Echoed Lives

This year, Yule was celebrated at the Burrow. All the traditions would be practised in their backyard, between the high grass and the neighbor's field. 

James, Remus and Harry had arrived a day before to give more playtime to the kids. Sirius would have joined them, but Regulus, the head of the Black family had requested his coming to the official celebration of Yule as one of the members of the illustrious Black family. 

This year, Yule had fallen after Christmas, though not a party any wixen would admit partaking in. In the Potter house, Christmas was the only tradition his mom had wanted to keep. After her death, Christmas was more an homage to her than a party full of joy and love. Still Remus had gifted Harry a beginner book on runes, since Harry was fascinated by the magic his mother was a specialist in. Even his dad had gifted him some accessories for Quidditch. 

“ Runes are magical languages where symbols or letters are inscribed and infused in magic to follow the purpose of their meaning. The meaning depends on the assembly of the symbols in a specific sentence to create a spell. Spells using runes can last longer and are essentially used for rituals (this type of magic will not be explained here, for more information we invite you to read our book “Runes in Rituals”) and passive spells. A passive spell is a spell working continuously, it doesn’t need to be activated. For example : a rune protecting a robe from fire. 

Wixen can use multiple materials to inscribe runes like paper, rocks, textiles and more. Inscribing runes can necessitate magic and chants to work. 

There are various languages originating from diverse countries. We will be exploring the uses of the most known ones. 

Let’s begin with the nordic runes, the most used in Great-Britain. Their specificities lie in connecting the living and the non-living. The first rune to know is ...”

Harry read a few more pages, tracing the runes with a wooden stick in the dirt of a hidden part of the garden. The nordic runes were sharper than the english alphabet. For now, he was only learning the form and meaning of the runes. Later he would try putting magic in the runes. Those shapes look like a lot of his mum's work. 

“Harry, there you are !” 

Ron ran towards him, still in pyjamas and his chess set in hand. Before the ginger could see the runes, Harry swiped the symbols off. It wasn’t a secret per se, but Harry wanted to keep runes between his mom and himself. 

“Yes, I wanted a little peace and quiet before the celebrations,” he said stooding up to greet Ron. “You want to play chess ? Let’s go under the tree. It’s cold here.” 

In response, Ron shook his head and sat in the dirt, evening out the ground before placing  the chessboard.

“I have to show you something,” he added, gesturing to Harry to sit down with him. As he placed each piece, he continued in a whisper, “You remember when we were trying out Percy’s wand ? Well, mate I couldn’t make fire like you, but … I can do this now.” 

Accompanying his words with action, a pawn proudly glided on the chessboard. Harry’s eyes bulged in surprise and excitement. 

“Ron, it’s incredible !”

Ron had the biggest grin, proud as a Malefoy peacock. 

“That’s all I can move, though,” he said. He scratched his neck and bowed his head, sheepish.

“Your control is crazy. I can move books sometimes, when I really want them to come to me.” Harry mimicked the flying books, in his excitement he didn’t see Ron’s pride subdued.  “Like last time, my favourite book came to me when I was already under the covers and didn’t want to move. Magic is the best.” 

Harry told a black knight to move to counter the white pawn. He was determined to beat Ron one day. But thinking in advance wasn’t his forte. 

After two games lost, Harry called it quits. Ron was back to his good humour, whistling a traditional carol of Yule. 

The smell of crispy bacon and fried eggs was calling Ron to the kitchen and Harry followed. When they arrived inside, everyone was already serving themselves. Chatting came from each side no matter where you were seated. They took a place between the twins and Charlie. 

“Mom, look what the twins did again. They painted my robes. Again-”

“-thur, dear. Do reprimand the boys, they won’t learn if you don’t.”

“Ginevra, you said you wanted to learn. Well trust you brother Percival, I would know now I am now in the third level in year 3 at Hogwarts, I have been -”

 “Dragons are fascinating, dad. I have to fly one and -” 

“Remus, you said you knew a lot about goblins. Could you tell me more ?”

