Harry Potter Another World
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Chapter 3 - The gathering
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The four people in Albus's office stood in stunned silence. They could hardly be blamed, it was, after all, not an everyday sight to see a thirteen year old boy duel against one of the most feared Dark Lord in history, much less win, and so thoroughly at that. If Albus hadn't already verified it for himself, he would have been tempted to doubt the integrity of the memory, but indeed Iris Potter's memory was untainted and true.
"I read the reports," Amelia began, stumbling back into her seat, "but I thought that they had been exaggerated, the witnesses confused. But to think!" She shook her head in disbelief, "To think that Harry Potter had actually managed to drive off Voldemort! If the Prophet gets a hold of this, they'll be even more insufferable than they are now. They're already calling the kid the next Dumbledore, if they see what he actually did. . .it'll be Merlin this and Merlin that!"
"Don't be so glad, we don't know if that was even the boy." Alastor growled, his magical eye spinning wildly, "He could have been kidnapped, trapped under a chest, hairs harvested for Polyjuice, and that person be an imposter."
"It can't be Polyjuice." James replied, "I've watched him over summer, he wouldn't have had a chance to renew the transformation."
"An imposter could have always found time. And even if he weren't, he's still a danger." Alastor countered.
"A danger to who? The Death Eaters certainly, and Voldemort most definitely! Even if he was an imposter, he's clearly of help to us. And we all saw how devoted he was to protecting his sister, that's certainly not the actions of an imposter." Amelia responded.
"All the more reason to be suspicious! If that is really the boy, then where did he get all this magic from? Those weren't second year spells he used, how do we know he hasn't turned dark? The boy was a walking example of a Dark Lord in training, how do we know he hasn't decided to become one?" Alastor questioned.
"Harry wouldn't do that." James said.
"That's sentiment clouding your judgment. We can't let our emotions get in the way of the facts."
"I know my son!" James replied angrily.
"Do you now?" Alastor snorted, taking a swig from his flask, "Heard he broke your arm in three pieces, did you know that he could do that?"
Albus could see James gritting his teeth in anger, arm flexing towards his wand, and moved to defuse the situation.
"Now now Alastor, while you raise an interesting possibility, we must not rush to cast judgment. The facts, as you say, still stands, that Harry Potter had acted, with great risk to himself, to protect his sister and many of those at the station. I am sure we can all agree on that, at the least."
Alastor grunted, but did not argue the point, relenting the floor.
"Leaving that issue aside, Amelia, have there been any activities on Tom's part?"
"None so far. They have been completely silent since that day. Voldemort must have taken a big hit. It may be cruel of me to say this. . .But a few more attacks like this and we might just win the war." Amelia smiled bitterly.
Albus nodded thoughtfully. Though the attack on the Hogwarts Express had claimed many lives, bright lights that will never shine again, it was equally true that Tom was dealt a disastrous blow. The strength of the Death Eaters laid upon the terror they instilled, made especially effective through quick forceful and concise attacks on unprotected targets, to homes and places of residences, to businesses, to people, engaging where the Aurors were not and leaving before they arrived.
The attack on the Hogwarts Express ran countered to that style, and though they had anticipated the possibility, they had underestimated the forces that Tom would bring, or that Tom himself would participate, and it had almost cost them. It was their luck that the brave witches and wizards present had rallied, and even more so that Harry Potter had proven to be an able match for Tom.
As it stood, Tom had been wounded grievously, his forces decimated, many of his servants captured or killed. Never had hope been so bright and the light so close, and it was thanks to Harry Potter.
"Thank you Amelia, I shall not keep you any longer, your work must be calling for you."
"Then I will take my leave Dumbledore." Amelia stood and walked out the exit. Alastor nodded at him, then left as well to escort the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, leaving only two other person to be seen in the room with him.
"Do you really think that was Harry?" James asked, clearly conflicted, "I want to believe. . .but I can't ignore the fact that he hasn't been acting like himself. If that was really Harry, then maybe he has changed, maybe there's still. . ."
"I do believe that he was telling the truth when he said that he was Harry James Potter." Albus replied.
The simple affirmation seemed to appease James and he relaxed.
"I'll leave too then." James bid goodbye. Hugging the person beside him, James quickly exited the room.
The only person who hadn't spoken just yet, Lily Potter looked uneasy, as if contemplating a thought within her head.
"Lily, was there something that you wanted to say?"
"About Harry, " Lily began hesitatingly, "There is something that's strange."
Albus listened patiently.
"It probably nothing. . .or at least I would like to think it's nothing, but. . ." Lily continued, "There's some kind of residue around Harry. I've ran some tests, and it's similar to the readings from people who have used a Time Turner."
"Are you suggesting that perhaps we have a traveler of time within our midst?" Albus asked.
"No, it's similar, but it's not the same. It probably is nothing, just me seeing patterns that aren't there." Lily shook her head. "No, I'm sure it's nothing. I haven't been getting enough sleep, my eyes must be playing tricks on me. Thank you Dumbledore, I won't be taking any more of your time."
Lily left the room before Albus could reply. Her words provoked certain thoughts to run through Albus's head, and he mused them out loud.
"Perhaps Lily was close after all, well Harry?"
A nothing distorted the light. From nothing, Harry Potter appeared.
"Bloody flaming bird." Harry snorted at the phoenix. Fawkes crooned in reply.
Albus took this moment to examine Harry. There was something different about him, something not quite the same from the child that had walked the halls of Hogwarts. He stood with an air of quiet confidence, not of arrogance, but of a self-assuredness years ahead of his youth. Where Harry before was a timid boy hiding behind a mask of coldness, now sat someone capable and, Albus thought back on recent events, quite dangerous.
"I didn't expect Lily to almost figure it out."
"She was always a bright child." Albus replied, "Her job as an Unspeakable have only served to further nourish her inquisitive mind."
"That explains that. Interesting discussion you guys had. Well anyways, before you ask your questions Dumbledore, I have somethings to show you." Harry said, laying out four objects on the desk.
Albus caught his breath.
A locket. A cup. A crown. A ring.
"These might be familiar to you."
Albus looked at Harry, but the boy sat impassive, his face a blank wall, revealing nothing.
Tracing his hand across each object, Albus whispered, "Salazar Slytherin's Locket. Helga Hufflepuff's Cup. The Lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. And. . ." Albus paused on the ring. "Gaunt's Ring."
Harry nodded. "I trust you know their significance Dumbledore, especially the last. They are, or rather were, the Horcruxes of Lord Voldemort, otherwise known as Tom Riddle. I've taken the liberty of destroying the soul fragments within them, the vessels themselves should be fine."
Harry took the ring and held it up in the air. "This one is a bit more special than the rest. . .but I have no need for it, or them." Putting it back on the table, he finished, "Consider them a gift."
"How did you. . .?" Albus said, stunned. He wasn't sure what to ask. The Horcruxes were the result of dark magic of the most terrible kind. Added to them the many enchantments Tom must have cast to protect himself, to destroy even one was a feat of great risk. Yet, Harry had managed to purge not just one Horcrux, but four, and he looked none the worst for wear. What, exactly, was he?
"The whole story is a bit long, so I'll just settle for the main points." Harry began, settling back down into his chair. "I am not from this world."
Not from this world. . .? Albus's mind considered the possible meanings of this phrase. His eyes widened at the implications.
"The details are unnecessary, but essentially I have hunted for the Horcruxes once before." Harry continued, his tone matter of fact, "Voldemort targeted me, I killed him, mostly end of story. It seemed that this Voldemort used the same vessels for his Horcruxes, so it was a relatively simple task to locate them. Any other questions?"
"Then, was there a Prophecy involved?" Albus asked tentatively, prodding the delicate issue. If what this person was telling him was true. . .then he might just have an answer to the meaning of the Prophecy made concerning Iris Potter.
"Hm. . .yes there was. There are a few differences between mine and the one here, yes I took a trip to the Department of Mystery, don't look so shocked, but they are mostly the same. With these Horcruxes gone, and with the Diary destroyed, there should only be one other, along with Voldemort himself." Harry paused, "Unfortunately, one of the main differences made it clear that I can't kill Voldemort myself, but I can do at least this much. Iris has been training for her role, hopefully she will soon be ready. When she finally faces him, he should be severely weakened and mortal again."
"Then you know that Ms. Potter. . ." Albus trailed off.
Harry nodded. "Yes. That's partly the reason why I'm here."
Albus had a thought. "Forgive me Harry, but I believe you said there was only one other Horcrux? How can you be certain that Tom does not have more?"
"I've made sure of it. He only had the five when we fought, and after what happened, he wouldn't dare split his soul again. Though, I am curious what would occur if he does attempts to. . ." The boy grinned.
Albus internally shivered. That was a smile that bore no mercy.
Thinking back, he asked, "To return to your story, what did you mean by mostly?"
Harry shrugged. "Turns out killing Voldemort didn't end evil once and for all. Soon after, another took his place. I killed that guy too, but well. . .they just kept on popping up, so I was kept busy killing them."
Albus considered Harry's words and frowned.
"Were there so many Dark Lords that you had to spend all your time. . .killing them?"
"It was a different worlds Dumbledore. It was partly my fault, I killed Voldemort a bit too late. The wizarding world had all but collapsed, and in the resulting vacuum came a bunch of idiots with too much time on their hand and not enough brain in their heads. First there was Valiere, some French nut who wanted to be a modern Merlin. Then there was Abraxas, his thing was crucifying people. Then Morisem, then Xasas, then Amare. I hunted them and killed them all, but no matter how many I killed, there were always more. It got to the point where I stopped trying to remember their names."
Albus didn't know what to say.
"Did I shock you? Do I seem uncaring? I got that a lot. Some even called me a Dark Lord." Harry suddenly leaned in, revealing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "Do you think I'm one, Dumbledore?"
The cavalier way Harry stated the names of those he had killed did unsettle Albus. He said it plainly, giving it the same importance as if he telling what he had eaten for breakfast. His power was also not in question, from what had happened during the summer and on the Hogwarts Express. Indeed, from the things he had said during that attack. . .
"No, I do not." Albus concluded.
"Oh?" A flash of surprise had appeared on Harry's face before it disappeared behind a smile.
"If you were truly dark, you would not have hesitated to try to kill James, Sirius, Remus, and I on that night. I had attributed your quick surrender to the fact that you were outnumbered. . .but now I see that had you wanted to, you would have fought to the death regardless of the odds. Your actions speak louder than your words Harry, and your valiant defense of Iris Potter only serves to further vindicate you."
"I did claim to be Voldemort that day." Harry pointed out.
"A wonderful gambit that saved many lives, I must thank you. I believe there was a special mention in the Daily Prophet of your exemplary actions on that day; your victory over Tom is well recognized. Without you, Tom would have succeeded in his goal and the whole wizard world would be in much greater danger."
"I could be pretending so you would lower your guard."
"And so I have."
A few seconds passed by with Harry tense in his chair. Albus smiled cheerfully. Harry tightened his grip, but then relaxed, letting out a laugh.
"Let me pretend some more then." Harry said, pushing back his chair to stand. "For now, I must go. If that is all Professor. . ."
"Ah, I do have yet two more questions Harry. First, what do you plan to do now?"
"Find a way to get back to my world. What's your second question?
Albus, not quite wanting to hear the answer, asked his second, "If you are truly from another world, then what happened to the Harry of this?"
Harry didn't answer for some time.
"Harry's also me. Rather, I am also Harry. His memories, his thoughts, his feelings, I have them all. I just have more, and I just happen to be more." Here, he paused, as if to reorganize his thoughts, "Unfortunately, I cannot say what will happen if I'm gone. I do not sense a separate soul within me."
Albus feared as much.
"Young Harry went through a horrific event, one that I confess I was too late to fully prevent." Albus admitted sadly. "His soul was in tatters, fragile and weak, irrecoverably damaged. Yet, I had thought, I had hoped that perhaps the comfort of home would allow him to heal, and when I saw you! Changed, yes, but healthy and alive! However, it seems I was too naive."
"I see. . ." Harry said, "Does his family know?"
"James and Lily does," Albus answered, "but Iris and Daisy do not."
Albus slumped, the weight of mistakes on his shoulder. Too late, he was once again too late. Weariness filled his eyes and his old bones ached. Forcing himself, he asked the young boy, no young man in front of him a favor that he had no right to ask.
"I will not stop you if you wish otherwise, but. . ." Albus closed his eyes, "Harry, please, consider-"
The young man was silent. Albus opened his eyes, but Harry was already gone, leaving an old man alone to dwell on his thoughts.
~~~
Iris Potter could not sleep. She thought about her schoolwork. She thought about her parents. She thought about Daisy. She thought about a lot of things, but the one thing she didn't think about was. . .
Iris Potter didn't want to think about her brother, but all her thoughts turned to him.
Their relationship was a strange one. Prior to the summer, it had been a mostly a one-sided animosity. Harry had resented her, she knew. Harry had resented how she had commanded their parents attention, resented the fact that he was only known as the brother of the Girl-Who-Lived, resented how everyone had always ignored him in favor of her. So he acted out.
She knew it was all true, so she had accepted it.
But then her first year. . .Professor Dumbledore might not have said it, but Iris knew that Harry wasn't well. And then he changed.
She didn't know how to act around him. She didn't know if he was only pretending, if it wasn't just another trick he was playing on her. He was nice, she wanted to believe, but. . .
And then the attack. . .
It all happened so fast.
She remembered being pulled by Harry. She remembered seeing his face when he fought those Death Eaters.
He hadn't been afraid, not like she was. He hadn't hesitated.
He had killed them. It came as naturally to him as breathing was.
And then that ghastly thing appeared, but Harry didn't even flinch.
And then it was over, and all that was left was Harry.
She didn't know what to think. It all happened so fast. She was confused, she was conflicted, she just wanted to. . .
And then he left.
She saw him smile at her. She wanted to call out to him, she wanted to tell him to wait, she wanted to thank him.
But it all happened so fast, and Harry was gone.
Before she knew it, she was back in Hogwarts, but Harry wasn't. It all passed like a dream, the sorting, her classes. She found herself in a rut, unable to concentrate, just passing through the days in a daze.
Before she knew it, a week had passed, and Harry still hadn't appeared.
