Time of the Turning, Chapter 15, Part One
Disclaimer: I’m not JKR, Harry Potter is not mine, not getting any cash whatsoever out of this.
Notes: There’s a fair share of PoV (point of view) switches-most are Harry’s, but either through his own, Voldywarts’, or Connor’s eyes. I've tried to make it a bit clearer this time around.
Harry’s PoV is indicated by normal text, Voldie’s and Connor’s are italicised, and given the lack of different fonts, whoever Harry is seeing things through is left for you to figure out. Bold italics indicate thoughts, whenever applicable, otherwise I’ve stuck to the usual format.
Written: 2000
Rating: Scary.
Genre: ...Adventure?
Type: Very Long.
Title:
Chapter Fifteen: Hyperaware
Hands held him down, limiting his body’s movement, while urgent voices yelled for a Healer. He screamed, tried to break free, clawing at his burning forehead-
Harry laughed. Rasmus had indeed not wasted these past years; his skills had improved noticeably. The old man would not last the night.
He stepped aside and ducked lightly out of the way of a stray jinx, gesturing for his followers to watch in a circle. Such a spectacle was hard to come by, these days.
Someone was half-dragging him to a sofa. He was too weak to object.
“They’re there,” Harry said thickly, his hands never leaving his head.
An explosion rocked the ground, punctuated by a bloodcurdling cry of victory. Harry lost his footing and went crashing down, unable to do much other than cover his head with his arms as the outer wall of the house ceased to exist and debris flew at them, breaking the windows into pieces. Sound rushed in his ears, the shouts of spells being cast by the Death Eaters-
“Sit down here, Harry...”
Harry blinked numbly, thought he saw Dumbledore’s eyes, but he wasn’t sure.
“They’re starting now.” He shivered, wrenching his eyes shut. He could not hold himself upright.
Harry raised his head, spotted Chris, who was struggling to his feet, pulling the girl by the hand to follow. In the background, two dark-robed figures were duelling, the multi-coloured beams of the spells providing flashes of light to the scene, as if in some morbid sort of laser show. Other figures were milling about, sending spells of their own against a huddle of people, whom he recognised as his aunt, her husband, and a handful of others. Holly shouted for her mum, her voice tiny in the din-he snapped into motion.
“How are you feeling?” A hand steadied him as he slid sideways down the seat.
Stupid question, that.
“C-cold...” he slurred. He wanted to say more, but his brain had jammed around the stabbing pain in his scar. A cup of a steaming something was pressed against his lips, and a sweet, scalding liquid poured down his throat, sending a wave of warmth with every reluctant swallow that did not, however, make him feel any better.
“He needs a Healer-”
“Who can we trust?”
“Should we take him to St. Mungo’s?”
“Too dangerous-I’ll set up a portkey to Hogwarts-”
“Bring Poppy in, we cannot risk... moving him... dition... worsen.” Dumbledore sounded strangely distant, his blurred image dissolving into a dark, cold place where the only light was provided by the beam of spells and fire, where chaos and fear reigned.
“He’s gone all cold and clammy-” There was a bustle of movement, and Harry felt himself being enveloped in a warm blanket, dimly aware that he was shaking uncontrollably.
“Help is coming, Harry... hang on.” Lupin’s voice was shaking. Harry didn’t think he’d ever heard it shake...
No amount of blinking could now dispel the voices and images swirling in his head. It was like wading in a swamp.
He lost all track of time.
Images came in and out of focus, melding with the Dursleys’ living room like a movie that was playing at the same time, overlapping reality-and he was required to be present and perform as two characters all at once. The voices in his head came louder at times, like a badly-tuned wireless, drowning out whatever it was that the ones on his side were saying at the moment; it sounded like a lot of nonsense to Harry’s ears anyway...
An old wizard, blasting a hole in the earth that sent an opponent flying, while he looked on, twirling his wand idly between his ghostly fingers-
A tight-knit group of wizards and witches duelling what he knew to be Death Eaters, outnumbered at least two to one, while he led the way along a roofed, arched section of the inner courtyard, seeking a way of escape-Harry leapt back in time to avoid a pillar that came crashing down on them while pulling his brother and cousin aside, turned to see a Death Eater raising his wand for a second time-
Flames issuing out of a broken window, even as the roof fell in... his shrill laughter, cold and piercing in the darkness, echoing off burning, crumbling walls-
He wanted to help them, whoever they were, he wanted to do something, anything but watch the events unfold, trapped in a living cage, unable to move of his own will.
“Harry, can you hear me?” Lupin sounded earnestly frightened.
'Course I can...
His head weighed a ton. He couldn’t keep it upright, so he didn’t even bother trying to move. It drooped to a side, coming to rest against what had to be Lupin’s chest. He could hear the wild tattoo of his Professor’s heart, oddly soothing in the whirlwind of alien emotions, images and sounds his world was reduced to...
Around him, the shouts and confusion were music to his ears. The old manor was burning, crumbling to pieces, and the defenders were sorely outnumbered. He had been correct in bringing in his entire Inner Circle, just to make sure there would be no mistakes: the daughter could fight well, and he recognised the one standing beside her-Robert McFusty.
He would pay that particular clan a visit shortly, and if they lacked his help, it would be laughably easy to take what he needed from them.
The old man was drawing on his reserves to shield his family from the onslaught, but he was being ultimately drained. Rasmus turned to him and gave him a smile of triumph. Harry smiled back.
A few minutes, then, and Angus McAlpin would be his.
“Avada Kedavra!” The shout, in a female voice, made Harry whip around, in time to be pushed aside by one of his Death Eaters, who wasted no time at all and responded in kind.
In his urgency, the Death Eater’s silver mask fell to the ground with a clatter. He bent over to retrieve it, even as the witch sank to the ground, her lifeless eyes reflecting the multicoloured jets of light of the spells whizzing overhead.
“My Lord, can you stand? Here, allow me-” Severus Snape helped him to his feet.
“NOOO!” Harry howled, sitting bolt upright and wrenching himself free of Lupin’s grip. His hands went to his head, in a futile attempt to soothe the stabs of pain coursing through his scar. “He’s-he’s killed her!” he gasped frantically, “Snape-”
“Harry, calm down-”
“Help them, then!”
Mad-Eye appeared in his field of vision, both his eyes fixed on him.
“Easy, Potter. Tell me what happened.”
“H-he-Sn-k-killed...” Harry trailed off, wild-eyed, swallowing back a wave of nausea. The details of what he had just witnessed were trickling away, disappearing into nothingness. For a moment, the only sounds to be heard were those of Harry’s heaving breaths.
“Potter, concentrate. Speak to me.” Mad-Eye’s rasp, in its harshness, helped him focus. “Who did he kill?”
“I don’t know-he...” Harry looked up slowly, as if just remembering where he was. He had a name. “McAlpin,” he choked out. “McAlpin-that’s who... that’s who he’s after!”
“Mc...Alpin?” Mad-Eye looked gobsmacked. “Are you certain?”
“I think.” Harry racked his brains. Everything was muddled, as usual after a vision.
“What now?” Mad-Eye looked meaningfully at Remus, whose face had turned ashen. Harry felt Lupin’s breath catch. He did not dwell on that, however.
What now? What do you mean, what now?!
“Help them!” he erupted. “Somebody has to-” Harry didn’t finish the sentence. The Dursleys’ living room faded away, he was swept away once more.
“Oy, there are some more here!”
Damn.
He never saw it coming, not until it was too late-a jet of light impacted the side of his head, sending him sprawling to the floor of what once had been the den.
Harry’s reaction was immediate, instinctive. He raised his wand, turned around, took quick aim.
“Incendio!” The yellow beam of the Fire Charm shattered upon the shield the Death Eater had brought up, but it was enough to distract him-he scrambled to his feet and grabbed the other by the arm.
He fired a Stunner over his head and pushed Holly and Chris behind a pile of rubble before the Death Eater fell. Gramps was still standing, and it was Harry's task to keep Voldemort from noticing them, his task to get them out of here and to the safe house.
