Ends (003)
Title: Ends
Author: sa-kun
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairings: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Word Count: 437
Prompt: 003, ends
Summary: Harry sets the dementors free.
Disclaimer: I do not own.
Author's Notes:Spoilers for book 7 (HP). Part of my crossover series: start here.
The beginning of the end to Harry's stay in the UK came when he read about the Ministry's decision to execute the dementors that had been rounded up in the battle at Hogwarts. The news made Harry sick to his stomach. Something pulled at him from the inside, something that wanted Harry to save the dementors. To protect them, cherish them, take them in.
Harry didn't understand.
The dementors had been one of his greatest fears ever, but this?
What with dispelling echoes, feeling his magic expand and transform into something new and a little bit scary, getting friendly with thestrals and running around reading up on death lore, this latest development didn't take him by surprise as much as it once might have.
His magic, now more sentient than it had ever been before, wanted him to save the dementors. Urged him, in fact. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see an ancient langue written under his eyelids, asking, begging, promising, urging. It never ordered or demanded, it felt ancient and shy, but not dangerous, dark or evil. In its own way, the faintly glowing lines of blue text felt like a long lost friend. It was almost as if it was something he should've remembered, something he'd once known.
Or maybe something the Hallows had once known. Sometimes Harry wasn't sure where he ended and the Hallows began any more. He had begun to understand, though, that the Hallows retained memories of the previous time that they had all been in once place. Harry was mostly sure that he was the second person on earth to have successfully mastered the Hallows. In a way, perhaps even the first, because the former master was the very same person who had created the Hallows in the first place.
The text was something he had been seeing, if that was the right word for it, more and more often recently. It wasn't Latin, it wasn't Greek, it wasn't English, Gaelic or any other language Harry had managed to scour up in the libraries around the country. The letters weren't even from the Latin alphabet, which on its own was kind of strange, but no matter how many languages Harry found written down in dictionaries and books, none of the alphabets ever matched.
So, saving the dementors it was, then.
-x-
Saving the dementors had, in hindsight, been ridiculously easy. The cloak kept him hidden, kept him more than invisible to the witches and wizards that had gathered in the open field where the 'execution' was to take place.
Harry had always wondered how you killed a dementor. He knew now.
In the centre of the field, the Unspeakables had placed the Veil. It was grander in daylight, and the familiar pang of grief it brought Harry was less intense than it had been the last time Harry had seen the Veil.
For the first time with his eyes open wide, Harry could see the text he sometimes saw in his dreams, sometimes when he closed his eyes while feeling uncertain of what to do.
The text was alive, writhing around the Veil as if trapped. And it was, Harry realised. Narrowing his eyes, Harry stepped as close as he could - which, given that he was virtually undetectable, was pretty close - and moved a hand to the Veil, touching the cold stone.
The Veil was tethered, captured, a magical artefact being used in fashion it had not been created for. The Ministry was abusing it, had been for centuries. There were heavy chains of light and crawling, oily magic keeping the flowing lightly blue script in place, almost as if to prevent the Veil from calling out for help to whoever would listen, to whomever could help.
Without thinking, Harry severed the magical chains.
The Veil sung, its song loud, clear and deathly beautiful.
The Unspeakables tensed and pulled their wands. Because, the second Harry had severed the ties that kept the Veil shackled, the dementors had all flocked around Harry.
The first dementor Harry touched in his reflexive step backwards to protect himself from getting his soul sucked out, faded away in a blinding flash of light. One by one, the dementors crowded closer.
They all transformed.
Instead of dark, skeletal, rotting creatures of fear and death and evil, they all changed. The closest Harry could liken them to now were large octopuses of light.
"Oh."
After that, he stopped resisting and held out his arms. The chant, more a thought or a sense, really, didn't stop until the dementors had all been touched.
Harry Potter was the Master of Death and, just like any other master, the Master of Death needed minions. The dementors would collect lost souls, would guide the deceased to the next great, big adventure. They would guide the souls and echoes and ghosts through the Veil, Harry realised with a sharp pang of clarity.
As the Master of Death, the Veil was his.
With a thought, the Veil disappeared.
Just before chaos erupted, Harry disappeared as well.
