Ficcie!
Here I present to you the fic that has been consuming my valuable Eowyn/Faramir writing time.
Title: Shadow Of My Creation
Pairing: None. NONE! Except maybe Snape/potions
Rating: R for cussing more than anything else
Notes: Italics are memories. In case you were incompetent. Does have more plot than summary suggests.
Summary: In the Wizarding World, memory repression takes on a whole new meaning.
He wasn't sure who was more surprised when the car pulled up to the house of Privet Drive. Surely there had been a mistake, for the normal looking family vehicle did not fall under the category of any of the Dursleys' friends nor was it something the Weasleys' would procure - much too innocuous. The low rumble of the engine had caused him to glance out from the window, but the vision of it caused him to sneak downstairs and look cautiously around the corner.
Someone rang the doorbell.
Vernon looked distraught, red face almost pale as he turned to his wife and back again. Finally, the decision had been made and his strength in opening the door nearly resulted in pulling it off its hinges. A gruff "What?" met the stranger.
"Hello," the voice said, a girl's voice that was albeit hesitant, strengthened. "I'm from Harry's school and-"
But before she could continue, three horrified gasps interrupted her and Vernon's face regained the eggplant color it was so accustomed to. Harry had been grinning, for the voice belonged to Hermione and never yet had she been to see him at the Dursleys'. However, her greeting was possibly the worst way to introduce herself. Vernon turned his head around immediately and a thunderous "Harry!" issued from his mouth.
"I'm right here, Uncle Vernon," Harry said as he stepped from behind the corner. Hermione's face lit up but if Vernon saw that, it would only incense him further.
"What is this?" He asked angrily, stabbing a finger at Hermione.
"That's a girl. Her name's Hermione."
Fury exploded in a wash of dark purple across his uncle's face and Harry winced. He shouldn't provoke Vernon, but whenever it was easy enough to do so, he couldn't resist it. Hermione opened her mouth to speak and Harry knew it could only get worse from there.
"I can't believe it," Harry whispered, nearly in awe, twenty minutes later when he and Hermione were sitting in a park with her parents wandering about the other side.
"I didn't think it would be so difficult," Hermione admitted. "Twenty minutes!"
Harry sprawled on the nearest park bench, enjoying the warmth of the summer sun. It was the first time he'd been out for a long while. He suspected what Hermione had come for, since she'd written him earlier telling him not to open the letter he received with the O.W.L.s results. She was probably too anxious to open the letter herself and needed him to share in that tension. Of course, when she asked him to remember to bring his letter, it was a good a hint as anything he had surmised since her post. Perching on the tabletop, Hermione was gripping her letter so hard her knuckles turned white.
"What if," she started. "You open my letter and I open yours. I... I don't think I would be able to look at mine first."
"Okay." They switched. Hermione's was the same thickness at his own and he wondered why he thought it would be different. Maybe he'd just guessed that his only said what a complete failure he was and that he should never be admitted to Hogwarts again. A rather pessimistic view, but the events of the last school year had him doubting most everything.
"On three. One, two... three!" He tore open the seal and scanned the contents, promptly dropping the letter to the ground. Hermione squealed in delight. "Oh Harry! You got an O in Defense Against the Dark Arts! I knew you would! And an E in-" She must have noticed his lack of response and her face was crestfallen. "What? What is it? Is it that bad? Professor Flitwick mentioned that cure for hiccups purposefully and I should have put it down, I should-"
"Hermione!" Harry grabbed her shoulders. Turning hysterical, Hermione had began to wave her arms about and grow higher in pitch. "Hermione you... you got straight Os."
Her eyes went round like Hogwarts’ feasting plates. "What?"
"All Os Hermione!" He broke into delectable grin. "All Os! Tons of'em! You must be the smartest person in Hogwarts history! In the world!"
Hermione looked up and began to smile.
While coffee was easily made with a flick of his wand, the Muggle way of making it somehow tasted more rich, more real. The contents in his cup were black without any sugar or cream, without anything to take away the bitter severity of natural coffee. He hated the taste of it, of any coffee in general, but the caffeine was good and any added to it felt like a privilege he wasn't supposed to have.
With a quick glance around the room and a patting down of his person, Harry ascertained that nothing important was left behind. His bag held an extra set of clothes and a new identity if needed, his real identity cards were in the inside pocket of his pants, wand down the side pocket and scar was thoroughly covered with make-up and an Aversion Charm to prevent people from noticing it. He dumped the half-empty cup into the sink, where he would wash it if he came back.
Once outside, he jumped on his Cirrus 2200 and flew to the Ministry of Magic, where he'd go through his routine. First, he'd check for updates in Level 5, where the lawmakers of Britian were trying so hard to ease the grievances of the world, who were not letting this latest menace grow unchecked as they had let Voldemort. Then down to Level 2, where the Auror Headquarters were located and of which had mostly been his home for quite sometime. Not that he was an Auror - no. Such a menial job and mundane job was denied him, despite having earned everything needed to become one. There was no name for what he had become. He was the only one able to fight against Mondefin, as the Ministry had taken to calling her, or at least the only one thought able, with the Voldemort catastrophe under his belt. Truthfully, he'd never faced her and no one was certain if he could withstand her power. They could only hope.
And hope was such a thin thread on which to stand.
"Any updates?" He asked a tall thin wizard who pushed up glasses that were much too large for his face. The reedy man blinked, surprised, before shaking his head.
"Nothing sir. I mean - Mr. Potter - I mean... No." Harry ignored the reaction; it was common.
"Thanks." He wandered around the room, checking parchment and computer screens. Finally, the Wizarding World had acknowledged the presence and benefit of technology. The Wizarding World Web had been set up not two years ago and everyone who knew what was good for them set up a terminal. When McGonagall had finally conceeded to persistant efforts to get electronics allowed in Hogwarts, Harry himself had been there to oversee and participate in the lessening of the wards. The Founders sure knew what the hell they were doing and the wards had somehow been able to recognize the need for a change. The castle still amazed him after all these years. With pride a bit tousled from denying the practicality of electronics for so long, the Wizarding community had enhanced their computers far beyond the capabilities of Muggles. Periodically, a few certain wizards would release some brand-new chip or harddrive to the Muggle world that the wizards had had for years. Alas, prejudice always had its outlet.
Jonah Westron approached Harry eagerly, laptop off-balancing him so that the short dark-skinned boy wobbled comedically. Head of the Research and Development section of the Auror HQ, Westron always seemed to have something to amazingly fantastic to report to Harry, which always ended up being something incredibly mundane and dull. Harry sucked in a deep breath of apprehension, ready to smile away the new findings on the alcoholic potency of a snail's trail or the detrimental effects of Apparating to the sun.
"Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter! I've found it! I found the link of... the victims." If saying the name Voldemort had been fanatically avoided before, the given name of Mondefin precluded others from even using pronouns or saying something that might have relation to the creature. Most of the top Aurors said the name with only a slight muscle twitch, but lesser ones like Westron pretended that Mondefin didn't exist as a part of their vocabulary. Harry sighed, as this particular issue had been repeatedly brought up by Westron. Last week, they all had stepped on rosemary twigs a month prior to their death, and the week before they had used the Calling Charm for a toothbrush.
"And what is it?"
"Names! Every name contains an anagram of the word 'pie.'" The poor man looked too eager. Apparently he hadn't even taken into consideration what connection that could possibly have.
"Did you take into account last night's victims? Susan Amber Carino doesn't have a p in her name." Crestfallen, Westron shook his head and whipped out his laptop to being a search anew.
About to move on, Harry heard a dull thud behind him and a few faint gasps. He spun around to see Researcher Denise Apolol on the ground curled into a tight ball, rocking back and forth. Several Aurors in Healer regalia rushed forward and held the girl down as she fell into a seizure. Most Aurors went back to their work, as they had been trained to do, but a few of the newer ones stared in awe at the efficiency in which an emergency was handled. Swiftly, Harry came forward and knelt near the girl's pinned arms. Apolol was a dainty girl who looked like a broken flower on the floor.