At all costs.
Holly whimpered against the other, covering her ears with her hands. Harry did not spare her half a glance.
“Shut up and stay down,” he muttered, peering over the rubble towards the stunned Death Eater. Others would come.
“Are you all right?” Chris whispered. Harry nodded dazedly, wiping blood from the side of his head where the spell had hit. A dull, throbbing pain in his skull now added to his troubles. He did his best to ignore it, shaking his head to clear it from the visions that had been invading his mind...
“Harry, wake up.” Somebody was holding him still, while his body was adamant on spasming out of its own accord...
“... Connor? Snap out of it. You keep twitching like that.” The other was gripping his arm, giving him little shakes, as he had been told to do whenever he zoned out.
Not now, dammit!
He batted the other’s hand away, the vision faded.
“You all-?”
“Shush, they’re coming-”
His head was still resting against a warm, breathing something. A something that was speaking-he could feel the vibrations of every word against his ear.
“Harry, can you hear me?”
Lupin...
“Harry, wake up!”
“Am... awake...” Harry mumbled after a few long moments, cursing his slow tongue for slurring. He tried, yet again, to explain. “Can’t... Voldemort... McAlpin-”
“Poppy! Remus, she’s here!” Mrs. Weasley sounded close to hysterics. What was going on?
Harry opened his eyes a crack, only to come to the quick conclusion that it wasn’t the wisest thing to do; the electric lamps had all been turned on and the bright light hurt. He groaned against Lupin’s arms.
Poppy Pomfrey arrived in a sweep of stark white robes, followed by the Weasley Twins, puffing as they carried a large trunk between them.
“Where is he?” she snapped by way of a greeting, storming past Molly Weasley and heading towards the living room without waiting for an answer. Moments later, she was looming over Harry, a deep scowl on her face. “You again. What happened this time?”
Harry blinked blearily at her, past the throbbing in his left eye and skull. He wanted to answer, but his entire body had acquired a mind of its own and decided to go on strike-his mind was working overtime, while the rest of him failed to respond to any of his brain’s commands.
A diagnostic spell was cast, his pulse and temperature taken.
“His scar is bleeding, Lupin. Hold his head still...” Madam Pomfrey came briefly into sight, holding a cloth. Which she pressed against his head, sending a sharp wave of pain that made him jerk away from her, wincing. “Stay still now, Potter...”
“Gnn-no...” Harry managed, somehow, to glare at the nurse, who glared right back. Apparently she had yet to forgive him for his outburst on the previous week.
“Can you move, Potter?”
“No.”
* * *
“I think a quick recap is in order.” Kingsley Shacklebolt dragged a hand over his bald pate and face, tossed a stack of parchment on the dining room table, and regarded the witches and wizards around him intently. All faces wore traces of weariness in varying degrees, accentuated with worry, annoyance, anxiety, regret.
Not good.
In his career as an Auror, Shacklebolt had learned to distinguish between the things he could do and the ones that exceeded his capacities-like healing, for example. Certainly, he was worried for young Potter, just like everyone else, but the best help he could give him now was stay clear from the nurse and let her work. So he did, likely saving his bald scalp in the process.
Waiting for the outcome of something that was beyond his control, however, was nothing short of torture. Which was one of the reasons for this impromptu report session: now Potter was back, most would be inclined to ignore whatever was happening outside his immediate vicinity, and he, for one, could not allow this to happen.
Besides, they were stuck in the dining room, and going anywhere else required them to cross the front room anyway.
Best make something of it.
It was one thing not to rush madly into danger, and it was quite another to pretend there was no danger just because they had Potter back. The first was a controlled, educated inaction to a human reaction, whereas the second was an uncontrolled human reaction to an educated conclusion. Both centred around the same elemental feeling:
Fear.
Of You-Know-Who. Of repeating mistakes of the past. Of making new ones.
For Potter. Of doing something that might worsen his condition, whatever it was that ailed him. Of doing nothing, and worsening his condition anyway.
It was to be expected-Shacklebolt doubted anyone had ever witnessed just how Harry’s link with You-Know-Who worked, and it was a shocking sight. They had certainly known Potter’s scar to “hurt” occasionally, but now, seeing things firsthand, the word ‘hurt’ simply did not fit.
And we’ve no idea how to help him.
Shacklebolt cleared his throat.
Most of the Order were hardly paying attention to him. Even Mad-Eye was standing next to the Hogwarts School Nurse, who had ushered them all out of the living room to examine her patient, and Lupin had yet to cross the threshold to the dining room. Arthur and Molly Weasley were covering the doorway, eyes fixed with apprehension upon the one they had long considered a surrogate son.
“What do we know?” Shacklebolt asked nonetheless. The few Aurors and war veterans in the group immediately turned towards him. They had been through this countless times before, and although their bodies had aged, their memories remained quite fresh, it seemed.
They needed to focus, to determine where they stood and decide upon action. The past three days had been spent turning half the country in and out in the search for Potter, in the chase of Death Eaters who simply disappeared without a trace, and attempting to find clues to whatever was going on at the moment.
Which was something none of them could answer on their own, hence the need for the report.
“Not nearly enough,” Fred Weasley muttered from the far end of the room. “Am I correct?”
“Let’s start at the beginning,” Shacklebolt replied in his deep bass, sifting through his notes and completely ignoring the scathing tone of Fred’s words.
“Always a good thing, that,” George acknowledged sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You-Know-Who has taken Azkaban,” Shacklebolt continued, as if there had been no interruption. “We have established that he fully controls the Dementors now.”
“Which was obvious to us from the start...” Hestia Jones threw in, scowling. She was sitting across the table from Shacklebolt, and reached for the notes he discarded with her free hand. Her arm was held in a sling, which seemed to irritate her to no end. An Auror lacking full use of his or her wand arm was bound to be.
“Minister Fudge is an idiot,” McGonagall said dryly. “But I’m repeating myself.”
“You-Know-Who has taken Azkaban,” Shacklebolt resumed, closing his eyes briefly. Whether it was out of tiredness or a last resort not to lose his famed calmness, remained to be seen. “He’s emptied the harbour town of Inverarray without anyone knowing, and-”
“Do you think the wardens are on his side?” Arthur Weasley cut in from the doorway, where he was keeping an eye out for Harry, who was in turn being told off by Madam Pomfrey in an increasingly loud voice.
Shacklebolt’s reply caught the attention of the entire assembly at last.
“Either they are on his side or under the Imperius Curse-I sent an owl asking for an update on security and I received a message saying everything was all right. It was not forged, which should give us a fair idea.”
“And now Voldemort-” Lupin had entered the room when it appeared that Harry would not pass out again. He was not bothered by the hisses that swept across the room, and strode around the table to look over Shacklebolt’s shoulder. “Voldemort is looking for what we believe to be wand cores. Any ideas of the magical properties of...” he checked the list they had made. “Wings, heartstrings, and central nervous system of Granians and Aethonans?”
There was a round of shrugs and headshakes. Lupin frowned.
“Maybe he is not after wand cores, but something else?” McGonagall offered.
“What, like potion ingredients?” Dedalus Diggle piped up, fingering his violet top hat nervously. He had always been an excitable fellow, but not even Lupin was a better researcher, that was for sure.
“I don’t remember ever hearing of the uses of flying horses in potion making,” Emmeline Vance muttered thoughtfully, tapping her nose with her wand.
“Or in anything else, for that matter,” George added with a roll of his eyes. “Anyone in Care of Magical Creatures knows that much.”
“We shall have to ask Severus, then.” Shacklebolt shot Molly Weasley a warning look. The last thing they needed at the moment was another outburst of her temper. All Weasleys were in a foul mood already, and having her rag at the Twins for their decision to leave Hogwarts would not get them anywhere. Molly huffed at him, but turned back to watching Harry.
“What of the Aurors who went to Inverarray?” Bill asked abruptly.
There was a snort in the background. All heads turned as one to look at Harry, who was sitting on the sofa, shivering slightly. His gaze was fixed at a spot on the floor.
