Harry Potter
Harry looked out on the graveyard despondently, far more annoyed at his current predicament than scared. He tested his bonds, finding them unyielding, as normal. Mentally he counted down in his head till when his supposed tormentor would appear.
“You have got to find a new venue to torture me in,” the young wizard said as the low fog rolled in, bringing with it the spectral body of Voldemort. Once more invading his dreams and robbing him of sleep, “Even Freddy Kruger had some variety when he needs to hurt people,”
Voldemort stood there, hair ruffling in the wind he had conjured in the shared dreamscape, arms crossed as he looked down at Harry lashed to the tombstone.
“Once again, you prattle on to delay what is coming. Perhaps I could grant your wish and skip the preamble,” he growled, tapping his fingers lightly against his forearm in irritation
“Oh, don’t skip that part. I’m just saying pick something new, something fresh. You’ve had all this time in my head and yet you keep coming back to the graveyard. I’m starting to think you might have some odd hyper fixation,”
This had been the tete-a-tete the two had for the past two weeks since their first meeting in Harry’s dreams. Every night Voldemort showed up, making good on his promise to torture Harry. Sometimes he would conjure up images of his friends being killed. Other times he would find ways to make Harry hurt and despite it being a dream, the boy would wake the next day feeling the pain as if it were real. On other nights, Voldemort would just talk about his goals and plans to rule over Wixen kind and bring them into a golden age free of Muggle influence.
Of course, the plan came with the catch that he would dominate Muggles into submission and make life hell for Muggle-borns. Though he didn’t seem like he was too keen on taking notes on that front.
Every time he did though, the man would place them right back in the graveyard. The sight of his great rebirth and Harry’s downfall as the Dark Lord had put it. At first, Harry was truly afraid of being back there and the memories associated with it. Combine that with the torture, he was sure that he would never look at a gravestone the same again. Now though, he was growing tired of seeing the same place. It was bad enough he was trapped in Grimmauld Place in reality. Now the only place he could ever hope to escape was constantly dominated by a graveyard
“-paying attention Potter,” the venom-filled words drew Harry back to the present and to the sight of Voldemort bending down to level his red eyes with Harry’s green.
“Sorry, just tired is all. I haven’t been getting much sleep. There is this guy who is constantly running through my dreams, keeps me up all night,” the snark flowed from Harry’s mouth easily and he braced himself for the incoming pain of doing so.
Instead of pain, he felt the snakes binding him to the tombstone wind themselves free. He could still feel the imprint of their scales against his bare skin, but they were gone. Harry looked over at Voldemort with a raised eyebrow.
The Dark Lord didn’t respond, at least not verbally. Instead, he waved his hand in the air and the graveyard melted away in smoke. It took a moment, but soon the area reformed into a place that was far more familiar and less uncomfortable than the cold graveyard. Harry found his eyes drifting to the all too familiar skeleton of a dragon hanging from the ceiling.
“The Defense Against the Dark Arts room? If you are trying to say I have much to learn about even having a chance of beating you, you could have said that in the graveyard,”
Voldemort sneered, one almost on par with Snape, before taking a seat behind the Professor’s desk
“And here I thought you would enjoy a change of scenery. If you don’t I could just-,” he raised his hand in the air
“Wait, don’t,” Harry cried out, sounding far more vulnerable than he intended, “This…this is fine,” Harry eased himself into the seat he always took while in this class, “Though can I ask why you changed this? I’m sure it wasn’t for my comfort. Considering the whole, you want to kill me thing,”
“I’ve told you already Potter, I have no intention of killing you. At least not right away, if ever for that matter,” Voldemort growled
“Oh, yeah. The whole special magic in my blood thing. Are you sure you aren’t a vampire, because you are starting to sound like one,”
“I have met vampires, child. I assure you, your image of what they are would be frowned upon among their circles,”
“You hate Muggles and Muggles-borns but yet you correct me when I assume something about another group of people. Careful there, Tom, you may start to sound human,”
Harry didn’t have a moment to react as his body was violently yanked out of his seat and dragged through the air into the outstretched hand of Voldemort and he pulled him over the desk. The man curled his hand tight around the boy’s neck, all but cutting off his air supply
“Do not take my words to mean I am anything other than a force of nature to you, Harry,” Voldemort hissed, his voice low and dangerous, “I may not be able to leave lasting damage, but if you slight me once more, I will test the limits of what I can do to your mind within your dreams,”
Voldemort let Harry go, the boy landing with a thud at the man’s feet. Taking greedy gasps of air, Harry chanced a look up at Voldemort, who merely looked down a Harry with a smirk. One that made every hair on the back of the boy’s neck stand up on end.
Quickly Harry scrambled to his feet and returned to his desk, dearly missing his wand or any sort of way to defend himself. As it stood, this change in engagement left him truly afraid.