“Has she had a vision before?” He asked of Hippolita Francis, a Healer nearest him. She was speaking into a flat computer in her palm, looking through Apolol’s records. Harry wondered if she heard him, but she soon shook her head in response.
“None whatsoever. I hope she has some Seer lineage - I don’t want this to be because of something else.” Francis spoke a few more words into her palmtop and frowned at the findings. But she didn’t have to wait very long. Apolol jerked awake, hands flying out and one catching an old Healer in the mouth. Her eyes fluttered rapidly and Harry thought she might pass out again. But the girl regained her composure. She looked from Francis to Harry and back again before taking a deep breath.
“I guess Cassandra’s genes weren’t as weakened as I thought,” she said amiably, although a grimace graced her features.
“You’re related to Cassandra?” Francis asked, looking up.
Apolol shook her head. “Not Cassandra Trelawny. Just the ancient one. That’s why I didn’t think to even mention it. There was no chance I’d have the Sight.”
“Quite interesting. The Sight has left most of the wizards now-”
“Ladies, while this is all very enthralling, seeing as Ms. Apolol is the only Auror to have a vision, whether she wanted to or not, I think it’s best we discover all that this vision entailed, yes?” Miranda Arielle said a bit dryly. She wasn’t mean, but the woman wasn’t much for anything but blunt conversations. Francis conceded wistfully, but Apolol’s face turned very pale.
“I don’t-”
“Come on honey, this might be the first real lead we’ve gotten.” Again, from Arielle, who put a hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow. Apolol shifted her eyes to her hands, then abruptly looked straight at Harry.
“It was Mondefin,” she whispered. “She said she knew me, that I was next. And she said... she said the connection was you. Everyone who knew you. Everyone who’d ever heard of you.”
And though he was used to it, Harry couldn’t suppress a chill down his spine as everyone turned to look at him.
Harry stared at the class schedule in front of him with sheer disbelief. Next to him, Ron munched happily on toast and was rambling about something that Harry couldn’t’ve grasped if his life depended on it.
“Oh Harry! Did you see? We have first class together!” Hermione was nearly bouncing into her chair, stealing a bit of bacon from Ron’s plate. The redhead mumbled in protest, but his attention was caught.
“First class? What’d we get first?” He didn’t wait for an answer before a wave of euphoria spread over his face. “At long last, no more bloody Snape in the morning!”
When silence came, Ron turned horrified to glance at his companions.
“You didn’t.”
“Well Harry wants to be an Auror Ron and he has to have five Es to get that! And me, you know me Ron, I didn’t think you’d mind-” Ron’s face flamed to match his hair.
“Didn’t think I‘d mind! Now you an’ Harry’ll be spending all this time together and I just am stuck, just stuck, here on the outside!” But Hermione wasn’t the quiet girl she used to be and fights with Ron always riled her up anyway.
“You aren’t stuck anywhere Ron. We’ll still be together all the time; we are in the same house. Besides, you’re on the Quidditch team with Harry. That will give you plenty of time together.”
Never a fan of Hermione’s logic, Ron just huffed and poked at his breakfast a few times before gathering his things and storming off. Harry moved after him, but Hermione put her hand on his arm and shook her head.
“He’s just angry Harry. He’ll be fine. I think being late to Potions is something more to worry about than Ron’s hurt feelings.” Just the reminder of him voluntarily putting himself in a class with Snape made Harry moan and dunk his head into his hands. Rolling her eyes, Hermione tugged on his arm. “Come on, it won’t be that bad.”
“Says you,” He muttered, but let her guide him anyway. In truth, he was grateful for the distraction that miles of homework would give him. He’d been putting off any dwelling about a certain event and he knew that one day, it would all explode in his face.
If shock, rage, and horror were measured in droplets of water, Harry was sure Snape could’ve drowned the whole world and fourteen others. Hermione dragged Harry to a seat that was far too close to the front for his comfort. However, on one happy note, Snape couldn’t do anything but glare hatefully at Harry for the five full and very long seconds, as though he hadn’t seen the roster that summer, as if he hadn’t had his own private conference with each student entering Advanced Potions. Maybe he just couldn’t believe Harry would actually show up.
Composure regained as though it had never been lost, Snape glided to his desk and smoothed his hands over his hair, a strange gesture Harry had never seen him do before. In fact, the way Snape leaned against the corner of his desk made Harry wonder if those first few moments were an illusion and Snape had been replaced by someone using Polyjuice Potion or maybe a Metamorphagi...
“Welcome to Advanced Potions,” He said simply, spreading his hands. Dear God was that a twitch of a smile to his lips? By the way Hermione stiffened next to him, Harry knew it wasn’t his sole delusion. “If you are here, it is only by my grace and the Es you managed to scrounge for the O.W.L.s. It is unfortunate that not every class is filled with students who... desire a further exploration in Potions. We will begin today examining the ingredients of Defamation Draught and then go over the procedure-”
Hermione’s breath hissed in at the name of the potion.
“Yes, Miss Granger,” Snape drawled, even though the noise was barely heard by Harry who was sitting too close to her. “It is advanced. But I do believe that the title of this class implied as much.”
When class ended, somehow feeling much more like a Transfiguration session than any Potions class Harry had ever been to, Hermione sidled up to Harry with eyes wide as saucers.
“Harry, we’re making Defamation Draught. Do you have any idea how advanced that is? Most Ministry workers probably don’t even know a third of the ingredients!” She curled her hands around her books with a fever-bright cast to her eyes. “I’m not even sure if this is allowed but... this is fantastic!”
“And Snape acting like he’s our best friend and not trying to fail me escaped your notice? Some friend you are Hermione.” The last was in jest and made Hermione roll her eyes, but with a smile not too far behind.
“Paranoid. Come on, at least Ron was able to take Advanced Charms with us.” And Harry was glad for that.
Alexander Nero, with arms crossed and frown set in place, paced quickly in front of a seated Harry. The head of Auror HQ and answerable only to the Minister of Magic (and even then not always), Nero was unusually tall with a handsome angular face, drowning blue eyes, and a mass of curly brown hair that made him seem less formidable than he’d like. Surprisingly, he was the perfect sort of spy because he blended so naturally with his surroundings that no one could ever remember him. Most of the Aurors knew him only in name, despite having met him several times. Harry knew Nero well, having been sent to him often about more delicate information involving the Aurors.
“So Denise said Mondefin was after anyone connected to you?” Nero’s American accent was softened with occasional British vowels, although it did make him sound like an actor who’d never met a dialect coach. “Christ.”
“This does present a problem,” Harry said quietly, watching Nero’s pace quicken. It was the only distinguishable habit he had.
“What? Why? I know you’ve met a lot of people, but surely you can remember the ones closest to you? Maybe from your school days?” Nero let out another ‘Christ!’ with an upraised fist. “Everyone who’s heard of you. Good-fucking-bye world.”
“For a memory like a ‘steel-trap,’” Harry muttered, throwing in his faked American accent, “You hardly remember a thing Alex.”
“Oh God, right. Who thought it would be a good idea to Memory Charm the hell out of your memory?” Harry opened his mouth. “Screw it. The answer’s gonna be ‘I don’t remember!’ I got a bunch of people who claim to be the best at what they do, so if anyone’s gonna be giving you back all these wretched memories, it’s gonna be them.”
Harry cast his eyes down and saw the booted feet of Nero stop.
“Hey, I know some tough things happened to you. They let you remember the traumatic stuff, right? So you wouldn’t have to live it over again? I mean, we have to do this Harry. It’ll help with the next target and even confirm if Denise’s vision is right. God, remind me to kill Jonah for not noticing this, damnit! All school records were destroyed, yeah, but still-”
“Yes Alex, they let me keep the traumatic stuff. I may not remember everyone who was there, but all that happened...” He was still staring at the carpet on Nero’s floor. The Auror crouched, hands on his knees, and peered straight into Harry’s face.