“They are searching for any wizarding dwellings in the area,” Jones replied evenly. “Should there be any indication of battle, there is a team of Hit Wizards prepared to portkey to any location, but their last report indicated they had found nothing yet.”
Mad-Eye opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a gagging sound, and everyone turned as one to see what was going on with Harry.
“I... I said I’m... I’m not feverish!” Harry gasped indignantly, weakly recoiling from the smoking goblet the nurse was holding to his lips. “S... stop it, I won’t drink--”
“You shall do as you are told, Potter,” Madame Pomfrey snarled in return. “I need to regulate your temperature, now drink up-”
“Bollocks to that.” Harry responded with a defiant scowl. “I don’t have a fever!”
“Potter, language,” McGonagall snapped automatically, but was largely ignored.
“Last time I checked, I was still the healer!” Madame Pomfrey said angrily, closing in on her less-than cooperative patient.
“Last time I checked-” Harry began hotly, but was cut off when Pomfrey lunged at him, goblet in hand.
“If they’re at each other’s throats, then it can’t be that bad, can it?” Lupin mused aloud, earning himself a few relieved chuckles.
A short-lived battle ensued, during which Harry held himself valiantly against the nurse, but it was obvious to everyone that he was done up as a kipper. Not a minute later, there was a gurgling, choking noise and Madame Pomfrey emerged with a triumphant, “AHA!” followed by an imperious, “Swallow, Mr. Potter.”
Harry choked and sputtered, his face contorted in a grimace that told volumes of the taste of the potion. To judge by the satisfied smirk on the nurse’s face, he had lost.
“Now,” the nurse said slowly and clearly, her tone menacing, “Lie down, you’ll feel better.”
“What, you think I have the flu or something?” Harry muttered through gritted teeth, visibly trying not to gag.
“Mr. Potter, you do not have a fever nor do you have the flu,” the nurse declared tersely. Harry’s head, which had momentarily disappeared behind the back of the sofa, bobbed up at once, and Pomfrey took a step back.
“Then why-”
“Your temperature is too low. Now lie down and stop looking at me like that. The Warming Potion might make you dizzy.”
“You mean more than I already am?”
Fred snickered.
“Alastor?” Shacklebolt looked at the Ex-Auror, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, his magical eye roving in every possible direction, the other fixed on his boots.
“Potter mentioned a name. McAlpin. It sounds familiar, but I can’t place them at all. Anyone know of them?”
“I... think it sounds familiar too, but...” Lupin ran a hand through his hair. “No, sorry.”
“Sort of rings a bell...” said Dung, furrowing his brow and acquiring an even more accurate bloodhound look. “They’re no crooks though, I’d remember them if they were.”
“The name McAlpin is familiar, I know it...but I can’t remember it, either.” McGonagall said, sounding almost scandalised about this realisation.
“Derrick McAlpin was the developer of the Fidelius Charm two hundred years ago,” Harry’s voice trailed in from the living room.
“No, that’s not it...” Dung muttered shaking his head, still thinking hard.
Shacklebolt whipped around, to see Harry sitting up straight on the sofa. Or, at least, trying to; his face was flushed and sweaty, and he looked quite uncomfortable. Pomfrey had turned her back on him, and was busy rummaging in her trunk.
“How do you know that, Potter?”
“I’ve got his chocolate frog card,” was the simple reply. Upon noticing the baffled looks sent his way, he elaborated. “I’ve got over seventeen of him, all right? Honestly...” Harry rolled his eyes with an exasperated snort.
“Angus McAlpin was the head of the Department of Mysteries during the First War,” Diggle said suddenly, clapping his tiny hand against his forehead and sending his top hat flying.
“Yes, that’s right!” Lupin’s eyes lit up. “He...he specialised in Memory Magic, like his father. He and his entire family disappeared some time before Harry defeated Voldemort in 1981.” He said all this in a rush, as if he feared he would forget it all again unless he blurted it out. “It doesn’t make sense,” he added after a pause.
“They’re all dead?”
“But why would You-Know-Who go chasing after...?”
“What if they’re not dead, ever think of that?”
“They disappeared years ago. They might as well be.”
“According to Harry, they’re not.”
“They will be, if we don’t manage to find them soon.”
"The Aurors--"
“The Aurors won’t find anything.” Harry’s tone was both derisive and strained, yet still coated with anger, if any such thing was possible. He was half-heartedly trying to shrug out of his robes and tugging at the collar of his jumper, but only managed to tangle himself in the black fabric and gave up with a defeated sigh.
“What are you talking about, Potter?” Shacklebolt went to his feet. He didn’t like Potter’s tone, the certainty it contained, any more than the feeling of foreboding that crept up on him every time the young wizard opened his mouth.
“I... don’t know,” Harry admitted shakily after a moment. “I just know they won’t find anything.”
“How can you-”
Harry’s eyes hardened, and he glared at the group from over his shoulder.
“The Aurors did not take the horses,” he snapped. “The horses know how to get there, and you did not use them!”
“Harry, we have been over this before-”
“These are Aurors, if there is anything to be found, they will find it.”
“THINK, DAMMIT!” Harry shouted, making everyone jump in shock. “WHAT IF THE PLACE IS UNPLOTTABLE? WHAT IF IT IS UNDER THE FIDELIUS CHARM? EH? THE HORSES CAN TAKE YOU THERE, YOU CAN PORTKEY THEM-”
“Potter, it could be a trap.”
“BOLLOCKS! IF IT’S A TRAP, THEN WHY DIDN’T THE HORSES TAKE ME STRAIGHT TO VOLDEMORT WHEN THEY HAD THE CHANCE?” Harry shouted, his voice cracking from the strain.
“Mr. Potter, you are in no condition to shout,” Pomfrey interrupted Harry’s rant furiously. “If I hear one more raised voice, I shall place a Silencing Charm on you and leave it there. Understood?”
Harry continued to glare at Shacklebolt, chest heaving, but had the sense to say nothing.
“As for the rest of you, you are overexciting my patient. This boy needs rest and he will have it, if I have to petrify the lot of you.” With these words, the nurse swept out to the kitchen.
“Whatever you do, you won’t get there until they have destroyed the place. Some response capacity you have.” Harry slumped against his seat, closing his eyes wearily. “I shouldn’t have come back,” he whispered to himself.
“Kingsley, do you still reckon it’s a trap?” Arthur asked uneasily.
“If they’re using the magical containment spells they set up here, nobody will know until it’s too late.” Bill said, looking out the window. “I have never seen such wards before.”
“Their magic can’t be traced, either,” Hestia cut in. “Unless we find a way around this, we shan’t have a chance against them.” Nobody had to ask who ‘they’ were. A tense silence followed Hestia’s words, but it was short-lived.
Thump.
“Did you hear that?” Hestia demanded, drawing her wand.
“Harry!” Molly gasped, pointing at the prone figure on the living room floor.
Harry was not moving. In three strides, Lupin was at his side.
* * *
He wanted to turn around and fight, not run like a cornered rabbit-cries of pain mingled with the manic laughter of the Death Eaters rang in his ears, while his heart drummed frantically in his chest.
He recognised those screams.
They had Holly.
He gritted his teeth, dragged the other along instead, seeking the flimsy cover of the ancient walls, which had once been impregnable-
The other clearly had other things in mind. His tone was one of utter disbelief as he was dragged away from the open.
They had never run before.
“Connor, no-we need to help Gramps! Connor, they’ve got Holly! They’ve hit Auntie-What are you doing?!”
Harry peered around the wall-nobody had followed them, they were all busy with Gramps and Holly. His heart tore with every heaving breath. How could they abandon them like that?
At all costs.
The other was raising his head to look at the scene developing before their eyes. One word was all that it took to turn his plans to dust.
“Connor...” It held a warning, a plea, disbelief at his hesitation-Chris was determined to plunge into the fray, he was merely giving him the option to fight or continue running.
At all costs.
Damn you, Gramps. Damn you for doing this to me.
