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Over the Horizon | ||||||
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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-Hogwarts, Post-DH/AB Characters:All Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Romance Warnings: Dark Fiction, Death, Disturbing Imagery, Extreme Language, Sexual Situations, Violence Rating: R Reviews: 88 Summary: Imagine a world where Voldemort had won. Now imagine a post Hogwarts' Battle Harry stumbling into it... One man: Harry Potter. One goal: to survive. One quest: to do the impossible. One word: Power. Hitcount: Story Total: 52644; Chapter Total: 4384 |
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Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione stood there, kneeling beside Professor Trelawney; some of them thinking what in Merlin’s pants had that been all about; another one thinking how was it possible? Did the old fraud actually make a real prophecy? Another one from the group was just too stunned to even consider hypothesising; but the last one, the last one of the group knew what it was, he knew it was real, and he somehow knew that it was connected to him. Twice the victim of a real Trelawney prophecy, either about him and Voldemort or made in front of him, Harry was fully aware of the consequences of it. Laughing mirthlessly, he should’ve guessed that it had been too good to last, that he was going to be somehow thrown again into another deathly dangerous adventure. But the one-million-Galleon question was: what could it be about? Whom would he have to defeat this time? Because Voldemort was already dead — he had personally seen to it, he had almost died for the cause - and no-one could come back from the dead… But a wizard like Riddle was unlikely to come in the near future… And who was this liar person? Who did he knew that lived in deceit? The first answer that came to his mind was Snape. He had after all fooled the entire world about his true loyalties, he had been a spy — but he was dead. Who could it be? Pettigrew? No, he was dead, too. Rita Skeeter? Well, she did thrive on rumours and lies, but even in his mind it sounded ridiculous. Skeeter, however popular, wasn’t somebody to be prophesied about. It was clear for Harry that he was that — what did it say? — Oh, yes, that vanquisher unleashed… It all fit: his sudden new unleashed powers — the strange happenings around him… But still, what was it about? Harry had to stop squeezing his brain to understand the meaning of that new wretched prophecy because at that moment Professor Trelawney woke up, turning her head around confusedly. ‘What am I doing on the floor, my dears?’ ‘Er —professor, don’t you remember what you’ve just said?’ Ron asked tentatively. ‘What you’ve just told us about a paradox, a triangle and three people?’ Professor Trelawney looked at him as if he had sprouted two extra heads. ‘My, dear, you must have been dreaming… I said nothing about that nonsense… Triangles, triangles indeed — the only geometrical figure that is useless with the Inner-Eye…’ ‘But -’ ‘Ron, you had nodded off, too’ said Harry in a warning tone, sending him a meaningful look; it would be all for the best if that particular information was kept to themselves, ‘let’s help the professor up,’ he finished, lending Trelawney his own arm to help her stand up. With some effort on his part, he managed to lift her to her feet. It would’ve been ten times easier if she hadn’t been so completely wasted out of her mind, of course. Helping her to straighten her robes, they walked her to the staff room, guiding her through the corridors, making sure she wouldn’t start talking to some suit of armour or something as equally stupid. Finally leaving the professor in her Tower, they all went back down, heading to McGonagall’s office; all of their feet hurting because Trelawney had stepped so many times on them. They walked in silence, each immersed in the prophecy’s words. They noticed neither the Fat Friar nor Nearly-Headless Nick greeting them, they were too focused on what they had heard. Slowly but steadily, they approached the entrance of the Headmistress’s office, but were surprised that they had forgot they needed a password to enter. ‘What can it be, some other sort of sweet?’ asked Ron, staring inquisitively at the gargoyle in front of him. Hermione shook her head. ‘She’s not like Professor Dumbledore, she’ll have something different, and not nearly as funny,’ she explained. Thirty minutes of suggesting, saying, whispering and finally yelling different passwords nearly made Harry pick the nearest sword available and use it to stab that stupid gargoyle. Why couldn’t McGonagall be as Dumbledore? Had she set a Muggle sweet password, Hermione would have figured it out in five minutes maximum! But, no, McGonagall had to be sane and therefore set a normal one… and that gargoyle was making things so much worse, sneering at them, it was almost like seeing the look of distaste Snape had always reserved for him alone, almost snake-like… ‘Open up, dammit!’ Harry hissed angrily. To his utter amazement, the gargoyle froze and then sprung apart. Completely befuddled, he turned to the other three, who were just looking at him in various grades of wonderment. ‘Er — what’s wrong?’ he asked gingerly. ‘What did you say to the gargoyle?’ asked Ginny, stepping towards the winding staircase that led to the office. ‘Didn’t you hear me? I just said “open up, dammit!” to it, nothing else’ answered Harry in puzzlement. ‘You were speaking Parseltongue, mate,’ Ron told him. ‘Oh,’ said Harry intelligently. Climbing up the stairs, Hermione’s brilliant mind came up with an explanation for that. ‘It’s likely that Salazar Slytherin wouldn’t be bothered to memorise Gryffindor’s passwords, so he probably charmed the portraits and statues to recognise his very own rare gift, Parseltongue. I suppose he either forgot to cancel the charm when he left the school or decided to leave it as it was for his descendants’ she explained, her cheeks red with talking at top speed at the same time she was doing some exercise. ‘That makes sense,’ said Ginny. Harry nodded and proceeded to knock on the door. Suddenly, he felt nervous. Maybe it was because he had been in that office too many times when Dumbledore had been Headmaster, maybe because over two years before he had destroyed the vast majority of his Headmaster’s possessions, maybe because the truths he was probably about to discover, truths that not even in death Dumbledore had bothered to share with him… Or maybe he just felt nervous because; no reason at all. ‘Come in,’ said McGonagall inside her office after Harry had rapped on the door. Pushing the heavy door open, they all stepped inside the Headmistress’s living quarters. It hadn’t changed that much, it only didn’t feel as welcoming as when Dumbledore had been Headmaster. It was more strict-looking and somewhat stiffer and severer than before: the comfy seats were now only rigid chairs, there was no funny silvery objects laying around, encouraging you to play with them. Well, Harry could say that the austere decoration of the office suited McGonagall just fine, strict and clever, not one to waste space on things that weren’t one-hundred percent practical. ‘Mr Potter, Ms Weasley, Ms Granger, Mr Weasley, what can I do for you?’ she asked politely, conjuring up some spare chairs, all of them just as uncomfortable-looking as the one that was in front of her desk. Sitting down, Hermione said ‘we wanted to talk to Professor Dumbledore’s portrait, ma’am.’ McGonagall arched an eyebrow and dropped the quill she had in her right hand. ‘May I enquire what about?’ Wringing her hands, she started talking about their nervousness at the weird things that seemed to happen around them: Harry’s powers, her theory about Voldemort’s followers’ deaths… Harry tuned out her voice and looked right through past Professor McGonagall to where the portrait he wanted to talk to was. He couldn’t help the small smile that crept up to his lips at the sight of his old mentor sleeping soundly, using his own very shiny and very long beard as a pillow. He felt amused at the thought that Dumbledore would be now very bored indeed if McGonagall made him stay all the time in the same picture, not being able to have fun skipping around the castle and wreaking some havoc around. He thought that in his youth, Dumbledore must have been an excellent prankster, not unlike the Marauders, because most of the time he had a great deal of sense of humour, because he always found hilarity in the everyday routine. He had been a very serious man, no point in denying that, but to someone like Harry who had spent so many hours with him and had been treated with such familiarity, Dumbledore had been one of the funniest and craziest people he had ever met. Just then, the sleeping professor awoke and looking around, he winked at Harry, his piercing blue eyes twinkling. Merlin, he had missed that annoying look… ‘Er — Harry?’ He stopped spacing out at Ron’s voice calling him. ‘Yes?’ ‘We’ve just finished explaining everything to Professor McGonagall,’ he informed him. Then, lowering his voice to a barely audible tone, he whispered, ‘I think she’s in shock; hasn’t blinked for a full minute now.’ Turning his head to his Transfiguration teacher, Harry had to fight not to laugh at her. To put it mildly, Professor McGonagall looked as shocked as everyone would if Goyle had said something intelligent and nearly as white as Moaning Myrtle. ‘You are sure this is real? Positive that it’s not one of Sybill’s — ah, how to say it? — short-sighted predictions?’ she asked sceptically about one minute later. Harry nodded his head vigorously. ‘This is her third real prophecy, professor,’ he stated clearly. ‘Her — her third?’ she asked, stunned. Harry nodded again. ‘The first one, you know very well about it. It was about Voldemort,’ he paused and frowned at Ron, who still flinched at the sound of Riddle’s self-fashioned name, ‘and myself, made before I was born.’ ‘Sybill prophesied that?’ she questioned, her surprise at the news increasing. ‘Yes, in front of Dumbledore when he was interviewing her. He told me about it, that she went sort of stiff, her voice raspy and everything and just started reciting it. He thought it best to hire her after that to keep her safe. If word got out that she had been the Seer who had prophesied about Voldemort,’ Ron flinched, ‘and his possible downfall, she would be targeted. ‘The second prophecy - that one was made in front of me after my Divination exam in my third year. It was about Pettigrew breaking free and reuniting Voldemort to help him gain his body back. That same night, we met Sirius,’ he said, with a note of lingering sadness on his godfather’s name, ‘and Pettigrew, who wriggled out of our hands and set out to look for Voldemort. ‘Today she made her third prophecy. I knew what was coming the moment she fell down and stiffened, I had seen her before doing the same thing. It was real, professor,’ he finished, a small pleading tone in his voice to make her understand, to make her see it for what it was, and not one of Trelawney’s fairy tales. ‘I think you should leave me alone with them for a few minutes, Minerva,’ said a little voice behind the Headmistress. They all jumped in surprise at hearing Dumbledore’s unearthly voice. Turning around, Harry fixed his sight on his linen and magically painted face, unnerved at the deep look of gravity and seriousness on his usually lively and twinkling eyes. Every time he had seen that look upon the Headmaster’s face, something bad had either happened or was going to happen… Lord Voldemort’s return, Sirius’s death… He shivered at the question of what on Merlin’s name could be so serious to make the Headmaster adopt such stern and firm tone. Albeit reluctantly, Professor McGonagall left the office to the four students, who had almost at an inhuman speed forgotten all about her and gathered their seats around the portrait, anxiety etched on their faces. ‘I hoped and hoped every night that it wouldn’t be you, but it seems that all my prayers were for naught,’ he muttered, more to himself than to the four teens that were looking at him confusedly. Turning towards them, Harry was deeply uneasy at the lines of sadness and worry all over Dumbledore’s old and wrinkly face. ‘What do you know about paradoxes?’ Perplexed at what seemed like a sudden change of conversation, Harry saw Hermione clear her throat and answered quietly. ‘It’s something thought to be impossible and incongruent, and yet, even though every ounce of logic states that it can’t happen, it does happen.’ ‘Exactly,’ said Dumbledore approvingly. ‘If I am not much mistaken, this new prophecy will, to my utmost displeasure, confirm what I think this is about. If you could please -?’ There was no need to end the question, Hermione was quick on her feet and stood in front of the portrait, reciting word by word that wretched prophecy. Harry barely had time to marvel at the effectiveness of Hermione’s outstanding brain when he saw her eyes bulging precariously. Dammit, she had understood something. Harry only hoped that she wouldn’t race to the library and forget all about them. Horribly unnerved after seeing Hermione sit down, her head shaking vigorously whilst she muttered disbelievingly ‘no…it’s impossible…no’, Harry turned his head to his former Headmaster’s portrait, trying to ignore the foreboding sensation growing rapidly in the pit of his stomach. He knew by Ron’s face that he was just as nervous as himself, and Ginny’s hand squeezing one of his own until his fingers broke proved that she wasn’t exactly calm, either. They knew that something bad was about to happen. But they never suspected what they would find themselves thrown into. ‘Several hundreds of years ago, an unexpected magical event took place where three wizards were summoned from their homes to another place, exactly the same but completely different,’ Dumbledore started, oblivious to the increasing confusion in the room, ‘not many people know about the facts today, thought to be one of the many legends that belong to the past… However, all of Hogwarts’ Headmasters have been told the truth about it, for it involved one of the Founders and Headmaster of the school, Godric Gryffindor…’ Alright, Harry was now one-hundred percent at sea. What was Dumbledore talking about? What was that about three wizards “being summoned from their homes to another place, exactly the same but completely different”? What was going to happen to him, was he going to be thrown in an alternate universe or something, like what happened in Dudley’s science-fiction movies? ‘All of the Headmasters in the long line of heads of this school were sworn to take an Unbreakable Vow that, not even in death, we were allowed to disclose the information until the next true Gryffindor was to face this task again…’ ‘Excuse me, sir, but what do you mean by “not even in death”?’ asked Ginny, her hand still gripping Harry’s firmly, ‘what could possibly happen to someone who is dead?’ Dumbledore smiled kindly at her, ‘If we were ever to disclose this information to the wrong person, if we are indeed dead, every proof of our existences would be erased, and what remained of us, our immortal souls, would turn into the foulest of the creatures…’ ‘Dementors’ whispered Harry, horrified. Choking, Ron asked feebly, ‘so, all of the Dementors are former Hogwarts’ Headmasters, sir?’ Dumbledore shook his head lightly. ‘No, Mr Weasley. I believe that only two of them suffered that fate. Unfortunately, the origin of the Dementors is so unknown, that no-one possesses the knowledge of how to destroy them. We know of two of them, but what about the rest?’ Harry took the end of that rhetorical question as his turn to speak. ‘But sir, what is this about a true Gryffindor? And how can you be sure you are telling this to the right person?’ he asked uncomfortably. No mattered how angry and disappointed he had been in Dumbledore in the past, well, it belonged to the past and he most certainly wanted to remember him and not fight against him in a Dementor form. Dumbledore smiled warmly at him. ‘Thank you for caring, Harry. If this eases your mind, please pick the Sorting Hat from the shelf.’ Put out by the bizarre demand, Harry nudged Ginny gently to make her release his hand from her tight grip and stood to his feet. Feeling stupid as Dumbledore asked him to put the Hat on his head, Harry waited until it spoke again to him, as it had done previously over the years. ‘Ah, so it’s you, then?’ the Hat whispered into his mind. ‘I thought it might be you, but there was before something that said you were to be a Slytherin… I can see it isn’t here anymore, you are a true Gryffindor, Mr Potter. Very well, then.’ Before Harry could say anything, the Sorting Hat contracted and released the Gryffindor Sword. Trying to avoid the little wizards on brooms that were zooming before his eyes, he picked the sword and lifted the hat from the top of his head and placed it on the neat desk in front of him. Turning his head to the portrait, he felt something leave his head and drop to the floor, where it clunked softly. Lowering down, he picked up what looked like a normal, small, golden ring. The only thing that made Harry suspect that it was much more than what it seemed was the fact that no ring that size could weigh as much as a small child. Panting, he heaved it and placed it next to the Sorting Hat on McGonagall’s table. Looking at Dumbledore questioningly, he wondered where was it going. He saw from the corner of his eyes Ron shrugging helplessly and Ginny staring at the sword in awe. Hermione, however, looked pensive. ‘Do you remember, Harry, that five years ago I told you that only a true Gryffindor could pull the sword out of the Sorting Hat?’ Harry nodded at the question. ‘Do you recall how worried you were when you told me that you should have been Slytherin until I showed you what was engraved on the sword just below the hilt?’ Harry nodded again, uncomfortable at the enquiring looks he was receiving. ‘Well, then look right now at the sword and tell me what it says.’ Expecting to read the name of Godric Gryffindor on it, Harry lifted the sword to his eyes. But just as he had done so and scanned over the hilt, he dropped it. ‘What is it Harry? What happened?’ said Ginny, who had stood up with Ron and was now by his side, holding to his arm tightly. Not really being able to think clearly, he looked at her and whispered ‘it says Harry Potter.’ If they had been expecting something, Harry could clearly see it wasn’t that. Ginny’s eyes opened widely while Ron bent down to examine it. ‘Ouch! I can’t touch it!’ Ron protested a second later, straight on his feet, shaking his hand to get rid of the burning sensation in his hand. ‘W-What?’ Harry asked dumbly. ‘I suspected not, Mr Weasley. The sword is now bound to Harry and to Harry alone,’ said Dumbledore behind him. ‘Now that proves my theory. The ring you saw, Harry, we will leave that for the end of our explanation.’ Harry nodded numbly and sat down again, this time seeking for Ginny’s small comfort and not the other way round. ‘Well, Harry, now you won’t have to worry of my becoming Dementor — that is, alas, if I were truly dead,’ said Dumbledore enigmatically. ‘Excuse me, sir? Harry asked, believing that he had just heard wrong. ‘Don’t burden yourself with that at the moment Harry. I’ll explain it to you later,’ he said dismissively, sending him look that clearly meant “you’ll know everything I do in due time”. ‘Well, now that’s settled, we can move to the purpose of this.’ ‘Excuse me, sir, but what exactly do you mean by “Harry being a true Gryffindor”? And why does he have his name on the sword that used to belong to Godric Gryffindor?’ Ginny asked. ‘Why, Ms Weasley, I thought it was clear for all of you that Harry is Godric Gryffindor’s Heir.’ Clang. < br>Harry had dropped the sword again. If the surprises didn’t stop, he was sure to die of a heart attack that night. ‘Er- what?’ ‘I thought you would have figured it out by now. No matter, then,’ said Dumbledore calmly, smiling kindly at the four teens’ shocked expressions. ‘A long time ago, it was said that Gryffindor’s Heir would have to deal with the same event as he had, but that it would be much more difficult — nearly impossible. Godric, afraid of what might happen to his heir, magicked the sword into making it reveal the name of his heir as soon as he was prepared, binding it from then on only to him until he had fulfilled his destiny.’ ‘But how come Neville was able to get it out of the Hat if he wasn’t this Gryffindor Heir — me?’ asked Harry bewildered, wondering if he hadn’t died yet out of shock. ‘Two reasons, Harry. Firstly and most importantly, you were not ready before. The Voldemort you know was still to be defeated, you couldn’t possibly face then the task ahead of you. Secondly, while Mr Longbottom may not be the Heir, he is nonetheless a Gryffindor descendant,’ Dumbledore explained undeterred, as if he was talking about Flobberworms. ‘W-What? N-Neville, a Gryffindor descendant?’ Ginny asked disbelieving. ‘Certainly. Mr Longbottom descends directly from Gryffindor’s third child, Gertrude. The sword would recognise Gryffindor’s blood through your friend’s veins, logically,’ the Headmaster explained patiently, his eyes twinkling slightly, ‘I, however, am a direct descent of his second child, Gerald.’ Albus Dumbledore would have wanted nothing that to be there at that precise moment alive, laughing at the four teens, who were gaping at him like fish, and them offer them a lemon drop. Alas, it would have been so hilarious. Unfortunately, at the present time and place, he was nothing more but the imprint of his living self. ‘So that means I descend from his first child, sir?’ Harry enquired, surprised at the fact that he was so distantly related to the Headmaster. He was probably related to him in another way, at least in a more recent way, for pure-blood families had always been mixed between themselves. Still, it was weird to think they had such an old tie. ‘No, Harry. That would be dear Minerva, who descends directly from the first-born, Gwendolyn. Yes, Harry,’ he added looking at his favourite student as he appeared to have remembered something, ‘in Minerva’s family, every girl born into it has Gwendolyn as her second name and every boy born into it bears Godric as his middle name.’ ‘But then, how -?’ ‘How can you be Gryffindor’s Heir, when you are descended from the fourth and last-born child, Gideon? Simple, very simple and very wise indeed,’ said Dumbledore with utter tranquillity, ‘Godric Gryffindor was a very quaint person. He disregarded many of the common pure-blood ways, believing them to be completely pointless and unfair. Instead of bequeathing his legacy to the first-born, he chose to do so to the one that truly descended from him — to the bravest. And incidentally, before you try to argue that you can’t possibly be his Heir because you think you aren’t brave enough, I can assure you my dear boy that I have never encountered another person with such a pure nerve and outstanding courage. ‘Therefore, when it was said that a child of his blood would have to “redo what had to be done and undo what had to be undone”, he came up with a brilliant plan at the end of his days. He magicked the sword to recognise his one and true Heir, he created that unique ring and set uncountable rules and curses that were to bound all of the Hogwarts’ Headmasters to help you whenever it was your time.’ Several silent minutes passed as the four teens tried to absorb what they had been told. ‘Professor Dumbledore? What is this task you talk about, sir?’ Hermione asked. ‘It can’t be -?’ ‘I am afraid you are correct, Ms Granger,’ Dumbledore nodded at her gravely. Turning again to look at Harry intently, he continued, ‘back to the beginning, when we were talking about paradoxes. Try to imagine you deepest desire, Harry. Try to imagine what you would give for it to happen, try to see your magic flowing right through your veins, longing for it to happen,’ he said to the confused wizard in a soothing voice. Harry did as he was told, he tried to picture the image of his family’s happy faces next to him, smiling and waving at him, just as they had done when he had looked in the Mirror of Erised for the first time. He could see himself again before it, his anxious and eager younger face as he stared intently at his mother’s pretty face, his father’s proud smile. He could feel inside him the longing, the craving for a family. He felt his heart constrict at the thought of it, allowing his emotions to overpower him. As his breath quickened, he felt his magic tingling all over his body, running wild through him. He opened his eyes and the feeling was gone. Around, his three friends were looking at him curiously, wondering if he would tell them anything. ‘I never felt my magic like that, sir,’ said Harry, avoiding the inquisitive looks. ‘No, you wouldn’t have before you had been unleashed. Now try to imagine yourself in a moment of pure emotion, without any restrain upon yourself, unlike in this office. You would probably have left your magic free, am I right?’ Harry nodded slightly and the professor continued. ‘Could you then imagine what would have happened if, one the same night, an extraordinary wizard like yourself and another one left their magic unwind to answer the call of their deepest desires?’ ‘Er — something unusual would happen?’ Harry replied uncertainly, wondering why did Dumbledore always spoke in riddles. ‘Precisely. Something extremely unusual: the creation of two separate worlds; one mingled with the other and yet completely unaware of each other until they were due to fusion back together,’ Dumbledore finished explaining. Thump. Ginny had dropped unconscious to the floor. Hermione, the only one not rooted to the spot since she had had more time to assimilate that information than the two boys as she had guessed it correctly, bent down to revive Ginny. Carefully placing the nearly hysterical girl on her seat and then went back silently to her chair, sitting down, waiting for the other ones to come back to the Land of the Articulate. ‘But sir, how can -?’ ‘How can I know this? Simply by being able to have contact with my living self on that world.’ ‘You — you are alive?’ Harry asked, even more shocked at that information than before. ‘I still breathe, if that’s what you mean.’ ‘If you still breathe, sir? Where are you? What has happened to you?’ Hermione asked sharply, knowing that the way in which he had said those words was enough reason to worry. ‘Why, in Azkaban, of course. I have been there for the past six years.’ Just then Harry thought he was sleeping, having a very insane dream. Nothing made sense! He being the mythical Gryffindor Heir and Dumbledore in Azkaban? Come off it! If anything of that was true, then Voldemort was deep down a good person that secretly promoted the welfare of Muggles and skunks. It was positively ridiculous! Totally illogical and surreal! All the weird things happening around Harry couldn’t possibly have anything to do with that far-fetched theory, could they? Just then, Harry wished for a fleeting instant he had never heard about the magical community and obliged Aunt Petunia’s desires to become a normal and ordinary Muggle farmer. Life would’ve been so much easier, then… Deciding that if it was some sort of twisted dream he might as well follow the flow, he tried to absorb all of what he had been told. So, if there was another world, one linked to this one and that he was the key to reunite them, who were the other two persons involved? What had occurred in the other reality that differed from his? ‘Er, Professor Dumbledore, who are this King and this Liar, if they are the other two who started this?’ Harry inquired. ‘Alas, to that I can only guess. I am quite positive the so-called King is none-other than Lord Voldemort himself.’ Harry gasped. No… it couldn’t be… Lord Voldemort, alive again, when he had just disposed of him? Was he going to be thrown again into his former nightmare? ‘But how?’ ‘From what I have been able to recollect since my passing in this world from my other self’s weakened mind, Lord Voldemort didn’t lose his body on that Hallowe’en night when he first tried to kill you. It seems, unfortunately, that he did manage to dispose of you.’ Silence met those words. How could Harry be dead? ‘But sir, my mother?’ he asked, anguished. Harry could’ve sworn he saw a sad smile on Dumbledore’s face for a vanishing instant. ‘Neither your father nor your mother died that night. For all I know, they could be still alive.’ Harry felt his heart swell like a balloon. His mother and father — alive? It was too much to ask, too much to take in. He had always been raised as Harry the orphan, the parentless child; but now, there was a tiny and minuscule chance that his wish would be granted, that he would have a family… Maybe this weird dream wasn’t going to be so bad after all… ‘I can only think that Voldemort’s deepest desire was that you had been murdered that night. His unmatched skill and power, along with some other person who might’ve wished from the bottom of the heart something related to the events of that fateful Hallowe’en night seventeen years ago, triggered the splitting of two separate realities in which your parents lived and you died.’ Harry just stood there in silence, trying with all his might to understand that piece of information. So, translating Dumbledore’s twisted words into normal plain English, Voldemort, the most powerful wizard of all times had used all of his power and emotions into desiring that Harry had been killed. Then, serving as a focus of that power, another person was brought into the picture, probably wishing that he had either been killed or that his parents lived through that terrifying night. But now, since it was a space paradox and there was only one Harry and one Lord Voldemort, the timelines must merge again to balance themselves. That, all of that, only meant one simple thing — the prophecy hadn’t yet been fulfilled: neither can live while the other survives… ‘As for who the Liar is, I might be wrong, but I would hazard a guess at either Professor Severus Snape or Peter Pettigrew.’ ‘Wormtail?’ Harry sputtered, shocked. ‘Yes Harry, Wormtail. Scared and weak as he was, he had still been at some point a friend of the infamous Marauders and nothing — nothing, can ever erase that sort of bond, how ever we might turn into as we grow older. You must understand that although at some point Peter’s loyalties changed to lie somewhere else, a part of him would never forget the friendship he had shared with his former school friends. ‘I told you four years ago that there would come a day when you would be very happy that you had saved Pettigrew’s life. I think that day has already come.’ Harry then remembered that night, when he had fist met Sirius. Maddened by grief, believing his godfather a traitor and the cause of his parents’ deaths, he was craved for Sirius to be slaughtered, to suffer as he had suffered… But he had lost his nerve, he hadn’t killed him when he had the chance, and then Professor Lupin snatched his wand right from under his nose, stopping him from attacking Sirius. But then, the strange and seemingly impossible about the truth of what happened to Lily and James came out… Peter Pettigrew was revealed as the traitor and Sirius had been an innocent man framed for his former’s friend crimes… Sirius and Professor Lupin had wanted to murder Pettigrew right then — but Harry had stepped against it, he didn’t want him to become killers just for that rat… he had saved his life, he had thought that he would be able to live with his father’s best friend for one glorious hour… but then Pettigrew escaped, it was a full moon… he reunited Voldemort and aided to his resurrection because Harry had spared his pitiful life… And Dumbledore, Dumbledore had told him the following thing that it didn’t make it his fault if Lord Voldemort rose again… that there would be a day when he would be happy to have saved Pettigrew… had this say already come? ‘What would’ve happen if I hadn’t stopped Sirius and Professor Lupin from murdering Pettigrew that night at the Shrieking Shack?’ Harry asked. Dumbledore sighed heavily. ‘Alas, as to that, I can only guess. You may have been thrown into the other world too soon for you to succeed; you may never have had the need to know this since the two timelines would’ve become independent worlds until they finally crumbled… The result of it is unknown, but, thankfully, none of that has come to happen since Pettigrew only died when you were almost prepared and Voldemort had few time of life…’ Harry drew took his breath in sharply, his numb brain finally admitting he wasn’t going to wake up from that bizarre dream, that he was, in fact, awake and that all of it, however unlikely and incomprehensible, was real. ‘Where do we go from here?’ said Harry, resigned to meet his fate, again. ‘You will somehow trigger your way into that reality at the falling equinox, or, to put it simply, the next twenty-first of September. What should you do until that day? Study, learn, practice, bring your newfound powers under control, rest and train.’ ‘Next twenty-first of September? But that’s only three months away! I can’t possibly be prepared enough by that time!’ Harry protested. ‘Ah, but this is where the ring comes in,’ said Dumbledore calmly. ‘The ring?’ Harry asked intelligently. But before Dumbledore could say anything about what was likely to be some astounding magical properties that jewellery piece held, Hermione interrupted them. ‘Professor Dumbledore — can we go with him?’ For some time, Harry had almost forgotten that his friends where there with him, it was almost as one of those private lessons he had had with the Headmaster in his sixth year, when they had delved into Lord Voldemort’s past. But when Hermione asked that particular question, it hit him that it was something he had to do alone… Ironically enough, he had had been first presented with the task to destroy Voldemort and all of his Horcruxes, he had been so set to do it solitarily… but now, after everything that had happened, after everything they had lived through together, he didn’t want to go all on his own. As egoistical and selfish as it sounded, he wanted Ron’s loyalty, Hermione’s brilliance and Ginny’s unwavering support with him. ‘It can be done, I suppose, but I will not deceive you into believing it will be an easy feat to accomplish. Anyhow, no-one that lives in both worlds will be able to travel from one to the other, lest the paradox succumbs and both realities are shattered,’ Dumbledore explained quizzically. ‘So, we are alive, sir?’ Hermione asked. ‘You, Miss Granger, I do not know whether you lived or not. The last time I saw you was at the end of your first year, when Voldemort regained his body by using the Philosopher’s Stone.’ ‘Wait — Voldemort regained his body? But I thought you said that he had managed to kill me and stayed intact!’ Harry said, not understanding anything at all. ‘I most certainly did say so. However, I did not continue with the story. From what I succeeded to extract from my imprisoned mind, Voldemort did, in fact, kill you, Harry. He then set to find the other possible prophecy child, Neville Longbottom…’ ‘No,’ said Ginny tearfully. ‘I am afraid it’s true, Ms Weasley. Voldemort sought the Longbottoms, but he encountered the same problem: they were under the Fidelius Charm and only their Secret Keeper could reveal their whereabouts. It seems that I didn’t know who this person was, the only thing I know is that the family who was thought to know his identity was tortured and all of the members disposed of. Seven days later, the Longbottoms were dead. I only did then what I thought I would never be able to do, I cast myself the Killing Curse on Voldemort.’ ‘No…’ ‘Who was this family?’ asked Harry, the pit of his stomach growing. Dumbledore looked at him and silently confirmed his suspicions, knowing that he wasn’t going to like it, fully aware that this would push Harry’s hatred towards Voldemort even further. ‘The Weasleys.’ ‘NO!’ they all cried. The Weasleys… Harry’s adoptive family, tortured and kill because Riddle had wanted the name that would lead him to his next target, so he would become indestructible, undefeatable, immortal forevermore… Anger fuelled through him, his blood boiled within his veins, his heart beating so quickly its sounds were undistinguishable… He rose to his feet and raced to the nearest window. He raised his hand up in the air and let out a strangled yell, his eyes again midnight blue, inhuman. A beam of black light emerged from the palm of his raised hand up into the air and exploded in a deafening cry, making the castle and its grounds shake. Exhausted, he turned around angrily. The sight of Hermione comforting Ron and Ginny crying silently in her hands made him forget all of his anger, his eyes turning again to their normal emerald green colour. He ran to Ginny and pulled her into his lap awkwardly, trying to comfort her as best as he could. ‘He will pay,’ he whispered venomously. ‘I’ll make him bleed…’ The only sounds that could be heard for the following minutes were the feeble sobs of Ginny and Ron, while the other two tried to lift some of their pain by just being there for them, Dumbledore looking at the four teens brokenly. So much suffering, so much anguish, and only for that useless tool: power… Harry locked his sight with his former mentor’s face while he held Ginny tightly in his arms, letting her cry freely. ‘What do I have to do now?’ he asked, a hard, blazing rage burning in his eyes. Professor Dumbledore nodded gravely. ‘That ring over there is the result of one of Rowena Ravenclaw’s extraordinary brainpower. Set to help Gryffindor’s Heir, she designed this artefact so that anyone who sought to help you could pour in it what you would need — knowledge. ‘As soon as you put it on your finger, your brain will undergo an intense period of stress where it will try to absorb everything you will learn, but unfortunately, it will take a toll on you and you will be unconscious for a week or two,’ Dumbledore explained. ‘So this is like a super intensive crash course, sir?’ ‘Yes and no. It is most certainly insanely intensive and sudden, but it will become literally a part of you. All my knowledge, all of Gryffindor’s knowledge as well as many other wizards’ knowledge who wanted to support you will be enclosed deep within your mind; but it will be up to you to dominate it and to learn other things that none of us would dream of, magic that Voldemort holds with such high esteem…’ ‘The darkest of the Dark Arts,’ Harry concluded. ‘Precisely,’ Dumbledore finished, a defeated tone in his voice. ‘I’m so sorry it had to be you, Harry. I only wanted to rest and have your life ahead of you…’ Harry shook his head. ‘This time, professor, there is no way I can blame you. What has to be done will be done,’ he added, disentangling himself from Ginny’s firm embrace. Slowly, he rose to his feet and walked towards Professor McGonagall’s desk, where he had placed the ring before. Looking at it intently, he couldn’t see on it anything out of the ordinary, save for a strange sensation that told him to claim it s his, to unite it with his body as if it were a part of him. ‘Don’t just do it right now,’ Ron pleaded. Harry turned around, confused. ‘What?’ Ron spun his head towards the portrait and whispered in the lowest voice he could muster. ‘Professor, if that’s alright with you, could we spend this evening together in the castle as if we were normal teenagers, please?’ Dumbledore smiled warmly at them. ‘Of course you may. I shall speak to Minerva to send a note to your parents telling that you will spend the night here at the castle,’ he answered gently. ‘Go and enjoy your evening, but Harry, please come back tomorrow.’ He nodded at the Headmaster and waved goodbye at him, turning to leave in silence, hoping that his mind wouldn’t black out after all that had been revealed that day to him. Only two thoughts remained clear in his blurry and confused brain. His parents may be alive. Voldemort would suffer his wrath. ‘You know what this means, don’t you? Ron asked him suddenly, breaking the line f his dangerous thoughts. Harry sighed. ‘Yes — it isn’t over,’ he answered tiredly. To Harry’s surprise, Ron shook his head energetically. ‘No, it means you and I are getting drunk tonight.’ He couldn’t help it, he smiled to that statement. Trust Ron to come up with something like that to cheer them up. But he doubted nothing could lift his spirits at the moment, too much was at risk. His parents may be alive. Voldemort would suffer his wrath. Of course, Harry had been dead wrong. Drinking did cheer him up alright. Ron had decided to sneak into Hogsmeade and buy some bottles of Firewhiskey at the Hog’s Head, the dodgy pub Albus Dumbledore’s brother run. Being a complete inexpert at the fine art of getting wasted, Ron bought too many bottles and therefore ended up without a single spare Knut in his pockets. At first, Hermione had vetoed the idea, but after Ron had mocked her, saying that she was so strict and such a two-goody shoes she’d never be able to drink, her eyes burned defiantly and she picked the nearest bottle and started nearly devouring its contents directly. Harry thought it was very unwise and idiotic to provoke Hermione in such a way; saying that she wasn’t capable of doing something was suicide. Ron had also complained loudly about Ginny not being of age yet, that she was too young and innocent to drink alcohol. Of course, after Ginny oh-so-sweetly threatened him that if he continued being such an imbecile, she would contact Rita Skeeter and tell her everything about the story behind Ron, a zipper and a stuffed rabbit named Froylan. Evidently, Ron had instantly changed his mind and said loudly that he gave her his permission to drink until she passed out. Soon enough, the four of them were sloshed out of their minds. Curiously enough, it was Ginny who could best hold her alcohol whilst Ron, Harry and Hermione, no matter in how many deadly adventures they had been through, where saying nonsense by their second drink. ‘Because we MUST promote equality and fairness between species!’ Hermione hollered. ‘Aren’t we the same as elves, Hinkypunks and ferrets? Aren’t we?’ ‘But tha’ Bollocks Ploy — no, Polskoff’s Coy was toooootally ‘mazing!’ Ron answered. ‘Don cha ‘gree, ‘Arry?’ he asked a table near him. ‘I used to stare at the Map when we were looking for the House Crups, wondering if you were bathing,’ Harry slurred. ‘You look good enough to eat, Harry… mind if I bite you?’ Ginny asked dizzily. Ron, not paying any attention to all the laws Hermione wanted to modify when she became Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department, strangely found himself being directed towards the kitchens by Hermione, who was ready to lead the House Elves into revolution. Long live the House Elf Liberation Front! So that left Harry and Ginny alone, a bottle of Firewhiskey in front of them and wasted out of their minds. It was a funny sight, actually. To see the Boy-Who-Lived, the Man-Who-Conquered, the Saviour of the Wizarding World staring absent-mindedly at a table, wondering if it was just his imagination or if it could really talk. Funny how it sounded like Ginny. No, Harry shook his head groggily, it was impossible, because Ginny wasn’t a table, right? No, Ginny was as un-tablish as they were to come. ‘Haaaawy, you listening?’ said Ginny as she crawled on the floor and placed herself face to face with Harry. ‘I don care if you muss fight again, you won be dixing me! I’ll Bogey-Bat Curse you!’ ‘Ginny, you are alive!’ he cried ecstatic, grabbing her hands in a very un-Harryish way. ‘Course I am, silly. ‘N you won be going with not me this time!’ she said ferociously. ‘You’ll let me go with you or I’ll tie you to my bed! Mmm, that’s a pleasant thought,’ she added dreamily. Harry smiled goofily. If he hadn’t been in such a state, he would’ve been blushing till next Tuesday, but, seeing that his brain had become mush, he was very happy at the thought of being tied to Ginny’s bed. At that moment he didn’t really care if he had to defeat Volleydoor again. That was his name right? Well, in any case, the important thing was Ginny and a bed, not that Dark Turd. His brain was too fried to think about anything more complicated than breathing, and talking anymore about the weird situation he was going to face in the near future was certainly classified as “complicated”. Still, a part of him couldn’t let go of it, no matter how much at a loss he was. ‘Gonna be philosophing all the time or are you in the mood to have some fun?’ Ginny asked before she, literally, attacked Harry. Ah, the wonders of making out. He didn’t know if it was fuelled by the copius amounts of Firewhiskey, but Harry felt extremely alive and very much in the mood to continue snogging Ginny senseless, thank you very much. Pushing her down beneath him on the warm floor of the common room, he kissed her with all he had, with everything she was to him. He became more daring, he wanted to forget his past-self, too scared and too shy to try anything else apart from chaste kisses. He wanted to explore knew things with her, to let her know what she meant to him, although he wasn’t sure of how much yet. He wanted to leave the timid boy aside and be a man in every aspect of his life, not just to fight Dark Lords. He wanted to know what life was. Slowly, carefully, he began to lift her shirt, his hands inching him to get rid of it faster while his brain told him the opposite. He was happy to know that the alcohol in his mind was steadily being erased, and that he was more and more in control. Finally, he managed to free Ginny from her top and he took a few seconds to look at her. He lowered down and kissed her throat while she pushed her head backwards, whispering his name. Grinning against her skin, he placed one of his hands on her stomach and caressed it gently, while the other went to unclasp her bra. There was no other word to describe her — she was beautiful. He lowered his head and kissed that new skin inexpertly, thrilled to hear her small moans and whimpers, feeling himself weaken. Tentatively, he caressed and kissed that part of Ginny he had never seen before. With a force he didn’t know she had, she made him roll over and straddled his hips. He could feel every inch of his skin burning under her touch; his body longing to feel hers without any of the few garments that stood between them. A sudden rush ran through his veins as Ginny lifted his shirt and started kissing his bare chest and abdomen. H could feel all of his nerves tingling, and his trousers seemed especially uncomfortable at the moment. Longing as he was to get rid of any clothing that separated their two heated bodies, his more and more sober mind told him he didn’t want it to be like this, that it wasn’t right, that they needed to sort things out before. Cursing his rational mind, he looked up at Ginny who was fumbling with his belt. ‘Ginny — slow down,’ he managed to whisper, fearing the effects she was having on his body. She lifted her head and looked at him, unfocused. ‘Why?’ Harry narrowed his eyes as he tried to come up with a decent excuse so as to explain why shouldn’t they be pushing it further. As much as he wanted, it didn’t feel right to do it on a floor, fearing someone would walk in on them, both so wasted they might regret it later… ‘Not here, not like this,’ he said finally. She looked at him in a way that would’ve made Minerva McGonagall proud. He felt himself squirming underneath her, torn between the pain cursing through his body and the unease that crept to his heart due to her piercing stare. Rolling off him, she picked her shirt silently and pulled it over her head, not even acknowledging Harry’s presence. ‘Er — Gin?’ he asked tentatively. ‘What?’ she replied harshly. Harry sighed in defeat. How on earth should he explain why they wanted to stop? Bloody hell, he wanted to continue! It wasn’t as if he wasn’t excited, his lower body was enough to prove that! ‘I just don’t want it to be like this, when we aren’t in our best state of mind, on a floor…’ To his surprise, Ginny smiled warmly at his and kissed him lightly. Pulling herself up from the rug and offering her hand to him, she said. ‘Alright, let’s go and have some sleep. But you and I, Mr Potter, will need to talk,’ she said in a voice that clearly told him that she wouldn’t approve of any disagreement. Later that night, Harry sighed against Ginny’s head. While he had managed to stop, she had point-blank refused to sleep alone that night. Knowing that she wouldn’t accept anything else, Harry rushed to the bathroom to get a cold shower. Running his fingers through her hair, he wondered where this was going. Would they come with him in his adventure or would he succeed to keep them safe? It was a tad hypocrite of him to make them stay away from danger when he himself would have to face worse than before, but he couldn’t shake away the feeling of despair that crept through his body at the thought of Ginny injured from battle… Don’t think about that, he chided himself. Focusing solely on Ginny’s comforting weight on him, he wondered how life would be with her, without any threats… He could picture himself years later, reading the newspaper with a small child on his knee trying to get his attention muttering nonsense. Behind him, Ginny was resting on a sofa, playing with a black-haired toddler that was laying on her chest. They seemed so happy, so relaxed it was almost foreign to Harry. And yet, he wanted nothing more than it to be true. ‘Someday…’ Smiling, Harry went to sleep. The following morning, Harry thought he had been tortured. He felt vindictively happy that Ron, the one who had led them to Firewhiskey and therefore hangover, was suffering just as much as he was. Fortunately, Ron and Hermione hadn’t caught Harry sleeping with Ginny. He shuddered at the thought of how worse his headache could have been if Ron had seen them sleeping together the previous night. Best friend or not, the yelling and shouting would have been incredible. Clumsily, he reached the Head’s office, trying to prepare himself. Hermione had convinced him to let them come with him because, if he was going to be knocked out, it would be nice if he was transported into some bed and not let on the floor to catch pneumonia. Grudgingly, he had to admit she was right. And so it was, flanked by his friends and under the sight of his former mentor, that Harry picked the infamous ring, bracing himself for what was to come. ‘What has to come, will come; and we will face it when it does,’ he said as he put the ring on his finger, smiling slightly and Hagrid’s wise words. At first he noticed nothing different, but then he felt a tingling sensation starting from his hand and quickly reaching all of his body. As if in slow motion, his breaths quickened and his chest constricted. He grabbed a chair nearby to stop himself from falling unto the floor, his lungs in need of air. Oblivious to the worried looks of his friends, he closed his eyes, hoping the pain would be over soon. He barely noticed the shouts around him when he fell to the ground; he could only s his hear ragged breath, his furious heart beating wildly inside of him, sense the fog clouding his thoughts… And then, the world turned black and Harry felt nothing more. DISCLAIMER: I is Dobby, sir. I is wanting to telling you sir that I is owning Master Harry Potter sir and all of his socks. I is also telling you that I is being Lord He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and I is being Buckbeak, too. I is telling you, great reader, that Vermouth is nosing into my affairs because she is inventing things about me, sir. A/N: alright, for those who haven’t understood the disclaimer; basically, since Dobby is now Lord Voldemort, he is pissed off at me because I am writing about him and his own property, Harry Potter. If you are wondering whether I am mental, I can only say in my defence that it’s three am and that I’ve been studying all bloody day, so my poor brain doesn’t work in a coherent way. But yes, I won’t deny that I am insane. Well, now you know why every weird thing is happening; the question is: how on earth am I going to pull this? Well, you’ll find out in the following chapter, “Chapter Four: The Forsaken Path of a Lonely Warrior”! Mind you, I can tell you that Harry isn’t going to like it one bit. Hehe, he will become his usual stubborn idiotic self again… For all those who have asked me more H/G stuff, I can only say to you right now that this is the beginning of the story, so you can’t possibly expect me to write about those two declaring their undying love right now…So yeah, anyway, I assure you that Harry and Ginny’s relationship will evolve, but don’t forget that Harry is a boy and quite a clumsy one when it comes to girls… it’ll be Ginny who will have to push him! *wink wink* Well, at least the most boring chapters, in my humble and modest opinion, are over. Rejoice! Now, the training and soon enough the action starts! Yohoo! And things will get pretty insane from there. Oh, and Harry won’t just become a Superman in two chapters — he will be fighting more ruthlessly and learning and improving at the same time. I only added a boost of power and knowledge to him, the rest is up to Harry to work his ass off if he wants to send Uncle Voldy back to Hell where he belongs… The question is: will he succeed? Ha! I’m not telling you right now, you sly dogs! (No offence meant) Bloody hell, I just wanted to say that writing Dumbledore is bloody damn near impossible. Blimey, he is just so damn quaint and brilliant and everything I am not that it’s so difficult to try and be in his shoes and talk like him. I do hope I did an acceptable job with that. You will tell me, won’t you? *cough* REVIEW *cough* Another thing that I wanted to tell you is that I don’t feel completely comfortable with the scene between Harry and Ginny, but since I’ve been trying to fix it for weeks and I haven’t improved one but one bit, I’ve decided to leave it as it was since it has been my undoing for a long time. It’s been bloody difficult to write. Hope you liked it, though. And in any case, all those of you who wanted more H/G stuff, this should be enough to prove that they will be the main pair of this story, even if it isn’t a romance story. Maybe I’ll write some times about Ron and Hermione kissing, but not too much because it makes me feel uncomfortable, just as if you walked in on your best friend a teacher… Anyway, many thanks to all you lovely reviewers: Lucie, Malfoy donkey, Anna Maria, Pas Terroriste, Scurvy Ragamuffin, Paul, Sticky Wand (FFnet & HPFF)… you all know who you are, and YOU RULE! Cheers Vermo uth Miembro de la Orden Siriusana |
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