“You’re strong boy. Now get your ass down to Cherise’s department. She’s been ogling it ever since you started coming in here.” A pinging noise came from the far right wall where the words ILIANA HARMAN were printed in large letters. Nero tossed his head and went to the wall. “What do you want Iliana? Aww crap, again? Jesus Christ, if you’d only stop wearing those damn voodoo bracelets...”
Deciding that Nero was deeply engaged in another more pressing matter, Harry quickly slipped out of the office and headed to the Memory section of Auror offices. He dearly hoped that Nero’s comment about Cherise was based on his sick desire to see Harry uncomfortable and not on fact. Dearly.
Cherise Goode was a short but strong-looking woman, dark red hair pulled back in a tight braid and dark eyes intensely focused on whatever needed her attention. At the moment, she was engrossed in an essay with tiny print that had her nose pressed against the paper, thickly rimmed glasses bumping against it. She wriggled her nose, settled her glasses, then continued reading. Nero’s comment seemed more and more unlikely as Harry couldn’t imagine the woman riveted to anything but her work. He cleared his throat.
“If you’d read my report Alex, you’d know that I already interviewed the St. Mungo’s girl.” She said absently.
“Alex didn’t call you?” Harry asked, rubbing the tips of his fingers together. It was the only thing he remembered to do as a nervous gesture. Goode’s head jerked up and crimson stained her cheeks as she hastily put the paper away and put out her hand.
“Ah, yes, he did Mr. Potter. I just finished reviewing some recent developments. Alex tells me you need some memory restored?” He nodded. “That’s easy enough, just need to ask a few questions. Do you know if your memory was Charmed away or merely repressed?”
“I don’t know,” he said, and she jotted down a few scribbles. “But I think it was repressed.”
Goode looked up, rubbing the end of her quill along her cheek. “You aren’t a trained Memory expert Mr. Potter; what makes you say repressed?”
He didn’t answer for a long time, but finally sighed. “They aren’t really memories, but I have been getting... feelings of things that have happened in the past. No faces, no names, just... a feeling. If I’d been wiped, I wouldn’t have anything, would I?”
“Most likely not. A nice deduction Mr. Potter.” She wrote a few more things. “I’d say you were just Repressed. Dumbledore wasn’t a fool and he’s probably the one who took your memory. I’ll bet he meant for you to get some flashes. Good; it’ll make it easier when I go in to get rid of’em.”
“Who’s Dumbledore?”
Goode’s open mouth snapped shut. She looked taken aback, flustered. “He, uh, well, um, that’s a definite sign it was probably him. Albus Dumbledore was the headmaster at Hogwarts when you attended. A grand wizard, that man, one of the few reasons we defeated Voldemort.”
Although he hadn’t remembered that he attended Hogwarts, Harry didn’t feel very surprised at that information. When he had been there, he knew most of the castle without any help from the guide he was given and couldn’t help feeling a bit nostalgic in the Gryffindor Tower. Apparently Dumbledore had fixed many memories, because McGonagall gave no indication that she remembered him and Harry knew she’d been working there for longer than he had been alive. Whatever reasoning Dumbledore had for fixing memories, Harry had a sick feeling in his stomach that he wouldn’t like it. Why would someone stop him from remembering his school days? It couldn’t be for anything good.
A bowl of some smoky liquid and Goode’s wand was set out on the table she had placed between them. Harry blinked; he hadn’t seen her do any of it. With a smile that was far too false set firmly on her face, Goode picked up her wand.
“Just place your hands in this bowl. It’ll help keep you grounded with all this magic that I’m running through your head. Stay still; it might tingle.” Goode put one of her small hands under Harry’s chin, touched her wand to the center of her forehead and then touched it to Harry’s, holding it vertical between them. “Don’t say a word.”
Ron, having got over the betrayal of them having more advanced classes together than they did as a whole, jovially bounded up next to Harry. He was halfway through a Quidditch move he’d picked up from Dean when he noticed that Harry hadn’t said a word.
“Harry, I know Snape’s class is traumatic, but you’ve been going for a while now. Isn’t the shock factor gone? Hey - Harry?” He poked Harry in the forehead and Harry moved startled.
“I laughed in Potions Ron. Laughed.” Ron didn’t say anything, processing this information.
“Laughed? Like he finally tripped over his robes? I knew that swooping bat thing was gonna bite him in the arse one day. Man, what I wouldn’t give to have been in that class-”
“No, not because he tripped but... he said something funny. I laughed because Snape made a joke Ron!” Ron paled and put his hand against his friend’s forehead.
“Oh no. You’ve been spending too much time with Hermione! It’s infected you! This calls for lots of sugar and ill-fated attempts at Quidditch practice after all that sugar. Come on Harry.” He pulled Harry forward a few steps.
“But it’s Snape with the problem - not me!”
“Oh that’s what they all say.”
After doing exactly what Ron had described, both boys were nearly passed out in the Common Room, sprawled on armchairs. The Chocolate Frog in Harry’s hand was limp after struggling for the better part of an hour, but Harry could only stare at it wistfully. No room remained in his stomach for further consumption of anything sweet. Or anything at all for that matter. He shifted around to see Ron’s head tossed back and mouth open wide in a snore. He grinned.
The Common Room door opened as Hermione shuffled in, loads of books in her arms. If he had been able to, Harry would’ve gotten up and helped her. With a sigh, she enchanted the books to follow behind her and only then noticed Harry watching her. She smiled then and strolled to where he was lounging, kneeling next to him.
“I found some great books in the library. I don’t know why the Restricted Section is just that. Some of the magic is advanced, I know, but students just don’t have enough power or confidence to do the more dangerous spells in here. It’s so fascinating.” She pulled a book off the top of her pile and showed it to Harry. “‘The Origins of the Unforgivable Curses.’ Did you know that there were originally four curses? The fourth was lost, and no one has any idea what it could possibly have been, although there are a lot of theories. It’s all so fascinating.”
“Hermione, sometimes you scare me.” In a burst of immaturity, Hermione stuck her tongue out at him.
“With four inches left on your Potions essay, you sometimes scare me too.”
Nero refused to let him stay at the HQ after his session with Goode. Under protest, Harry left back to the flat where he was staying. It was a place of little comfort and no sense of home. His stomach was queasy. What could would he remember? All those times he wondered where people fit into the puzzle of his knowledge and finally, it would be revealed. He wasn’t entirely certain if it was a good thing. After all, he’d lived many years not knowing any of that information and it never bothered him before.
Harry sat stiffly on the window seat and wondered what his first memory would be.
Nothing happened. He was pretty sure that three hours had gone by and there was nothing to show for it. Unavailingly trying to convince himself that despair was not a good emotion, Harry closed the curtains over the darkening sky.
The lone coffee mug in his sink started at him balefully, wanting to be washed. He complied wondered if he could wash more dishes, because the gentle repetition cleared out his mind. Soon, a collection of dishes he had never used found themselves in soapy water. Harry mindlessly washed and felt as though he somehow had been released from everything. Drying and putting the dishes away, Harry looked over the rest of his flat and wondered if perhaps a bit of cleaning would be even more helpful. There was no harm in trying.
But just as he pulled out the cloth to aid him in dusting, pain lanced down the middle of his skull. Harry dropped to his knees and grabbed his scar. It burned like fire.
Was this the memory coming back? Or was it something else?
He curled into a tight ball, tears of exertion squeezed from the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t breathe - a fish on dry land - some air! Choking and sputtering, Harry clawed at the ground, struggling for purchase on something to hold on to, something solid.
He couldn’t see - his eyes were blind - nothing but clouds - a memory came...
A flash of light made Harry stop as he was walking back from Snape’s office. He was turning in an essay early for hopefully some extra credit or at least a little leeway with the man. Curious, Harry peeked into the dungeon Snape usually used to teach Potions. Instead of the multiple partner tables, there was one large table in the center where a cauldron brewed something smelling like simbelmyne.