Iris Potter couldn't sleep. So when some noises sounded from her windows sill, she heard it.
Her room was located at the top of a tower, separated from all others. So, when she heard the knocking at her window, she was naturally curious and surprise. So, she went to check, and her surprise turned into shock.
"H-Harry?" she exclaimed, quickly opening the window to let him in.
He was soaked, hair slicked with rain, and dripping water all over the stone floor.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Not expecting a rainstorm." he answered, jolting her into action.
"O-of course, sorry, let me get my wand." she apologized, but stopped when he held up his hand.
"Oh don't bother, I can do this myself now." he waved his hand and was suddenly dry.
"I forgot how much concentration it took to scale these walls." Harry mused to himself. Iris bit her lips. With a shake of his head, Harry finally turned and looked at her.
"So, how have you been?" he asked with gentle smile.
A hundred thoughts and more raced through Iris's head. The events of the past week all caught up to her in a rush. She felt her eyes moistening, she fought to hold back a sob, but it overcame her efforts.
She found herself encircled and held against a warm body, which was the final trigger. The dam she had built to keep her emotions at bay broke and everything flowed out in a rush. Her cries were muffled into his chest, while her hot tears wetted the front of his robe.
Soon her sobs were dampened into intermittent outbursts, lengthening in their frequency until they finally died. Harry led her to a chair, she sat and watched as he heated a pot of tea and poured a cup for her, and then one for himself.
"Drink it, you'll feel better." Harry bid her. She took the cup and sipped it slightly. As the warm liquid flowed into her mouth, she felt her strength returned.
"Delicious, isn't it?" Harry said as he drank from his own cup. She looked into hers, too ashamed to continue looking at him.
"Iris, have you been learning Occlumency?" Harry asked.
She nodded slightly, wanting to curl up and disappear.
"That explains it." she heard him sigh, "Iris, you don't have to be ashamed. What happened was the backlash from your Occlumency training. It's common for beginners to mistakenly bottle their emotions up in the process of learning Occlumency, which can and often do burst when given an appropriate stimulus."
Iris head him walking towards her. Suddenly, he was next to her, crouching until his face was leveled with hers. She almost yelped in surprise.
"Don't worry about it, just mention it to your teacher next time." So saying, he shook her head and stood up. "Now let's have a talk, face to face, ok?"
"Ok." Iris quietly agreed.
Smiling, Harry took a seat across from her and refilled his cup.
"So, how have you been?" he repeated his question from before.
"Fine." she replied.
"Good, good." Harry said, sipping his cup every now and then.
There was a silence between them that she didn't know how to break. It was times like these that Iris wished she knew more about her brother, what his hobbies were, what he liked, just so they could have something to talk about. Even their conversations during the summer had mostly consisted of her asking him questions and him answering her questions. It had been years since they had something even remotely resembling a normal conversation, and it didn't help that Iris had no idea what a normal conversation was. Should they talk about the weather?
It's raining outside, she would say. Yes it sure is, he would reply.
Iris dashed the thought out of her head. It felt too silly.
"Don't push yourself. If you have anything at all that you want to talk about, just say it. And if you don't, well I don't mind sitting here drinking tea with you." Harry said. "In fact, it's kind of nice just to relax once in a while, you know?"
She did. So she talked about it.
She told him about her classes. She told him about her Professors. She told him about her worries. Anything she could think of, she talked about. He listened to her, nodding and responding to her words at the appropriate time. It was the single longest conversation she ever had, and it felt good to just let everything out.
She felt a little embarrassed at how much she had talked, but Harry only encouraged her.
"If they're annoying you, then you should prank them. Put squid food in their robes when they're out near the lake, or dangle them over the Whomping Willow."
"I couldn't! Besides, they mean well. . ." she protested., "They're just a little overzealous. . ."
"If someone did a dancing serenade to me, in Snape's class no less, I'd say they're more than a little overzealous. They clearly have a death wish."
She blushed. "But. . ."
"Well, I suppose you could try firmly rejecting them, though I prefer the Whomping Willow myself. It sends the right kind of message, I think."
"What message is that?" Iris asked.
" 'You're barking up the wrong tree.' "
Iris couldn't help but let out a giggle. "I don't think that means quite what you think it does Harry."
"When it's a bunch of fanboys pestering my little sister, I think it does." Harry replied, only the faint twitching at the corner of his mouth betraying his thoughts.
"I think I'll go with the other option." Iris said. Amusing as the thought was, she didn't think they deserved what Harry had in mind for them. "You're right, I need to be more firm, so they don't get the wrong idea." With a mischievous smile, she added, "And if they do, I could always send them to meet the Willow!"
"See, it does mean what I thought it meant!" Harry laughed. She laughed with him.
They continued to talk long into the night. Time passed by quickly, Iris didn't even noticed how tired she was until Harry pointed out that she was yawning for the fifth time.
"I'm not that tired, really." she didn't want to admit it, she wanted to talk with him some more, but couldn't suppress the yawns from rising.
"No, no, I kept you up late enough. Let's get you into bed now."
She tried to protest some more, but the drowsiness that had been creeping up on her suddenly washed over her. Reluctantly, she stood up. Or at least, she tried to, but her legs gave out and she fell-
And found herself caught in warm arms, a strangely familiar feeling.
She nodded off into Harry's body and didn't even noticed he was carrying her until he had put her into her bed. He tucked her into the bed and pulled the blanket over her shoulder. Through her bleary eyes, she could make out his form, staring at her for a moment before turning away.
"Harry, wait." she called out.
She heard him reply and saw him coming back.
"C-can you stay with me until I fall asleep?" she asked meekly, reaching out for him with a hand. Somehow, she felt as if she wouldn't be seeing him for a long time.
"Aren't you a bit too old for that?" Harry teased, but still he grasped her outstretch hand and squeezed it warmly. "But if you want, of course I will."
She relaxed into her pillow. With the feel of the warmth of his hand on hers, she found herself drifting into a deep sleep.
The next morning, she awoke to find a note on her dresser. On it was a simple bracelet, a loop of cloth that held a tiny gem. The note read:
Sorry about the late present. I hope you like it.
She smiled, clutching the bracelet tightly into her chest.
~~~
Voldemort raged in pain.
Those damned Potters!
Every breath he took was like a knife to his chest. His every movement in step on a bed of coal, burning, searing pain that never ceased. He could feel his body decaying, rotting, the flesh screaming as they died.
That damned Potter!
How could a previously insignificant boy wield such potent magic? It ate at him, piece by miserable piece, and no spell nor potion could halt its progress or lessen its pain. The knowledge that he was dying angered Voldemort. The knowledge that he was dying terrified Voldemort.
How could he be dying? He was supposed to be immortal, he made sure of that!
But impossible or not, it was happening. Death was coming for him, slowly but inexorably.
Voldemort couldn't accept it. He wouldn't accept it! There must be some way, some how. He had sent his servants to scour every inch of every book they could find, looking for any hints or any signs for any methods that could reverse the encroaching decay that afflicted him. There must be some way, and he would find it!
A faint shimmer, almost unnoticed, went through the room. With heightened reflexes, Voldemort pointed his wand at the disturbance and screamed,"Avada Kedavra!" The green Killing Curse erupted from his wand and screamed towards the origin of the shimmer, passing through seemingly nothing to hit the floor. Laughter echoed around the room, the air turned to mist and swirled until it took the figure of a person, though hazy and non-descript.
"A projection." Voldemort whispered, eyeing the apparition carefully. Lowering his wand, Voldemort addressed the figure, "Speak, who are you!"
"I am not one of your servants, oh Dark Lord," the mist spoke, amused, "Do not command me as you would them. For your ignorance I will let this slide but once, I will not forgive a second slight." The figure laughed again, airily floating towards him, the mocking sound testing his patience. "Have you no hospitality for your guest, or are you so crude?"
"A coward who will not show their face but sends illusions to intrude upon my domain have no right to lecture I on hospitality." Voldemort seethed. "My curiosity had permitted you to remain, but I will not suffer your insolence." His lowered wand raised again, a spell to dismiss the projection casted from its tip. Whoever it was, he no longer cared. There were more important things to be done, he would find the coward and properly deal with them at a later time.
The light from the spell wrapped around the figure, disrupting the shape and scattering the mist. Having dealt with the intruder, Voldemort returned to his brooding, making a note to change headquarters and ferret out the spy who had given away its location.
"Do not mistake me." An icy voice spoke. Voldemort whirled around, only to be pressed to his knees by an irresistible force. "Know your place, human."
"Wha-?!" Voldemort exclaimed in shock.
A dark fire bloomed. Majestic black wings flared open wide, the figure now wreathed in a cloak of burning black. It raised its burning arms, holding the shape of a sword, and plunged it forward.
As the hazy black blade pierced Voldemort's chest, pain as never felt before wracked through his body. The black fire burned its way from the wound, spreading through his flesh. He wanted to scream, to thrash in pain, but he could not move, his body paralyzed in agony. The fire burned its way to every inch of his body, engulfing him completely in immolating flames. Through the fiery haze, Voldemort heard the black figure spoke.
"Your magic is nothing to me, oh Dark Lord. The powers that you are so proud of, they pale before the glory of my might, the burning flames of my essence, the majesty that is my existence! I am ever greater than you will ever be, I am perfection unequaled, my Creation the answer of all things!
Of all the beings beneath this Heaven and on this Earth, of all the beings above this Heaven and below this Earth, there is only one who is above me, there is only one who may command me. You are not that being.
You, are nothing more than a bug crawling in the dirt, but I have come to lift you. Though your life is worthless, I have come to give it meaning. I have come, to offer you glory, to offer you knowledge, to offer you power, to offer you the ability to smite all those who oppose you.
I have come, oh Dark Lord, to offer you a choice. Will you die in the dirt like the bug you are, or will you fly as a figure of death over this land?"
"I will not die!" Voldemort screamed, forcing the words out of his mouth.
The force keeping him immobile suddenly lifted and Voldemort collapsed, his ragged breath and the roar of the fire the only sound in the room. He was still alive. The fire that was burning through his body, though it brought with it pain unimaginable, Voldemort could also feel it filling his limbs with smoldering strength, erasing the weakness that had plagued Voldemort ever since his ill-fated battle. No longer was his body rotting, instead it burned. It burned intensely, it burned painfully, but it also burned with a power that coursed through his veins.
"Rise." The black figure commanded.
Voldemort rose, looking at the figure in renewed perspective. With wings as black as midnight, the figure looked an angel of death. No human, no mortal was it, but something greater, something more. Voldemort trembled in anticipation, in awe, in quiet envy of the power it displayed.
"For your slight, I have given you pain. Be you grateful of my mercy, for next time you will not live to have that chance." The black figure spoke. "You, Tom Marvolo Riddle, are to be my emissary, to serve in my interest and spread my reach throughout the land. Be you honored."
Voldemort hid his emotions behind a mask and forced himself to bow. This was not the time to act, years of pretending had taught Voldemort when to bid his time. The black figured seemed to accept his show of fealty and sheathed the blackly iridescent blade into nothing with a swing of its arm.
"Go and gain the powers of the creatures of the dark." The black figure ordered. "Gather them and command them, show them your power and build for me an army unrivaled. Go and explore the ruins of the ancients, scattered around the world and filled with knowledge forgotten, regain for me the wisdom of old. Venture to the depths of the sea, find for me the city lost beneath the waves. Your tasks are given, your tasks be done. Do not fail me." The black figure slowly faded away, but before its last vestige disappeared, it flashed and gave its words of parting, "Be you warned, do not harm Harry Potter, else what you have suffered today will pale in comparison to the agony you will experience. Harry Potter is to be left alone and untouched, keep this message clear."
The black figure disappeared. Voldemort fully raised himself. The door opened and in rushed his faithful servants.
"My Lord, are you unharmed?" one asked, warily scanning the room for signs of the intruder.
Voldemort chuckled and stepped towards them confidently, relishing in his new strength. His servants looked at him in shock, his new appearance taking them by surprise.
"My Lord, your face!"
Voldemort conjured a mirror and held it before him. Lines of black greeted him, covering him in a cloak of black flames. Voldemort concentrated and the flames disappeared, retreating into his body where they smoldered, leaving behind unblemished skin and a familiar face staring at back him, charming, aristocratic, and handsome.
"It is not a concern my servants." Voldemort spoke, his voice smooth and calming. "Though I must wonder what took you so long to come to your Master's aid."
"My Lord! Forgive us, but something prevented us from entering, we rushed in as quickly as we could!"
Voldemort continued walking towards them. They shrank back in fear, clearly anticipating his ire, but he merely walked passed them. As he reached the door, he turned around and spoke, "I will not blame you for forces outside of your control. Come along now, we have much to be done."
His three servants looked at each other, unbelieving of their luck, but hastened to follow his words lest his mood soured. Voldemort strode through the halls determined. There were things to do, the fire beneath his chest reminded him. For now, he will do as he was commanded, but one day. . .
~~~
In a distance place, a household was up in arms. All morning the servants had been searching for the missing girl, and the madam of the house was beside herself with worry, pacing back and forth, occasionally expressing her concerns with heartfelt but wild and incoherent possibilities. Her husband attempted to soothe her concern, but was ultimately unsuccessful in the task, his wife's fears continually fed by imagined perils. It was only when the door opened and a servant entered that the madam replaced her pacing and the self-aggrandizement of her fears to rush to the child safely returned.
"Oh thank goodness! You have found her, and not a moment too soon! Another second more and my wife would have flown to the moon where, no doubt, her little girl had been taken. Tell me, where was she? Ah, never mind that, I will ask her myself, thank you, you may go."
The husband turned to the little girl, smothered by his wife, who was fussing over the girl's disheveled appearance, the leaves in her hair, the cuts on her face, the dirt on her singed clothes, and adopted a stern countenance.
"Little one, where have you been? You had your mother worried sick, do you realize how much trouble you have caused for us?" he scolded.
"I was just sleeping in the garden." the girl replied.
"Just sleeping!" her mother responded, "Look at these scrapes, oh look at your pretty dress, and you say you were just sleeping!"
The girl looked away, sullenly silent.
