over forty people. They represented all houses, though most were unmistakably from Slytherin. Ginny Weasley and Hermione stood near the front, their faces drawn tight, each silent as they processed the scene before them. A few younger Slytherins who had learned to respect Harry gasped in dismay, their cries echoing in the tense air as his corpse-like body floated above them, blood trailing down his limp arms and face like crimson ribbons.
To the side, Theo and Pansy stood holding hands, a rather stunned Blaise caught between them. Millicent Bulstrode lingered at the back, unwilling to raise her eyes to look at Harry, her expression a mix of sorrow and fear. Bad looks were thrown at Daemon Potter, the target of scorn and blame, and a few dozen rude curses were hurled his way. Even Dumbledore struggled to maintain order, unable to quell the simmering tension and the almost-fights brewing in the crowd.
Harry observed it all with a grim satisfaction, a strange sense of pleasure blooming within him. Daemon Potter, the so-called Dark Wizard and Parseltongue—such lies! The narrative twisted and turned: Daemon Potter, the boy who murdered the Dark Shadow, the boy who had killed a giant Basilisk and defeated a Dark Lord as an infant—pure fabrications. What could anyone truly believe in a world rife with deceit?
The infirmary doors stood wide open, welcoming Harry back to consciousness. With a sudden, pin-drop silence, he felt himself once again anchored inside his body. He opened his eyes just a crack, allowing light to filter in, flooding his senses. The spell faded, and he found himself on a hospital bed, a scratchy blanket beneath him. He winced as the slight movement aggravated his numerous injuries. Someone employed a precise cutting charm to remove his blood-soaked shirt, the sharpness of the spell contrasting with the dull ache radiating through him.
Harry blinked twice, the harsh cold air stinging at his open lacerations. He glanced around the room, his gaze landing on Professor Slughorn, who stood pale in the corner, sorting through potions with a trembling hand. Madam Pomfrey darted about in a flurry, her focus keen as she searched for something to staunch the bleeding—dark spells had a way of complicating such matters.
Dumbledore stood at his bedside, his gaze piercing yet unreadable as he watched Harry. The silence hung heavy, thick with unspoken words, especially directed at the nearly crying Daemon Potter.
"Mr. Obsidian?" Dumbledore finally broke the stillness, though he seemed to expect no response. Harry surprised him by lifting a single eyebrow, a clear signal that he was listening, albeit with a hint of defiance.
"How—" Dumbledore cleared his throat, steeling himself to try again. "How are you still awake? I was under the impression that you were in extreme pain." His voice held a mixture of concern and disbelief.
Harry blinked slowly, his lips curling downwards slightly in irritation. "If you're asking whether this hurts—well, it hurts bloody enough," he growled, frustration lacing his words. He clenched his fists and pressed his head back into the pillow as Madam Pomfrey handed a wet cloth to Daemon, instructing him to wipe the blood from Harry's chest.
Time slipped by in a haze. Harry lost track of how long he lay there, surrounded by the dim light of the infirmary. Slughorn eventually left, and Dumbledore vanished as well, leaving Daemon behind, still grappling with guilt for what had transpired.
Harry lay in pain, fatigue weighing heavily on him, so tired that he almost forgot the significant mark etched over his heart, a reminder of the darkness that lingered even in his moments of despair.
"Why did you stay?" Daemon's voice finally broke through the silence, a shaky whisper laced with remorse.
"Because someone has to clean up this mess," Harry replied, his voice low but resolute. "And you, of all people, should know what that means."
Daemon looked at him, uncertainty flashing across his face. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I just wanted to prove myself."
"Prove yourself?" Harry echoed, incredulous. "To who? To them?" He gestured weakly toward the door where the crowd had gathered. "They're not worth your time. You need to find your own path, Daemon. Not the one everyone expects you to walk."
"I'm trying," Daemon insisted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I really am."
"Well, then start by understanding that you can't hide behind your name forever," Harry replied, his gaze steady. "You have to define yourself."
As he drifted back into the abyss of pain and exhaustion, Harry realized that he was not just fighting for himself but for the choices yet to be made, the bonds yet to be forged in a world that seemed so determined to tear them apart.