“Hello?” From behind the cauldron appeared a face Harry was least expecting to see. Hermione had her hair pulled back and robes off, sleeves pushed up past her elbows. She looked as shocked to see Harry as he did her.
“Oh. Harry.”
“Hermione?” He asked in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
“Making potions?”
Harry waved his hand to the multitudes of plants he couldn’t even begin to name. For some reason, anger sparked in him and he couldn’t understand why. “Obviously! But why?”
Hermione came from around the table, her wand gripped so tightly in her hand that her knuckles were white. Her face was tight and drawn and fear of what could possibly be wrong welled inside him. Hermione was all he had left, after Ron... last year. Understandably, he had grown more protective of her.
“One of the books Madam Pomfrey gave me had some powerful potions in it. However, at least two ingredients for each potion were from extinct plants and animals, so that’s why students could read it. But one of the potions... do you remember Snape’s speech at the beginning of class our first year?”
The change in subject made his head spin. “What? His speech? Only that he made fun of me.”
“‘Teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory and-
“‘even put a stopper on death.’” They completed together. Harry blanched.
“Hermione -”
“After Ron died, I realized something Harry. Everyone you know, everyone who even knows of you, dies.” Her eyes were bright. “I’m not going to die, and I won’t let you die. I can’t lose you too Harry; I can’t.”
“This is impossible...” He watched as Hermione went back around the table, wiping absently at her cheeks, and started putting things into the cauldron.
“Not if you have the right kind of help.” She whispered.
“The right kind of help?” Realization dawned on him. “Snape! But Snape would never let you just make a deathless potion in the middle of his classroom.”
As if on cue, the tall man in black entered the room. An assortment of glass jars, phials, and flasks hovered in front of him as he moved with a strange gait, almost swaying. Generally, emotions played easily on the professor’s face, anger, hate and revulsion. But Snape’s eyes were wide, eyebrows up and mouth relaxed. In short, the professor looked calm, peaceful and almost happy. It was the most frightening thing he had ever seen in his life. Most certainly the man was under a spell, but Harry had no idea what could have possibly been inflicted upon Snape that he couldn’t defend himself from.
“What did you do to him?” Hermione waved her hand and all the floating glass objects landed on a closer small table. Then, she pointed her wand at the professor.
“Ecstacio!” A flash of dark red light and Snape collapsed on the floor. Harry sprang forward, but couldn’t bear to look at the body on the floor.
“What did you do? Did you kill him? Hermione!”
“It was so easy to figure out the fourth curse. The Cruciatus Curse was the ultimate pain, the ultimate suffering. The Ecstacious Curse is the ultimate pleasure, everything you ever wanted.” She looked at Snape almost kindly, almost painfully. “Once you figure out someone’s motivation, it isn’t hard to control them.”
Horrified, Harry stumbled backwards, trying to find a way out of the room, a way to get far from Hermione and tell someone that she was insane. He tripped over something. Falling hard on his palms, Harry scrambled to his feet and turned to see what he had fallen over.
Blank grey eyes stared back at him. Eyes connected to a pointed face and a shock of white-blond hair... Draco Malfoy. Wearing the same expression that Cedric Diggory had had at the Triwizard Tournament, the same expression Ron had had last March, Harry had no doubt that he was dead. From the Killing Curse. What had Hermione gotten herself into?
A loud ringing noise woke up Harry. Groggily, he rubbed his eyes and looked at the Ministry card which was vibrating in his hand. It was a small red square that most would’ve just considered a piece of hard plastic and tossed, but it responded to calls from the Ministry. Red ringing meant danger, desperation. Shaking off the memory and the others that began to fill his mind, Harry Apparated to the Auror HQ. He was prompted for the pass code, which took him several moments to recall from a frantic mind, before he was allowed inside.
Samson Coifferuse fell into his arms. Harry pulled back to see a blank face staring up at him. Dead. He slumped to the floor as Harry gently let go and searched around the office. Nothing was moving. He could see Healers that he’d spoken to earlier sprawled face-down on their desks. People who he knew, if only sort of, were collapsed everywhere. It looked like a battlefield. Because that was what it was.
“Hello?” He hoped Nero would answer him, but the voice that came in response was more expected.
“Hi Harry. I see they’ve given you back your memory.” It was Mondefin, of course. She seemed so incredibly normal with jeans and a fluffy scarlet sweater. This was the scourge of the world? How could she possibly be shorter than Harry? How could she have pretty hair tucked in a ponytail and a soft smile that smacked of baking pies instead of destroying lives?
“Not that much good will come from it.”
“Of course good will come from it Harry,” she cajoled, keeping the distance between them. “You will be able to understand the why. That’s all anyone cares about.”
He waved his arms about, indicating the litter of bodies. “What about all these people? They’re all dead! Someone cares about them.”
“Yes,” She said, nodding consolingly as if he was the one who had gone mad. “Somewhere, someone does. But eventually those people will move on. And the only thing they will ever wonder about is ‘Why?’ Why them, why their loved one, why, why, why?! You’ve already gotten the answer people crave.”
“Do I? I don’t know why you’ve done all this.”
She moved forward then, eyebrows furrowed in concern and a hand outstretched to... soothe? “Oh Harry. I thought you knew. These people here, the people in New York and Tokyo and everywhere else, they were all going to die before I even knew them.” She was too close, hand against his cheek. “The very whisper of your name is poison. We’ve been infected. And the only cure is death.”
He grabbed her hand that was warm, was his. “You put a stopper on death.”
“That I did,” she whispered, smile flickering on her lips. “No one told me it only stops your body from dying.”
He watched her step back and Disapparate with a half-smile and little wave. She was the indestructible Mondefin and never again the little girl that he had befriended and loved. When she died, he didn’t know. Somewhere along the way, her best friend had died too and he as he looked around the room of motionless Aurors, he was envious.
The grass near the lake was cool and wet, but neither of the three friends cared. Stars sparkled in the clear sky and for once, everything was calm.
“I don’t ever want to stop being friends,” Ron said suddenly. Neither Hermione or Harry moved.
“Of course we won’t stop being friends Ron,” Hermione finally said. “We’ll be friends until... until the end of forever.”
“Uh, Hermione? Forever doesn’t end.”
“Oh Ron! That’s the whole point!” Harry groaned and rolled up onto his elbow.
“Forever stuck with you two? Oh man.” He said, rolling his eyes.
“Hey!” The other two said in unison and proceeded to tickle Harry. Their laughter rose to the sky.
Footnotes: (because I felt my work was unappreciated ;_;)
Mondefin - a combo of the French words monde and fin, which transliterated are "world end"
Wizarding World Web - I know there's a WWN, but I made my own damnit. Deal.
Jonah Westron - Jonah because of the prophet who was stuck in a while (he 'found' enlightenment, Jonah is a researcher...) and Westron to give him a plain last name. Basically West.
Denise Apolol - Dennis was a twin in Madeline L'Engle's Wrinkle in Time Series who got 'visions' or a sort. Apolol a screwed up spelling of Apollo, who's son was patron god of doctors.
Hippolita Francis - screwed up spelling of Hippolcles Oath (by doctors, spelled WRONG) and Francis ... because it's girly.
Miranda Arielle - Miranda and Ariel were characters in Shakespeare's The Tempest
Defamation Draught - if you can brew fame, why not defamation as well? *insert evil grin*
Alexander Nero - both emperors with knack for power.
Iliana Harman - name of a witch in LJ Smith's Nightworld Series.
Cherise Goode - first from TV show and second from a friend who really lives up to his last name.
simbelmyne - from LOTR, the flower that growns on the burial mounds of Theoden's line.
Ecstacious Curse - perversion of the word ecstacy, which is the ultimate pleasure. Makes sense, don't it?