“Fine. Then can you at least tell me why you changed our normal spot,” Harry kept his voice measured and clipped, though his gaze never left Voldemort’s
“There is some truth to what you said. In that what I was doing was getting old. Clearly, no amount of torture is going to break you or bend you over to my side. Or at the very least break you enough to tell me exactly where you are. So, I figured a more novel approach,”
“That being to teach me something I am guessing,” Harry gestured to the classroom as a whole
“You catch on fast. I suppose that is comforting. If it turned out the one prophesied to defeat me was not of a high intellect I would have felt very slighted by fate,”
“Wait. What do you mean? Are…are you saying I’m supposed to defeat you,” Harry quirked an eyebrow at Voldemort, who merely chuckled
“You are the golden pawn for Dumbledore and yet he will not even tell you why he pushes you to the front of the lines of battle,”
“That’s not true. He…he did it because I beat you before. He said I’m the best shot at beating you again for good,” Harry grits his teeth, trying to ignore the small bits of doubt that had sprung up about Dumbledore since he last saw the man.
“Oh, far from it Potter. You see I heard a prophecy. One that foretold a child born as the seventh month dies would become my undoing. That child is you,”
“Did it say me specifically? Because I’m sure there were several other children born that night,”
“And how many of them had parents that defied me thrice? No, you are the only child that could fit that prophecy. So perfectly placed there. Well, you and another from what I have now learned. I suppose in choosing you I created a self-fulfilling prophecy,”
“That’s why you tried to kill me when I was a baby. Over…over some words that you were told were of the future. You killed my Mum and Dad over that,” Harry felt rage boil just under the surface. Rage and fire at the man who destroyed his entire world, almost on a whim.
“If you wish to see it that way, then yes. I did give your mother more than enough chances to walk away. I think it is safe to say her death is on her own hands,” Voldemort cackled, enjoying the fury in Harry’s eyes,
“Nonetheless, that is why you have been set up to fail against me. Fate has deemed you to be the only person with the power to vanquish me. At first, I found this idea to be laughable. A mere babe could not hold the power to vanquish Lord Voldemort. Then, lo and behold, I was undone. Turned into a wraith in my attempt to outmaneuver fate's plans for me. All by the power coursing through you,”
Voldemort’s eyes and voice turned possessive as he looked at Harry, almost with a predatory gleam enhanced by his slit pupils.
“And it is that very same power that I will take from you,”
“I have no idea what you are talking about. I’m not any stronger than any other Wixen,” Harry attempted to argue
“Oh? Can you be so sure about that? See while you may doubt yourself, I know otherwise. It’s like I said before, that night in the graveyard changed things. Just that little bit of blood you oh-so willingly gave over to craft my body increased my magic. Our conversation is proof of that. Or did you think all Wixen could converse with each other in their dreams like this,”
It had been something that bothered Harry for some time, but not something he had put a lot of stock into trying to figure out. Now though, with it being pointed out to him, Harry had to admit that their connection and how strong it was wasn’t something he would consider common for Wixen.
“I’ll never give you a drop of my blood again. Not willingly. There is nothing you can do to change that,”
Voldemort pressed his fingertips together for a moment, looking at Harry. He held the boy’s gaze for a minute before banishing the desk away, leaving the boy to sit alone in his chair. Voldemort all but floated before Harry, reveling in the power and control he held and more than ready to use it.
“I don’t think you’ll have that choice any longer Harry,” a finger reached out to gently touch Harry along his face before tracing down to the tip of his chin, “Not when I hold all the cards,”
“You’ve never played poker before. You can’t find me and there is no way I’m going to find you. If all I have to do is endure seeing you in my dreams every night to prevent you from taking my blood, then that’s just what I’ll do,” Harry tried to jerk his head away, but Voldemort brought it right back with ease.
“Such a poor naive young man. You fully underestimate just what I am capable of. There are many ways I can get you to come to me,” his voice took on a tender quality that left Harry feeling off and cold,
“I could attack your friends and family. I have children whose parents are very sympathetic to my cause. I won’t have to set foot in Hogwarts to make your life miserable,”
Harry tried to move, tried to pull himself away, but every muscle in his body felt rigid and locked in place. Even his mouth seemed unable to respond to his calls as he was forced to look Voldemort right in the eyes
“You are so predictable in your predilection to save people that if I made enough noise and threatened to hurt enough people, you would happily trade your life for theirs. Maybe I’ll turn one of your own Professors against you. Let you sit there for an entire year, wondering which one of them will betray you to me yet again,”
As he spoke, Harry found the words of Voldemort taking on an almost melodic quality, not as if he was singing, but still having some sort of cadence that slipped in and out. The more he spoke the more Harry felt that tone rush into his ears and sink into his mind.
“Yet, none of that will be quite as delicious as what I am going to do to you, my young fated enemy,”
Harry felt control return to him, if only for a moment as his mouth felt slightly freer.
“Wh-what do you have planned,” he whimpered, hating how weak his voice sounded but unable to bring any bite to it. All he could do was whimper and watch those bright, red eyes. Watch as they all but tunneled into his own, holding all of his attention captive
“Simple. I will make you come to me and it will feel just like it was your idea. After all, I’m not offering you pain or suffering, now am I Harry,”
The eyes felt hot, searing beams that broke down any resistance in Harry. He could feel his body go ever so slightly limp and his mind drifting free of errant thoughts.
“N-No,” the words were pulled out of him, not his own but they felt like his truth.