The husband sighed, familiar with the signs. His eldest daughter had gone through a familiar phase, and now his youngest was experiencing the same symptoms as well. To think that the first maturation would come so early. He shared a look with his wife, she blinked in recognition, and then addressed his youngest daughter.
"Little one, you must not worry your mother and I so. The garden is no place to sleep, and furthermore, you should not go off by yourself. Think of us, how worried we were, when we saw your empty bed, and not a person knew where you were. Will you promise not to do it again?"
The girl reluctantly nodded her head in agreement.
"Very good, now, let's get you cleaned up. Claudine! Please escort the young miss to her room and prepare for her a bath."
As the girl was led away, Monsieur Delacour turned to his wife and asked, "Fleur was never this bad when her powers came, now was she?"
Shaking her head, Apolline Delacour could only hope that her youngest daughter's affliction would pass as quickly as her sister's had.
Honestly, to sleep in the garden! What had compelled the child to do such a thing?
///
AN: <s>The good half of chapter 3 is now out.</s> This statement was more predictive than I had intended. Interesting.
Chapter 3 finished.
This applies for all chapters, but especially this one, a lot of feedback is appreciated. As an incentive, note that feedback do get incorporated into the story when appropriate.
And feedback have been incorporated.
Chapter 3 - The gathering
~~~
The four people in Albus's office stood in stunned silence. They could hardly be blamed, it was, after all, not an everyday sight to see a thirteen year old boy duel against one of the most feared Dark Lord in history, much less win, and so thoroughly at that. If Albus hadn't already verified it for himself, he would have been tempted to doubt the integrity of the memory, but indeed Iris Potter's memory was untainted and true.
"I read the reports," Amelia began, stumbling back into her seat, "but I thought that they had been exaggerated, the witnesses confused. But to think!" She shook her head in disbelief, "To think that Harry Potter had actually managed to drive off Voldemort! If the Prophet gets a hold of this, they'll be even more insufferable than they are now. They're already calling the kid the next Dumbledore, if they see what he actually did. . .it'll be Merlin this and Merlin that!"
"Don't be so glad, we don't know if that was even the boy." Alastor growled, his magical eye spinning wildly, "He could have been kidnapped, trapped under a chest, hairs harvested for Polyjuice, and that person be an imposter."
"It can't be Polyjuice." James replied, "I've watched him over summer, he wouldn't have had a chance to renew the transformation."
"An imposter could have always found time. And even if he weren't, he's still a danger." Alastor countered.
"A danger to who? The Death Eaters certainly, and Voldemort most definitely! Even if he was an imposter, he's clearly of help to us. And we all saw how devoted he was to protecting his sister, that's certainly not the actions of an imposter." Amelia responded.
"All the more reason to be suspicious! If that is really the boy, then where did he get all this magic from? Those weren't second year spells he used, how do we know he hasn't turned dark? The boy was a walking example of a Dark Lord in training, how do we know he hasn't decided to become one?" Alastor questioned.
"Harry wouldn't do that." James said.
"That's sentiment clouding your judgment. We can't let our emotions get in the way of the facts."
"I know my son!" James replied angrily.
"Do you now?" Alastor snorted, taking a swig from his flask, "Heard he broke your arm in three pieces, did you know that he could do that?"
Albus could see James gritting his teeth in anger, arm flexing towards his wand, and moved to defuse the situation.
"Now now Alastor, while you raise an interesting possibility, we must not rush to cast judgment. The facts, as you say, still stands, that Harry Potter had acted, with great risk to himself, to protect his sister and many of those at the station. I am sure we can all agree on that, at the least."
Alastor grunted, but did not argue the point, relenting the floor.
"Leaving that issue aside, Amelia, have there been any activities on Tom's part?"
"None so far. They have been completely silent since that day. Voldemort must have taken a big hit. It may be cruel of me to say this. . .But a few more attacks like this and we might just win the war." Amelia smiled bitterly.
Albus nodded thoughtfully. Though the attack on the Hogwarts Express had claimed many lives, bright lights that will never shine again, it was equally true that Tom was dealt a disastrous blow. The strength of the Death Eaters laid upon the terror they instilled, made especially effective through quick forceful and concise attacks on unprotected targets, to homes and places of residences, to businesses, to people, engaging where the Aurors were not and leaving before they arrived.
The attack on the Hogwarts Express ran countered to that style, and though they had anticipated the possibility, they had underestimated the forces that Tom would bring, or that Tom himself would participate, and it had almost cost them. It was their luck that the brave witches and wizards present had rallied, and even more so that Harry Potter had proven to be an able match for Tom.
As it stood, Tom had been wounded grievously, his forces decimated, many of his servants captured or killed. Never had hope been so bright and the light so close, and it was thanks to Harry Potter.
"Thank you Amelia, I shall not keep you any longer, your work must be calling for you."
"Then I will take my leave Dumbledore." Amelia stood and walked out the exit. Alastor nodded at him, then left as well to escort the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, leaving only two other person to be seen in the room with him.
"Do you really think that was Harry?" James asked, clearly conflicted, "I want to believe. . .but I can't ignore the fact that he hasn't been acting like himself. If that was really Harry, then maybe he has changed, maybe there's still. . ."
"I do believe that he was telling the truth when he said that he was Harry James Potter." Albus replied.
The simple affirmation seemed to appease James and he relaxed.
"I'll leave too then." James bid goodbye. Hugging the person beside him, James quickly exited the room.
The only person who hadn't spoken just yet, Lily Potter looked uneasy, as if contemplating a thought within her head.
"Lily, was there something that you wanted to say?"
"About Harry, " Lily began hesitatingly, "There is something that's strange."
Albus listened patiently.
"It probably nothing. . .or at least I would like to think it's nothing, but. . ." Lily continued, "There's some kind of residue around Harry. I've ran some tests, and it's similar to the readings from people who have used a Time Turner."
"Are you suggesting that perhaps we have a traveler of time within our midst?" Albus asked.
"No, it's similar, but it's not the same. It probably is nothing, just me seeing patterns that aren't there." Lily shook her head. "No, I'm sure it's nothing. I haven't been getting enough sleep, my eyes must be playing tricks on me. Thank you Dumbledore, I won't be taking any more of your time."
Lily left the room before Albus could reply. Her words provoked certain thoughts to run through Albus's head, and he mused them out loud.
"Perhaps Lily was close after all, well Harry?"
A nothing distorted the light. From nothing, Harry Potter appeared.
"Bloody flaming bird." Harry snorted at the phoenix. Fawkes crooned in reply.
Albus took this moment to examine Harry. There was something different about him, something not quite the same from the child that had walked the halls of Hogwarts. He stood with an air of quiet confidence, not of arrogance, but of a self-assuredness years ahead of his youth. Where Harry before was a timid boy hiding behind a mask of coldness, now sat someone capable and, Albus thought back on recent events, quite dangerous.
"I didn't expect Lily to almost figure it out."
"She was always a bright child." Albus replied, "Her job as an Unspeakable have only served to further nourish her inquisitive mind."
"That explains that. Interesting discussion you guys had. Well anyways, before you ask your questions Dumbledore, I have somethings to show you." Harry said, laying out four objects on the desk.
Albus caught his breath.
A locket. A cup. A crown. A ring.
"These might be familiar to you."
Albus looked at Harry, but the boy sat impassive, his face a blank wall, revealing nothing.
Tracing his hand across each object, Albus whispered, "Salazar Slytherin's Locket. Helga Hufflepuff's Cup. The Lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. And. . ." Albus paused on the ring. "Gaunt's Ring."
Harry nodded. "I trust you know their significance Dumbledore, especially the last. They are, or rather were, the Horcruxes of Lord Voldemort, otherwise known as Tom Riddle. I've taken the liberty of destroying the soul fragments within them, the vessels themselves should be fine."
Harry took the ring and held it up in the air. "This one is a bit more special than the rest. . .but I have no need for it, or them." Putting it back on the table, he finished, "Consider them a gift."
"How did you. . .?" Albus said, stunned. He wasn't sure what to ask. The Horcruxes were the result of dark magic of the most terrible kind. Added to them the many enchantments Tom must have cast to protect himself, to destroy even one was a feat of great risk. Yet, Harry had managed to purge not just one Horcrux, but four, and he looked none the worst for wear. What, exactly, was he?
"The whole story is a bit long, so I'll just settle for the main points." Harry began, settling back down into his chair. "I am not from this world."
Not from this world. . .? Albus's mind considered the possible meanings of this phrase. His eyes widened at the implications.
"The details are unnecessary, but essentially I have hunted for the Horcruxes once before." Harry continued, his tone matter of fact, "Voldemort targeted me, I killed him, mostly end of story. It seemed that this Voldemort used the same vessels for his Horcruxes, so it was a relatively simple task to locate them. Any other questions?"
"Then, was there a Prophecy involved?" Albus asked tentatively, prodding the delicate issue. If what this person was telling him was true. . .then he might just have an answer to the meaning of the Prophecy made concerning Iris Potter.
"Hm. . .yes there was. There are a few differences between mine and the one here, yes I took a trip to the Department of Mystery, don't look so shocked, but they are mostly the same. With these Horcruxes gone, and with the Diary destroyed, there should only be one other, along with Voldemort himself." Harry paused, "Unfortunately, one of the main differences made it clear that I can't kill Voldemort myself, but I can do at least this much. Iris has been training for her role, hopefully she will soon be ready. When she finally faces him, he should be severely weakened and mortal again."
"Then you know that Ms. Potter. . ." Albus trailed off.
Harry nodded. "Yes. That's partly the reason why I'm here."
Albus had a thought. "Forgive me Harry, but I believe you said there was only one other Horcrux? How can you be certain that Tom does not have more?"
"I've made sure of it. He only had the five when we fought, and after what happened, he wouldn't dare split his soul again. Though, I am curious what would occur if he does attempts to. . ." The boy grinned.
Albus internally shivered. That was a smile that bore no mercy.
Thinking back, he asked, "To return to your story, what did you mean by mostly?"
Harry shrugged. "Turns out killing Voldemort didn't end evil once and for all. Soon after, another took his place. I killed that guy too, but well. . .they just kept on popping up, so I was kept busy killing them."
Albus considered Harry's words and frowned.
"Were there so many Dark Lords that you had to spend all your time. . .killing them?"
"It was a different worlds Dumbledore. It was partly my fault, I killed Voldemort a bit too late. The wizarding world had all but collapsed, and in the resulting vacuum came a bunch of idiots with too much time on their hand and not enough brain in their heads. First there was Valiere, some French nut who wanted to be a modern Merlin. Then there was Abraxas, his thing was crucifying people. Then Morisem, then Xasas, then Amare. I hunted them and killed them all, but no matter how many I killed, there were always more. It got to the point where I stopped trying to remember their names."
Albus didn't know what to say.
"Did I shock you? Do I seem uncaring? I got that a lot. Some even called me a Dark Lord." Harry suddenly leaned in, revealing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "Do you think I'm one, Dumbledore?"
The cavalier way Harry stated the names of those he had killed did unsettle Albus. He said it plainly, giving it the same importance as if he telling what he had eaten for breakfast. His power was also not in question, from what had happened during the summer and on the Hogwarts Express. Indeed, from the things he had said during that attack. . .
"No, I do not." Albus concluded.
"Oh?" A flash of surprise had appeared on Harry's face before it disappeared behind a smile.
"If you were truly dark, you would not have hesitated to try to kill James, Sirius, Remus, and I on that night. I had attributed your quick surrender to the fact that you were outnumbered. . .but now I see that had you wanted to, you would have fought to the death regardless of the odds. Your actions speak louder than your words Harry, and your valiant defense of Iris Potter only serves to further vindicate you."
"I did claim to be Voldemort that day." Harry pointed out.
"A wonderful gambit that saved many lives, I must thank you. I believe there was a special mention in the Daily Prophet of your exemplary actions on that day; your victory over Tom is well recognized. Without you, Tom would have succeeded in his goal and the whole wizard world would be in much greater danger."
"I could be pretending so you would lower your guard."
"And so I have."
A few seconds passed by with Harry tense in his chair. Albus smiled cheerfully. Harry tightened his grip, but then relaxed, letting out a laugh.
"Let me pretend some more then." Harry said, pushing back his chair to stand. "For now, I must go. If that is all Professor. . ."
"Ah, I do have yet two more questions Harry. First, what do you plan to do now?"
"Find a way to get back to my world. What's your second question?
Albus, not quite wanting to hear the answer, asked his second, "If you are truly from another world, then what happened to the Harry of this?"
Harry didn't answer for some time.
"Harry's also me. Rather, I am also Harry. His memories, his thoughts, his feelings, I have them all. I just have more, and I just happen to be more." Here, he paused, as if to reorganize his thoughts, "Unfortunately, I cannot say what will happen if I'm gone. I do not sense a separate soul within me."
Albus feared as much.
"Young Harry went through a horrific event, one that I confess I was too late to fully prevent." Albus admitted sadly. "His soul was in tatters, fragile and weak, irrecoverably damaged. Yet, I had thought, I had hoped that perhaps the comfort of home would allow him to heal, and when I saw you! Changed, yes, but healthy and alive! However, it seems I was too naive."
"I see. . ." Harry said, "Does his family know?"
"James and Lily does," Albus answered, "but Iris and Daisy do not."
Albus slumped, the weight of mistakes on his shoulder. Too late, he was once again too late. Weariness filled his eyes and his old bones ached. Forcing himself, he asked the young boy, no young man in front of him a favor that he had no right to ask.
"I will not stop you if you wish otherwise, but. . ." Albus closed his eyes, "Harry, please, consider-"
The young man was silent. Albus opened his eyes, but Harry was already gone, leaving an old man alone to dwell on his thoughts.
~~~
Iris Potter could not sleep. She thought about her schoolwork. She thought about her parents. She thought about Daisy. She thought about a lot of things, but the one thing she didn't think about was. . .
Iris Potter didn't want to think about her brother, but all her thoughts turned to him.
Their relationship was a strange one. Prior to the summer, it had been a mostly a one-sided animosity. Harry had resented her, she knew. Harry had resented how she had commanded their parents attention, resented the fact that he was only known as the brother of the Girl-Who-Lived, resented how everyone had always ignored him in favor of her. So he acted out.
She knew it was all true, so she had accepted it.