On the coffee table sat the log. The log had been collected in the magical forest between a flowery hill and a rabbit’s nest as the tradition directed. It laid there waiting to be set alight in a bonfire feeding the vows of the new year. 

****

On the night of the solstice, each wixen laid awake. In the Weasleys backyard, all the guests had their feet in the grass anticipating the warmth of the bonfire while feeling the coldness of the breeze.

Harry had always celebrated Yule, but the Potter family burned the log indoors. 

At the Burrow, they had each assembled wood from the forest to build a bonfire high enough to rival a healthy tree. And at the center was the log. 

At sunset, after eating a light meal, the Weasleys, the Potters and Remus encircled the stack of wood hands in hands, chanting the traditional carols. 

Each had a blazing straw in hand. The flames following the swinging of the breeze. A harsher gust of wind threatened to extinguish them, but Harry replenished his with his own fire. 

Together they light the bonfire. Warmth embraced them all. 

Harry could feel the scratchiness of the herbs on his legs, the cold chill on his back and the heat of the flames. The chants came from his mouth without needing directions from his brain. His magic demanded the chants, and his body was the vessel. 

His hands clenched on other hands. Together linked as they were, they felt like one. 

****

This year, Regulus hosted the Yule celebration. The Dark Lord could already predict a massive log burning under mistletoes between the chants of subdued halfbreeds and wixen. By his conservative views, the Black head was quite predictable in his actions. The Dark Lord appreciation first, a grand banquet would follow and then the bonfire. During it all, Voldemort could expect lowlives to kiss his ass. He couldn’t wait. But unfortunately, it was one of the duties of a dirigeant. Allowing the masses to worship him. 

He had liked the fear that accompanied the worship. These days, their cowering was ordinary.

Here he was, in the corridors waiting for the cues for a perfect entrance. His dark green robes floating around his silhouette and Nagini following him, a foot behind. 

He could feel the instability of magic, its frenzy, its giddiness at fullness. Voldemort let his eyelids close, let his magic mix with the ambient magical energy. Reaching his level of proficiency in magic had the advantage of making wixen more sensitive to each variation in the flow of magic. 

If he had someone to be honest with, he would admit that magic was his salvation. From the orphanage, from the darkness, from himself. His passion, a constant source of wonder.

****

A rich flavour floored on his tongue as he bit in the meat bun, the juice filling his mouth and dirtying his lips. He could taste every spice. The lingering heat of the hot pepper. The earthy aroma of the cumin. The caramelized sweetness with a bold kick. Each note danced on his tongue, layered and lingering.

Having never travelled outside of Great-Britain, Remus made himself travel with dishes from all around the world. Today was China and their steamed buns. He had made meaty ones, ones with vegetables only, ones with a mix. He had a collection of recipe books, quite the easy gift to give him as he could never have enough. 

Making the table humming, he hoped James would come before midnight today.

“Harry, the food is ready. Come down. I made chinese buns.” 

From the second-floor, Harry’s voice resonated : “Really, Uncle Moony ? Can’t wait. I’m just tidying up.” 

“Tidying up, hmm,” doubted Remus as he put a bun each on their plates. 

Harry’s running in the stairs could be heard, seconds before he appeared breathing hard on the doorstep of the dining room.  Remus glared at Harry who looked petulant and remorseless. 

He dashed for a bun, then seated himself. After only a bite, he hummed in pure bliss. 

“Moony, you’re the best cook,” he said, and as an afterthought he added, “Barty is exceptional too !” 

Barty must have felt invoked as his voice echoed in the kitchen, but his body was nowhere to be seen, “No need to flatter Barty, Young Master. Barty knows Master Moony is better cook.” 

Between bites and laughs, Remus and Harry finished their meal. Harry looked exhausted, they had a big week at the Weasleys and today had been tutoring for most of the afternoon. 