“That’s right. I’m not offering you pain, I’m giving you a choice to avoid it. To avoid needless death. And all you would have to do is give in to me,”
Those words were charged with a power all their own, aided by the Dark Lord’s magic but potent even without it. His bright red eyes flashed as he spoke them, a sudden blast that confused Harry’s already addled mind.
“I…I ca-can’t,” the boy powerlessly muttered as he felt every bone in his body go lax under the gaze, his head falling a bit more into the hand offered by Voldemort
“But you can, and you will. All you have to do is look deep into these eyes. It’s just so easy to look and let go, isn’t it,”
Somewhere, deep within the mind of Harry, he knew what was happening. He knew just what Voldemort was trying to do and there was very little he could do to stop it. Every word made his thoughts more scattered, more distant. That little voice in his mind was becoming more and more faint as the only thing that echoed in his mind became the voice of Voldemort
“y…yes,” Harry intoned, his eyes drooping a bit, somehow feeling far more tired than he should while being technically asleep, at least his actual body that was.
“Good. Because in a few moments you are going to do just that Harry. You are going to just let go and free yourself from all those pesky burdens and thoughts. Just going to let go and…DROP,”
The word and its context were foreign to Harry’s waking mind, but his subconscious mind knew what the command was. His eyes became slightly glassy as everything left his body in the span of one breath. Despite this being a dream, Harry could feel his body’s reaction to it all. The way he slumped further down. His mind becoming an empty void. The sharp bolt of frisson jolted his body for one moment before he crashed down into the darkness. A void of nothing. No thoughts. No sounds. Nothing. Nothing but the voice.
“Good Harry. So nice and deep down for me. Just where you should be. I’m sure if you were awake you’d know just what I’ve done. You’d be so aware of how hypnotized you are right now. You see, this is far more enjoyable than using force or bloodshed to get you to come to me. Even if it takes time to fully subjugate your mind, I will do so. All to see you like this in the real world. Broken. Empty. And mine,”
The words drifted around Harry, the young wizard unable to understand any of them. All he could do was just float there in that void and listen to what he was told.
“Now, let’s start rewriting your mind. Drop deeper for me Harry. Drop deep and let me in,”
Harry bolted awake, his breathing rushed and his pulse quickening. He could feel something pounding around in his head, not quite like a headache, but not too far off. As if something was swimming around his mind, making a nuisance of itself. It took a few grounded breaths but eventually, it faded away.
Harry was willing to blame Voldemort for this sudden onset, but he had no recollection of talking with the man. Or rather being tortured by him. He had a habit of making sure that his ‘lessons’ sunk in and that Harry wouldn’t be forgetting them any time soon. Now, however, there was just a blank spot as to where the feeling had come from, not too dissimilar from trying to remember a slowly fading dream.
Knowing that returning to sleep was going to be an impossibility, Harry rolled off of his bed, letting the cold flooring against his feet shock him into full wakefulness. His eye drifted over to his right hand, looking with disdain at the ring that had been magically charmed to him.
“Damn you Sirius,” came the muttered curse, the young wizard casting another bitter look at the offending item before getting started with his day.
Before dawn would come, Harry was able to get things done without the constant gaze of his godfather or his House Elf watching him. It had only been a week since Sirius had all but imprisoned Harry within Grimauld Place, and the entire time the man was insistent that they spent every moment together. Part of Harry knew it was because of the house's influence on his Godfather. The other part was finding it hard to find the separation between the two. The house's influence on Sirius had all but become absolute, with Harry unable to see a shred of the man his Godfather once was. When he switched to his magical sight, he could see the tendrils of dark magic sunken deep into Sirius. The man that he had come to love and care for was too far buried to surface.
This version of Sirius seemed to be far more compatible with the ethos of his family that he tried to escape from. His dress had become far more in line with that of a Pure Blood family. His robes were adorned with the Black family crest and he had taken to carrying his father’s cane wherever he went. Even his voice had become haughty and aristocratic. Everything about the carefree, fun loving man that Sirius had once been was just gone. Buried under a mass of corrupting dark magic.
That same dark magic was hellbent on getting its tendrils on Harry as well. He had to spend just about every night using his new and odd magic to ward off his room from its advances. Once he was past the threshold though, then all bets were off. The house had this way of distorting the truth to Harry, twisting what he saw and heard in subtle ways. Ways that were designed, if he had to guess, to make him confused and easier to overtake. No doubt it was how the house got a hold of Sirius at first. Going right from being in Azkaban for years to living here without any sort of help had definitely left the man’s mind warped. Harry couldn’t allow himself to fall for that trap and had taken at least one thing he had learned from Moody to heart; ‘Constant Vigilance’.
Though tiring, Harry had spent more time using his magic vision while outside of his room. It made it easier to see the darker pockets of magic around the house. Places where it could spread its influence to a higher concentration. There were a few spots that were practically writhing with the stuff, and Harry could see it seeping deep into the walls and going who knew where. The house wasn’t that big, at least when compared to how vast the network of dark magic vines seemed to stretch. Part of him wondered if there was a central area they came from, and if so, if was there a way to destroy it. It was wishful thinking, but it was also the only plan he currently had. Well, he and his new partner. In a manner of speaking.