But then her first year. . .Professor Dumbledore might not have said it, but Iris knew that Harry wasn't well. And then he changed.
She didn't know how to act around him. She didn't know if he was only pretending, if it wasn't just another trick he was playing on her. He was nice, she wanted to believe, but. . .
And then the attack. . .
It all happened so fast.
She remembered being pulled by Harry. She remembered seeing his face when he fought those Death Eaters.
He hadn't been afraid, not like she was. He hadn't hesitated.
He had killed them. It came as naturally to him as breathing was.
And then that ghastly thing appeared, but Harry didn't even flinch.
And then it was over, and all that was left was Harry.
She didn't know what to think. It all happened so fast. She was confused, she was conflicted, she just wanted to. . .
And then he left.
She saw him smile at her. She wanted to call out to him, she wanted to tell him to wait, she wanted to thank him.
But it all happened so fast, and Harry was gone.
Before she knew it, she was back in Hogwarts, but Harry wasn't. It all passed like a dream, the sorting, her classes. She found herself in a rut, unable to concentrate, just passing through the days in a daze.
Before she knew it, a week had passed, and Harry still hadn't appeared.
Iris Potter couldn't sleep. So when some noises sounded from her windows sill, she heard it.
Her room was located at the top of a tower, separated from all others. So, when she heard the knocking at her window, she was naturally curious and surprise. So, she went to check, and her surprise turned into shock.
"H-Harry?" she exclaimed, quickly opening the window to let him in.
He was soaked, hair slicked with rain, and dripping water all over the stone floor.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Not expecting a rainstorm." he answered, jolting her into action.
"O-of course, sorry, let me get my wand." she apologized, but stopped when he held up his hand.
"Oh don't bother, I can do this myself now." he waved his hand and was suddenly dry.
"I forgot how much concentration it took to scale these walls." Harry mused to himself. Iris bit her lips. With a shake of his head, Harry finally turned and looked at her.
"So, how have you been?" he asked with gentle smile.
A hundred thoughts and more raced through Iris's head. The events of the past week all caught up to her in a rush. She felt her eyes moistening, she fought to hold back a sob, but it overcame her efforts.
She found herself encircled and held against a warm body, which was the final trigger. The dam she had built to keep her emotions at bay broke and everything flowed out in a rush. Her cries were muffled into his chest, while her hot tears wetted the front of his robe.
Soon her sobs were dampened into intermittent outbursts, lengthening in their frequency until they finally died. Harry led her to a chair, she sat and watched as he heated a pot of tea and poured a cup for her, and then one for himself.
"Drink it, you'll feel better." Harry bid her. She took the cup and sipped it slightly. As the warm liquid flowed into her mouth, she felt her strength returned.
"Delicious, isn't it?" Harry said as he drank from his own cup. She looked into hers, too ashamed to continue looking at him.
"Iris, have you been learning Occlumency?" Harry asked.
She nodded slightly, wanting to curl up and disappear.
"That explains it." she heard him sigh, "Iris, you don't have to be ashamed. What happened was the backlash from your Occlumency training. It's common for beginners to mistakenly bottle their emotions up in the process of learning Occlumency, which can and often do burst when given an appropriate stimulus."
Iris head him walking towards her. Suddenly, he was next to her, crouching until his face was leveled with hers. She almost yelped in surprise.
"Don't worry about it, just mention it to your teacher next time." So saying, he shook her head and stood up. "Now let's have a talk, face to face, ok?"
"Ok." Iris quietly agreed.
Smiling, Harry took a seat across from her and refilled his cup.
"So, how have you been?" he repeated his question from before.
"Fine." she replied.
"Good, good." Harry said, sipping his cup every now and then.
There was a silence between them that she didn't know how to break. It was times like these that Iris wished she knew more about her brother, what his hobbies were, what he liked, just so they could have something to talk about. Even their conversations during the summer had mostly consisted of her asking him questions and him answering her questions. It had been years since they had something even remotely resembling a normal conversation, and it didn't help that Iris had no idea what a normal conversation was. Should they talk about the weather?
It's raining outside, she would say. Yes it sure is, he would reply.
Iris dashed the thought out of her head. It felt too silly.
"Don't push yourself. If you have anything at all that you want to talk about, just say it. And if you don't, well I don't mind sitting here drinking tea with you." Harry said. "In fact, it's kind of nice just to relax once in a while, you know?"
She did. So she talked about it.
She told him about her classes. She told him about her Professors. She told him about her worries. Anything she could think of, she talked about. He listened to her, nodding and responding to her words at the appropriate time. It was the single longest conversation she ever had, and it felt good to just let everything out.
She felt a little embarrassed at how much she had talked, but Harry only encouraged her.
"If they're annoying you, then you should prank them. Put squid food in their robes when they're out near the lake, or dangle them over the Whomping Willow."
"I couldn't! Besides, they mean well. . ." she protested., "They're just a little overzealous. . ."
"If someone did a dancing serenade to me, in Snape's class no less, I'd say they're more than a little overzealous. They clearly have a death wish."
She blushed. "But. . ."
"Well, I suppose you could try firmly rejecting them, though I prefer the Whomping Willow myself. It sends the right kind of message, I think."
"What message is that?" Iris asked.
" 'You're barking up the wrong tree.' "
Iris couldn't help but let out a giggle. "I don't think that means quite what you think it does Harry."
"When it's a bunch of fanboys pestering my little sister, I think it does." Harry replied, only the faint twitching at the corner of his mouth betraying his thoughts.
"I think I'll go with the other option." Iris said. Amusing as the thought was, she didn't think they deserved what Harry had in mind for them. "You're right, I need to be more firm, so they don't get the wrong idea." With a mischievous smile, she added, "And if they do, I could always send them to meet the Willow!"
"See, it does mean what I thought it meant!" Harry laughed. She laughed with him.
They continued to talk long into the night. Time passed by quickly, Iris didn't even noticed how tired she was until Harry pointed out that she was yawning for the fifth time.
"I'm not that tired, really." she didn't want to admit it, she wanted to talk with him some more, but couldn't suppress the yawns from rising.
"No, no, I kept you up late enough. Let's get you into bed now."
She tried to protest some more, but the drowsiness that had been creeping up on her suddenly washed over her. Reluctantly, she stood up. Or at least, she tried to, but her legs gave out and she fell-
And found herself caught in warm arms, a strangely familiar feeling.
She nodded off into Harry's body and didn't even noticed he was carrying her until he had put her into her bed. He tucked her into the bed and pulled the blanket over her shoulder. Through her bleary eyes, she could make out his form, staring at her for a moment before turning away.
"Harry, wait." she called out.
She heard him reply and saw him coming back.
"C-can you stay with me until I fall asleep?" she asked meekly, reaching out for him with a hand. Somehow, she felt as if she wouldn't be seeing him for a long time.
"Aren't you a bit too old for that?" Harry teased, but still he grasped her outstretch hand and squeezed it warmly. "But if you want, of course I will."
She relaxed into her pillow. With the feel of the warmth of his hand on hers, she found herself drifting into a deep sleep.
The next morning, she awoke to find a note on her dresser. On it was a simple bracelet, a loop of cloth that held a tiny gem. The note read:
Sorry about the late present. I hope you like it.
She smiled, clutching the bracelet tightly into her chest.
~~~
Voldemort raged in pain.
Those damned Potters!
Every breath he took was like a knife to his chest. His every movement in step on a bed of coal, burning, searing pain that never ceased. He could feel his body decaying, rotting, the flesh screaming as they died.
That damned Potter!
How could a previously insignificant boy wield such potent magic? It ate at him, piece by miserable piece, and no spell nor potion could halt its progress or lessen its pain. The knowledge that he was dying angered Voldemort. The knowledge that he was dying terrified Voldemort.
How could he be dying? He was supposed to be immortal, he made sure of that!
But impossible or not, it was happening. Death was coming for him, slowly but inexorably.
Voldemort couldn't accept it. He wouldn't accept it! There must be some way, some how. He had sent his servants to scour every inch of every book they could find, looking for any hints or any signs for any methods that could reverse the encroaching decay that afflicted him. There must be some way, and he would find it!
A faint shimmer, almost unnoticed, went through the room. With heightened reflexes, Voldemort pointed his wand at the disturbance and screamed,"Avada Kedavra!" The green Killing Curse erupted from his wand and screamed towards the origin of the shimmer, passing through seemingly nothing to hit the floor. Laughter echoed around the room, the air turned to mist and swirled until it took the figure of a person, though hazy and non-descript.
"A projection." Voldemort whispered, eyeing the apparition carefully. Lowering his wand, Voldemort addressed the figure, "Speak, who are you!"
"I am not one of your servants, oh Dark Lord," the mist spoke, amused, "Do not command me as you would them. For your ignorance I will let this slide but once, I will not forgive a second slight." The figure laughed again, airily floating towards him, the mocking sound testing his patience. "Have you no hospitality for your guest, or are you so crude?"
"A coward who will not show their face but sends illusions to intrude upon my domain have no right to lecture I on hospitality." Voldemort seethed. "My curiosity had permitted you to remain, but I will not suffer your insolence." His lowered wand raised again, a spell to dismiss the projection casted from its tip. Whoever it was, he no longer cared. There were more important things to be done, he would find the coward and properly deal with them at a later time.
The light from the spell wrapped around the figure, disrupting the shape and scattering the mist. Having dealt with the intruder, Voldemort returned to his brooding, making a note to change headquarters and ferret out the spy who had given away its location.
"Do not mistake me." An icy voice spoke. Voldemort whirled around, only to be pressed to his knees by an irresistible force. "Know your place, human."
"Wha-?!" Voldemort exclaimed in shock.
A dark fire bloomed. Majestic black wings flared open wide, the figure now wreathed in a cloak of burning black. It raised its burning arms, holding the shape of a sword, and plunged it forward.
As the hazy black blade pierced Voldemort's chest, pain as never felt before wracked through his body. The black fire burned its way from the wound, spreading through his flesh. He wanted to scream, to thrash in pain, but he could not move, his body paralyzed in agony. The fire burned its way to every inch of his body, engulfing him completely in immolating flames. Through the fiery haze, Voldemort heard the black figure spoke.
"Your magic is nothing to me, oh Dark Lord. The powers that you are so proud of, they pale before the glory of my might, the burning flames of my essence, the majesty that is my existence! I am ever greater than you will ever be, I am perfection unequaled, my Creation the answer of all things!
Of all the beings beneath this Heaven and on this Earth, of all the beings above this Heaven and below this Earth, there is only one who is above me, there is only one who may command me. You are not that being.
You, are nothing more than a bug crawling in the dirt, but I have come to lift you. Though your life is worthless, I have come to give it meaning. I have come, to offer you glory, to offer you knowledge, to offer you power, to offer you the ability to smite all those who oppose you.
I have come, oh Dark Lord, to offer you a choice. Will you die in the dirt like the bug you are, or will you fly as a figure of death over this land?"
"I will not die!" Voldemort screamed, forcing the words out of his mouth.
The force keeping him immobile suddenly lifted and Voldemort collapsed, his ragged breath and the roar of the fire the only sound in the room. He was still alive. The fire that was burning through his body, though it brought with it pain unimaginable, Voldemort could also feel it filling his limbs with smoldering strength, erasing the weakness that had plagued Voldemort ever since his ill-fated battle. No longer was his body rotting, instead it burned. It burned intensely, it burned painfully, but it also burned with a power that coursed through his veins.
"Rise." The black figure commanded.
Voldemort rose, looking at the figure in renewed perspective. With wings as black as midnight, the figure looked an angel of death. No human, no mortal was it, but something greater, something more. Voldemort trembled in anticipation, in awe, in quiet envy of the power it displayed.
"For your slight, I have given you pain. Be you grateful of my mercy, for next time you will not live to have that chance." The black figure spoke. "You, Tom Marvolo Riddle, are to be my emissary, to serve in my interest and spread my reach throughout the land. Be you honored."
Voldemort hid his emotions behind a mask and forced himself to bow. This was not the time to act, years of pretending had taught Voldemort when to bid his time. The black figured seemed to accept his show of fealty and sheathed the blackly iridescent blade into nothing with a swing of its arm.
"Go and gain the powers of the creatures of the dark." The black figure ordered. "Gather them and command them, show them your power and build for me an army unrivaled. Go and explore the ruins of the ancients, scattered around the world and filled with knowledge forgotten, regain for me the wisdom of old. Venture to the depths of the sea, find for me the city lost beneath the waves. Your tasks are given, your tasks be done. Do not fail me." The black figure slowly faded away, but before its last vestige disappeared, it flashed and gave its words of parting, "Be you warned, do not harm Harry Potter, else what you have suffered today will pale in comparison to the agony you will experience. Harry Potter is to be left alone and untouched, keep this message clear."
The black figure disappeared. Voldemort fully raised himself. The door opened and in rushed his faithful servants.
"My Lord, are you unharmed?" one asked, warily scanning the room for signs of the intruder.
Voldemort chuckled and stepped towards them confidently, relishing in his new strength. His servants looked at him in shock, his new appearance taking them by surprise.
"My Lord, your face!"
Voldemort conjured a mirror and held it before him. Lines of black greeted him, covering him in a cloak of black flames. Voldemort concentrated and the flames disappeared, retreating into his body where they smoldered, leaving behind unblemished skin and a familiar face staring at back him, charming, aristocratic, and handsome.
"It is not a concern my servants." Voldemort spoke, his voice smooth and calming. "Though I must wonder what took you so long to come to your Master's aid."
"My Lord! Forgive us, but something prevented us from entering, we rushed in as quickly as we could!"
Voldemort continued walking towards them. They shrank back in fear, clearly anticipating his ire, but he merely walked passed them. As he reached the door, he turned around and spoke, "I will not blame you for forces outside of your control. Come along now, we have much to be done."
His three servants looked at each other, unbelieving of their luck, but hastened to follow his words lest his mood soured. Voldemort strode through the halls determined. There were things to do, the fire beneath his chest reminded him. For now, he will do as he was commanded, but one day. . .
