Vengeance
For the next several weeks, Harry is left to recover. Sirius is a never-wavering presence at his bedside, and Neville visits often. The nurses feed him a near constant string of potions. They taste awful, but the improvements are marked. During his recovery, he dreams, and his dreams are strange. He dreams of a place he is certain is in the Ministry. He dreams of a snake striking a man, and when he tells Sirius, Arthur Weasley is found injured. The Weasley children that come to thank him look terrified. Sirius just looks offended that they would dare look at his godson in such a way. Neville has the nerve to tell them off and gets them to leave.
Eventually, he’s released from the ward late one night. He changes into a proper set of clothes, straps on his sword, and takes hold of his wand. It’s familiar and foreign at the same time, and he wishes to set aside the things as soon as he picks them up. He doesn’t want to fight. After all the betrayal and manipulation, he doesn’t care to save anyone. His heart is cracking under the pressure. Only Neville and Sirius hold it together, and he goes on.
Dumbledore comes and leads them to the Ministry in the dead of night. It’s silent and abandoned. They pass through halls like perfectly cut obsidian, gleaming and dark, and they are strangely familiar to Harry. He tries to shake it off, but fear clings to him. He is not ready for any sort of fight, let alone one with Voldemort. He’s still recovering, despite being released from the hospital. His body is weak, his soul cracked, if not broken. His growth’s been stunted even. He still looks like a child, a sickly one.
Still, he follows Dumbledore, Sirius gently guiding him on. It’s obvious that Sirius doesn’t want this either, but he doesn’t dare go against Dumbledore. They reach the place of prophecies. It’s almost beautiful, row upon row of shelves of foggy glass spheres. He’s pointed to one on a shelf just above his head. He reaches out, and it glows at his approach and feels warm in his hand. Dumbledore leads them on through the Department of Mysteries. In a room with a large arch, like something broken from a larger wall, filled with mist and discordant whispers, they meet their escort. It seems most of the vaunted Order of the Phoenix is there. That’s when things fall apart.
With a short crack, a figure appears with a high, reedy, broken laugh. Harry shrinks back. He knows that laugh. Bellatrix Lestrange steps out of the shadows. “Little Baby Potter. Afraid of little old me?”
A series of cracks rings through the room, and chaos reigns. Sirius pushes Harry down, knowing he’s not ready. Side by side with Neville, they keep off the Death eaters. Then, Bellatrix springs forward. With a shriek of laugher, she launches a curse at Neville. Sirius shoves him aside, only to catch the brunt of the attack and stagger back…right through the strange archway. The color seems to face from his skin, and for the last time, his eyes flick to meet Harry’s gaze. He offers one last encouraging smile. Then…he’s gone.
Harry screams and lurches toward the gateway. Neville and Remus have to hold him back. Gone. Gone! Sirius. He screams his pain, his rage. The one person he considered a father figure, one of only two people to never betray him. There’s a hollowness in his chest, an ache that he knows will never fade. If Sirius is gone, he wants to go too. There is nothing for him here, only a world that used and manipulated him. There is no safety, no belonging. He will follow Sirius, because he can’t stand the pain of this world. His soul, his heart, finally cracks.
Then, a high, reedy laugh rings through the room, and he falls still. Neville and Remus release him, intent on fending off their other attackers, neither seeming to grasp…what has happened. His life has been misery. Manipulated from birth, sacrificed of himself time and time again. More than once he’d nearly died, and what had it gotten him? Fear and revilement, abandonment by every person that cared, and now…Sirius. He knew everything, and he had never abandoned Harry.
And she’s there, little shadow of raging, black madness, jagged smile, wild eyes, and waving hair. Harry snarls. Bellatrix Lestrange. Her mouth moves, and though he can’t hear it, he can see the words. “I killed Sirius Black.” He stares, baring his teeth, and charges. She runs. They race through halls of glittering obsidian, in the dark, through shadows. Then, they reach the main hall, towering spaces of glass and stone, beautiful but no one sees it. Harry raises his wand.