After the fallout with Sirius and being forced into his room, Harry finally noticed the odd locket that had wound its way around his arm. Not just wound around his arm, but practically clinging to it. The locket felt, which was something Harry was confused by, possessive almost. When he took it off, he could feel it trying to stay on him. Trying to stay close. As he looked at the snake on the front, he could almost hear hissing. The kind of hissing that he could understand.
Sssstay.
Warm
Oursssss
Mine
The words were in parseltongue no doubt and it gave Harry all the more reason to just throw the thing away. Yet, as he held it in his hands, ready to toss the thing through a small hole in his wall, he felt it. He felt something within the locket spark against him. Against his scar. A warmth flowed from his most famous wound and into the locket itself. Through it Harry could feel the locket calming down. Almost as if it were being lulled into slumber by his scar.
To say Harry was confused would be underselling it.
All the same, when the locket felt at peace, Harry could feel that same peace come over him. Calming his mind and helping him focus. It was as if all his worries were being pushed aside, if only for a moment. That everything in the world was going to be okay and manageable as long as he had this locket by him. It was for that reason that, whenever he left his room when called by Sirius, the locket was on his neck, hidden by his shirt.
The locket, while not a great conversationalist, had proven capable of having a limited form of communication. It seemed that it could only convey smaller words through the tongue of snakes. However, more complicated things were passed along the odd connection through his scar. Sometimes it would be images or even entire thoughts. Likewise, Harry had found he could do the same back to the locket as well. It reminded him of PRONGS in its own way. A little companion to help him deal with life.
Even now, as the locket waited on his bedside, Harry could feel its eagerness to be worn.
Join.
Touch.
Warm.
Ours.
The locket was needy for his touch and attention as always, but Harry had come to find it just a little endearing. Slipping on his glasses first, he carefully undid the clasp on the locket and slid it onto his neck, locking it back into place. The moment he did a feeling of gratitude came rushing along the connection, making Harry smile slightly.
“Yeah, I’m happy to have you back on too. The only bit of happiness I’ve had in a while,” he spoke bluntly.
The locket sent a wave of concern before filling his mind with the concept of escaping. To which Harry could only shrug too.
“I want to get out of here too but…Sirius and this house are making that impossible. I still have this stupid ring on my finger and even then, I don’t know where we would go,”
The image of home popped into Harry’s mind, making the boy chuckle.
“This was supposed to be home. You know I wanted to live with Sirius badly. Wanted to escape my relatives. Now that I got my wish it is just hollow. Through no fault of my own, I suppose,”
Harry looked down at the snake on the locket, seeing it move very minutely. For something so small and meagerly carved, the snake was capable of very small moments of expression. In this case, the tongue flickering out as a wave of affection came forth.
“Thanks. I’ll try to get us out. I’ve been looking over the runes again but I’m just not finding anything that would let us alter the ring's magic. Not to mention the runes on it are ones I’ve never seen before. It’s just too unique,”
The locket could only offer feelings of annoyance at those words. As well as mild impatience at being stuck for so long. There was no telling how long the locket had been there, so Harry was not going to hold its wanderlust against it. Truthfully, he shouldn’t be considering the wanderlust of what was no doubt a cursed item of some kind, but it was a warm comfort in his otherwise cold predicament.
Ressssst?
Harry shook his head as if the locket could see before standing up and stretching. As his joints popped and he felt wakefulness consume him in full, Harry bit his lip as he went over his plan for the day.
“No rest today. Sirius is planning something. I keep hearing him, at least I think it’s him, shuffling around at night. Not to mention the sounds of the house shaking ever so often. We need to figure out a way to get this ring off of us and escape this place. Runes may not be the answer to changing the properties of the ring, but maybe we could somehow use it to change our physical properties,”
It was honestly just speculation, not to mention that in the books he had read so far, there were no mentions of using runes on a human being. Or anything living for that matter. Rune magic seemed to only be limited to objects and non-sentient flora and fauna. Yet, the lack of information on it didn’t mean it wasn’t necessarily impossible. At the end of the day, rune magic was merely programming magic to activate under a set of conditions at a set time. The medium that they were programmed on really shouldn’t matter as much. At least as far as Harry could see it. If anything, placing the runes on someone with a magical core should make them function stronger with access to a constant supply of magical energy.
“Alright. Sirius won’t be up for at least a few more hours. I’m going to work on this intangibility rune. If I can get it to merely be contained to one area, as opposed to the object as a whole, we may have a plan,”
The locket sent a burst of hopefulness towards him and Harry couldn’t help but smile. They were an odd pair, the locket and he, but they both had a common goal. To escape Grimmauld Place at all costs.
Sirius was silent for a bit longer than Harry had expected, he had made it to midday working on his runes before even felt a twinge from the ring on his finger. The moment that sharp spark struck, Harry heaved a sigh of annoyance, the locket sending the same through their connection. Harry knew that the longer he ignored it, the stronger the spark would become, up until the pain would become crippling. He had only felt such pain the first day he wore the damn thing. He was in no hurry to deal with that pain again.