~~~
In a distance place, a household was up in arms. All morning the servants had been searching for the missing girl, and the madam of the house was beside herself with worry, pacing back and forth, occasionally expressing her concerns with heartfelt but wild and incoherent possibilities. Her husband attempted to soothe her concern, but was ultimately unsuccessful in the task, his wife's fears continually fed by imagined perils. It was only when the door opened and a servant entered that the madam replaced her pacing and the self-aggrandizement of her fears to rush to the child safely returned.
"Oh thank goodness! You have found her, and not a moment too soon! Another second more and my wife would have flown to the moon where, no doubt, her little girl had been taken. Tell me, where was she? Ah, never mind that, I will ask her myself, thank you, you may go."
The husband turned to the little girl, smothered by his wife, who was fussing over the girl's disheveled appearance, the leaves in her hair, the cuts on her face, the dirt on her singed clothes, and adopted a stern countenance.
"Little one, where have you been? You had your mother worried sick, do you realize how much trouble you have caused for us?" he scolded.
"I was just sleeping in the garden." the girl replied.
"Just sleeping!" her mother responded, "Look at these scrapes, oh look at your pretty dress, and you say you were just sleeping!"
The girl looked away, sullenly silent.
The husband sighed, familiar with the signs. His eldest daughter had gone through a familiar phase, and now his youngest was experiencing the same symptoms as well. To think that the first maturation would come so early. He shared a look with his wife, she blinked in recognition, and then addressed his youngest daughter.
"Little one, you must not worry your mother and I so. The garden is no place to sleep, and furthermore, you should not go off by yourself. Think of us, how worried we were, when we saw your empty bed, and not a person knew where you were. Will you promise not to do it again?"
The girl reluctantly nodded her head in agreement.
"Very good, now, let's get you cleaned up. Claudine! Please escort the young miss to her room and prepare for her a bath."
As the girl was led away, Monsieur Delacour turned to his wife and asked, "Fleur was never this bad when her powers came, now was she?"
Shaking her head, Apolline Delacour could only hope that her youngest daughter's affliction would pass as quickly as her sister's had.
Honestly, to sleep in the garden! What had compelled the child to do such a thing?
///
AN: <s>The good half of chapter 3 is now out.</s> This statement was more predictive than I had intended. Interesting.
Chapter 3 finished.
This applies for all chapters, but especially this one, a lot of feedback is appreciated. As an incentive, note that feedback do get incorporated into the story when appropriate.
And feedback have been incorporated.
Great chapter. You've really made the OC become an actual person to me. Most of the time, writer's of OC don't give them any depth or characterization. I'm truly glad that you have avoided such trappings and created a real person.
One question though is that do the people who saw the Pensieve memories hear that Harry claimed to be a sentient Horcrux? Cause while Dumbledore does make mention of Harry passing himself off as Voldemort, neither Ameila, James, Lily or Moody made any reference to it. Iris would have been close enough to at least hear some tidbits of what was going on, and with a Pensieve memory, they should have heard Harry's claim perfectly clear.
Anyways, I was wondering if anyone here wants to see me make another "infomercial" on an item this chapter. I don't want to distract from the fic with such pointlessness if people hate it.
One question though is that do the people who saw the Pensieve memories hear that Harry claimed to be a sentient Horcrux? Cause while Dumbledore does make mention of Harry passing himself off as Voldemort, neither Ameila, James, Lily or Moody made any reference to it. Iris would have been close enough to at least hear some tidbits of what was going on, and with a Pensieve memory, they should have heard Harry's claim perfectly clear.
Anyways, I was wondering if anyone here wants to see me make another "infomercial" on an item this chapter. I don't want to distract from the fic with such pointlessness if people hate it.
Hm...
Managing expectations is difficult. Moody and the rest do not know about the Horcrux. Moody, Amelia, and James have also all read the reports, so they weren't surprised about that particular part. They have also just seen what happened, most of it.
Dumbledore's answer to Harry was meant as a catchall for all of them, but...
Perhaps I should make it explicit within Dumbledore's answer, their reactions?
Managing expectations is difficult. Moody and the rest do not know about the Horcrux. Moody, Amelia, and James have also all read the reports, so they weren't surprised about that particular part. They have also just seen what happened, most of it.
Dumbledore's answer to Harry was meant as a catchall for all of them, but...
Perhaps I should make it explicit within Dumbledore's answer, their reactions?
I'm...kind of disappointed by this chapter. Not much time at the moment, so I'll make this quick and try to go into more detail later.
First, when does this scene happen? I get the feeling that it happened not too long after the fight, but Harry has clearly gotten a lot of shit done. Four Horcreuxs, safely removed the bits of soul? That's absurdly fast, even if he does know where they are. The only conclusion I can come to is that Harry could slip by all of the defenses, remove the bits of soul extremely quickly, and still make it back in time to eavesdrop on the conversations about him.
I also feel like James defended Harry a bit too much after being fairly suspicious of him. You also abuse the hell out of one sentence per paragraph. You start with And, But, Before... et cetera. Yes, starting a sentence of paragraphs like that adds emphasis, but you dilute that emphasis with your abuse. Especially during Iris' thoughts.
I feel like Harry has gotten off scot-free, Albus was too easily intimidated, and Harry killing so many Dark Lords he doesn't bother remembering their names? I'd argue that if they're that numerous and easy to kill, they're only self-professed Dark Lords. Harry's credentials feel overplayed. I honestly liked him better when I was guessing at what gave him his skills.
Iris' stay with me for a while was also pure corniness. You could pull it off, but have Iris being aware of it, Harry repressing some snark, or something. Anything to add a bit more uniqueness to the scene.
Come to think of it, Harry also lied his ass off to the face of the Dark Lord. Why are they taking what he says at face value? There's far too little suspicion. A better conflict would be the public raving over Harry and seeing him as their savior, and people in the know are very worried over what Harry will do with his fame. He's put himself in an influential position, at least for the moment.
I'll come back with more when I'm less busy.
First, when does this scene happen? I get the feeling that it happened not too long after the fight, but Harry has clearly gotten a lot of shit done. Four Horcreuxs, safely removed the bits of soul? That's absurdly fast, even if he does know where they are. The only conclusion I can come to is that Harry could slip by all of the defenses, remove the bits of soul extremely quickly, and still make it back in time to eavesdrop on the conversations about him.
I also feel like James defended Harry a bit too much after being fairly suspicious of him. You also abuse the hell out of one sentence per paragraph. You start with And, But, Before... et cetera. Yes, starting a sentence of paragraphs like that adds emphasis, but you dilute that emphasis with your abuse. Especially during Iris' thoughts.
I feel like Harry has gotten off scot-free, Albus was too easily intimidated, and Harry killing so many Dark Lords he doesn't bother remembering their names? I'd argue that if they're that numerous and easy to kill, they're only self-professed Dark Lords. Harry's credentials feel overplayed. I honestly liked him better when I was guessing at what gave him his skills.
Iris' stay with me for a while was also pure corniness. You could pull it off, but have Iris being aware of it, Harry repressing some snark, or something. Anything to add a bit more uniqueness to the scene.
Come to think of it, Harry also lied his ass off to the face of the Dark Lord. Why are they taking what he says at face value? There's far too little suspicion. A better conflict would be the public raving over Harry and seeing him as their savior, and people in the know are very worried over what Harry will do with his fame. He's put himself in an influential position, at least for the moment.
I'll come back with more when I'm less busy.
~~~
Redacted
~~~
AN: In a word, PLOT! Interestingly, the chapter is still not done, there is yet one more scene to go. Or it may be moved to the next chapter, depending on how I want the pacing to go.
I look forward to reading the rest of the criticisms, many of the points are very valid. Some of the issues reflect the style that I use, many things are left unspoken and the reasoning assumed. There is a balance I am trying to achieve between that and clarity. It is as I wrote before, managing expectation is difficult.
The timeframe between the end of the Battle of Hogwarts Express and the Pensieve viewing is about a week. The scene with Iris took place immediately after Harry's meeting with Dumbledore, and I believe she mentioned this fact. If this wasn't as clear, I may instead transfer this mention to the earlier scene.
Harry would agree that most of the Dark Lords he faced are not worth their title.
The use of one sentence paragraphs, I confess I am partial to, hence why it appears so frequently, though I did not think that it was all that often in the scene prior to Iris'. As for its abuse in Iris', it should be intentional, at least in the beginning of her scene. It was to my thought that its use decreased after a certain point, but I may be too used to my own writing.
On the issue of suspicion, I'm afraid that's a direct consequence of the scenes unspoken. This was not the first meeting where Harry was discussed, and Dumbledore's words have much weight with them. On the specific of Harry's claim, I have written about it before:
Redacted
~~~
AN: In a word, PLOT! Interestingly, the chapter is still not done, there is yet one more scene to go. Or it may be moved to the next chapter, depending on how I want the pacing to go.
I look forward to reading the rest of the criticisms, many of the points are very valid. Some of the issues reflect the style that I use, many things are left unspoken and the reasoning assumed. There is a balance I am trying to achieve between that and clarity. It is as I wrote before, managing expectation is difficult.
The timeframe between the end of the Battle of Hogwarts Express and the Pensieve viewing is about a week. The scene with Iris took place immediately after Harry's meeting with Dumbledore, and I believe she mentioned this fact. If this wasn't as clear, I may instead transfer this mention to the earlier scene.
Harry would agree that most of the Dark Lords he faced are not worth their title.
The use of one sentence paragraphs, I confess I am partial to, hence why it appears so frequently, though I did not think that it was all that often in the scene prior to Iris'. As for its abuse in Iris', it should be intentional, at least in the beginning of her scene. It was to my thought that its use decreased after a certain point, but I may be too used to my own writing.
On the issue of suspicion, I'm afraid that's a direct consequence of the scenes unspoken. This was not the first meeting where Harry was discussed, and Dumbledore's words have much weight with them. On the specific of Harry's claim, I have written about it before:
This snippet doesn't really do it for me. I understand that your Harry is seemingly far beyond Voldemort at this point, and needs a bigger challenge, but this comes a bit out of left field. I would have been far more comfortable with the premise if Voldemort had himself engaged this new entity as a response to Harry's actions. It just appearing like that begs the question: why didn't this happen in the original timeline?
A very good question, why didn't it? What's different?
I've included a line that hints at the answer, but I see it is a fault that once again I haven't been clear. In writing the next scene, I feel more and more that it should be its own chapter, but in that case, the vagueness of the previous scene is going to invite questions like that.
I'll look over it again and perhaps revise it to be the end of chapter 3, or if I can, I might insert more lines to ease the transition and keep the next scene as part of this chapter.
Sometimes I forget that what I know and what the readers know are not equal, so some incongruity may happen, like so. Thanks for the comment.
Interestingly, sometimes certain scenes write in a way other than what I had originally planned. It wasn't always meant to be so unequalled.
<s>(In writing this, I've thought a way to address the concern. A certain section, kept for addition, seems the perfect place to add it.)</s>
The previous scene has been amended:
Added a monologue to further flesh out the figure.
Minor changes in wording as I saw fit.
I seemed to have goofed. I have made the entity even more ominous than before. This vexes me, but I can't bring myself to make things clear. I feel that things may be clearer in the next part, or at least enough hints will have been given, that the entity will not feel so out of the blue.
But, for those who want, I can tell three things:
The 'original' timeline of the world that Harry is in does not contain the black entity, for what that's worth.
The supernatural nature of the setting is quite mundane, relatively speaking.
Related to the second, the word Artifact applies to most things.
I've included a line that hints at the answer, but I see it is a fault that once again I haven't been clear. In writing the next scene, I feel more and more that it should be its own chapter, but in that case, the vagueness of the previous scene is going to invite questions like that.
I'll look over it again and perhaps revise it to be the end of chapter 3, or if I can, I might insert more lines to ease the transition and keep the next scene as part of this chapter.
Sometimes I forget that what I know and what the readers know are not equal, so some incongruity may happen, like so. Thanks for the comment.
Interestingly, sometimes certain scenes write in a way other than what I had originally planned. It wasn't always meant to be so unequalled.
<s>(In writing this, I've thought a way to address the concern. A certain section, kept for addition, seems the perfect place to add it.)</s>
The previous scene has been amended:
Added a monologue to further flesh out the figure.
Minor changes in wording as I saw fit.
I seemed to have goofed. I have made the entity even more ominous than before. This vexes me, but I can't bring myself to make things clear. I feel that things may be clearer in the next part, or at least enough hints will have been given, that the entity will not feel so out of the blue.
But, for those who want, I can tell three things:
The 'original' timeline of the world that Harry is in does not contain the black entity, for what that's worth.
The supernatural nature of the setting is quite mundane, relatively speaking.
Related to the second, the word Artifact applies to most things.
I guess I mistakenly assumed the divergence point was the Prophecy referencing a female (plus the other differences that were alluded to by Harry) which caused Voldemort to attack later because Harry did not qualify. I don't really know what to think after reading the first of your three things, and I'm drawing a blank as to how Iris survived Voldemort's attack along with her family, but both her and Voldemort seem to have come out of the encounter a lot better off than Harry and his Voldemort did in canon, so I suppose it is still balanced.
As for the change to the scene I think it really marginalises Voldemort, and calls into question why a being of this magnitude needs Voldemort's assistance if his magic is as nothing to him. I'm guessing the being cannot directly interfere, but surely what he has done with Voldemort would already classify as interfering? If that's what you were going for, maybe adding a part about Voldemort needing to agree into the equation and having this entity entice Voldemort into that agreement before laying the smack down and issuing its demands?
I look forward to the next instalment.
As for the change to the scene I think it really marginalises Voldemort, and calls into question why a being of this magnitude needs Voldemort's assistance if his magic is as nothing to him. I'm guessing the being cannot directly interfere, but surely what he has done with Voldemort would already classify as interfering? If that's what you were going for, maybe adding a part about Voldemort needing to agree into the equation and having this entity entice Voldemort into that agreement before laying the smack down and issuing its demands?
I look forward to the next instalment.
Eh....I should have seen this coming. Voldemort's gotten kicked to the curb, he needs his threat level ramped up. Enter mysterious figure.
Can't say I like this twist very much. At all. I'm still interested in this story, but I have no stake in whoever showed up, and it makes my interest wane. I'm hoping you have some more twists and interesting things up your sleeve though.