“Crucio.”
Bellatrix falls, and she does not get a chance to tell him he doesn’t have the conviction for such a curse…because now, he does. She howls, teeth cracking in a clenched jaw and spine bowed in pain. Barely, she manages to drag in a breath and dares plead.
“P-p-please,” she gasps, hand reaching for the boy with hollows under his eyes and cut into his cheeks, with rage in his eyes. She dares. She dares?! He snarls and pushes more power into the spell. Bellatrix can no longer draw air to scream. Her eyes roll, and she foams at the mouth. Slowly, Harry reaches down and draws the blade at his side.
Finally, Dumbledore comes rushing in, feet clapping loudly on the tile. “Harry! Harry! Stop! Let her go!”
Harry doesn’t let go of the spell, but he lets it fade slightly, lets her breathe. “She killed him.”
“He wouldn’t want this, Harry.”
“You mean you don’t want this. You use me, and yet…you have never trusted me.” As the words fall from his lips, the air shifts, the lights gutter. When they flare back to life, a new figure stands before Harry, one both familiar and quite different. “Voldemort.”
That much is certain. The air around him screams what he is, but…he is different, more like the version conjured by Tom Riddle’s old diary. He’s older than that version, but he’s much more human than the creature that clawed its way back into the world of the living two years ago. If he is truly the reason that these ‘Horcruxes’ have vanished, then perhaps he has put his soul back together, at least partially.
He offers Harry a pitying look, taking in the sharp bones that jut from under the boy’s skin.
“Yes, Harry, but you may call me Tom.”
Harry stares at him…and finally releases the curse. “I’m going to kill her. You won’t stop me. I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care if I have to fight you. She dies tonight for what she has done.” The words are cold, hollow, echoing in his chest. It hurts. It hurts so much.
He gives a dismissive wave of the hand. “You may have her. All I want is for you to listen for just a moment.”
“No,” howls Dumbledore, raising his wand and firing off a spell, and much to Harry’s shock, Voldemort…Tom doesn’t block or dodge it. He vanishes in a huff of smoke. Then…something strikes Harry in the chest, and he staggers back, falling to the floor.
Ah, now we have a moment’s private conversation.
Harry gasped desperately, his limbs suddenly beyond his control but not…not in a harful way. It seemed Tom wanted Dumbledore to think that this was a malignant attack, and Harry’s body was reacting accordingly; but Harry didn’t hurt. In fact, he didn’t feel anything.
What’s going on?
A great many things, little one. I have been slowly slipping my people into the ranks of the Ministry. First, I managed to clear Sirius of those charges, with absolutely no help from Albus. Now, I’ve finally managed to get you out of Azkaban. In the madness of splitting my soul, I went about things the wrong way last time. Violence has it’s place, but I’ve been much more…selective this time.
You…You helped Sirius?
A soft, mournful sigh seemed to reach his ears. Yes. I was hoping that, with both of you free, I’d be able to ferry the both of you into anonymity. You have done enough, Harry, and I truly have no wish to fight you. That prophecy you hold? I don’t believe it. It’s so…vague. Dark Lord? How many of those have their been?
But…it reacted to me. Harry didn’t want to argue. He wanted to vanish, but it didn’t make sense.
And I am here and have been here many times, Harry, and I have never been able to lift that prophecy.
You mean…I have to fight some other Dark Lord too? He shudders at the very idea.
No. I think something else is going on here, but it doesn’t matter. I was hoping to let you and Sirius go, but…things have gone to far tonight.
Bellatrix.
Yes. You used one of the Unforgivable on her, not that I blame you. I should have killed the woman long ago. The issue is, they will never let you go. I suspect that, they will let you go free until I have been killed. Then, they will likely throw you back in Azkaban.
Harry could have wept, but he wasn’t in control of his body at that moment. He wanted to scream at Dumbledore, because he knew the man would be at the forefront of what Tom theorized, and Harry was certain that Tom was right. So, what? Will you kill me now?