Samson Coifferuse - Samson lost his strength if his hair was cut, a coif is hair. :D
Title: Shadow Of My Creation
Pairing: None. NONE! Except maybe Snape/potions
Rating: R for cussing more than anything else
Notes: Italics are memories. In case you were incompetent. Does have more plot than summary suggests.
Summary: In the Wizarding World, memory repression takes on a whole new meaning.
He wasn't sure who was more surprised when the car pulled up to the house of Privet Drive. Surely there had been a mistake, for the normal looking family vehicle did not fall under the category of any of the Dursleys' friends nor was it something the Weasleys' would procure - much too innocuous. The low rumble of the engine had caused him to glance out from the window, but the vision of it caused him to sneak downstairs and look cautiously around the corner.
Someone rang the doorbell.
Vernon looked distraught, red face almost pale as he turned to his wife and back again. Finally, the decision had been made and his strength in opening the door nearly resulted in pulling it off its hinges. A gruff "What?" met the stranger.
"Hello," the voice said, a girl's voice that was albeit hesitant, strengthened. "I'm from Harry's school and-"
But before she could continue, three horrified gasps interrupted her and Vernon's face regained the eggplant color it was so accustomed to. Harry had been grinning, for the voice belonged to Hermione and never yet had she been to see him at the Dursleys'. However, her greeting was possibly the worst way to introduce herself. Vernon turned his head around immediately and a thunderous "Harry!" issued from his mouth.
"I'm right here, Uncle Vernon," Harry said as he stepped from behind the corner. Hermione's face lit up but if Vernon saw that, it would only incense him further.
"What is this?" He asked angrily, stabbing a finger at Hermione.
"That's a girl. Her name's Hermione."
Fury exploded in a wash of dark purple across his uncle's face and Harry winced. He shouldn't provoke Vernon, but whenever it was easy enough to do so, he couldn't resist it. Hermione opened her mouth to speak and Harry knew it could only get worse from there.
"I can't believe it," Harry whispered, nearly in awe, twenty minutes later when he and Hermione were sitting in a park with her parents wandering about the other side.
"I didn't think it would be so difficult," Hermione admitted. "Twenty minutes!"
Harry sprawled on the nearest park bench, enjoying the warmth of the summer sun. It was the first time he'd been out for a long while. He suspected what Hermione had come for, since she'd written him earlier telling him not to open the letter he received with the O.W.L.s results. She was probably too anxious to open the letter herself and needed him to share in that tension. Of course, when she asked him to remember to bring his letter, it was a good a hint as anything he had surmised since her post. Perching on the tabletop, Hermione was gripping her letter so hard her knuckles turned white.
"What if," she started. "You open my letter and I open yours. I... I don't think I would be able to look at mine first."
"Okay." They switched. Hermione's was the same thickness at his own and he wondered why he thought it would be different. Maybe he'd just guessed that his only said what a complete failure he was and that he should never be admitted to Hogwarts again. A rather pessimistic view, but the events of the last school year had him doubting most everything.
"On three. One, two... three!" He tore open the seal and scanned the contents, promptly dropping the letter to the ground. Hermione squealed in delight. "Oh Harry! You got an O in Defense Against the Dark Arts! I knew you would! And an E in-" She must have noticed his lack of response and her face was crestfallen. "What? What is it? Is it that bad? Professor Flitwick mentioned that cure for hiccups purposefully and I should have put it down, I should-"
"Hermione!" Harry grabbed her shoulders. Turning hysterical, Hermione had began to wave her arms about and grow higher in pitch. "Hermione you... you got straight Os."
Her eyes went round like Hogwarts’ feasting plates. "What?"
"All Os Hermione!" He broke into delectable grin. "All Os! Tons of'em! You must be the smartest person in Hogwarts history! In the world!"
Hermione looked up and began to smile.
While coffee was easily made with a flick of his wand, the Muggle way of making it somehow tasted more rich, more real. The contents in his cup were black without any sugar or cream, without anything to take away the bitter severity of natural coffee. He hated the taste of it, of any coffee in general, but the caffeine was good and any added to it felt like a privilege he wasn't supposed to have.
With a quick glance around the room and a patting down of his person, Harry ascertained that nothing important was left behind. His bag held an extra set of clothes and a new identity if needed, his real identity cards were in the inside pocket of his pants, wand down the side pocket and scar was thoroughly covered with make-up and an Aversion Charm to prevent people from noticing it. He dumped the half-empty cup into the sink, where he would wash it if he came back.
Once outside, he jumped on his Cirrus 2200 and flew to the Ministry of Magic, where he'd go through his routine. First, he'd check for updates in Level 5, where the lawmakers of Britian were trying so hard to ease the grievances of the world, who were not letting this latest menace grow unchecked as they had let Voldemort. Then down to Level 2, where the Auror Headquarters were located and of which had mostly been his home for quite sometime. Not that he was an Auror - no. Such a menial job and mundane job was denied him, despite having earned everything needed to become one. There was no name for what he had become. He was the only one able to fight against Mondefin, as the Ministry had taken to calling her, or at least the only one thought able, with the Voldemort catastrophe under his belt. Truthfully, he'd never faced her and no one was certain if he could withstand her power. They could only hope.
And hope was such a thin thread on which to stand.
"Any updates?" He asked a tall thin wizard who pushed up glasses that were much too large for his face. The reedy man blinked, surprised, before shaking his head.
"Nothing sir. I mean - Mr. Potter - I mean... No." Harry ignored the reaction; it was common.
"Thanks." He wandered around the room, checking parchment and computer screens. Finally, the Wizarding World had acknowledged the presence and benefit of technology. The Wizarding World Web had been set up not two years ago and everyone who knew what was good for them set up a terminal. When McGonagall had finally conceeded to persistant efforts to get electronics allowed in Hogwarts, Harry himself had been there to oversee and participate in the lessening of the wards. The Founders sure knew what the hell they were doing and the wards had somehow been able to recognize the need for a change. The castle still amazed him after all these years. With pride a bit tousled from denying the practicality of electronics for so long, the Wizarding community had enhanced their computers far beyond the capabilities of Muggles. Periodically, a few certain wizards would release some brand-new chip or harddrive to the Muggle world that the wizards had had for years. Alas, prejudice always had its outlet.
Jonah Westron approached Harry eagerly, laptop off-balancing him so that the short dark-skinned boy wobbled comedically. Head of the Research and Development section of the Auror HQ, Westron always seemed to have something to amazingly fantastic to report to Harry, which always ended up being something incredibly mundane and dull. Harry sucked in a deep breath of apprehension, ready to smile away the new findings on the alcoholic potency of a snail's trail or the detrimental effects of Apparating to the sun.
"Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter! I've found it! I found the link of... the victims." If saying the name Voldemort had been fanatically avoided before, the given name of Mondefin precluded others from even using pronouns or saying something that might have relation to the creature. Most of the top Aurors said the name with only a slight muscle twitch, but lesser ones like Westron pretended that Mondefin didn't exist as a part of their vocabulary. Harry sighed, as this particular issue had been repeatedly brought up by Westron. Last week, they all had stepped on rosemary twigs a month prior to their death, and the week before they had used the Calling Charm for a toothbrush.
"And what is it?"
"Names! Every name contains an anagram of the word 'pie.'" The poor man looked too eager. Apparently he hadn't even taken into consideration what connection that could possibly have.
"Did you take into account last night's victims? Susan Amber Carino doesn't have a p in her name." Crestfallen, Westron shook his head and whipped out his laptop to being a search anew.
About to move on, Harry heard a dull thud behind him and a few faint gasps. He spun around to see Researcher Denise Apolol on the ground curled into a tight ball, rocking back and forth. Several Aurors in Healer regalia rushed forward and held the girl down as she fell into a seizure. Most Aurors went back to their work, as they had been trained to do, but a few of the newer ones stared in awe at the efficiency in which an emergency was handled. Swiftly, Harry came forward and knelt near the girl's pinned arms. Apolol was a dainty girl who looked like a broken flower on the floor.