“Hello there. Let’s get you to bed,” he murmured gently as he ran his fingers through Harry’s crown of hair. 

In response, Harry hummed with his eyes half-closed and pouting but ultimately nodded. Remus stood up to help him to bed, but the boy pushed his uncle firmly.

“I’m old enough, I’m going to Hogwarts in less than a year now.” He accompanied the words with defiant posturing of which the credibility could be questioned. “I don’t need you to babysit me.”

“Well go then,” replied Remus when Harry waited for his answer. Harry bolted with renewed energy. 

The kitchen wasn’t a mess as Remus always cleaned behind himself and Barty checked afterwards. And in the dining room, he let the plates on the table for Barty to tidy up, he had learned his lesson to let the tasks of the elf to the elf. 

Harry didn’t want him to help.

He had nothing to do. And he hated the feeling, the restlessness of feeling useless. 

Maybe he could read or research something. The night was well engaged, but he was the master of his time. He didn’t want to start the draft of his new book. He felt discouraged by the obvious prejudice towards the previous ones. They weren’t banned, but they might as well be. It was impossible to sell them because of the paperwork and only those close to him took an interest in them. Those books were the union of his knowledge explained for children in a way he would have liked to be taught. Especially when in this society there was no possibility of him teaching the children directly because of his werewolf status. The closest he’s gotten is the tutoring of Harry. Though a pleasure, it is not the same as teaching a class of 30 unruly wixen, he is sure of it. 

A sharp noise of someone collading into a hard surface made Remus jump out of his thoughts. It came from the entrance where the floo system was located. 

“James ? Are you alright ?” Asked Remus while following the noise. 

From the ground came the answer, “Huh. Yes Moony, perfectly will…wi-we-well, perfectly well.” 

“Are you drunk ?” 

Trying to grab an arm or something from the mass spread at the feet of the floo chimney, Remus sighed at the sight. 

“Really, James ?” Using his werewolf’s strength, he lifted James to put him against the wall half-sprawled in what barely resembled sitting. 

As James’s drunken episodes became more frequent, Remus had placed a crate of Pepper-Up and Wit-Sharpening Potions in the cabinet by the chimney. A vial of Wit-Sharpening Potion in one hand and James’s jaw in the other, he force fed him with more brutality than usual. 

In minutes only, James had regained his faculties. 

Scowling darkly, Remus completed the second row in the crate dedicated to empty ones by adding the new empty vial. The glass clinked from the abrupt gesture. He couldn’t watch James’s guilty, yet entitled expression. James felt entitled to grieve as deeply as he felt like it. A feeling, most would agree to in theory. In practice, those who stood by such grief were few and far between. Remus had thought himself one of them, but watching James withdraw from Harry, sinking deeper into himself, had stripped him of his support. 

“Go freshen up. Harry’s brushing his teeth.” 

Without a glance, Remus walked away. He took the stairs to reach his bedroom, while passing through the corridors he could hear the splashing of water in the bathroom. 

Behind him, James staggered in the stairs catching himself by the guardrail. His steps thrummed on the creaking parquet of the corridor. The splashing water stopped suddenly. 

“Dad ?” 

A deafening silence as an answer. The thrumming steps had stopped. 

After a moment, the splashing water began again now accompanied by brushing noises. The steps began hesitantly at first, then quickened across the parquet.

Remus had been sprawled on his tucked covers, his fingers clenched on the textile. His superhuman hearing made it impossible for him to ignore the matter. 

He stood up and marched in the master bedroom occupied by James. And here, he was hunched before his king size bed. The room bathed in a half-light painting the colorful walls in grey. 