Coilis rested beside Nagini at the top of a grand, sweeping staircase, their serpentine forms poised and vigilant as they surveyed the vast expanse of their snake army below. The multitude of scales shimmered in the dim light, creating an undulating sea of bodies that coiled and twisted in anticipation. They were a formidable force, and their mission was clear: the Death Eaters would assist them, for only the hands of humans could retrieve the artifact they sought. Lucius Malfoy and Avery had been handpicked for this task, equipped with a minor translation spell strong enough to allow them to comprehend the direct commands issued by either Coilis or Nagini.
The snake army hissed in unison, a low and menacing sound that echoed ominously off the stone walls, sending shivers through the air. Pythons at the base of the mass supported the weight of the constrictors and vipers piled atop them, their bodies weaving together in a display of strength and unity. In the center of this writhing mass lay a massive portkey, nearly the size of a twin bed, pulsating with dormant energy, waiting for the right moment to activate.
"When are we to leave, Coilis Darkscales?" a young python asked eagerly, its size impressive even at such a tender age. The creature's scales glimmered with a mix of vibrant green and shimmering gold, reflecting its youthful vitality.
"The portkey will activate soon," Coilis hissed, his voice a blend of authority and reassurance. "To victory we shall travel—to the end of this war we will fight!" His tail curled instinctively, intertwining with Nagini's in a show of solidarity, their sleek black and patterned bodies forming a striking image against the backdrop of their gathering forces.
As the tension in the air grew palpable, the vast army shifted restlessly, the collective anticipation building like a storm. Suddenly, with a loud snap that reverberated through the air, the entire assembly vanished in an instant, leaving behind only a whisper of scales on stone.
Harry's eyes shot open, his heart racing as he sensed it—the unmistakable presence of Dark Magic suffusing the school. It felt heavy and foreboding, wrapping around him like a shroud. He felt unusually alone as he slipped out of bed, wincing as he pressed a hand to the bandage-clad wound on his chest.
With determined precision, he reached for his wand on the bedside table, twirling it between his fingers before pointing it at himself. "Episkey," he muttered, the incantation flowing from his lips like an instinct. A warm light enveloped his chest, healing the wounds with a satisfying tingle.
Then, without a moment's hesitation, he yanked at the gauze, ripping it apart with ease. But as he did, he froze, a gurgled noise escaping his throat—part gasp, part groan. Staring down in shock, he saw it: his tattoo, the mark he had chosen long ago, now vivid against his skin.
It was his version of the Dark Mark, a symbol he had named the Shadow Mark. Two serpents intertwined at the base of their tails, curling outward before facing inward once more, all while pointing at an open, gasping skull. The sight was haunting; at first glance, one could easily mistake it for the Dark Mark, yet he alone knew its true meaning.
"Why did I let this happen?" Harry cursed himself quietly, a mixture of anger and frustration bubbling within him. He quickly grabbed a clean black shirt and robe, throwing them on in haste, and made his way toward the Great Hall, his heart pounding in rhythm with the rising dread in the air.
As he walked through the empty corridors, shadows danced on the walls, and the sense of danger loomed ever closer. Harry clenched his jaw, his mind racing with questions and concerns about what awaited him in the Great Hall. What if they were already there? What if it was too late?
"Focus, Obsidian," he whispered to himself, determination solidifying in his gut as he stepped into the flickering light of the hall.
The snake army spread across the dimly lit floors of the Ministry, each section delineated by the size and agility of its occupants. On the right, the fast, agile vipers coiled in readiness, their sleek bodies poised to strike. Leading the charge was the swiftest of the Black Mambas, its glossy black scales reflecting the muted light, flanked by the deadly cobras, their hoods flared and ready.
Moving further back, the larger snakes gathered—imposing Gaboon vipers and heavy-bodied puff adders stood like living fortresses, their presence intimidating. The most massive of all were the giant constrictors; one rock python, easily 23 feet long, loomed over the rest, its sheer size a testament to the power they wielded.