He looked over his notes and bits of practice he had been doing. Even though he wasn’t being trained, it seemed the pass he had been given to practice his magic outside of Hogwarts was going strong and he had been using his wand to carve the runes into random bits of items he had found. The first few attempts at using the runes had gone poorly and there was no telling how long those items would be falling through physical objects would last. Harry had a hunch that the runes would run out of his magic eventually, though the image of a silver platter plummeting through to the core of the earth did make him chuckle.
Eventually, through trial and error, Harry managed to get a rough series of runes that did what he wanted. Runes had to be very specific with the way they were written, especially when they were written within a series of instructions. One had to sit there and plan out entire strings of runes t get a single desired effect. When you need a very specific effect, the runes get either longer and more complicated, or the individual runes become more complex. One was easier to work with, though it required a lot more space. The other though, was complicated but was a major space saver. It allowed for more in-depth instructions for the runes without compromising the magics' integrity.
It was computer programming just for Wixen.
The ring pulsed, stronger than before and Harry steeled himself, recollecting his thoughts after having the jarred by the spark.
“Fine. Fine. I’m coming,” Harry muttered, before waving his wand to send all of his work and notes scattering under his bed and hidden behind his trunk. Though Sirius had said he would not invade Harry’s personal space, he didn’t say anything about Kreacher. Though nothing had looked out of place or gone through, Harry wasn’t going to take any chances.
Knowing that he was pushing his luck, Harry did his best to tidy up his appearance. Sirius had insisted that he wear robes befitting his position as the man’s Godson, but so far, he had managed to escape thanks to being just a touch too thin for the robes to rest properly on his body. It wasn’t much, but it was at least some small bid at freedom. Even if the robes were probably a far cry nicer than the Muggle clothing he had to his name.
Giving the locket a small squeeze, to which a sensation of gratitude was sent along the connect, Harry steeled his mind and stepped out of his room and into the house proper. Instantly he could feel the oppressive magic of the house pressing in against him. Seeking for any small break in his will or focus to exploit and feed off of. Though he didn’t dare to do so, he knew if he were to look around through his magic sight he would see the tendrils of dark magic snaking forward towards him.
It was an image he had no desire to endure.
Since Sirius had given into the darkness of the house, a lot of Grimmauld Place had changed. For one, the almost claustrophobic feeling that pervaded the house doubled as the space warped wildly. Where there were once walls, there were now sprawling hallways that were lined with portraits filled with menacing faces. Entire new levels had seemingly exploded into existence, and everything began to take on a grandiose look, even if it was overtly dreary and dark. Candles were held in the clawed grips of severed troll and goblin hands, while there was an entire room dedicated to the decapitated trophies of several magical animals Harry didn’t recognize. It was in this room that Sirius was waiting for him.
As had become customary, the man was nursing a drink in one hand while twirling his wand in the other. Despite the corrupt nature of the magic flowing through him, some of it had done some good for his body. His hair, for instance, was neatly trimmed and well-maintained. Nary a strand out of place, the same was true for his beard. Harry had caught Kreacher grooming the man one night, the normally sullen house-elf seemingly besotted with this new Sirius. Personally, Harry very much preferred the unkempt and wild look his Godfather had before.
Taking his seat directly across from the man, Harry made sure to keep his eyes from making direct contact with his Godfathers. It was tough to look into those eyes, to see the sharpness and cold glare that had replaced Sirius’s normally bright and shining eyes. Ones filled with joy and mischief. Looking into them and seeing what was gone hurt more than anything that this new Sirius could through at him.
“I see you have yet to learn that a proper heir should not leave the Lord of the House waiting when he is called,” the voice was cold and distant. It was too close to how Lucius had spoken. As if wanting to keep the entire world at arms-length.
“I figured you had Kreacher to keep you company that you- Arggh,”
Harry couldn’t get the rest of his, admittedly, stupid remark before Sirius had flexed his control over the ring to send a crippling bolt of pain racing down the teen’s spine. While it was nowhere near the crucio he had experienced at the hands of Voldemort in the graveyard, it still was painful all the same.
“Let’s try that again, shall we,” Sirius coolly remarked as he dropped the pain to allow Harry to slowly return himself from the floor to his seat, “What should an heir never do,”
“Keep his Lord waiting when called,” Harry responded, monotonal with his cadence.
Sirius didn’t respond in the affirmative, merely inclined his head before pulling out his wand. With a wordless flick, the walls of the room began to change around them. It was not unlike being in the center of a Rubik's cube, Harry reasoned. The walls rolled, shifted, dropped, and moved in all manner of directions all around them. While he was used to being around magic, it was still unnerving to see the laws of physical space voided so easily as the room they were in expanded beyond the limits that the house should have allowed.
“Harrison,” Sirius ignored the visible wince Harry gave as he spoke, “I think it is time you and I discuss your future as Heir Black and your responsibilities to this family. While I may have been led astray by the idiotic notions of light Wixen, I will not allow my Godson to follow in their footsteps,”
“And whose footsteps would that be,” Harry chanced bracing for the pain.
Instead, Sirius just smiled.