Sequel: Insides
Author: sa-kun
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairings: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Word Count: 437
Prompt: 003, ends
Summary: Harry sets the dementors free.
Disclaimer: I do not own.
Author's Notes:Spoilers for book 7 (HP). Part of my crossover series: start here.
The beginning of the end to Harry's stay in the UK came when he read about the Ministry's decision to execute the dementors that had been rounded up in the battle at Hogwarts. The news made Harry sick to his stomach. Something pulled at him from the inside, something that wanted Harry to save the dementors. To protect them, cherish them, take them in.
Harry didn't understand.
The dementors had been one of his greatest fears ever, but this?
What with dispelling echoes, feeling his magic expand and transform into something new and a little bit scary, getting friendly with thestrals and running around reading up on death lore, this latest development didn't take him by surprise as much as it once might have.
His magic, now more sentient than it had ever been before, wanted him to save the dementors. Urged him, in fact. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see an ancient langue written under his eyelids, asking, begging, promising, urging. It never ordered or demanded, it felt ancient and shy, but not dangerous, dark or evil. In its own way, the faintly glowing lines of blue text felt like a long lost friend. It was almost as if it was something he should've remembered, something he'd once known.
Or maybe something the Hallows had once known. Sometimes Harry wasn't sure where he ended and the Hallows began any more. He had begun to understand, though, that the Hallows retained memories of the previous time that they had all been in once place. Harry was mostly sure that he was the second person on earth to have successfully mastered the Hallows. In a way, perhaps even the first, because the former master was the very same person who had created the Hallows in the first place.
The text was something he had been seeing, if that was the right word for it, more and more often recently. It wasn't Latin, it wasn't Greek, it wasn't English, Gaelic or any other language Harry had managed to scour up in the libraries around the country. The letters weren't even from the Latin alphabet, which on its own was kind of strange, but no matter how many languages Harry found written down in dictionaries and books, none of the alphabets ever matched.
So, saving the dementors it was, then.
-x-
Saving the dementors had, in hindsight, been ridiculously easy. The cloak kept him hidden, kept him more than invisible to the witches and wizards that had gathered in the open field where the 'execution' was to take place.
Harry had always wondered how you killed a dementor. He knew now.
In the centre of the field, the Unspeakables had placed the Veil. It was grander in daylight, and the familiar pang of grief it brought Harry was less intense than it had been the last time Harry had seen the Veil.
For the first time with his eyes open wide, Harry could see the text he sometimes saw in his dreams, sometimes when he closed his eyes while feeling uncertain of what to do.
The text was alive, writhing around the Veil as if trapped. And it was, Harry realised. Narrowing his eyes, Harry stepped as close as he could - which, given that he was virtually undetectable, was pretty close - and moved a hand to the Veil, touching the cold stone.
The Veil was tethered, captured, a magical artefact being used in fashion it had not been created for. The Ministry was abusing it, had been for centuries. There were heavy chains of light and crawling, oily magic keeping the flowing lightly blue script in place, almost as if to prevent the Veil from calling out for help to whoever would listen, to whomever could help.
Without thinking, Harry severed the magical chains.
The Veil sung, its song loud, clear and deathly beautiful.
The Unspeakables tensed and pulled their wands. Because, the second Harry had severed the ties that kept the Veil shackled, the dementors had all flocked around Harry.
The first dementor Harry touched in his reflexive step backwards to protect himself from getting his soul sucked out, faded away in a blinding flash of light. One by one, the dementors crowded closer.
They all transformed.
Instead of dark, skeletal, rotting creatures of fear and death and evil, they all changed. The closest Harry could liken them to now were large octopuses of light.
"Oh."
After that, he stopped resisting and held out his arms. The chant, more a thought or a sense, really, didn't stop until the dementors had all been touched.
Harry Potter was the Master of Death and, just like any other master, the Master of Death needed minions. The dementors would collect lost souls, would guide the deceased to the next great, big adventure. They would guide the souls and echoes and ghosts through the Veil, Harry realised with a sharp pang of clarity.
As the Master of Death, the Veil was his.
With a thought, the Veil disappeared.
Just before chaos erupted, Harry disappeared as well.
Sequel: Insides