He had sworn he’d protect the other, whatever happened, even if it killed him. He was all right with that. But Holly had not been in the picture, and it was her who was suffering. He took a deep, shaky breath.
Oh, bugger it all.
Harry pointed his wand at the nearest figure, exchanged a glance with the other, who mirrored his movements. What else could he do?
I’m sorry. I can’t just sit here and watch you die.
“Everbero!” Twin beams shot from twin wands, finding their target even as the tall Death Eater was sent flying by the old wizard, who leapt up and towards Voldemort, his wand raised high over his head-
His scar began to burn once more, slicing through every nerve ending he possessed, like thousands of tiny, white-hot needles embedding themselves in his head. A confusion of voices reached his ears, almost inaudible amidst the deafening screaming that was his own. He could not make out what they were saying. He opened his eyes, but saw only darkness-
“Are you ready to give up yet, Angus?” Voldemort called, chuckling in amusement at the sight the once so dreaded wizard offered, on his knees with his wand broken at his side, in the centre of the smouldering ruins that once had been his fortress. “You shall not last forever.”
The old man replied by sending a rippling wave of power that made everyone in the vicinity crumble to the ground, and even Harry had to take a step back. His amusement died.
“Bella, bring in your latest catch.”
A girl was dragged before him, and the old wizard’s eyes widened.
“No...” he whispered.
“Surrender, old man,” said Harry, pointing his wand at the terrified girl almost leisurely. “Crucio.”
Harry struggled, fighting the link-the pain was unbearable. He couldn’t see beyond the agony in his scar. Darkness was creeping in on him, around him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was vaguely aware that he was shaking madly-he tried to sit up, but his body had lost all ability to respond to his commands-he curled up instead, his hands cradling his head, felt himself rock back and forth, even as someone pinned him down, calling his name in an increasingly frantic, far-away voice he could barely hear over the shouting in his head.
He broke the Cruciatus Curse only when the girl had stopped moving. The old wizard had remained immobile, his pale green eyes wrenched shut. He was defeated, and Harry knew it.
Victory.
This acceptance, coming from such a hard-headed opponent was odd, and not a little disappointing-he had expected Angus to fight until the end. No matter; he would soon have what he came to collect.
“I have been searching for you Angus, and you shall give me the key to Harry Pot-”
“No!” a teenaged wizard leapt forward, eyes glinting fearlessly at him. “Leave him-”
“Get away, you stupid boy!” Gramps mouthed, and he understood. Harry leapt up, bounded to his brother’s side, dragged the other down in time to avoid being hit by a spell of some sort, responded with a curse of his own.
From his spot before the old wizard, Harry smiled coldly.
“They shall be next.” He turned to Bellatrix, who was staring avidly, hungrily at the boys. “Kill them.”
Bellatrix nodded, a Shredding Curse left her wand-there was a startled shriek-, and almost instantly, one of the boys crumbled to the ground. She raised her wand a second time, a manic grin on her face as she dodged the spell cast furiously by the other.
“No, wait-” Harry could feel the energy, if he looked past the fear. Unsettling, eerily familiar, yet almost palpable to him, tangible, crawling beneath his skin. He blinked in recognition, turned to the old wizard again. “Take them alive. I will get to them in a moment. You, McAlpin, have delayed me enough.”
Harry’s back arched wildly, he could not endure this-he needed to make it stop. His very essence was being split in two-Voldemort could see it too.
“Hold him down, he’s shaking-”
“Poppy!”
“What is wrong with him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Angus, take your secrets to the grave. I have found something far better than anything you could hide in that brain of yours.” He gestured at the boys. “They are what you were hiding, old man. And I now see why.” He laughed, shrill and cruel. “I believe I should thank you.”
Angus McAlpin replied with a quite rude comment, punctuating it by spitting at Harry’s feet.
“Why thank you,” said Harry, pointing his wand deliberately slowly at the wizard. “Avada Kedavra.”
The beam of ghostly green left the wand, both fast as lightning and too slow, yet unstoppable.
Angus McAlpin smiled in satisfaction.
The flash of green light reached its target. Instantly, another, much brighter beam of light illuminated the night sky, blinding all who were present, a rippling wave of power that knocked everyone down, one that was felt even by those miles away.
In Privet Drive, the clock struck midnight.
Angus McAlpin fell to the earth, his expression frozen in a self-satisfied smile, like a wax figure.
Remus Lupin suddenly remembered the exact location of Black Lodge.
Alastor Moody remembered where he had seen the winged horses before.
Mundungus Fletcher remembered that a C. McAlpin had won the Magical All-Britain Steeplechase the previous year, earning him a sack full of Galleons on a horse named Moonshine.
Connor McAlpin convulsed soundlessly, his grip on his brother loosening almost gently as he sank to the ground.
Voldemort gave a high-pitched, wailing scream and fell face forward upon his enemy’s body, his wand clattering to the ground as his entire body slackened.
Harry Potter uttered one last scream and slumped to the floor, unseeing eyes glazed over, wide open. His body continued to jerk and shake, while his mind, his being, was split in two, in three-a whirlwind of colours played before his eyes, around him. He was spinning madly, shattered, broken, rent asunder and put together again, a rushing sound in his ears-
Then...
Nothing.
No feeling. No sound. No pain.
Harry raised his head. He was lying on the floor in the Dursley living room, or was that the courtyard? He could see the fireplace Mr. Weasley had destroyed when he came to pick him up for the Quidditch World Cup, right there next to the flaming ruins of the manor house.
“Harry? Harry!”
“Gods...”
“He’s... he’s not breathing-”
He went to his feet, ignoring the urgent voices calling out to him, and the Dursley household faded from view. This here was more important.
He saw a boy, about his age, lying on the dirt, staring at Voldemort-he saw Voldemort lying atop a corpse, staring back, even as he, Harry, looked at each in turn from in between.
He could see through their eyes as well as his own. Part of him bristled; how could anyone be in three places at once?
“Molly, move aside!”
“Roll him on his back-”
Harry inched his long fingers towards his wand. That boy had to die. Harry watched Voldemort shift a little-
The boy’s hand sought his wand-Voldemort would kill him. From the floor, Harry moved to grip the strip of ebony lying close by-
Harry raised his wand of yew. In response, Harry raised his wand. He would not go down without a fight.
Harry looked from one to the other, from himself to himself, understanding. He needed to stop Voldemort from killing the boy and save himself in the process. Because he was.
He was in three places at once.
He was moving in three bodies at once.
Voldemort opened his mouth to speak, celebrating an anticipated victory. No one could help this one now.
His mind in Voldemort's, he saw his wand of yew rise-it was almost alien in his hand.
Harry Potter understood.
Anger flared. He took action.
“Avada-”
Voldemort’s hand jerked back, twisting around to point his wand at his face.
Go on, you rotten megalomaniac bastard, say it!
“Wh-”
Say IT! Kedavra, go on!
Voldemort’s fiery eyes widened, Harry could feel the fear rising in him, engulfing every fibre, gripping him-
He still struggled to point the wand at his own face, while he watched himself from two other spots at the same time.
Someone was covering his mouth with theirs, pinching his nose shut and tilting his head back. Air filled his lungs.
“Harry, breathe!”
“Run. RUN!” Harry shouted in the boy’s ear at the same time as he tried to make him move, although no words left his mouth. The boy didn’t move, his wand still raised, his other hand resting upon the motionless body of his brother. He too, was seeing things from three bodies at once--
“Come on-”
“I’ve got a pulse-”
“Run! Now! I can’t hold him much longer!” Harry shouted. Again, no sound came out.
The boy backed off a step, then another-Voldemort was gaining ground, struggling with his own hand as it turned his wand upon him-
The connection broke.
Harry choked, gasped for breath. A hand was there, warm in the freezing cold. He felt fingers gently cupping his neck, lifting his head, while another hand supported his back into a half-sitting position.
“It’s over, Harry.” Lupin whispered in his ear. In the background, he heard sobbing. “It’s over now.”
Harry curled up against Lupin’s chest, too weak to move, listening to the trembling words repeated over and over again. He desperately wanted to believe them.