“You’re not even going to say hello to Harry ?” Remus asked seething to a facing away James. The dam he had put on his feelings couldn’t keep up with the waves of loathing Remus felt.  “James, I’ve been here for you. I don’t understand the pain of losing a wife, a partner. But Harry has lost a mother and you should be his support. You are supposed to be a father, and right now you're only a drunk. You have to wake up, you can’t avoid him when you feel like it and come back all smiles the next. He’s walking on eggshells around you. He fears your reactions more than he is at ease. That is not how a father-son relationship should be. You understand ? Tell me you at least understand, tell me you’re trying to… Fucking answer me, James !”

James violently faced Remus, his face deformed by anger and desperation.

“I’m doing my BEST !” He yelled, his arms raised like he implored the gods to be his witnesses. “And…And I’m …I don’t know how …to live anymore. I could brave anything with her next to me. And now I… I’m alone.”

Remus looked at him in profound disappointment before he responded, “No you are not alone. You have Harry. You have me, Sirius, the Weasleys. We are there for you, but you don’t want us it seems.” 

At the piercing words, James didn’t dare look up. He didn’t refute. 

****

The warm liquid gushed outside of the wound, eddying around his finger as he plunged deeper inside. Blood splashed on the multiple wounds made by runes. Some were burnt on the skin, some slashed superficially. Others reached the organs. 

His red eyes were admiring the spectacle. Since the war, blood tended to not flow much. 

“Well, the results of the half-breeds testing ?” He asked, still poking the cadaver of what seemed to be a werewolf. 

On the other side of the operation table, the team leader of Nebulae, unbothered by seeing their leader playing with a fresh body, nodded and reported as instructed, “The experiments aren’t conclusive, my Lord. Their flow of magic has variations from ours. It depends on their species, on their form. For example, a werewolf has a different flow of magic during the full moon. The same for veela in their birdlike form. Finding an arithmantic equation based on it would be longer and harder.”

The Dark Lord had expected it, but it was disappointing. 

“Continue with A178, then. Are those experiments conclusive ?” He asked sarcastically, as He looked around the room filled with various cadavers. An inconspicuous sight in the Department of Mysteries. 

“There have been two successes as of now,” she said, her head raised with pride. “The first one, we linked the nexus to the ward for a few minutes before the host died. The reason for death has to do with the lack of proper substances given to it. The magic couldn’t draw energy anymore. The second, we gave it more substances and the connection between the nexus and the ward lasted for fifty minutes before the host had a surge of magic, destabilizing the flow and rupturing it at last. The host was in a comatose state but dreams can disrupt the mental state and thus the connection.” 

Satisfied, the Dark Lord gave a single nod to the unspeakable. A rare sight it was, the approval of their dirigeant.

“You did well. Pass the message to your team,” He said, he knew how important recognition was to followers. “What do you propose to maintain the connection longer ?” 

“Some members of the team have proposed we keep the host awake.”

Clearly, she didn’t think much of the idea. But Voldemort was intrigued, “Explain their thought process.” 

“We would make hosts sign a magical contract and in exchange for something, they would voluntarily give magic. If they voluntarily connect their core with the ward by following the ritual, the quantity of magic being provided would be enormous compared to the wand method.” 

“A work contract ?” He asked in disbelief, like he didn’t pay enough wixen as it was. “For now, experiment the longest a host can stay connected to the ward. Awake and comatose. And we’ll see.”   

The team leader nodded, before stepping backwards in the shadows with her head bowed. 

His mind filled with thoughts on the possible runes for the ritual, the Dark Lord stood still before the cadaver. His fingers tracing the runes absently, brushing the rough patches from the burnt skin. Blood had partly dried on his hand, He wiped down the rest on his robe.

The glistering blood will make a few squirm. 

A grin on his serpentine face as he stepped outside. 

****

In February, Moony’s tutoring started again. His tutor had seen his recent passion for runes and had steered him towards the useful books and had given him exercises. 

History could be his favourite material if he only counted the myths part. Or maybe the beginner’s class on runes, if it wasn’t so theoretical most of the time. He liked learning about curses but he would prefer to perform them. Sadly, they still had to wait to be eleven before getting a wand. 