Tom sighs at the hope in those words. If that is what you want, I can, but I want…to offer you something, another route.
What is it?
Well, you see, Dumbledore is right in the idea that you carry a part of my soul. Because of that, I could…stay here, make my soul part of you, make us…one. Since I’m not quit whole still, it would be easy. You would have all of my knowledge and power.
And why would I want that? You’re the one who killed my parents.
Yes, and I am sorry for that. It never would have happened if Dumbledore hadn’t let slip that there was a prophecy, but you are right, I am guilty. I just have one question though. Are they not…just as guilty?
What?
Look at all they have done to you Harry. Look at how Albus has manipulated you. I know for certain he went so far as to put Granger and Weasley in your path. They simply couldn’t follow his orders to stay with you. Look at the danger he has put you in. Look at the suffering he has put you through. Surely you haven’t forgotten his testimony?
NEVER! The words came in his mind as a rattling, sibilant hiss.
Then you see how…broken, how corrupt this world is. They use children as pawns and puppets. They play thee system that they claim is fair…and hurt people in the process. I was angry before, and I can see…that I went wrong. Let’s make this right. We will play their games and hurt those that have hurt us. We will make this world…better.
Harry shudders. It all…sounds so reasonable. He was tired of fighting, so tired, and yet…would this be another fight? Yet…he could have justices. He could exact vengeance on those that had hurt him. He could do to them what they had done to him.
Would I still be me? Vengeance is useless if you’re not there to enjoy it after all.
Yes. I would be…a supplement, if you will, to add to your strength and help carry the burden. I know you’re tired of this war. I will help you.
“Harry! Harry! You have to fight this! You can’t let him win!” The words come distantly, but their source is unmistakable.
We do not have much more time. What do you choose? Join with me, go with them, or do you still want to die?
Harry…wanted to say yes, wanted all that Tom promised him, but some part of him still clings to those things Dumbledore and that damned school taught him. Some part of him still wants to do the right thing, not really because it is right…but out of obligation. He knows it’s what should be considered ‘right.’
I will give you Bellatrix, and you will have all my help retrieving Pettigrew from Azkaban. You will never hurt again, Harry. I am here.
Harry hesitates for only a moment more. I will join you. Let us make things right.
Yes! We must hurry. I’m afraid we won’t have much time to deal with Bellatrix.
Harry sighs. She deserves to suffer, but her life will suffice.
Harry opens his eyes and rises slowly yet gracefully to his feet. Looking around shows that he seems to have the whole Ministry in attendance now.
Will we be able to get out?
If we are fast. Allow me.
Harry lets Tom guide him in casting several powerful spells at once. Dumbledore is thrown away and a solid shield flickers to life in a dome around Harry and Bellatrix. The deranged woman is lifted up like a Marionette on strings and brought before Harry.
Strike true and fast.
Harry lifts the blade. Justice. He will have it. Her head flies, and screams fill the air. Blood pools quickly around his feet as her body falls. Harry gives one last look around the room, showing a razor-sharp smile and too-green eyes. “You have brought this on yourselves.” Briefly, his eyes fall on Neville, and briefly, he feels regret. What could have been. The boy doesn’t look surprised, merely sad. He holds Harry’s gaze. Harry gives a single nod, then lifts his wand…and vanishes. A new age has begun.
The crowd practically screams at what they have seen, what has been done, but Neville is quiet. He watches them and moves slowly to where Harry stood. He understands what Harry did, even if he does not condone it. He knows that something is…wrong here. The way Dumbledore has acted all these years is strange, and he threw Harry away when they came after him. So, there’s something wrong, but he does not believe that Harry is going about it the right way.
Something rolls closer and bumps the toe of his shoe. He bends to pick it up, and it flares to life in his hand. “The one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those that have defied the Old Lord thrice, born as the seventh month dies…”
Neville stares at the glass sphere. Perhaps…the prophecy was never about Harry.