Moments later, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and everything went black.
Notes: There’s a fair share of PoV (point of view) switches-most are Harry’s, but either through his own, Voldywarts’, or Connor’s eyes. I've tried to make it a bit clearer this time around.
Harry’s PoV is indicated by normal text, Voldie’s and Connor’s are italicised, and given the lack of different fonts, whoever Harry is seeing things through is left for you to figure out. Bold italics indicate thoughts, whenever applicable, otherwise I’ve stuck to the usual format.
Written: 2000
Rating: Scary.
Genre: ...Adventure?
Type: Very Long.
Title:
Chapter Fifteen: Hyperaware
Hands held him down, limiting his body’s movement, while urgent voices yelled for a Healer. He screamed, tried to break free, clawing at his burning forehead-
Harry laughed. Rasmus had indeed not wasted these past years; his skills had improved noticeably. The old man would not last the night.
He stepped aside and ducked lightly out of the way of a stray jinx, gesturing for his followers to watch in a circle. Such a spectacle was hard to come by, these days.
Someone was half-dragging him to a sofa. He was too weak to object.
“They’re there,” Harry said thickly, his hands never leaving his head.
An explosion rocked the ground, punctuated by a bloodcurdling cry of victory. Harry lost his footing and went crashing down, unable to do much other than cover his head with his arms as the outer wall of the house ceased to exist and debris flew at them, breaking the windows into pieces. Sound rushed in his ears, the shouts of spells being cast by the Death Eaters-
“Sit down here, Harry...”
Harry blinked numbly, thought he saw Dumbledore’s eyes, but he wasn’t sure.
“They’re starting now.” He shivered, wrenching his eyes shut. He could not hold himself upright.
Harry raised his head, spotted Chris, who was struggling to his feet, pulling the girl by the hand to follow. In the background, two dark-robed figures were duelling, the multi-coloured beams of the spells providing flashes of light to the scene, as if in some morbid sort of laser show. Other figures were milling about, sending spells of their own against a huddle of people, whom he recognised as his aunt, her husband, and a handful of others. Holly shouted for her mum, her voice tiny in the din-he snapped into motion.
“How are you feeling?” A hand steadied him as he slid sideways down the seat.
Stupid question, that.
“C-cold...” he slurred. He wanted to say more, but his brain had jammed around the stabbing pain in his scar. A cup of a steaming something was pressed against his lips, and a sweet, scalding liquid poured down his throat, sending a wave of warmth with every reluctant swallow that did not, however, make him feel any better.
“He needs a Healer-”
“Who can we trust?”
“Should we take him to St. Mungo’s?”
“Too dangerous-I’ll set up a portkey to Hogwarts-”
“Bring Poppy in, we cannot risk... moving him... dition... worsen.” Dumbledore sounded strangely distant, his blurred image dissolving into a dark, cold place where the only light was provided by the beam of spells and fire, where chaos and fear reigned.
“He’s gone all cold and clammy-” There was a bustle of movement, and Harry felt himself being enveloped in a warm blanket, dimly aware that he was shaking uncontrollably.
“Help is coming, Harry... hang on.” Lupin’s voice was shaking. Harry didn’t think he’d ever heard it shake...
No amount of blinking could now dispel the voices and images swirling in his head. It was like wading in a swamp.
He lost all track of time.
Images came in and out of focus, melding with the Dursleys’ living room like a movie that was playing at the same time, overlapping reality-and he was required to be present and perform as two characters all at once. The voices in his head came louder at times, like a badly-tuned wireless, drowning out whatever it was that the ones on his side were saying at the moment; it sounded like a lot of nonsense to Harry’s ears anyway...
An old wizard, blasting a hole in the earth that sent an opponent flying, while he looked on, twirling his wand idly between his ghostly fingers-
A tight-knit group of wizards and witches duelling what he knew to be Death Eaters, outnumbered at least two to one, while he led the way along a roofed, arched section of the inner courtyard, seeking a way of escape-Harry leapt back in time to avoid a pillar that came crashing down on them while pulling his brother and cousin aside, turned to see a Death Eater raising his wand for a second time-
Flames issuing out of a broken window, even as the roof fell in... his shrill laughter, cold and piercing in the darkness, echoing off burning, crumbling walls-
He wanted to help them, whoever they were, he wanted to do something, anything but watch the events unfold, trapped in a living cage, unable to move of his own will.
“Harry, can you hear me?” Lupin sounded earnestly frightened.
'Course I can...
His head weighed a ton. He couldn’t keep it upright, so he didn’t even bother trying to move. It drooped to a side, coming to rest against what had to be Lupin’s chest. He could hear the wild tattoo of his Professor’s heart, oddly soothing in the whirlwind of alien emotions, images and sounds his world was reduced to...
Around him, the shouts and confusion were music to his ears. The old manor was burning, crumbling to pieces, and the defenders were sorely outnumbered. He had been correct in bringing in his entire Inner Circle, just to make sure there would be no mistakes: the daughter could fight well, and he recognised the one standing beside her-Robert McFusty.
He would pay that particular clan a visit shortly, and if they lacked his help, it would be laughably easy to take what he needed from them.
The old man was drawing on his reserves to shield his family from the onslaught, but he was being ultimately drained. Rasmus turned to him and gave him a smile of triumph. Harry smiled back.
A few minutes, then, and Angus McAlpin would be his.
“Avada Kedavra!” The shout, in a female voice, made Harry whip around, in time to be pushed aside by one of his Death Eaters, who wasted no time at all and responded in kind.
In his urgency, the Death Eater’s silver mask fell to the ground with a clatter. He bent over to retrieve it, even as the witch sank to the ground, her lifeless eyes reflecting the multicoloured jets of light of the spells whizzing overhead.
“My Lord, can you stand? Here, allow me-” Severus Snape helped him to his feet.
“NOOO!” Harry howled, sitting bolt upright and wrenching himself free of Lupin’s grip. His hands went to his head, in a futile attempt to soothe the stabs of pain coursing through his scar. “He’s-he’s killed her!” he gasped frantically, “Snape-”
“Harry, calm down-”
“Help them, then!”
Mad-Eye appeared in his field of vision, both his eyes fixed on him.
“Easy, Potter. Tell me what happened.”
“H-he-Sn-k-killed...” Harry trailed off, wild-eyed, swallowing back a wave of nausea. The details of what he had just witnessed were trickling away, disappearing into nothingness. For a moment, the only sounds to be heard were those of Harry’s heaving breaths.
“Potter, concentrate. Speak to me.” Mad-Eye’s rasp, in its harshness, helped him focus. “Who did he kill?”
“I don’t know-he...” Harry looked up slowly, as if just remembering where he was. He had a name. “McAlpin,” he choked out. “McAlpin-that’s who... that’s who he’s after!”
“Mc...Alpin?” Mad-Eye looked gobsmacked. “Are you certain?”
“I think.” Harry racked his brains. Everything was muddled, as usual after a vision.
“What now?” Mad-Eye looked meaningfully at Remus, whose face had turned ashen. Harry felt Lupin’s breath catch. He did not dwell on that, however.
What now? What do you mean, what now?!
“Help them!” he erupted. “Somebody has to-” Harry didn’t finish the sentence. The Dursleys’ living room faded away, he was swept away once more.
“Oy, there are some more here!”
Damn.
He never saw it coming, not until it was too late-a jet of light impacted the side of his head, sending him sprawling to the floor of what once had been the den.
Harry’s reaction was immediate, instinctive. He raised his wand, turned around, took quick aim.
“Incendio!” The yellow beam of the Fire Charm shattered upon the shield the Death Eater had brought up, but it was enough to distract him-he scrambled to his feet and grabbed the other by the arm.
He fired a Stunner over his head and pushed Holly and Chris behind a pile of rubble before the Death Eater fell. Gramps was still standing, and it was Harry's task to keep Voldemort from noticing them, his task to get them out of here and to the safe house.
At all costs.
Holly whimpered against the other, covering her ears with her hands. Harry did not spare her half a glance.