“The ones that have put you on the path towards eliminating the Dark Lord. The ones that have filled your head with hate against that which is in the very nature of who you are. The ones that would sit there and tell you that Wixen intermingling with their lesser is to be looked upon with reverence,”
Harry stiffened as Sirius stood, the room finally finishing its massive shift. Where there was once a simple sitting room, had now become a large entryway. The chair Harry was in vanished, forcing him to stand on the now marble flooring. The young Wixen turned his head around, looking up at the massive chandelier that swung above them. A grand staircase awaited next, its also marble steps spiraling into the lower floors. And there, on the floor beneath Harry’s feet was the Black family crest.
“You see, Harrison, we are not destined to play as mere pawns for the Light. No, we are the family Black. We are destined to rule over all those who would dare balk at our doctrine. ‘Always Pure’. It is time for you to truly become a part of this family,”
“Sirius, I know there is still a part of you in there somewhere. That part has got to know that all of this blood purity nonsense is not who you are! It’s the house talking for you,”
Sirius looked down at Harry for a moment, before curling the hand baring the ring into a fist. A force began to press down upon Harry, pushing him onto the ground against his will. He could feel his bones protesting as he tried to fight against it, but the magic was stronger than his physical will. Soon Harry found himself on his hands and knees, head pressed down onto the Black family crest.
“This house, the grand Grimmauld Manor, is not talking for me. No, it and the one at its center merely freed my mind from the lies and manipulations of the likes of Dumbledore, James, and Lupin. It cleared my eyes to the truth of what it means to be Lord Black. Likewise, it will do the same for you Harrison,”
Harry summoned enough strength to lift his head to look at Sirius, his green eyes filled with passion and fury
“I will save you, Sirius. I won’t let this place win,”
Sirius bent low, grabbing a fistful of Harry’s hair with a sadistic glint in his eyes
“That is where you are wrong,” Sirius’s voice was laced with another, one that sounded far more manic and dominating than his Godfathers, “You cannot save that which is already mine, you small filthy mudblood,”
Harry was pulled free from the magic as Sirius yanked on his hair with an unnatural strength. Pain blossomed from his scalp as he struggled in the man's grasp, his feet barely touching the floor.
“How such a disgusting whelp like yourself can be so powerful is beyond me, but soon it will not matter. I am going to take all that foul blood from your body and turn you into the proper Heir Black you are supposed to be,”
“Wh-who are you,” Harry cried out, as he kicked against Sirius’s body, finally getting enough force to pull free from the man, though a patch of his hair did not come with him.
Sirius, for the most part, hadn’t moved from the force of the attack. He still stood resolutely at the head of the Black family crest, tossing away the patch of Harry’s hair that was still tangled in his fingers. His face had morphed, twisted in a horrifying visage of deep wrinkles and almost sunken eyes. Yet, despite this, it smiled. The wide grin was unnatural on the face of Sirius, sending waves of unease and fear racing along the spine of Harry.
“I am many, child,” the voice of Sirius became lost in a sea of others, all of them speaking with a creaking discordance,
“Walburga Black. Marius Black. Alphard Black. Arcturus Black,” as the body of Sirius spoke each name, the feeling of dark magic rose to a fever pitch. Even without his magic sight, Harry could see the wisps of black magic swirling around the air,
“I am that which has flowed through the veins of every Black of pure blood. The culmination of a family lineage destined to bring the Wixen world to heel alongside the Dark Lords of every generation. You, the filthy child that you are, will be among them. My most perfect vessel to aid this generation's current Dark Lord in his conquest,”
Harry could only watch in wide-eyed fear as what had once been his Godfather became something horrid. Something dark and vile. There was so little of Sirius left in the face of the figure before him that Harry was hard-pressed to think that the man ever truly existed. The change seemed to have altered everything about Sirius there once was.
With a gesture of his hand, Sirius pulled Harry off the ground and into his grip. Thick fingers flexed across the young Wixen’s throat, sending sparks of pain into the boy’s eyes.
“Now, enough of your idle chatter. It is time we purge you of all your disgusting blood and remake you in our image,”
Harry was let go, though his body hung limply in the air, floating alongside the possessed body of Sirius as he began to walk down the spiraling steps into the dark below. Harry didn’t have the energy to fight back, even if he could. His body was frozen in the air, only his eyes able to move as the rest of him hung limply. Despite the sadness and fear that was welling deep within his heart, Harry’s mind was whirling a mile a minute. There had to be some way to break out of this. Someway that could give Harry enough time to scamper to his room and find a way out of this house.
Help
The word was pushed into his brain by the locket still dangling around his neck and a burst of hope came forth.
Can you, Harry sent back, hoping that his frantic thoughts wouldn’t obscure the thoughts he was sending to the locket.
Yes. Will distract. You run.
Harry had no idea how a locket was going to distract the amalgamation of the dark magic of the Black family, but as it stood it was all Harry had. He could feel the locket growing warm against his chest, drawing power not just from himself, but through his scar and their odd bond. He didn’t feel drained, oddly enough. If anything, it felt like he was just giving more energy to an external part of himself.
Yet, when the locket made its move, Harry did feel the sudden drain.