“Has she had a vision before?” He asked of Hippolita Francis, a Healer nearest him. She was speaking into a flat computer in her palm, looking through Apolol’s records. Harry wondered if she heard him, but she soon shook her head in response.
“None whatsoever. I hope she has some Seer lineage - I don’t want this to be because of something else.” Francis spoke a few more words into her palmtop and frowned at the findings. But she didn’t have to wait very long. Apolol jerked awake, hands flying out and one catching an old Healer in the mouth. Her eyes fluttered rapidly and Harry thought she might pass out again. But the girl regained her composure. She looked from Francis to Harry and back again before taking a deep breath.
“I guess Cassandra’s genes weren’t as weakened as I thought,” she said amiably, although a grimace graced her features.
“You’re related to Cassandra?” Francis asked, looking up.
Apolol shook her head. “Not Cassandra Trelawny. Just the ancient one. That’s why I didn’t think to even mention it. There was no chance I’d have the Sight.”
“Quite interesting. The Sight has left most of the wizards now-”
“Ladies, while this is all very enthralling, seeing as Ms. Apolol is the only Auror to have a vision, whether she wanted to or not, I think it’s best we discover all that this vision entailed, yes?” Miranda Arielle said a bit dryly. She wasn’t mean, but the woman wasn’t much for anything but blunt conversations. Francis conceded wistfully, but Apolol’s face turned very pale.
“I don’t-”
“Come on honey, this might be the first real lead we’ve gotten.” Again, from Arielle, who put a hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow. Apolol shifted her eyes to her hands, then abruptly looked straight at Harry.
“It was Mondefin,” she whispered. “She said she knew me, that I was next. And she said... she said the connection was you. Everyone who knew you. Everyone who’d ever heard of you.”
And though he was used to it, Harry couldn’t suppress a chill down his spine as everyone turned to look at him.
Harry stared at the class schedule in front of him with sheer disbelief. Next to him, Ron munched happily on toast and was rambling about something that Harry couldn’t’ve grasped if his life depended on it.
“Oh Harry! Did you see? We have first class together!” Hermione was nearly bouncing into her chair, stealing a bit of bacon from Ron’s plate. The redhead mumbled in protest, but his attention was caught.
“First class? What’d we get first?” He didn’t wait for an answer before a wave of euphoria spread over his face. “At long last, no more bloody Snape in the morning!”
When silence came, Ron turned horrified to glance at his companions.
“You didn’t.”
“Well Harry wants to be an Auror Ron and he has to have five Es to get that! And me, you know me Ron, I didn’t think you’d mind-” Ron’s face flamed to match his hair.
“Didn’t think I‘d mind! Now you an’ Harry’ll be spending all this time together and I just am stuck, just stuck, here on the outside!” But Hermione wasn’t the quiet girl she used to be and fights with Ron always riled her up anyway.
“You aren’t stuck anywhere Ron. We’ll still be together all the time; we are in the same house. Besides, you’re on the Quidditch team with Harry. That will give you plenty of time together.”
Never a fan of Hermione’s logic, Ron just huffed and poked at his breakfast a few times before gathering his things and storming off. Harry moved after him, but Hermione put her hand on his arm and shook her head.
“He’s just angry Harry. He’ll be fine. I think being late to Potions is something more to worry about than Ron’s hurt feelings.” Just the reminder of him voluntarily putting himself in a class with Snape made Harry moan and dunk his head into his hands. Rolling her eyes, Hermione tugged on his arm. “Come on, it won’t be that bad.”
“Says you,” He muttered, but let her guide him anyway. In truth, he was grateful for the distraction that miles of homework would give him. He’d been putting off any dwelling about a certain event and he knew that one day, it would all explode in his face.
If shock, rage, and horror were measured in droplets of water, Harry was sure Snape could’ve drowned the whole world and fourteen others. Hermione dragged Harry to a seat that was far too close to the front for his comfort. However, on one happy note, Snape couldn’t do anything but glare hatefully at Harry for the five full and very long seconds, as though he hadn’t seen the roster that summer, as if he hadn’t had his own private conference with each student entering Advanced Potions. Maybe he just couldn’t believe Harry would actually show up.
Composure regained as though it had never been lost, Snape glided to his desk and smoothed his hands over his hair, a strange gesture Harry had never seen him do before. In fact, the way Snape leaned against the corner of his desk made Harry wonder if those first few moments were an illusion and Snape had been replaced by someone using Polyjuice Potion or maybe a Metamorphagi...
“Welcome to Advanced Potions,” He said simply, spreading his hands. Dear God was that a twitch of a smile to his lips? By the way Hermione stiffened next to him, Harry knew it wasn’t his sole delusion. “If you are here, it is only by my grace and the Es you managed to scrounge for the O.W.L.s. It is unfortunate that not every class is filled with students who... desire a further exploration in Potions. We will begin today examining the ingredients of Defamation Draught and then go over the procedure-”
Hermione’s breath hissed in at the name of the potion.
“Yes, Miss Granger,” Snape drawled, even though the noise was barely heard by Harry who was sitting too close to her. “It is advanced. But I do believe that the title of this class implied as much.”
When class ended, somehow feeling much more like a Transfiguration session than any Potions class Harry had ever been to, Hermione sidled up to Harry with eyes wide as saucers.
“Harry, we’re making Defamation Draught. Do you have any idea how advanced that is? Most Ministry workers probably don’t even know a third of the ingredients!” She curled her hands around her books with a fever-bright cast to her eyes. “I’m not even sure if this is allowed but... this is fantastic!”
“And Snape acting like he’s our best friend and not trying to fail me escaped your notice? Some friend you are Hermione.” The last was in jest and made Hermione roll her eyes, but with a smile not too far behind.
“Paranoid. Come on, at least Ron was able to take Advanced Charms with us.” And Harry was glad for that.
Alexander Nero, with arms crossed and frown set in place, paced quickly in front of a seated Harry. The head of Auror HQ and answerable only to the Minister of Magic (and even then not always), Nero was unusually tall with a handsome angular face, drowning blue eyes, and a mass of curly brown hair that made him seem less formidable than he’d like. Surprisingly, he was the perfect sort of spy because he blended so naturally with his surroundings that no one could ever remember him. Most of the Aurors knew him only in name, despite having met him several times. Harry knew Nero well, having been sent to him often about more delicate information involving the Aurors.
“So Denise said Mondefin was after anyone connected to you?” Nero’s American accent was softened with occasional British vowels, although it did make him sound like an actor who’d never met a dialect coach. “Christ.”
“This does present a problem,” Harry said quietly, watching Nero’s pace quicken. It was the only distinguishable habit he had.
“What? Why? I know you’ve met a lot of people, but surely you can remember the ones closest to you? Maybe from your school days?” Nero let out another ‘Christ!’ with an upraised fist. “Everyone who’s heard of you. Good-fucking-bye world.”
“For a memory like a ‘steel-trap,’” Harry muttered, throwing in his faked American accent, “You hardly remember a thing Alex.”
“Oh God, right. Who thought it would be a good idea to Memory Charm the hell out of your memory?” Harry opened his mouth. “Screw it. The answer’s gonna be ‘I don’t remember!’ I got a bunch of people who claim to be the best at what they do, so if anyone’s gonna be giving you back all these wretched memories, it’s gonna be them.”
Harry cast his eyes down and saw the booted feet of Nero stop.
“Hey, I know some tough things happened to you. They let you remember the traumatic stuff, right? So you wouldn’t have to live it over again? I mean, we have to do this Harry. It’ll help with the next target and even confirm if Denise’s vision is right. God, remind me to kill Jonah for not noticing this, damnit! All school records were destroyed, yeah, but still-”
“Yes Alex, they let me keep the traumatic stuff. I may not remember everyone who was there, but all that happened...” He was still staring at the carpet on Nero’s floor. The Auror crouched, hands on his knees, and peered straight into Harry’s face.