His nose deep in a book but his attention elsewhere, Harry sighed. He couldn’t wait to be at Hogwarts, to be around friends. 

He felt alone. Remus was there but more as a teacher and an uncle than anything else. Recently, his dad and Sirius had organised Quidditch games on the weekends for the four of them which was fun. He visited Ron and the Weasleys every two weeks, but in the meantime, he stayed at home between books and his broom. 

“Harry, if you are going to stare into space like that, better do it from outside,” teased Moony, wiping his glasses from one hand, the other shooing Harry to go. “Yes, I am telling you to go play. But…for thirty minutes. We have a program to follow, young man.” 

Not believing Remus for a second, Harry stared at him until he nodded and smiled. He jolted from his chair, full of energy once again. 

Harry was already running in the corridors to search for his broom. He wanted to feel the wind, to fly and feel free. 

Shoes abandoned in the grass, Harry commanded his broom with an impatient “ Up ”. And here he was, in the air. Slashing through the winds, the leaves swirled around him. He rode the broom from the house to the first trees of the forest, and back again, and again. Passing under the foliage, brushing against the dirt covered by layers of decomposing leaves, flying inside narrow free spaces between branches. 

Pushing the limits of his broom, he went faster and faster, then higher. If only he could reach the clouds. 

Harry had flown above the crown of the highest tree, where the house was starting to look small and the forest infinite. He slowed down to appreciate the view when a gust of wind destabilized him, sending him above his broom with only a hand to secure him. The house looked tinier and the ground farther, fear creeped inside of him. Hanging by one hand, it took all his force to reach for the handle and grab onto it with his legs. With a kick, Harry turned the broom back on the upside. Finally seated and not hanging, he slowly flew to the ground. Cautious of each gush of wind, Harry didn’t dare breath until he was touching the grass. 

Floating just above, he landed the smoothest he ever did. 

He could feel the scratchiness of the grass– inhale, exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Now that he was safe once more, his heartbeats hit him stronger than he had felt hanging above the ground. The fear hadn’t gone away, yet. 

The swishing of the gusts between the branches now reached his ears. The soft rustling of the leaves brushing against the dirt and aboveground roots. 

He laid there for a few minutes.

Usually, those small sounds made Harry feel peace, an easy calm. But not today, perhaps the little misshape had frightened him more than he had thought. 

As he laid between roots and pointy rocks, he observed the clouds eating the last blue parts of the sky. A breeze passed through the grassy leaves to his bones, goosebumps covered his entire body in a second. A feeling of dread followed by shivers ran through him. 

He felt sad, and when he felt sad he thought of his mum. 

Her smiles, her angry face when he did something dangerous. She clearly would have yelled at him, right now, he thought with a tight smile. 

Her casket. Full of lilies, white lilies, red lilies, orange lilies. 

For the first time since then, he had a vivid image of the moment. 

Her rosy face looked as full of life as it was each morning. But her expression serene in a way he had never really seen on her. His mum was always full of emotions : joy, anger, excitement, doubt, fear. 

Her yell when she saw him writhing in her office. Her face stretched by terror. Her arms wrapped around him as he screamed and struggled, scratching her skin in his pain. 

Looking at the memory felt like he was above it, not even a part of it. 

There wasn’t a speck of light left in the sky. Every star was covered by an endless flow of clouds. 

Temperature had dropped drastically. And now every few seconds, his body shuddered making the dirt and the herbs around him trembled. 

Normally, he would already be inside, but he felt paralysed by dismay. The world felt too bleak to get up. 

The grass wasn’t inviting, but the irritation felt deserved. 

He closed his eyes, trying to appreciate the silence like he usually did. Despite his willingness, the whooshing of the wind fed his anxiety.

Harry opened his eyes to a completely dim view. No sky, no trees, no house – just three ceaseless pools of murky darkness. 