The locket grew hotter before it let out a blinding burst of dark green magic. The blast was enough to send both Sirius’s body and Harry toppling down the spiraling steps. Harry, for the most part, endured a few bumps and bruises before coming to a stop. Sirius, on the other hand, kept falling before his body found itself entangled in a mass of writhing ethereal snakes. All of them were composed of the green magic that had burst from the locket. The magical snakes hissed and bared their fangs, threatening to tear Sirius’s body to shreds.
What did you do, Harry asked the locket.
“Run,” came the hissing voice of Parsletongue from the locket, and Harry did just that.
He had no idea how long the snakes were going to keep Sirius from following him, let alone using the ring to force him into submission, but Harry wasn’t going to give it a second thought. The only thing that mattered was getting into his room. At worse, he could ward the door against the house’s magic like he had been. If he was lucky, the entity that was inside Sirius would be comprised of the same thing and wouldn’t be able to get in. From there, well he didn’t have much of a plan outside of trying to blow a hole in the wall and escape that way. There was no telling how that would work with the house's magic, but it was the only hope he had.
As he came to the landing of the steps, Harry let out a startled yelp as his path was blocked by a mid-sized troll brandishing a spiked club. He recognized it as the stuffed thing that had been in the corner of the room before it had been altered. Its eyes were black and shiny. Risking a glance, Harry allowed his magical sight to take over and was shocked to find the limbs of the creature had tendrils of dark magic piercing through its body. The house was wielding it like a puppet, determined to stop Harry at all costs.
“Okay, I’m guessing Sirius is still out of commission if this is house this place is trying to hurt me,” Harry reasoned as he brandished his wand. The warmth of the wood helped to center him as he considered his options
Truthfully, he didn’t have too many. The only other time he had fought a troll it had taken the magic of him, Hermione, and Ron to finally bring it down. Now though, he was just on his own, and Harry highly doubted several toilets crashing on its head was going to bring it down.
The troll let out a guttural cry before swinging its club at Harry, the wizard only evading it by mere inches. The reanimated beast jerked unnaturally as it changed directions, lumbering towards Harry as he rolled out the way of another strike, this one thudding into the floor with a hefty impact.
The club was going to have to be his first focus, as he aimed his wand and fired a bombarda at the thing, glad that Moody had taught him the rather painful spell. The spell struck its mark, but only did surface damage, chipping off a few of the spikes and splintering the wood.
‘More power. More intent. Make the spell hurt’ the voice of Moody growled in his mind.
Harry grit his teeth and dogged once more, having to leap over the club as the troll swung it low. He wasn’t quick enough as he got caught up in the wake of the attack, falling to the floor as his pants were ripped by one of the spikes. It had come close enough to his skin that it had left a sizeable gash in his flesh.
Burying the pain as deep as he could, Harry aimed once more with his wand. He dug deep into himself, drawing upon his desperation, rage, sadness, and fear in that moment. The world around him seemed to slow down as he called upon his magic, reaching beyond his core and into something else entirely.
A brisk rush of cold ran through his veins as this new magic began to scour his body. He could feel its raw, untampered power tearing across every nerve ending in his body. He heard the distant call of something in his ears. Something great. Terrifying. Powerful. It took hold of him, infusing itself as he drew upon this unknown source. It fueled his body, unlocking his fullest potential. Unbeknownst to him, the ground under Harry began to form thick crystals of ice, somehow with a crackling green flame within.
All of this built within his chest, and as he thought the words of the spell, it spiraled down his arm and out his wands.
The bombarda spell is not known for producing any visual signs of its casting beyond the ripple of air from its force. It was favored by Moody for its effectiveness at harming an opponent without giving them an obvious tell as to what was happening.
The bombarda that Harry produced did not follow these rules.
An explosion of frigid air filled the room as a pocket of green flames collapsed into a ball and rocketed from Harry’s wand. The ball was large enough that it not only shattered the club of the troll but utterly vaporized the arm of the beast as well. Harry’s wand was white hot in his hands from the spell and he swore he could smell the very wood it was made of smoldering in the air.
The troll fell to its knees, becoming lifeless once more, the tendrils of black magic screeching as they pulled away from its body and retreated into the shadows of the house. Harry wanted nothing more than to let this victory give him a moment of relief, but he knew that couldn’t happen. He still needed to find a way to escape.
As he stood, he finally took notice of the odd crystals that had wreathed the floor where he had cast the spell. The urge to figure out just how the shards of ice were harboring crackling flames was tempting, but it would have to wait. For now, he was just going to chalk it up to another odd thing in his life.
Scrambling away, Harry was thankful that, even though the room he was in had changed, the rest of the house had stayed roughly the same. It was merely a few minutes before he found himself in his room and slamming the door shut. Wand drawn, he attempted to ward it with the one spell he knew, but as he spoke its name, he was met by more shards of ice covering the door.
“What the bloody hell is going on here,” Harry muttered before a sharp wave of weakness took him.
He fell to the ground, suddenly feeling every inch of his body as if it were on fire. The center of his body felt almost hollow and dry. The act of even sitting up again felt like running a marathon of Brobdingnagian proportions.
He thought it was the ring at first, but it was something all too different from what he had felt the ring do before. It was like everything within him had been carved out and he was reeling from the pain of such a violent action.
“D…Damn it,” he hissed lowly, his lungs feeling like hot ash as he inhaled poorly.