“Shut up and stay down,” he muttered, peering over the rubble towards the stunned Death Eater. Others would come.
“Are you all right?” Chris whispered. Harry nodded dazedly, wiping blood from the side of his head where the spell had hit. A dull, throbbing pain in his skull now added to his troubles. He did his best to ignore it, shaking his head to clear it from the visions that had been invading his mind...
“Harry, wake up.” Somebody was holding him still, while his body was adamant on spasming out of its own accord...
“... Connor? Snap out of it. You keep twitching like that.” The other was gripping his arm, giving him little shakes, as he had been told to do whenever he zoned out.
Not now, dammit!
He batted the other’s hand away, the vision faded.
“You all-?”
“Shush, they’re coming-”
His head was still resting against a warm, breathing something. A something that was speaking-he could feel the vibrations of every word against his ear.
“Harry, can you hear me?”
Lupin...
“Harry, wake up!”
“Am... awake...” Harry mumbled after a few long moments, cursing his slow tongue for slurring. He tried, yet again, to explain. “Can’t... Voldemort... McAlpin-”
“Poppy! Remus, she’s here!” Mrs. Weasley sounded close to hysterics. What was going on?
Harry opened his eyes a crack, only to come to the quick conclusion that it wasn’t the wisest thing to do; the electric lamps had all been turned on and the bright light hurt. He groaned against Lupin’s arms.
Poppy Pomfrey arrived in a sweep of stark white robes, followed by the Weasley Twins, puffing as they carried a large trunk between them.
“Where is he?” she snapped by way of a greeting, storming past Molly Weasley and heading towards the living room without waiting for an answer. Moments later, she was looming over Harry, a deep scowl on her face. “You again. What happened this time?”
Harry blinked blearily at her, past the throbbing in his left eye and skull. He wanted to answer, but his entire body had acquired a mind of its own and decided to go on strike-his mind was working overtime, while the rest of him failed to respond to any of his brain’s commands.
A diagnostic spell was cast, his pulse and temperature taken.
“His scar is bleeding, Lupin. Hold his head still...” Madam Pomfrey came briefly into sight, holding a cloth. Which she pressed against his head, sending a sharp wave of pain that made him jerk away from her, wincing. “Stay still now, Potter...”
“Gnn-no...” Harry managed, somehow, to glare at the nurse, who glared right back. Apparently she had yet to forgive him for his outburst on the previous week.
“Can you move, Potter?”
“No.”
* * *
“I think a quick recap is in order.” Kingsley Shacklebolt dragged a hand over his bald pate and face, tossed a stack of parchment on the dining room table, and regarded the witches and wizards around him intently. All faces wore traces of weariness in varying degrees, accentuated with worry, annoyance, anxiety, regret.
Not good.
In his career as an Auror, Shacklebolt had learned to distinguish between the things he could do and the ones that exceeded his capacities-like healing, for example. Certainly, he was worried for young Potter, just like everyone else, but the best help he could give him now was stay clear from the nurse and let her work. So he did, likely saving his bald scalp in the process.
Waiting for the outcome of something that was beyond his control, however, was nothing short of torture. Which was one of the reasons for this impromptu report session: now Potter was back, most would be inclined to ignore whatever was happening outside his immediate vicinity, and he, for one, could not allow this to happen.
Besides, they were stuck in the dining room, and going anywhere else required them to cross the front room anyway.
Best make something of it.
It was one thing not to rush madly into danger, and it was quite another to pretend there was no danger just because they had Potter back. The first was a controlled, educated inaction to a human reaction, whereas the second was an uncontrolled human reaction to an educated conclusion. Both centred around the same elemental feeling:
Fear.
Of You-Know-Who. Of repeating mistakes of the past. Of making new ones.
For Potter. Of doing something that might worsen his condition, whatever it was that ailed him. Of doing nothing, and worsening his condition anyway.
It was to be expected-Shacklebolt doubted anyone had ever witnessed just how Harry’s link with You-Know-Who worked, and it was a shocking sight. They had certainly known Potter’s scar to “hurt” occasionally, but now, seeing things firsthand, the word ‘hurt’ simply did not fit.
And we’ve no idea how to help him.
Shacklebolt cleared his throat.
Most of the Order were hardly paying attention to him. Even Mad-Eye was standing next to the Hogwarts School Nurse, who had ushered them all out of the living room to examine her patient, and Lupin had yet to cross the threshold to the dining room. Arthur and Molly Weasley were covering the doorway, eyes fixed with apprehension upon the one they had long considered a surrogate son.
“What do we know?” Shacklebolt asked nonetheless. The few Aurors and war veterans in the group immediately turned towards him. They had been through this countless times before, and although their bodies had aged, their memories remained quite fresh, it seemed.
They needed to focus, to determine where they stood and decide upon action. The past three days had been spent turning half the country in and out in the search for Potter, in the chase of Death Eaters who simply disappeared without a trace, and attempting to find clues to whatever was going on at the moment.
Which was something none of them could answer on their own, hence the need for the report.
“Not nearly enough,” Fred Weasley muttered from the far end of the room. “Am I correct?”
“Let’s start at the beginning,” Shacklebolt replied in his deep bass, sifting through his notes and completely ignoring the scathing tone of Fred’s words.
“Always a good thing, that,” George acknowledged sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You-Know-Who has taken Azkaban,” Shacklebolt continued, as if there had been no interruption. “We have established that he fully controls the Dementors now.”
“Which was obvious to us from the start...” Hestia Jones threw in, scowling. She was sitting across the table from Shacklebolt, and reached for the notes he discarded with her free hand. Her arm was held in a sling, which seemed to irritate her to no end. An Auror lacking full use of his or her wand arm was bound to be.
“Minister Fudge is an idiot,” McGonagall said dryly. “But I’m repeating myself.”
“You-Know-Who has taken Azkaban,” Shacklebolt resumed, closing his eyes briefly. Whether it was out of tiredness or a last resort not to lose his famed calmness, remained to be seen. “He’s emptied the harbour town of Inverarray without anyone knowing, and-”
“Do you think the wardens are on his side?” Arthur Weasley cut in from the doorway, where he was keeping an eye out for Harry, who was in turn being told off by Madam Pomfrey in an increasingly loud voice.
Shacklebolt’s reply caught the attention of the entire assembly at last.
“Either they are on his side or under the Imperius Curse-I sent an owl asking for an update on security and I received a message saying everything was all right. It was not forged, which should give us a fair idea.”
“And now Voldemort-” Lupin had entered the room when it appeared that Harry would not pass out again. He was not bothered by the hisses that swept across the room, and strode around the table to look over Shacklebolt’s shoulder. “Voldemort is looking for what we believe to be wand cores. Any ideas of the magical properties of...” he checked the list they had made. “Wings, heartstrings, and central nervous system of Granians and Aethonans?”
There was a round of shrugs and headshakes. Lupin frowned.
“Maybe he is not after wand cores, but something else?” McGonagall offered.
“What, like potion ingredients?” Dedalus Diggle piped up, fingering his violet top hat nervously. He had always been an excitable fellow, but not even Lupin was a better researcher, that was for sure.
“I don’t remember ever hearing of the uses of flying horses in potion making,” Emmeline Vance muttered thoughtfully, tapping her nose with her wand.
“Or in anything else, for that matter,” George added with a roll of his eyes. “Anyone in Care of Magical Creatures knows that much.”
“We shall have to ask Severus, then.” Shacklebolt shot Molly Weasley a warning look. The last thing they needed at the moment was another outburst of her temper. All Weasleys were in a foul mood already, and having her rag at the Twins for their decision to leave Hogwarts would not get them anywhere. Molly huffed at him, but turned back to watching Harry.
“What of the Aurors who went to Inverarray?” Bill asked abruptly.
There was a snort in the background. All heads turned as one to look at Harry, who was sitting on the sofa, shivering slightly. His gaze was fixed at a spot on the floor.