The mass of unworldly fabric was embracing him, draining him of life. 

Wispy white filaments disappeared into these abysses.

His last thought was “aDementor”.

****

The shadow lengthened behind the Death Eater linking his magic with the ward. The connection formed a flashing red string between the tip of his wand and the visible part of the ward. He exhaled slowly letting his magic follow the path from his core to the ward, like air flowing from him to the outside. 

A man entered slowly, tiptoeing to get behind him and suddenly whacked the occupied one on the shoulder. The other yelled in response, almost cutting the exchange of magic. 

“Mate, don’t yell like that. The chief’s gonna come n’ we’d get in trouble.” 

“For Merlin's sake, don’t hit me, you dolt !” He grunted in return with a hit on his friend’s arm. “It’s the next shift already ? You’re in for a treat ! Hm. I thought we would have it easy, you know ? I took this role because I didn’t want to deal with lousy kids or administration, and look at us ?” 

At his complaining, his friend laughed eagerly, shaking his head in exasperation, “You’d like the missions on the continent better ? I don’t think so. But …Urg. That takes too much magic, I can agree to that.”

Breaking the magical link he had made to fulfill his task, he then whispered in his friend’s ear, “I heard some guys had been relegated to grunts, the higher ups they’re replacing them with some new artifact. Like entire strongholds are going to be empty of any guards. We’re getting replaced.” 

“You’re talking crazy !” He didn’t bother to keep his voice down from the ridiculousness spoken. “There’s no way they made something giving so much magic. Even the best unspeakables can’t just make magic from nothing. Go eat, you’re losing it !” 

The other Death Eater shook his head, miffed to be dismissed and as he walked to the door, he looked over his shoulder one last time to add, “Don’t say I didn’t tell you.” 

****

His fluttering eyelids brushed against a soft cushion. As he took his surroundings, he realised he was in the living room. He didn’t remember falling asleep in a chair. His skin didn’t feel marked by the fabric, so a nap. 

But his memory was cloudy. He couldn’t think of a single thing he did today. If it was really the same day. 

A deep frown on his forehead, he got up and immediately fell. 

He must be exhausted for his legs to miscalculate the height of the ground. Fortunately, his hands still did their job.

If Barty saw him on all fours a second from passing out, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. 

Pushing with his hands to stand up, he glanced at his sleeves with more attention than usual. He couldn’t remember ever having a shirt with this pattern. 

Shaking the thought from his mind, he had more important things to do such as getting up. Pressing his hands against the ground, he pushed himself upright. Wobbly but standing. He didn’t dare step forward just yet. He reached for the top of the chair to balance himself. He noted to himself how easy it was to reach it, he must really be tall. At the thought, he smirked. Weirdly enough, he didn’t feel like his usual smirk. He couldn’t pinpoint the weirdness as he grimaced, stretching his lips in every direction possible. Maybe sleeping could cause soreness in the face, and legs. 

Swallowing his saliva felt much needed as his mouth was as arid as the desert under the sun. And his head was aching sharply. Pain stabbed his lower back. 

Too many sensations all at once. 

“Bar-”

His voice was rough. His headache became sharper and sharper, until the only thing he could think of was pain.

Distracted by his body hurting and his legs barely keeping him standing, he didn’t hear the distinctive pop of their elf.

“-y, Are you not well ?” asked Barty frantically, pacing before him but barely reaching his knees. Did Barty take a miniaturisation potion ? 

“Hur-hur..”

He couldn’t say the words, but he hit his head several times with an expression full of pain. 

Before he could do more, Barty had spelled him immobile. 

He heard everything, saw everything but no limb moved. 

Sadly, it didn’t hurt less. On the contrary, he felt the pain deeper like the lack of movement meant feeling every inch of the pain.

The chills without the shivers, the sharp ache without the relief, the panting without the air. 

Then the void.