"Are we ready? Can we attack?" piped up a young Emerald Tree Boa, its voice bubbling with excitement. Its emerald scales glimmered as it swayed eagerly, glancing around at its comrades.
Nagini, her eyes narrowed and focused, looked towards Lucius and Avery, who stood nearby, visibly uncomfortable in the midst of such a serpentine army. "It's just a small area within the Ministry," she reassured them, though the tension in her voice betrayed her own apprehension.
"Um, the Ministry hall we need to breach has six main rooms on each side," Lucius interjected, his brow furrowing. "The chance of us being spotted is rather high, and the likelihood of triggering the alarm is even—"
"Taipans, strike each of the workers near the ankle—make sure it's the back!" Coilis commanded sharply, his voice cutting through the murmurs of doubt. In an instant, the fast-moving snakes surged forward, their fangs clicking open, poised to deliver a painless but effective bite.
Moments later, the snakes returned, their mission accomplished. The army began to move in unison, a dark wave slithering towards their goal. Lucius peered into one of the adjacent rooms and swallowed hard, his throat tightening. Four Ministry officials lay sprawled on the floor, pale and lifeless, gasping their last breaths from gruesome wounds to their calves, each one a testament to the efficiency of the snake army.
"The doors are going to be the tricky part," Avery said, his voice shaky. "I'll hold them open, but we need to be quick."
As they made their way, one of the snakes found its way into a room filled with small, glittering spheres, their surfaces reflecting the faint light. Instinctively, they branched out, the urgency of the task overshadowing their surroundings.
"Clear the room! Kill every wizard and find that prophecy!" Nagini hissed loudly, her voice a chilling call to arms. The Mambas shot forward like sports cars on the racetrack, each one intent on fulfilling their grim purpose.
A terrified scream echoed through the corridors, piercing the tense atmosphere like a dagger.
Harry walked into the Great Hall, his expression carefully neutral, betraying none of the turmoil swirling inside him. Leaning against the nearest pillar by his usual spot at the table, he temporarily closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to center himself before opening them again. The hall was buzzing with whispers and furtive glances, all directed his way.
As he surveyed the long tables filled with students, he noticed the way they shifted their attention to Daemon Potter, who was animatedly discussing something with Hermione and Ron.
"I'm telling you what I saw!" Daemon hissed, his voice low but urgent, his brow furrowed with intensity.
"I don't know, mate, that sounds kinda crazy," Ron replied, frowning as he picked at his food.
"And I've never heard of a mark like that," Hermione added with a shrug, her eyes narrowing in thought.
Daemon growled in frustration, rising abruptly from the table and stomping out of the hall, determination etched across his features. Harry followed his departure with a contemplative expression, glancing back at the students nearby who were now watching him with a mix of concern and curiosity.
"You okay, Obsidian?" Theo Nott asked, his voice low, eyes betraying a hint of worry, the bags under them testament to sleepless nights. He fidgeted nervously in his seat.
Harry raised an eyebrow, noticing Draco was absent. "I'm fine. Do you know where Draco is?"
Theo stiffened at the mention of his friend's name, his gaze dropping to his plate as if it contained all the answers. The tension in the air thickened as several other Slytherins shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. A small, satisfied smile curled on Harry's lips as he began to eat, the taste of red meat satisfying a deep-seated craving that lingered since his transformation.
Dinner stretched on for an hour, filled with laughter and chatter that felt distant to Harry, who remained lost in thought. As the Slytherin table began to clear, he noticed a sizeable portion of his housemates stealthily slipping away from the main group. Curiosity piqued, he rose from his seat, instinctively following them, aware of what was likely to unfold.
In an instant, he shadow-traveled to the top of the clock tower, where he could gaze out over the darkened grounds of Hogwarts. The night sky was painted with stars, shimmering against the deep blue backdrop, and the chill of the evening air brushed against his skin.
As he looked out, he spotted two figures making their way toward the castle, illuminated by the soft glow of their Lumos spells—Potter and Dumbledore.
"It has begun," Harry whispered, a sense of foreboding settling in his chest. He blinked, allowing his eyes to shift into their serpent form, the world sharpening as he prepared for the next move.
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