“You’re strong boy. Now get your ass down to Cherise’s department. She’s been ogling it ever since you started coming in here.” A pinging noise came from the far right wall where the words ILIANA HARMAN were printed in large letters. Nero tossed his head and went to the wall. “What do you want Iliana? Aww crap, again? Jesus Christ, if you’d only stop wearing those damn voodoo bracelets...”
Deciding that Nero was deeply engaged in another more pressing matter, Harry quickly slipped out of the office and headed to the Memory section of Auror offices. He dearly hoped that Nero’s comment about Cherise was based on his sick desire to see Harry uncomfortable and not on fact. Dearly.
Cherise Goode was a short but strong-looking woman, dark red hair pulled back in a tight braid and dark eyes intensely focused on whatever needed her attention. At the moment, she was engrossed in an essay with tiny print that had her nose pressed against the paper, thickly rimmed glasses bumping against it. She wriggled her nose, settled her glasses, then continued reading. Nero’s comment seemed more and more unlikely as Harry couldn’t imagine the woman riveted to anything but her work. He cleared his throat.
“If you’d read my report Alex, you’d know that I already interviewed the St. Mungo’s girl.” She said absently.
“Alex didn’t call you?” Harry asked, rubbing the tips of his fingers together. It was the only thing he remembered to do as a nervous gesture. Goode’s head jerked up and crimson stained her cheeks as she hastily put the paper away and put out her hand.
“Ah, yes, he did Mr. Potter. I just finished reviewing some recent developments. Alex tells me you need some memory restored?” He nodded. “That’s easy enough, just need to ask a few questions. Do you know if your memory was Charmed away or merely repressed?”
“I don’t know,” he said, and she jotted down a few scribbles. “But I think it was repressed.”
Goode looked up, rubbing the end of her quill along her cheek. “You aren’t a trained Memory expert Mr. Potter; what makes you say repressed?”
He didn’t answer for a long time, but finally sighed. “They aren’t really memories, but I have been getting... feelings of things that have happened in the past. No faces, no names, just... a feeling. If I’d been wiped, I wouldn’t have anything, would I?”
“Most likely not. A nice deduction Mr. Potter.” She wrote a few more things. “I’d say you were just Repressed. Dumbledore wasn’t a fool and he’s probably the one who took your memory. I’ll bet he meant for you to get some flashes. Good; it’ll make it easier when I go in to get rid of’em.”
“Who’s Dumbledore?”
Goode’s open mouth snapped shut. She looked taken aback, flustered. “He, uh, well, um, that’s a definite sign it was probably him. Albus Dumbledore was the headmaster at Hogwarts when you attended. A grand wizard, that man, one of the few reasons we defeated Voldemort.”
Although he hadn’t remembered that he attended Hogwarts, Harry didn’t feel very surprised at that information. When he had been there, he knew most of the castle without any help from the guide he was given and couldn’t help feeling a bit nostalgic in the Gryffindor Tower. Apparently Dumbledore had fixed many memories, because McGonagall gave no indication that she remembered him and Harry knew she’d been working there for longer than he had been alive. Whatever reasoning Dumbledore had for fixing memories, Harry had a sick feeling in his stomach that he wouldn’t like it. Why would someone stop him from remembering his school days? It couldn’t be for anything good.
A bowl of some smoky liquid and Goode’s wand was set out on the table she had placed between them. Harry blinked; he hadn’t seen her do any of it. With a smile that was far too false set firmly on her face, Goode picked up her wand.
“Just place your hands in this bowl. It’ll help keep you grounded with all this magic that I’m running through your head. Stay still; it might tingle.” Goode put one of her small hands under Harry’s chin, touched her wand to the center of her forehead and then touched it to Harry’s, holding it vertical between them. “Don’t say a word.”
Ron, having got over the betrayal of them having more advanced classes together than they did as a whole, jovially bounded up next to Harry. He was halfway through a Quidditch move he’d picked up from Dean when he noticed that Harry hadn’t said a word.
“Harry, I know Snape’s class is traumatic, but you’ve been going for a while now. Isn’t the shock factor gone? Hey - Harry?” He poked Harry in the forehead and Harry moved startled.
“I laughed in Potions Ron. Laughed.” Ron didn’t say anything, processing this information.
“Laughed? Like he finally tripped over his robes? I knew that swooping bat thing was gonna bite him in the arse one day. Man, what I wouldn’t give to have been in that class-”
“No, not because he tripped but... he said something funny. I laughed because Snape made a joke Ron!” Ron paled and put his hand against his friend’s forehead.
“Oh no. You’ve been spending too much time with Hermione! It’s infected you! This calls for lots of sugar and ill-fated attempts at Quidditch practice after all that sugar. Come on Harry.” He pulled Harry forward a few steps.
“But it’s Snape with the problem - not me!”
“Oh that’s what they all say.”
After doing exactly what Ron had described, both boys were nearly passed out in the Common Room, sprawled on armchairs. The Chocolate Frog in Harry’s hand was limp after struggling for the better part of an hour, but Harry could only stare at it wistfully. No room remained in his stomach for further consumption of anything sweet. Or anything at all for that matter. He shifted around to see Ron’s head tossed back and mouth open wide in a snore. He grinned.
The Common Room door opened as Hermione shuffled in, loads of books in her arms. If he had been able to, Harry would’ve gotten up and helped her. With a sigh, she enchanted the books to follow behind her and only then noticed Harry watching her. She smiled then and strolled to where he was lounging, kneeling next to him.
“I found some great books in the library. I don’t know why the Restricted Section is just that. Some of the magic is advanced, I know, but students just don’t have enough power or confidence to do the more dangerous spells in here. It’s so fascinating.” She pulled a book off the top of her pile and showed it to Harry. “‘The Origins of the Unforgivable Curses.’ Did you know that there were originally four curses? The fourth was lost, and no one has any idea what it could possibly have been, although there are a lot of theories. It’s all so fascinating.”
“Hermione, sometimes you scare me.” In a burst of immaturity, Hermione stuck her tongue out at him.
“With four inches left on your Potions essay, you sometimes scare me too.”
Nero refused to let him stay at the HQ after his session with Goode. Under protest, Harry left back to the flat where he was staying. It was a place of little comfort and no sense of home. His stomach was queasy. What could would he remember? All those times he wondered where people fit into the puzzle of his knowledge and finally, it would be revealed. He wasn’t entirely certain if it was a good thing. After all, he’d lived many years not knowing any of that information and it never bothered him before.
Harry sat stiffly on the window seat and wondered what his first memory would be.
Nothing happened. He was pretty sure that three hours had gone by and there was nothing to show for it. Unavailingly trying to convince himself that despair was not a good emotion, Harry closed the curtains over the darkening sky.
The lone coffee mug in his sink started at him balefully, wanting to be washed. He complied wondered if he could wash more dishes, because the gentle repetition cleared out his mind. Soon, a collection of dishes he had never used found themselves in soapy water. Harry mindlessly washed and felt as though he somehow had been released from everything. Drying and putting the dishes away, Harry looked over the rest of his flat and wondered if perhaps a bit of cleaning would be even more helpful. There was no harm in trying.
But just as he pulled out the cloth to aid him in dusting, pain lanced down the middle of his skull. Harry dropped to his knees and grabbed his scar. It burned like fire.
Was this the memory coming back? Or was it something else?
He curled into a tight ball, tears of exertion squeezed from the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t breathe - a fish on dry land - some air! Choking and sputtering, Harry clawed at the ground, struggling for purchase on something to hold on to, something solid.
He couldn’t see - his eyes were blind - nothing but clouds - a memory came...
A flash of light made Harry stop as he was walking back from Snape’s office. He was turning in an essay early for hopefully some extra credit or at least a little leeway with the man. Curious, Harry peeked into the dungeon Snape usually used to teach Potions. Instead of the multiple partner tables, there was one large table in the center where a cauldron brewed something smelling like simbelmyne.