Forcing himself to prop against his bed, Harry tried to focus. His thoughts were too scattered, dashed around by every painful breath he took. The world was starting to swim and he could feel the threat of darkness edging across his vision.
No. Awake.
The locket sent something along their connection, his scar warming for a moment before a portion of energy rushed back into Harry. It wasn’t much, not by a long shot, but the swimming vision was at least kept at bay.
“Thanks,” he spoke to the locket, getting a warm feeling of gratitude in his mind in return.
Not wanting to risk using his wand, Harry dug under his bed, pulling out the spelled knife he had been using to carve runes and his notebook. Flipping around, he looked once more at the complicated spattering of runes. The longer one was the safer bet, but he had no idea how much longer the possessed Sirius was going to be kept at bay. Even thinking about him, Harry could feel the ring on his finger twinge.
“Fine. We will go with the complicated one. At worst, I mess this up and I make my entire body intangible. No pressure,”
Harry had originally planned on just tattooing the runes on his arm with his wand, but time had now become a commodity he didn’t have. He looked back down at the runes, committing every swirl and pattern to memory. He knew how each of them felt to carve with this knife, and had burned it into his muscle memory. All he had to do was just carve. Carve them right into his arm.
The tip of the blade pierced his arm easily, the sharp pain clearing his mind slightly. With a yell, Harry began to carve the first rune into his flesh. The blade was spelled to cut through any material with little drag or resistance. Human skin included. Blood welled up from the depth of the cuts, dripping down Harry’s arm to splash onto the floor below. The work had to be slow, to ensure that every rune was correctly recreated on his arm. He was wishing he had something to bite on, to bear through the pain. All he could do was endure.
Endure and continue carving.
Time became meaningless as he worked, but soon he could feel the ring on his hand heating up once more, shocking him with a bolt of pain. It took everything for Harry not to move uncontrollably as Sirius began to barrage him with an endless bolt of pain. Looking down at the work, Harry saw he was almost done. Just a few more runes and he would be done.
The runes themselves were, while not complete, had already begun to draw upon his magic. Normally, if he were carving into something else Harry would just imbue the runes with his magic for however long he needed his particular spell to last. This time though, the runes would be powered by him and Harry had no idea how long it would last.
The pain of the ring hit a fever pitch as he heard banging at the door. The ice crystals held strong, even as Sirius began to fire spells at the door in his bid to break in.
“Give this up child! We will have your body. You will become one of us,” the entity roared from the depths of Sirius’s throat. It sounded raw, bloody. Crackling with malice and wet with spittle and rage.
Harry ignored it, focusing on his work. The space below his arm was drenched in a sea of crimson, a pool of blood slowly spreading under him. Harry pressed on, his will to escape outweighing every bit of his brain telling him to stop.
“Almost done,” he whispered as he started to finish the last rune.
The door rattled again, a few bits of the ice breaking off. Sirius was going to get through. He was going to get through and Harry was going to run out of time.
“No. Not like this. I am not going to go like this,” he cried as he finished the final rune.
For a moment nothing happened. Then the runes on his arm began to glow red, filling the air with its magic. His arm began to fade in and out of existence. Soon, it became fully transparent and the ring fell off with a dull thunk onto the ground, rolling in his blood.
With nary another thought in his head, Harry grabbed his wand and aimed it at the wall. His vision was going and his strength was at its end. He was going to collapse before he felt the locket in his mind.
“I will save us. You will reunite us,” it hissed, before drawing its magic once more.
The locket pulled its power into Harry’s arm and took control. With the skill of a master, it moved Harry’s arm in the air and cast a spell into the air. The wall before them crumpled away, revealing the orange sky of the outside world. To the outside world, those who could see magic would be faced with the image of Harry Potter, arm covered in blood as he stood on the edge of a hole that was seemingly carved from a wall that didn’t exist. They would then watch as the Boy-Who-Lived was suddenly whisked away by a plume of green smoke into the setting sun.
As he drifted into blissful darkness, Harry could feel the locket once more in his mind.
“I will always protect what is mine,” it hissed, in a voice that the boy had only heard in his most recent dreams.
The locket, or rather the soul within, got as far as it could from the house before its own magic began to vanish. It did its best to make sure Harry landed as softly as possible in an alleyway before it would have to retreat into its prison once more. As it was claimed by the darkness it could only hope that someone would find the child. That someone was looking out for him and would come from him. Help the boy that would make it and the rest of its scattered soul whole once more.
"You are mine," it hissed before it faded once more into the silence of the locket.
There Harry lay, covered in blood and trash, hidden away from the world in a dark alleyway. Though he would not know it, his magic was still seeping out into the air. Pings went off in the ministry, alerting the Under Secretary to the reappearance of the boy-who-lived. Loki felt a cold grip rush along his spine as if something dear to him was about to be lost. Peter Parker felt his tingle go haywire, pushing him to go for a walk around London for some reason.
And, back in New York, a certain sorcerer was watching this all happen from the comfort of a leather chair.
"Alright, guess it is time for me to enter this story," Doctor Strange muttered as he dropped his spell and went to prepare for his trip.
It had been awhile since he had last stepped foot into London.