Can't say I like this twist very much. At all. I'm still interested in this story, but I have no stake in whoever showed up, and it makes my interest wane. I'm hoping you have some more twists and interesting things up your sleeve though.
AN1: I hope this snippet might help alleviate those feelings.
~~~
Redacted
~~~
AN2: End Chapter 3. A lot of things had to be shuffled around, Chapter 4 will need to be figured out differently now since I might have overused the specific technique I was experimenting with in this chapter, depending.
Parts of chapter 3 have also been changed:
The first scene have had additional dialogues added, and the scene revised.
Minor stylistic changes, word choice, usage, etc. . .
Criticisms on this chapter have helped develop something very. . .interesting. As stated before, this chapter was important as a set up, and it still is, which means that it might still be revised, or scrapped entirely, depending on how Chapter 4 fits into the whole thing.
If it cannot be made to work, I'll scrap the entire thing and try again.
~~~
Redacted
~~~
AN2: End Chapter 3. A lot of things had to be shuffled around, Chapter 4 will need to be figured out differently now since I might have overused the specific technique I was experimenting with in this chapter, depending.
Parts of chapter 3 have also been changed:
The first scene have had additional dialogues added, and the scene revised.
Minor stylistic changes, word choice, usage, etc. . .
Criticisms on this chapter have helped develop something very. . .interesting. As stated before, this chapter was important as a set up, and it still is, which means that it might still be revised, or scrapped entirely, depending on how Chapter 4 fits into the whole thing.
If it cannot be made to work, I'll scrap the entire thing and try again.
~~~
Chapter 4 - That of the past
~~~
The solitude brought Harry a sick sense of comfort. It was a comfort born out of familiarity, set by a life spent in habits and regularities. For years of time, in dusky dungeons, in dusty cellars, he had contrived himself into lonesome isolation, always forcing himself, never resting, always looking for the next battle, the next Dark Lord, the next looming catastrophe. And now, here he was again.
In the small and quaint shack, where the only soul was he, and the only sounds the regular cresting of the waves on the rocky cliffs and the occasional shuffling of papers flipped, he worked. The table was littered with papers, equations, and notes, arithmantic calculations and runic scripts for some arcane purposes only he could see. Books abound his surrounding, interconnected by webs of lights in a chaotic network of references and connections, half vandalized with thoughts and comments he wrote.
It had been 6 months, and he was so close, he could feel it. It was at the tip of his tongue, just out of the corner of his eyes, but yet still so far away as to be unreachable. The burst of inspiration that had brought him this far, this fast, had faded away, and now all Harry could see was an insurmountable wall. And, of course, as always, time was running out. A funny thought, here he was, years in the past, in an entirely different world, and yet time was still running out, the clock of this world tied to his.
And, the state of his world, tied to this.
Harry smiled grimly. There was no joy in his expression, just a self-mocking deprecation. Every action had its consequences, Harry knew. Every choice its faults. He had made his choices, oh so long ago, and each decision, each action, had compounded themselves heavily.
Had he made the right choices? Harry didn't know. All he could see was an ever growing mound of dirt dug from an ever deepening pit. Was it a pyramid that he had built, one reaching towards the sky, or was it a grave in which one day he'll lie?
Harry drifted.
Warm fingers rested on his back. Thin strands of hair brushed against his face. A voice, soft and quiet but filled with silent strength, spoke to him.
Harry.
He woke. Harsh sunlight drifted in through the windowsills. He blinked. It was done. In front of him, the full schematics for his plan laid complete, finished while he was in a dreamless stupor. Harry now knew what he had to do. He now knew where he had to go.
~~~
Pollero frowned while staring at the picture.
"Wizards are difficult, even a young one. They are hard to find, harder to keep found. It will not be cheap."
They were sitting in the corner of a muggle bar, his companion dressed in a large cloak that hid all features, which would be conspicuous if it weren't for the spells detracting them from attention. In response to his words, his companion placed a small bag on the table. Pollero lifted it, hefting its weight, feeling the coins jingle against each other, and opened it to inspect the content within.
"The full payment will be a thousand times as much." his companion answered in a soft whisper, her voice indicating her youth. "Can you do it?"
Years of work spoke to Pollero, warning him to be suspicious. Whenever a job seemed too good to be true, it usually was, and this job seemed too good to be true. The target was a little boy, a wizard to be sure, but still only a boy, hardly worth the payment offered, which raised several questions.
"Not that I'm not interested, but I have a policy of not accepting obvious scams. This job looks simple, there's plenty of other people out there who would jump for the chance at this, so what's the catch?" Pollero asked.
"Do not be fooled, your target is not just a boy. He is exceptionally dangerous. The payment is to compensate for the risks." she answered.
"Then why me?"
His companion laid a piece of parchment onto the table, a map, and pointed at a particular area. Pollero knew the place, any treasure hunters, riskbreakers, sellswords, or otherwise claimant of fortune worth his salt would recognize the area. Located in the jungle, deep in the heart of South America, the legend of a lost treasure have drawn countless expeditions there to find it. No doubt there was something hidden there, countless lives have been lost to the traps and wards surrounding the place, but no one had ever returned, much less find it. No one, except him.
"Your target will apparate near there and will be heading into the jungle by foot. I require your knowledge and your particular skill to catch him."
Pollero weighed the risk.
"Just to be clear, I only have to lead you to him?"
"That will be sufficient."
Taking a deep breath, Pollero heard himself answered, "Then I'll do it."
Just one more job, he thought to himself. Just one more job, then he'll retire to somewhere near the ocean, away from all this heat. Just one more job, and then he'll finally be out of this life.
~~~
The heat of the jungle was sweltering, but still his employer walked under her heavy cloaked unimpeded. They moved through the heavy brush, Pollero utilizing his talent to clear the undergrowth away from their path. Every now and then, Pollero would stop, bringing himself still to feel the air.
Wizards were always so proud of their magic, waving their wands around casting spells without a care, unaware of the scent they left behind, the bits of magic unfiltered and lingering in the air. To someone like Pollero, those small pieces of magic might as well be bright stars twinkling against a black skyline, so easily seen.
The traps and wards stood out just as well. He moved, avoiding the traps and slipping in where the wards were crumbling, worn down by the years, following the trail left behind by the boy. Pollero had to marvel at the spellwork left behind, signs of intricate and complicated magic clashing against the enchanted defenses of the jungle. The boy was skilled, his employer had not been exaggerating. He had been expecting to lead his employer to a corpse, but the boy was clearly able to defend himself.
For a while, they moved along in silence, Pollero focused on his work, when they came to a clearing, marked by scorched earth and rotting trees. The magic in the clearing was overpowering, masking all other signals. His employer stood idly behind him, waiting, expecting. This was what he had been paid for and he didn't disappoint. Bringing himself low to the ground, Pollero let his magic flow.
A long time ago, when the world still breathe magic, when the spirits still lived in the land, people had once been able to speak to the earth, to use their connection with the world to do wondrous things. When the world began to die, they had died with it. Only a small few remained, and Pollero was one of them.
Pollero spoke to the earth, to the weakened spirits of the world, and they spoke back, showing him the way. Pollero brought his lips to the earth and kissed it in thanks. Standing up, he motioned for his employer to follow him and they continued on their way.
The jungle grew denser, the traps more dangerous, the wards stronger, but Pollero followed the path shown by the spirits and they were able to navigate their way through the many paths, until finally they entered another clearing and the end of their journey. Pollero shook his head in confusion.
"I don't know what to tell you. . .but this is it. The boy's not here. The path ends here, there's nothing else."
His employer nodded and walked forward.
"Look, I led you as far as I could, I followed the trail. Maybe the boy's dead somewhere back or something, but I led you to where his trail ended, I still expect to be paid." Pollero said, anxious about the deal.
"Yes, you have done your job. You have led me to the entrance."
"The entrance? The entrance to what? There's nothing here."
His employer drew a sword. "It is none of your concern. Your payment is waiting for you back in the city, I suggest you return if you value your life." With a swing, the space in front of her split open. The opening widened and ran to the ground and the sky, revealing a fortress, broken and run-down, jutting out of the ground like a tower, around it littered by collapsing scraps of ancient automatons.
The ground rumbled, the fortress whirled, its top twisting around to reveal a set of cannons, and then the ground exploded and he flew back. With his dimming vision, he caught a sight. Hair of silver, wings of white, cloak dropped forgotten onto the ground. A giant hand came out of the opening, all metal and geared, but it was cut clean through, slashed by the figure flying into the rift.
The ground exploded again and the rest of his vision dimmed.
~~~
Harry walked through the fortress as the sound of gears whirled all around him. Lumps of metal here and there groaned and stumbled from their perch, woken from their long sleep by the presence of an intruder. With a spell, Harry lulled them back to slumber.
What a marvel they all were, golems made thousands of years ago, still faithfully answering their call of duty, loyal and true even through all those years. And yet, they were merely guards, designed to protect the true work of a wizard who had once walked this world.
Yes, it was this tower itself that was amazing. Once, it had flown the sky, an aerial fortress for a war long pass, now it lay grounded, forgotten to time and left to ruin. But, what Harry was looking for was not the tower itself, but what lay within.
Harry descended to the bottom of the tower with a spell to slow his fall. There, in front of him, the core of the fortress, the heart that still gave this tower life pulsed to an unheard beat.
"Stop! Who walks within my tower?" A figure flickered into vision. A spell answered its question and it faded away.
Harry inclined his head at the fading apparition, paying respect to the wizard who had created this tower, but continued on his way. There was no need to speak to an illusion of one who was already dead, and this tower, though a wonder of its time, and still a wonder to this time, was unneeded, its only use now the core that still brimmed with power.
As the stone was pulled away from its receptacle, the tower itself shuddered, as if sensing its impending demise. The light flowing from the stone to the walls of the tower dimmed, the tower shook in its death throes, then all became silent save for the humming of the stone.
A whistling of the wind warned Harry of the attack. He turned and brought up a shield.
The figured streaked through the air like a meteor, blade drawn and readied at her side. She flew, a skydiving drop, approaching the shield with dazzling speed, and then simply passed through it.
One second. There was no time to think.
The figure flew past him, sword flashing, and blood spilled.
Harry came to a stop several meters away, hand against his chest to stymy the flow of blood. The figure stood from her crouch near a crater on the ground where his spell had struck, her sword dripping with his blood.
"Your reflexes have not yet dulled Harry. What a pity."
In looking to find his world, it seems that it had found him. A still familiar face stared back at him, the same as he remembered it to be. When had he first saw the owner of that face?
In the fiery ruins of a town set ablaze, she had looked at him where he had left her, broken, cursing for vengeance. To this day, he still couldn't explain what had caused him to simply leave.
Was it a morbid curiosity, the desire to see if she could survive that blazing hell?
Was it a killer's guilt, masquerading as an act of mercy?
Was it because. . .?
Maybe, in the end, it had been all that and more.
"Hello Griselda." Harry grimaced, the healing spell had failed to close the wound.
The Griselda of this world should still have been only a child, not this young woman in front of him, and that form of hers. . .
"What have you done to yourself?"
Her wings stretched, spreading their width, glowing with a self-luminescence. Her hair, once a motley brown, now pure silver. With the simple looking long sword in her hand, she looked like something out of a picture book.
"What was necessary Harry." she replied, readying her sword. "All that I have given, all that I have done, all that I have sacrificed, it was all for one purpose. It was all to kill you."
"You still obsess over my death? How cold that flame must be, to kindle even in this world."
"Silence! I will not falter, you will not escape! With this body, with this sword, I will repay all that you have done, and more. Now is the time, Harry Potter, prepare to die!"
And she took flight.
~~~
Harry was flung into the wall of the fortress for not the last time. Thin lines marred his body, bleeding red, and his robe was in tatters, cut and bloodied from the countless wounds. A pain in his chest told him of a broken rib, but he didn't have time to mend it before she was on him, blade gleaming and straight. He forced himself aside, she missed by inches, her sword digging into the stone, and let lose a blasting curse at point blank.
It didn't work.
A swing of her sword sent him flying again, his charm propelling him backward the moment her sword dug into his skin. Sparks drifted around her body, the remnants of the blasting curse as it fizzled on contact with her, the same result as every other spells he had tried. Charms, curses, nothing had worked, every spell he tried had just disappeared, leaving her untouched.
There were beasts whose skin were resistance to magic, but with enough applications, eventually even they would fall. The protection she had, however, was different. If it was just a matter of resistance, Harry knew that he could eventually wear her down, but what she had wasn't that. It wasn't as if the spells were hitting her and nothing was happening, they could not even touch her to begin with.
He touched against the stone of the wall yet again and applied a Sticking Charm, wincing as a bolt of pain reminded him of his broken rib. Quickly mending his bones, Harry then pointed his wand at the wall and dug a crater with a banishing spell, the backlash accelerating him just moments away from the slash aimed at his head, which caught only a few strands of his hair to cut cleanly into the stone.
Many possibilities flashed by Harry's mind and he drew on the most likely one. Griselda positioned herself and kicked off the wall, charging at him, her figure a blur. Harry held up his wand and aimed, she took no action to evade.
The blur of green flew straight at her and she at it. Harry could see her eyes widened as she realized the spell that he had used, but it was too late, there was no way she could dodge it. The moment came, but still she made no attempt to dodge, instead her sword came down, splitting the Killing Curse in two.
There was an explosion as an enormous amount of magical energy was released in the span of an instant. A shape was blown to the ground, kicking up dust and obscuring vision. Harry held his breath, staring at where Griselda had fallen, but he wasn't surprised when, with the flap of her wings, the dust cleared to reveal that she was unphased.
A body that was immune to magic, a sword that could cut magic. In the name of killing him, this was what she had achieved?
A torrent of emotions whirled within Harry. Was this what he had seen in her? Within those eyes, had he seen her potential, had he seen what she would one day accomplish?
"What have you sacrificed?" A bitter smile rose to Harry's lips. "What was the price you paid?"
She walked from the dust, uninjured and clean, immaculate, and raised her sword again, its edge pointing at him.
"Whatever was necessary."
"Was it worth it?"
To accomplish what she had done, that life of devotion, of determination, of madness and obsession, was any of it worth it? Of the millions of lives that had existed before, only scores could be said to have realized their life's work, and yet did any of them have a happy ending?