“Hello?” From behind the cauldron appeared a face Harry was least expecting to see. Hermione had her hair pulled back and robes off, sleeves pushed up past her elbows. She looked as shocked to see Harry as he did her.
“Oh. Harry.”
“Hermione?” He asked in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
“Making potions?”
Harry waved his hand to the multitudes of plants he couldn’t even begin to name. For some reason, anger sparked in him and he couldn’t understand why. “Obviously! But why?”
Hermione came from around the table, her wand gripped so tightly in her hand that her knuckles were white. Her face was tight and drawn and fear of what could possibly be wrong welled inside him. Hermione was all he had left, after Ron... last year. Understandably, he had grown more protective of her.
“One of the books Madam Pomfrey gave me had some powerful potions in it. However, at least two ingredients for each potion were from extinct plants and animals, so that’s why students could read it. But one of the potions... do you remember Snape’s speech at the beginning of class our first year?”
The change in subject made his head spin. “What? His speech? Only that he made fun of me.”
“‘Teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory and-
“‘even put a stopper on death.’” They completed together. Harry blanched.
“Hermione -”
“After Ron died, I realized something Harry. Everyone you know, everyone who even knows of you, dies.” Her eyes were bright. “I’m not going to die, and I won’t let you die. I can’t lose you too Harry; I can’t.”
“This is impossible...” He watched as Hermione went back around the table, wiping absently at her cheeks, and started putting things into the cauldron.
“Not if you have the right kind of help.” She whispered.
“The right kind of help?” Realization dawned on him. “Snape! But Snape would never let you just make a deathless potion in the middle of his classroom.”
As if on cue, the tall man in black entered the room. An assortment of glass jars, phials, and flasks hovered in front of him as he moved with a strange gait, almost swaying. Generally, emotions played easily on the professor’s face, anger, hate and revulsion. But Snape’s eyes were wide, eyebrows up and mouth relaxed. In short, the professor looked calm, peaceful and almost happy. It was the most frightening thing he had ever seen in his life. Most certainly the man was under a spell, but Harry had no idea what could have possibly been inflicted upon Snape that he couldn’t defend himself from.
“What did you do to him?” Hermione waved her hand and all the floating glass objects landed on a closer small table. Then, she pointed her wand at the professor.
“Ecstacio!” A flash of dark red light and Snape collapsed on the floor. Harry sprang forward, but couldn’t bear to look at the body on the floor.
“What did you do? Did you kill him? Hermione!”
“It was so easy to figure out the fourth curse. The Cruciatus Curse was the ultimate pain, the ultimate suffering. The Ecstacious Curse is the ultimate pleasure, everything you ever wanted.” She looked at Snape almost kindly, almost painfully. “Once you figure out someone’s motivation, it isn’t hard to control them.”
Horrified, Harry stumbled backwards, trying to find a way out of the room, a way to get far from Hermione and tell someone that she was insane. He tripped over something. Falling hard on his palms, Harry scrambled to his feet and turned to see what he had fallen over.
Blank grey eyes stared back at him. Eyes connected to a pointed face and a shock of white-blond hair... Draco Malfoy. Wearing the same expression that Cedric Diggory had had at the Triwizard Tournament, the same expression Ron had had last March, Harry had no doubt that he was dead. From the Killing Curse. What had Hermione gotten herself into?
A loud ringing noise woke up Harry. Groggily, he rubbed his eyes and looked at the Ministry card which was vibrating in his hand. It was a small red square that most would’ve just considered a piece of hard plastic and tossed, but it responded to calls from the Ministry. Red ringing meant danger, desperation. Shaking off the memory and the others that began to fill his mind, Harry Apparated to the Auror HQ. He was prompted for the pass code, which took him several moments to recall from a frantic mind, before he was allowed inside.
Samson Coifferuse fell into his arms. Harry pulled back to see a blank face staring up at him. Dead. He slumped to the floor as Harry gently let go and searched around the office. Nothing was moving. He could see Healers that he’d spoken to earlier sprawled face-down on their desks. People who he knew, if only sort of, were collapsed everywhere. It looked like a battlefield. Because that was what it was.
“Hello?” He hoped Nero would answer him, but the voice that came in response was more expected.
“Hi Harry. I see they’ve given you back your memory.” It was Mondefin, of course. She seemed so incredibly normal with jeans and a fluffy scarlet sweater. This was the scourge of the world? How could she possibly be shorter than Harry? How could she have pretty hair tucked in a ponytail and a soft smile that smacked of baking pies instead of destroying lives?
“Not that much good will come from it.”
“Of course good will come from it Harry,” she cajoled, keeping the distance between them. “You will be able to understand the why. That’s all anyone cares about.”
He waved his arms about, indicating the litter of bodies. “What about all these people? They’re all dead! Someone cares about them.”
“Yes,” She said, nodding consolingly as if he was the one who had gone mad. “Somewhere, someone does. But eventually those people will move on. And the only thing they will ever wonder about is ‘Why?’ Why them, why their loved one, why, why, why?! You’ve already gotten the answer people crave.”
“Do I? I don’t know why you’ve done all this.”
She moved forward then, eyebrows furrowed in concern and a hand outstretched to... soothe? “Oh Harry. I thought you knew. These people here, the people in New York and Tokyo and everywhere else, they were all going to die before I even knew them.” She was too close, hand against his cheek. “The very whisper of your name is poison. We’ve been infected. And the only cure is death.”
He grabbed her hand that was warm, was his. “You put a stopper on death.”
“That I did,” she whispered, smile flickering on her lips. “No one told me it only stops your body from dying.”
He watched her step back and Disapparate with a half-smile and little wave. She was the indestructible Mondefin and never again the little girl that he had befriended and loved. When she died, he didn’t know. Somewhere along the way, her best friend had died too and he as he looked around the room of motionless Aurors, he was envious.
The grass near the lake was cool and wet, but neither of the three friends cared. Stars sparkled in the clear sky and for once, everything was calm.
“I don’t ever want to stop being friends,” Ron said suddenly. Neither Hermione or Harry moved.
“Of course we won’t stop being friends Ron,” Hermione finally said. “We’ll be friends until... until the end of forever.”
“Uh, Hermione? Forever doesn’t end.”
“Oh Ron! That’s the whole point!” Harry groaned and rolled up onto his elbow.
“Forever stuck with you two? Oh man.” He said, rolling his eyes.
“Hey!” The other two said in unison and proceeded to tickle Harry. Their laughter rose to the sky.
Footnotes: (because I felt my work was unappreciated ;_;)
Mondefin - a combo of the French words monde and fin, which transliterated are "world end"
Wizarding World Web - I know there's a WWN, but I made my own damnit. Deal.
Jonah Westron - Jonah because of the prophet who was stuck in a while (he 'found' enlightenment, Jonah is a researcher...) and Westron to give him a plain last name. Basically West.
Denise Apolol - Dennis was a twin in Madeline L'Engle's Wrinkle in Time Series who got 'visions' or a sort. Apolol a screwed up spelling of Apollo, who's son was patron god of doctors.
Hippolita Francis - screwed up spelling of Hippolcles Oath (by doctors, spelled WRONG) and Francis ... because it's girly.
Miranda Arielle - Miranda and Ariel were characters in Shakespeare's The Tempest
Defamation Draught - if you can brew fame, why not defamation as well? *insert evil grin*
Alexander Nero - both emperors with knack for power.
Iliana Harman - name of a witch in LJ Smith's Nightworld Series.
Cherise Goode - first from TV show and second from a friend who really lives up to his last name.
simbelmyne - from LOTR, the flower that growns on the burial mounds of Theoden's line.
Ecstacious Curse - perversion of the word ecstacy, which is the ultimate pleasure. Makes sense, don't it?
Samson Coifferuse - Samson lost his strength if his hair was cut, a coif is hair. :D