“They are searching for any wizarding dwellings in the area,” Jones replied evenly. “Should there be any indication of battle, there is a team of Hit Wizards prepared to portkey to any location, but their last report indicated they had found nothing yet.”
Mad-Eye opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a gagging sound, and everyone turned as one to see what was going on with Harry.
“I... I said I’m... I’m not feverish!” Harry gasped indignantly, weakly recoiling from the smoking goblet the nurse was holding to his lips. “S... stop it, I won’t drink--”
“You shall do as you are told, Potter,” Madame Pomfrey snarled in return. “I need to regulate your temperature, now drink up-”
“Bollocks to that.” Harry responded with a defiant scowl. “I don’t have a fever!”
“Potter, language,” McGonagall snapped automatically, but was largely ignored.
“Last time I checked, I was still the healer!” Madame Pomfrey said angrily, closing in on her less-than cooperative patient.
“Last time I checked-” Harry began hotly, but was cut off when Pomfrey lunged at him, goblet in hand.
“If they’re at each other’s throats, then it can’t be that bad, can it?” Lupin mused aloud, earning himself a few relieved chuckles.
A short-lived battle ensued, during which Harry held himself valiantly against the nurse, but it was obvious to everyone that he was done up as a kipper. Not a minute later, there was a gurgling, choking noise and Madame Pomfrey emerged with a triumphant, “AHA!” followed by an imperious, “Swallow, Mr. Potter.”
Harry choked and sputtered, his face contorted in a grimace that told volumes of the taste of the potion. To judge by the satisfied smirk on the nurse’s face, he had lost.
“Now,” the nurse said slowly and clearly, her tone menacing, “Lie down, you’ll feel better.”
“What, you think I have the flu or something?” Harry muttered through gritted teeth, visibly trying not to gag.
“Mr. Potter, you do not have a fever nor do you have the flu,” the nurse declared tersely. Harry’s head, which had momentarily disappeared behind the back of the sofa, bobbed up at once, and Pomfrey took a step back.
“Then why-”
“Your temperature is too low. Now lie down and stop looking at me like that. The Warming Potion might make you dizzy.”
“You mean more than I already am?”
Fred snickered.
“Alastor?” Shacklebolt looked at the Ex-Auror, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, his magical eye roving in every possible direction, the other fixed on his boots.
“Potter mentioned a name. McAlpin. It sounds familiar, but I can’t place them at all. Anyone know of them?”
“I... think it sounds familiar too, but...” Lupin ran a hand through his hair. “No, sorry.”
“Sort of rings a bell...” said Dung, furrowing his brow and acquiring an even more accurate bloodhound look. “They’re no crooks though, I’d remember them if they were.”
“The name McAlpin is familiar, I know it...but I can’t remember it, either.” McGonagall said, sounding almost scandalised about this realisation.
“Derrick McAlpin was the developer of the Fidelius Charm two hundred years ago,” Harry’s voice trailed in from the living room.
“No, that’s not it...” Dung muttered shaking his head, still thinking hard.
Shacklebolt whipped around, to see Harry sitting up straight on the sofa. Or, at least, trying to; his face was flushed and sweaty, and he looked quite uncomfortable. Pomfrey had turned her back on him, and was busy rummaging in her trunk.
“How do you know that, Potter?”
“I’ve got his chocolate frog card,” was the simple reply. Upon noticing the baffled looks sent his way, he elaborated. “I’ve got over seventeen of him, all right? Honestly...” Harry rolled his eyes with an exasperated snort.
“Angus McAlpin was the head of the Department of Mysteries during the First War,” Diggle said suddenly, clapping his tiny hand against his forehead and sending his top hat flying.
“Yes, that’s right!” Lupin’s eyes lit up. “He...he specialised in Memory Magic, like his father. He and his entire family disappeared some time before Harry defeated Voldemort in 1981.” He said all this in a rush, as if he feared he would forget it all again unless he blurted it out. “It doesn’t make sense,” he added after a pause.
“They’re all dead?”
“But why would You-Know-Who go chasing after...?”
“What if they’re not dead, ever think of that?”
“They disappeared years ago. They might as well be.”
“According to Harry, they’re not.”
“They will be, if we don’t manage to find them soon.”
"The Aurors--"
“The Aurors won’t find anything.” Harry’s tone was both derisive and strained, yet still coated with anger, if any such thing was possible. He was half-heartedly trying to shrug out of his robes and tugging at the collar of his jumper, but only managed to tangle himself in the black fabric and gave up with a defeated sigh.
“What are you talking about, Potter?” Shacklebolt went to his feet. He didn’t like Potter’s tone, the certainty it contained, any more than the feeling of foreboding that crept up on him every time the young wizard opened his mouth.
“I... don’t know,” Harry admitted shakily after a moment. “I just know they won’t find anything.”
“How can you-”
Harry’s eyes hardened, and he glared at the group from over his shoulder.
“The Aurors did not take the horses,” he snapped. “The horses know how to get there, and you did not use them!”
“Harry, we have been over this before-”
“These are Aurors, if there is anything to be found, they will find it.”
“THINK, DAMMIT!” Harry shouted, making everyone jump in shock. “WHAT IF THE PLACE IS UNPLOTTABLE? WHAT IF IT IS UNDER THE FIDELIUS CHARM? EH? THE HORSES CAN TAKE YOU THERE, YOU CAN PORTKEY THEM-”
“Potter, it could be a trap.”
“BOLLOCKS! IF IT’S A TRAP, THEN WHY DIDN’T THE HORSES TAKE ME STRAIGHT TO VOLDEMORT WHEN THEY HAD THE CHANCE?” Harry shouted, his voice cracking from the strain.
“Mr. Potter, you are in no condition to shout,” Pomfrey interrupted Harry’s rant furiously. “If I hear one more raised voice, I shall place a Silencing Charm on you and leave it there. Understood?”
Harry continued to glare at Shacklebolt, chest heaving, but had the sense to say nothing.
“As for the rest of you, you are overexciting my patient. This boy needs rest and he will have it, if I have to petrify the lot of you.” With these words, the nurse swept out to the kitchen.
“Whatever you do, you won’t get there until they have destroyed the place. Some response capacity you have.” Harry slumped against his seat, closing his eyes wearily. “I shouldn’t have come back,” he whispered to himself.
“Kingsley, do you still reckon it’s a trap?” Arthur asked uneasily.
“If they’re using the magical containment spells they set up here, nobody will know until it’s too late.” Bill said, looking out the window. “I have never seen such wards before.”
“Their magic can’t be traced, either,” Hestia cut in. “Unless we find a way around this, we shan’t have a chance against them.” Nobody had to ask who ‘they’ were. A tense silence followed Hestia’s words, but it was short-lived.
Thump.
“Did you hear that?” Hestia demanded, drawing her wand.
“Harry!” Molly gasped, pointing at the prone figure on the living room floor.
Harry was not moving. In three strides, Lupin was at his side.
* * *
He wanted to turn around and fight, not run like a cornered rabbit-cries of pain mingled with the manic laughter of the Death Eaters rang in his ears, while his heart drummed frantically in his chest.
He recognised those screams.
They had Holly.
He gritted his teeth, dragged the other along instead, seeking the flimsy cover of the ancient walls, which had once been impregnable-
The other clearly had other things in mind. His tone was one of utter disbelief as he was dragged away from the open.
They had never run before.
“Connor, no-we need to help Gramps! Connor, they’ve got Holly! They’ve hit Auntie-What are you doing?!”
Harry peered around the wall-nobody had followed them, they were all busy with Gramps and Holly. His heart tore with every heaving breath. How could they abandon them like that?
At all costs.
The other was raising his head to look at the scene developing before their eyes. One word was all that it took to turn his plans to dust.
“Connor...” It held a warning, a plea, disbelief at his hesitation-Chris was determined to plunge into the fray, he was merely giving him the option to fight or continue running.
At all costs.
Damn you, Gramps. Damn you for doing this to me.
He had sworn he’d protect the other, whatever happened, even if it killed him. He was all right with that. But Holly had not been in the picture, and it was her who was suffering. He took a deep, shaky breath.