The Hallows of the Peverells had brought doom upon them. This tower had driven its creator to madness. Voldemort's Horcruxes had condemned him to a fate worse than death. Even Flamel, lucky as he may seem, was perhaps the worse, living until even life itself seemed pointless. In the end, would they have said that the price was worth it?
Would she?
For what he had done, will he?
"When your blood drenches the ground, it will be worth it."
There could be no other answer. In the end, such an achievement could only be lauded. In the end, this was the reason why he and she had succeeded where others had failed. In the end, it was, after all, worth it. But. . .
"I'm afraid that I cannot die just yet."
The Killing Curse flew again and she dodged it easily. Harry knew that she would not die even if it had hit her, but it served its purpose, it had given him a chance. The stone in his hand glowed, life flowed into the silent monoliths within the walls. They walked free, each step a rumbling earthquake, and flanked his sides, gargantuan monsters of magic and steel.
"Magic may not work directly, but you know that I never cared for a proper wizard's duel. Come Griselda, let us battle for the last time."
There was no further lull in the battle. Griselda shot off like a rocket, blistering towards him. The golems rumbled to intercept her path, their mighty arms coming down as hammers to swat an insignificant fly, and down they fell as she easily sliced through their metal flesh. Another golem attacked from her other side, a blundering fist to smash her small body.
The disparity in size was comical, she a mere ant to their leviathan, yet what was stopped was not her, but them. Fist met fist and metal twisted, bent and broken and torn. She floated around them, dragging slashes with her sword across their body, slicing off arms and legs and bodies. Metal shrapnels fell all around in the wake of her unstoppable rampage.
What strength. If they fought fairly, would he even stand a chance? Harry snorted. What an absurd question. From the beginning, it had never been fair.
The pieces of metal falling from the air froze and expanded, piercing spears of death raining from every direction. She broke many, blocked more with her wings, but could not all, and the rest skewered her, trapping her to the ground.
He wasn't finished. The stone glowed bright hot. The tower shook, the reverberation of hundreds of ancient automatons wakening groans shaking the entire structure. Into the pit they jumped, their combined mass all concentrated on the trapped figure at the bottom's edge. From within the towering pile, nothing stirred.
Was it over?
A sword pierced through the weight of the golems, flying at sonic speed. There was just enough time for Harry to raise a series of stone barriers, but the blade, as silent as the wind, barreled its way through them all. White flashed and Griselda's bloodied body appeared at the blade's handle, and Harry knew he was too late.
A rock pillar diverted the blade and it struck his shoulder, impaling through the skin and pushing him back, then Griselda twisted and her leg came smashing down. Harry held his arm to block, gathering a gauntlet of stone, but still he was blown back.
Harry couldn't breathe. His chest ached, a punctured lung. He coughed, blood splattered onto the ground. His left arm hung loosely by his side, broken in too many places to count. Though she too was battered, her wings torn, her body trails of blood, there was no doubt that she was the better off.
No, in a fair fight, there was no way he could win.
The ceiling fell, tumbling tons of stone and metal and wood, burying Griselda beneath a pile of broken debris. He took advantage of the opening to jump, magic boosting him to soar high above her buried form. He needed to get away, she would not be stopped by something like that for long, he needed to run.
But, no matter how high he could jump, no matter how fast, there was no way he could outrace her in the sky.
The pile shook and exploded and she flew, her wings taking the air, easily catching up with him. He sent another Killing Curse at her and she spiraled to the side, still coming at him with her sword drawn wide. Before she could reach him, she was tackled by a lump of metal and gears and driven once again to the ground. Harry continued to climb, wakening more and more golems to descend into the pit, the stone in his hand glowing brightly.
As the latest fell, it gave a groan as its chest bulged and Griselda pierced through it. Harry kept to the walls and she came after him. A blasting curse showered Griselda with shards of rocks and stone, her wings wrapped themselves around her body to protect her and she slowed. One last jump brought him to the surface level and he ran across the platform, wakening more golems from their perch to guard his path.
Bright white emerged from the darkened pit and crashed through the guardians, slicing through their metal skin and forcing her way through their numbers. Metal crumbled and broke, unable to withstand her assault and she broke through, leaving nothing but nothing between her and him.
Harry wanted to laugh. Was this joy he felt?
To kill him, she had honed herself so single-mindedly.
If magic could not avail her, what else did she do but. . .?
She tackled him, her strike sending him crashing into the wall, but before he could even move again, she was already pressed against him, her speed undiminished from her charge, trapping him. She raised her sword, pointed at his head, and for a moment it felt like it was the end. He stared down the point of the blade and felt not fear but pride.
But he could not die yet.
The stone hummed. With booming shots, the wall exploded, cannon fire riddling the place where they were at.
Harry groaned, his shield dropping from his skin, and pushed weakly against the ground, only to collapse in pain. His vision blurred. Across from him lay Griselda, body limp, her sword off to the side. Harry pushed through the pain and dragged himself to where Griselda's sword lay, ignoring her body.
Griselda's body stirred and disappeared, appearing next to the sword, hand grasped on its handle. Harry blasted the ground and she was thrown violently away, grip broken.
The sword glistened, its simple form a beauty in its practicality. He grasped it.
The illusion of Griselda screamed as he held her true body.
What had she sacrificed, what was the price she paid?
Giving up her magic, giving up her soul, giving up her humanity, all to turn herself into a blade, all for the sake of killing him, all deemed worth their price so as long as he was dead. And now, here he was, trampling all over her sacrifice.
"W-why can't I beat you?" Griselda's form asked through her cries of pain.
"You were mistaken Griselda." Harry closed his eyes. "I was not invincible, there was never a need to go so far."
Perhaps had she stayed human, had she not succeeded, she might have been able to. But, such a thing was now impossible. Harry concentrated, sending his magic into her.
"It's not strength that brings victory."
All things have their cost. The more power one seek, the greater the cost. She had thought her sacrifices enough to cover the price, but she was too naüive.
"It's just luck."
She resisted, she turned hot, the heat blistering his skin. He ignored it, continuing to feed his magic into her.
A blade outside of magic, such a thing could not be created with only what she had given.
She resisted, but he persevered. She betrayed herself and his magic filled her, overwhelmed her, and then it was over. Harry collapsed, exhausted, the sword fell to the ground, her form shifting and shrinking, and choked back a laugh.
What irony. In seeking to kill him with her own hands, she had sacrificed herself to become a sword. But, in doing so, she had ensured that her own hands could never be his death.
What irony, Harry thought.
///
AN: <s>The first part of chapter 4, and the introduction of two OCs.</s> Chapter 4 finished.
Originally, the important OC was to be introduced at the end of chapter 3 with an extended look at her background. She's now here. The other did have a semi important role, but I decided to not use him that way. As a result, he's still alive, fair trade in my opinion.
I am also working on a summary for this story, with spoilers up to this chapter here. I suppose if I had given the summary when I first began, many more people might have figured out from where the person who Voldemort met had come from.
But, since I didn't, from the reaction that scene elicited, it did gave me a great idea, the result of which was the end of chapter 3. I feel like there still needs to be some tweaking, build up the scene with Voldemort even more, but I am satisfied enough with how it turned out.
Chapter 4 - That of the past
~~~
The solitude brought Harry a sick sense of comfort. It was a comfort born out of familiarity, set by a life spent in habits and regularities. For years of time, in dusky dungeons, in dusty cellars, he had contrived himself into lonesome isolation, always forcing himself, never resting, always looking for the next battle, the next Dark Lord, the next looming catastrophe. And now, here he was again.
In the small and quaint shack, where the only soul was he, and the only sounds the regular cresting of the waves on the rocky cliffs and the occasional shuffling of papers flipped, he worked. The table was littered with papers, equations, and notes, arithmantic calculations and runic scripts for some arcane purposes only he could see. Books abound his surrounding, interconnected by webs of lights in a chaotic network of references and connections, half vandalized with thoughts and comments he wrote.
It had been 6 months, and he was so close, he could feel it. It was at the tip of his tongue, just out of the corner of his eyes, but yet still so far away as to be unreachable. The burst of inspiration that had brought him this far, this fast, had faded away, and now all Harry could see was an insurmountable wall. And, of course, as always, time was running out. A funny thought, here he was, years in the past, in an entirely different world, and yet time was still running out, the clock of this world tied to his.
And, the state of his world, tied to this.
Harry smiled grimly. There was no joy in his expression, just a self-mocking deprecation. Every action had its consequences, Harry knew. Every choice its faults. He had made his choices, oh so long ago, and each decision, each action, had compounded themselves heavily.
Had he made the right choices? Harry didn't know. All he could see was an ever growing mound of dirt dug from an ever deepening pit. Was it a pyramid that he had built, one reaching towards the sky, or was it a grave in which one day he'll lie?
Harry drifted.
Warm fingers rested on his back. Thin strands of hair brushed against his face. A voice, soft and quiet but filled with silent strength, spoke to him.
Harry.
He woke. Harsh sunlight drifted in through the windowsills. He blinked. It was done. In front of him, the full schematics for his plan laid complete, finished while he was in a dreamless stupor. Harry now knew what he had to do. He now knew where he had to go.
~~~
Pollero frowned while staring at the picture.
"Wizards are difficult, even a young one. They are hard to find, harder to keep found. It will not be cheap."
They were sitting in the corner of a muggle bar, his companion dressed in a large cloak that hid all features, which would be conspicuous if it weren't for the spells detracting them from attention. In response to his words, his companion placed a small bag on the table. Pollero lifted it, hefting its weight, feeling the coins jingle against each other, and opened it to inspect the content within.
"The full payment will be a thousand times as much." his companion answered in a soft whisper, her voice indicating her youth. "Can you do it?"
Years of work spoke to Pollero, warning him to be suspicious. Whenever a job seemed too good to be true, it usually was, and this job seemed too good to be true. The target was a little boy, a wizard to be sure, but still only a boy, hardly worth the payment offered, which raised several questions.
"Not that I'm not interested, but I have a policy of not accepting obvious scams. This job looks simple, there's plenty of other people out there who would jump for the chance at this, so what's the catch?" Pollero asked.
"Do not be fooled, your target is not just a boy. He is exceptionally dangerous. The payment is to compensate for the risks." she answered.
"Then why me?"
His companion laid a piece of parchment onto the table, a map, and pointed at a particular area. Pollero knew the place, any treasure hunters, riskbreakers, sellswords, or otherwise claimant of fortune worth his salt would recognize the area. Located in the jungle, deep in the heart of South America, the legend of a lost treasure have drawn countless expeditions there to find it. No doubt there was something hidden there, countless lives have been lost to the traps and wards surrounding the place, but no one had ever returned, much less find it. No one, except him.
"Your target will apparate near there and will be heading into the jungle by foot. I require your knowledge and your particular skill to catch him."
Pollero weighed the risk.
"Just to be clear, I only have to lead you to him?"
"That will be sufficient."
Taking a deep breath, Pollero heard himself answered, "Then I'll do it."
Just one more job, he thought to himself. Just one more job, then he'll retire to somewhere near the ocean, away from all this heat. Just one more job, and then he'll finally be out of this life.
~~~
The heat of the jungle was sweltering, but still his employer walked under her heavy cloaked unimpeded. They moved through the heavy brush, Pollero utilizing his talent to clear the undergrowth away from their path. Every now and then, Pollero would stop, bringing himself still to feel the air.
Wizards were always so proud of their magic, waving their wands around casting spells without a care, unaware of the scent they left behind, the bits of magic unfiltered and lingering in the air. To someone like Pollero, those small pieces of magic might as well be bright stars twinkling against a black skyline, so easily seen.
The traps and wards stood out just as well. He moved, avoiding the traps and slipping in where the wards were crumbling, worn down by the years, following the trail left behind by the boy. Pollero had to marvel at the spellwork left behind, signs of intricate and complicated magic clashing against the enchanted defenses of the jungle. The boy was skilled, his employer had not been exaggerating. He had been expecting to lead his employer to a corpse, but the boy was clearly able to defend himself.
For a while, they moved along in silence, Pollero focused on his work, when they came to a clearing, marked by scorched earth and rotting trees. The magic in the clearing was overpowering, masking all other signals. His employer stood idly behind him, waiting, expecting. This was what he had been paid for and he didn't disappoint. Bringing himself low to the ground, Pollero let his magic flow.
A long time ago, when the world still breathe magic, when the spirits still lived in the land, people had once been able to speak to the earth, to use their connection with the world to do wondrous things. When the world began to die, they had died with it. Only a small few remained, and Pollero was one of them.
Pollero spoke to the earth, to the weakened spirits of the world, and they spoke back, showing him the way. Pollero brought his lips to the earth and kissed it in thanks. Standing up, he motioned for his employer to follow him and they continued on their way.
The jungle grew denser, the traps more dangerous, the wards stronger, but Pollero followed the path shown by the spirits and they were able to navigate their way through the many paths, until finally they entered another clearing and the end of their journey. Pollero shook his head in confusion.
"I don't know what to tell you. . .but this is it. The boy's not here. The path ends here, there's nothing else."
His employer nodded and walked forward.
"Look, I led you as far as I could, I followed the trail. Maybe the boy's dead somewhere back or something, but I led you to where his trail ended, I still expect to be paid." Pollero said, anxious about the deal.
"Yes, you have done your job. You have led me to the entrance."
"The entrance? The entrance to what? There's nothing here."
His employer drew a sword. "It is none of your concern. Your payment is waiting for you back in the city, I suggest you return if you value your life." With a swing, the space in front of her split open. The opening widened and ran to the ground and the sky, revealing a fortress, broken and run-down, jutting out of the ground like a tower, around it littered by collapsing scraps of ancient automatons.
The ground rumbled, the fortress whirled, its top twisting around to reveal a set of cannons, and then the ground exploded and he flew back. With his dimming vision, he caught a sight. Hair of silver, wings of white, cloak dropped forgotten onto the ground. A giant hand came out of the opening, all metal and geared, but it was cut clean through, slashed by the figure flying into the rift.
The ground exploded again and the rest of his vision dimmed.
~~~
Harry walked through the fortress as the sound of gears whirled all around him. Lumps of metal here and there groaned and stumbled from their perch, woken from their long sleep by the presence of an intruder. With a spell, Harry lulled them back to slumber.
What a marvel they all were, golems made thousands of years ago, still faithfully answering their call of duty, loyal and true even through all those years. And yet, they were merely guards, designed to protect the true work of a wizard who had once walked this world.
Yes, it was this tower itself that was amazing. Once, it had flown the sky, an aerial fortress for a war long pass, now it lay grounded, forgotten to time and left to ruin. But, what Harry was looking for was not the tower itself, but what lay within.
Harry descended to the bottom of the tower with a spell to slow his fall. There, in front of him, the core of the fortress, the heart that still gave this tower life pulsed to an unheard beat.
"Stop! Who walks within my tower?" A figure flickered into vision. A spell answered its question and it faded away.
Harry inclined his head at the fading apparition, paying respect to the wizard who had created this tower, but continued on his way. There was no need to speak to an illusion of one who was already dead, and this tower, though a wonder of its time, and still a wonder to this time, was unneeded, its only use now the core that still brimmed with power.
As the stone was pulled away from its receptacle, the tower itself shuddered, as if sensing its impending demise. The light flowing from the stone to the walls of the tower dimmed, the tower shook in its death throes, then all became silent save for the humming of the stone.
A whistling of the wind warned Harry of the attack. He turned and brought up a shield.
The figured streaked through the air like a meteor, blade drawn and readied at her side. She flew, a skydiving drop, approaching the shield with dazzling speed, and then simply passed through it.
One second. There was no time to think.
The figure flew past him, sword flashing, and blood spilled.
Harry came to a stop several meters away, hand against his chest to stymy the flow of blood. The figure stood from her crouch near a crater on the ground where his spell had struck, her sword dripping with his blood.
"Your reflexes have not yet dulled Harry. What a pity."
In looking to find his world, it seems that it had found him. A still familiar face stared back at him, the same as he remembered it to be. When had he first saw the owner of that face?
In the fiery ruins of a town set ablaze, she had looked at him where he had left her, broken, cursing for vengeance. To this day, he still couldn't explain what had caused him to simply leave.
Was it a morbid curiosity, the desire to see if she could survive that blazing hell?
Was it a killer's guilt, masquerading as an act of mercy?
Was it because. . .?
Maybe, in the end, it had been all that and more.
"Hello Griselda." Harry grimaced, the healing spell had failed to close the wound.
The Griselda of this world should still have been only a child, not this young woman in front of him, and that form of hers. . .
"What have you done to yourself?"
Her wings stretched, spreading their width, glowing with a self-luminescence. Her hair, once a motley brown, now pure silver. With the simple looking long sword in her hand, she looked like something out of a picture book.
"What was necessary Harry." she replied, readying her sword. "All that I have given, all that I have done, all that I have sacrificed, it was all for one purpose. It was all to kill you."
"You still obsess over my death? How cold that flame must be, to kindle even in this world."
"Silence! I will not falter, you will not escape! With this body, with this sword, I will repay all that you have done, and more. Now is the time, Harry Potter, prepare to die!"
And she took flight.
~~~
Harry was flung into the wall of the fortress for not the last time. Thin lines marred his body, bleeding red, and his robe was in tatters, cut and bloodied from the countless wounds. A pain in his chest told him of a broken rib, but he didn't have time to mend it before she was on him, blade gleaming and straight. He forced himself aside, she missed by inches, her sword digging into the stone, and let lose a blasting curse at point blank.
It didn't work.
A swing of her sword sent him flying again, his charm propelling him backward the moment her sword dug into his skin. Sparks drifted around her body, the remnants of the blasting curse as it fizzled on contact with her, the same result as every other spells he had tried. Charms, curses, nothing had worked, every spell he tried had just disappeared, leaving her untouched.
There were beasts whose skin were resistance to magic, but with enough applications, eventually even they would fall. The protection she had, however, was different. If it was just a matter of resistance, Harry knew that he could eventually wear her down, but what she had wasn't that. It wasn't as if the spells were hitting her and nothing was happening, they could not even touch her to begin with.
He touched against the stone of the wall yet again and applied a Sticking Charm, wincing as a bolt of pain reminded him of his broken rib. Quickly mending his bones, Harry then pointed his wand at the wall and dug a crater with a banishing spell, the backlash accelerating him just moments away from the slash aimed at his head, which caught only a few strands of his hair to cut cleanly into the stone.
Many possibilities flashed by Harry's mind and he drew on the most likely one. Griselda positioned herself and kicked off the wall, charging at him, her figure a blur. Harry held up his wand and aimed, she took no action to evade.
The blur of green flew straight at her and she at it. Harry could see her eyes widened as she realized the spell that he had used, but it was too late, there was no way she could dodge it. The moment came, but still she made no attempt to dodge, instead her sword came down, splitting the Killing Curse in two.
There was an explosion as an enormous amount of magical energy was released in the span of an instant. A shape was blown to the ground, kicking up dust and obscuring vision. Harry held his breath, staring at where Griselda had fallen, but he wasn't surprised when, with the flap of her wings, the dust cleared to reveal that she was unphased.
A body that was immune to magic, a sword that could cut magic. In the name of killing him, this was what she had achieved?
A torrent of emotions whirled within Harry. Was this what he had seen in her? Within those eyes, had he seen her potential, had he seen what she would one day accomplish?
"What have you sacrificed?" A bitter smile rose to Harry's lips. "What was the price you paid?"
She walked from the dust, uninjured and clean, immaculate, and raised her sword again, its edge pointing at him.
"Whatever was necessary."
"Was it worth it?"
To accomplish what she had done, that life of devotion, of determination, of madness and obsession, was any of it worth it? Of the millions of lives that had existed before, only scores could be said to have realized their life's work, and yet did any of them have a happy ending?
The Hallows of the Peverells had brought doom upon them. This tower had driven its creator to madness. Voldemort's Horcruxes had condemned him to a fate worse than death. Even Flamel, lucky as he may seem, was perhaps the worse, living until even life itself seemed pointless. In the end, would they have said that the price was worth it?
Would she?
For what he had done, will he?
"When your blood drenches the ground, it will be worth it."
There could be no other answer. In the end, such an achievement could only be lauded. In the end, this was the reason why he and she had succeeded where others had failed. In the end, it was, after all, worth it. But. . .
"I'm afraid that I cannot die just yet."
The Killing Curse flew again and she dodged it easily. Harry knew that she would not die even if it had hit her, but it served its purpose, it had given him a chance. The stone in his hand glowed, life flowed into the silent monoliths within the walls. They walked free, each step a rumbling earthquake, and flanked his sides, gargantuan monsters of magic and steel.
"Magic may not work directly, but you know that I never cared for a proper wizard's duel. Come Griselda, let us battle for the last time."
There was no further lull in the battle. Griselda shot off like a rocket, blistering towards him. The golems rumbled to intercept her path, their mighty arms coming down as hammers to swat an insignificant fly, and down they fell as she easily sliced through their metal flesh. Another golem attacked from her other side, a blundering fist to smash her small body.
The disparity in size was comical, she a mere ant to their leviathan, yet what was stopped was not her, but them. Fist met fist and metal twisted, bent and broken and torn. She floated around them, dragging slashes with her sword across their body, slicing off arms and legs and bodies. Metal shrapnels fell all around in the wake of her unstoppable rampage.
What strength. If they fought fairly, would he even stand a chance? Harry snorted. What an absurd question. From the beginning, it had never been fair.
The pieces of metal falling from the air froze and expanded, piercing spears of death raining from every direction. She broke many, blocked more with her wings, but could not all, and the rest skewered her, trapping her to the ground.
He wasn't finished. The stone glowed bright hot. The tower shook, the reverberation of hundreds of ancient automatons wakening groans shaking the entire structure. Into the pit they jumped, their combined mass all concentrated on the trapped figure at the bottom's edge. From within the towering pile, nothing stirred.
Was it over?
A sword pierced through the weight of the golems, flying at sonic speed. There was just enough time for Harry to raise a series of stone barriers, but the blade, as silent as the wind, barreled its way through them all. White flashed and Griselda's bloodied body appeared at the blade's handle, and Harry knew he was too late.
A rock pillar diverted the blade and it struck his shoulder, impaling through the skin and pushing him back, then Griselda twisted and her leg came smashing down. Harry held his arm to block, gathering a gauntlet of stone, but still he was blown back.
Harry couldn't breathe. His chest ached, a punctured lung. He coughed, blood splattered onto the ground. His left arm hung loosely by his side, broken in too many places to count. Though she too was battered, her wings torn, her body trails of blood, there was no doubt that she was the better off.
No, in a fair fight, there was no way he could win.
The ceiling fell, tumbling tons of stone and metal and wood, burying Griselda beneath a pile of broken debris. He took advantage of the opening to jump, magic boosting him to soar high above her buried form. He needed to get away, she would not be stopped by something like that for long, he needed to run.
But, no matter how high he could jump, no matter how fast, there was no way he could outrace her in the sky.
The pile shook and exploded and she flew, her wings taking the air, easily catching up with him. He sent another Killing Curse at her and she spiraled to the side, still coming at him with her sword drawn wide. Before she could reach him, she was tackled by a lump of metal and gears and driven once again to the ground. Harry continued to climb, wakening more and more golems to descend into the pit, the stone in his hand glowing brightly.
As the latest fell, it gave a groan as its chest bulged and Griselda pierced through it. Harry kept to the walls and she came after him. A blasting curse showered Griselda with shards of rocks and stone, her wings wrapped themselves around her body to protect her and she slowed. One last jump brought him to the surface level and he ran across the platform, wakening more golems from their perch to guard his path.
Bright white emerged from the darkened pit and crashed through the guardians, slicing through their metal skin and forcing her way through their numbers. Metal crumbled and broke, unable to withstand her assault and she broke through, leaving nothing but nothing between her and him.
Harry wanted to laugh. Was this joy he felt?
To kill him, she had honed herself so single-mindedly.
If magic could not avail her, what else did she do but. . .?
She tackled him, her strike sending him crashing into the wall, but before he could even move again, she was already pressed against him, her speed undiminished from her charge, trapping him. She raised her sword, pointed at his head, and for a moment it felt like it was the end. He stared down the point of the blade and felt not fear but pride.
But he could not die yet.
The stone hummed. With booming shots, the wall exploded, cannon fire riddling the place where they were at.
Harry groaned, his shield dropping from his skin, and pushed weakly against the ground, only to collapse in pain. His vision blurred. Across from him lay Griselda, body limp, her sword off to the side. Harry pushed through the pain and dragged himself to where Griselda's sword lay, ignoring her body.
Griselda's body stirred and disappeared, appearing next to the sword, hand grasped on its handle. Harry blasted the ground and she was thrown violently away, grip broken.
The sword glistened, its simple form a beauty in its practicality. He grasped it.
The illusion of Griselda screamed as he held her true body.
What had she sacrificed, what was the price she paid?
Giving up her magic, giving up her soul, giving up her humanity, all to turn herself into a blade, all for the sake of killing him, all deemed worth their price so as long as he was dead. And now, here he was, trampling all over her sacrifice.
"W-why can't I beat you?" Griselda's form asked through her cries of pain.
"You were mistaken Griselda." Harry closed his eyes. "I was not invincible, there was never a need to go so far."
Perhaps had she stayed human, had she not succeeded, she might have been able to. But, such a thing was now impossible. Harry concentrated, sending his magic into her.
"It's not strength that brings victory."
All things have their cost. The more power one seek, the greater the cost. She had thought her sacrifices enough to cover the price, but she was too naüive.
"It's just luck."
She resisted, she turned hot, the heat blistering his skin. He ignored it, continuing to feed his magic into her.
A blade outside of magic, such a thing could not be created with only what she had given.
She resisted, but he persevered. She betrayed herself and his magic filled her, overwhelmed her, and then it was over. Harry collapsed, exhausted, the sword fell to the ground, her form shifting and shrinking, and choked back a laugh.
What irony. In seeking to kill him with her own hands, she had sacrificed herself to become a sword. But, in doing so, she had ensured that her own hands could never be his death.
What irony, Harry thought.
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AN: <s>The first part of chapter 4, and the introduction of two OCs.</s> Chapter 4 finished.
Originally, the important OC was to be introduced at the end of chapter 3 with an extended look at her background. She's now here. The other did have a semi important role, but I decided to not use him that way. As a result, he's still alive, fair trade in my opinion.
I am also working on a summary for this story, with spoilers up to this chapter here. I suppose if I had given the summary when I first began, many more people might have figured out from where the person who Voldemort met had come from.
But, since I didn't, from the reaction that scene elicited, it did gave me a great idea, the result of which was the end of chapter 3. I feel like there still needs to be some tweaking, build up the scene with Voldemort even more, but I am satisfied enough with how it turned out.
~~~
Redacted
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AN: End of Chapter 4. Events are happening fast. I think this chapter explained an overall theme of the story, perhaps too directly, but I have not much luck with my attempts at subtlety. I haven't had the chance to proofread it as thoroughly as I tend to do, so a lot of mistakes may be in it.
The next chapter, I haven't quite decided what I wanted to depict yet. It could turn out to be yet another fast chapter, in which case we will be heading back to Hogwarts in chapter 6, or I might be able to take my time, in which case Hogwarts will happen in chapter 7 or later, though I don't foresee it being much later than chapter 10.
The big picture aims to have the story be around 80,000 words with about 20 something chapters in total, though the word count could easily be inflated. From that estimation, we are about 25% of the way through.
And no, that is not his name.
Redacted
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AN: End of Chapter 4. Events are happening fast. I think this chapter explained an overall theme of the story, perhaps too directly, but I have not much luck with my attempts at subtlety. I haven't had the chance to proofread it as thoroughly as I tend to do, so a lot of mistakes may be in it.
The next chapter, I haven't quite decided what I wanted to depict yet. It could turn out to be yet another fast chapter, in which case we will be heading back to Hogwarts in chapter 6, or I might be able to take my time, in which case Hogwarts will happen in chapter 7 or later, though I don't foresee it being much later than chapter 10.
The big picture aims to have the story be around 80,000 words with about 20 something chapters in total, though the word count could easily be inflated. From that estimation, we are about 25% of the way through.
And no, that is not his name.