Oh, bugger it all.
Harry pointed his wand at the nearest figure, exchanged a glance with the other, who mirrored his movements. What else could he do?
I’m sorry. I can’t just sit here and watch you die.
“Everbero!” Twin beams shot from twin wands, finding their target even as the tall Death Eater was sent flying by the old wizard, who leapt up and towards Voldemort, his wand raised high over his head-
His scar began to burn once more, slicing through every nerve ending he possessed, like thousands of tiny, white-hot needles embedding themselves in his head. A confusion of voices reached his ears, almost inaudible amidst the deafening screaming that was his own. He could not make out what they were saying. He opened his eyes, but saw only darkness-
“Are you ready to give up yet, Angus?” Voldemort called, chuckling in amusement at the sight the once so dreaded wizard offered, on his knees with his wand broken at his side, in the centre of the smouldering ruins that once had been his fortress. “You shall not last forever.”
The old man replied by sending a rippling wave of power that made everyone in the vicinity crumble to the ground, and even Harry had to take a step back. His amusement died.
“Bella, bring in your latest catch.”
A girl was dragged before him, and the old wizard’s eyes widened.
“No...” he whispered.
“Surrender, old man,” said Harry, pointing his wand at the terrified girl almost leisurely. “Crucio.”
Harry struggled, fighting the link-the pain was unbearable. He couldn’t see beyond the agony in his scar. Darkness was creeping in on him, around him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was vaguely aware that he was shaking madly-he tried to sit up, but his body had lost all ability to respond to his commands-he curled up instead, his hands cradling his head, felt himself rock back and forth, even as someone pinned him down, calling his name in an increasingly frantic, far-away voice he could barely hear over the shouting in his head.
He broke the Cruciatus Curse only when the girl had stopped moving. The old wizard had remained immobile, his pale green eyes wrenched shut. He was defeated, and Harry knew it.
Victory.
This acceptance, coming from such a hard-headed opponent was odd, and not a little disappointing-he had expected Angus to fight until the end. No matter; he would soon have what he came to collect.
“I have been searching for you Angus, and you shall give me the key to Harry Pot-”
“No!” a teenaged wizard leapt forward, eyes glinting fearlessly at him. “Leave him-”
“Get away, you stupid boy!” Gramps mouthed, and he understood. Harry leapt up, bounded to his brother’s side, dragged the other down in time to avoid being hit by a spell of some sort, responded with a curse of his own.
From his spot before the old wizard, Harry smiled coldly.
“They shall be next.” He turned to Bellatrix, who was staring avidly, hungrily at the boys. “Kill them.”
Bellatrix nodded, a Shredding Curse left her wand-there was a startled shriek-, and almost instantly, one of the boys crumbled to the ground. She raised her wand a second time, a manic grin on her face as she dodged the spell cast furiously by the other.
“No, wait-” Harry could feel the energy, if he looked past the fear. Unsettling, eerily familiar, yet almost palpable to him, tangible, crawling beneath his skin. He blinked in recognition, turned to the old wizard again. “Take them alive. I will get to them in a moment. You, McAlpin, have delayed me enough.”
Harry’s back arched wildly, he could not endure this-he needed to make it stop. His very essence was being split in two-Voldemort could see it too.
“Hold him down, he’s shaking-”
“Poppy!”
“What is wrong with him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Angus, take your secrets to the grave. I have found something far better than anything you could hide in that brain of yours.” He gestured at the boys. “They are what you were hiding, old man. And I now see why.” He laughed, shrill and cruel. “I believe I should thank you.”
Angus McAlpin replied with a quite rude comment, punctuating it by spitting at Harry’s feet.
“Why thank you,” said Harry, pointing his wand deliberately slowly at the wizard. “Avada Kedavra.”
The beam of ghostly green left the wand, both fast as lightning and too slow, yet unstoppable.
Angus McAlpin smiled in satisfaction.
The flash of green light reached its target. Instantly, another, much brighter beam of light illuminated the night sky, blinding all who were present, a rippling wave of power that knocked everyone down, one that was felt even by those miles away.
In Privet Drive, the clock struck midnight.
Angus McAlpin fell to the earth, his expression frozen in a self-satisfied smile, like a wax figure.
Remus Lupin suddenly remembered the exact location of Black Lodge.
Alastor Moody remembered where he had seen the winged horses before.
Mundungus Fletcher remembered that a C. McAlpin had won the Magical All-Britain Steeplechase the previous year, earning him a sack full of Galleons on a horse named Moonshine.
Connor McAlpin convulsed soundlessly, his grip on his brother loosening almost gently as he sank to the ground.
Voldemort gave a high-pitched, wailing scream and fell face forward upon his enemy’s body, his wand clattering to the ground as his entire body slackened.
Harry Potter uttered one last scream and slumped to the floor, unseeing eyes glazed over, wide open. His body continued to jerk and shake, while his mind, his being, was split in two, in three-a whirlwind of colours played before his eyes, around him. He was spinning madly, shattered, broken, rent asunder and put together again, a rushing sound in his ears-
Then...
Nothing.
No feeling. No sound. No pain.
Harry raised his head. He was lying on the floor in the Dursley living room, or was that the courtyard? He could see the fireplace Mr. Weasley had destroyed when he came to pick him up for the Quidditch World Cup, right there next to the flaming ruins of the manor house.
“Harry? Harry!”
“Gods...”
“He’s... he’s not breathing-”
He went to his feet, ignoring the urgent voices calling out to him, and the Dursley household faded from view. This here was more important.
He saw a boy, about his age, lying on the dirt, staring at Voldemort-he saw Voldemort lying atop a corpse, staring back, even as he, Harry, looked at each in turn from in between.
He could see through their eyes as well as his own. Part of him bristled; how could anyone be in three places at once?
“Molly, move aside!”
“Roll him on his back-”
Harry inched his long fingers towards his wand. That boy had to die. Harry watched Voldemort shift a little-
The boy’s hand sought his wand-Voldemort would kill him. From the floor, Harry moved to grip the strip of ebony lying close by-
Harry raised his wand of yew. In response, Harry raised his wand. He would not go down without a fight.
Harry looked from one to the other, from himself to himself, understanding. He needed to stop Voldemort from killing the boy and save himself in the process. Because he was.
He was in three places at once.
He was moving in three bodies at once.
Voldemort opened his mouth to speak, celebrating an anticipated victory. No one could help this one now.
His mind in Voldemort's, he saw his wand of yew rise-it was almost alien in his hand.
Harry Potter understood.
Anger flared. He took action.
“Avada-”
Voldemort’s hand jerked back, twisting around to point his wand at his face.
Go on, you rotten megalomaniac bastard, say it!
“Wh-”
Say IT! Kedavra, go on!
Voldemort’s fiery eyes widened, Harry could feel the fear rising in him, engulfing every fibre, gripping him-
He still struggled to point the wand at his own face, while he watched himself from two other spots at the same time.
Someone was covering his mouth with theirs, pinching his nose shut and tilting his head back. Air filled his lungs.
“Harry, breathe!”
“Run. RUN!” Harry shouted in the boy’s ear at the same time as he tried to make him move, although no words left his mouth. The boy didn’t move, his wand still raised, his other hand resting upon the motionless body of his brother. He too, was seeing things from three bodies at once--
“Come on-”
“I’ve got a pulse-”
“Run! Now! I can’t hold him much longer!” Harry shouted. Again, no sound came out.
The boy backed off a step, then another-Voldemort was gaining ground, struggling with his own hand as it turned his wand upon him-
The connection broke.
Harry choked, gasped for breath. A hand was there, warm in the freezing cold. He felt fingers gently cupping his neck, lifting his head, while another hand supported his back into a half-sitting position.
“It’s over, Harry.” Lupin whispered in his ear. In the background, he heard sobbing. “It’s over now.”
Harry curled up against Lupin’s chest, too weak to move, listening to the trembling words repeated over and over again. He desperately wanted to believe them.
Moments later, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and everything went black.