The Madness of House Black
It wasn’t often that the many members of the Black family got together. They were not the kind of family that sent each other well wishes for Yule. They barely kept up with major life events, like marriages or deaths. As long as the family member in question stayed within the tenets of the Black Family creed, what they did was often their own business. The only time the members of the Black family ever came together was when one of their own was on the cusp of turning eleven. Tonight had been no different.
The wide halls and atriums of Grimmauld Manor were alive with the sound of talking voices and occasional laughter. Adults made up the entirety of those that flitted from the ballrooms and the other areas of the Manor. Dancing between their legs were the diminutive House Elves, laden with trays that were far larger and heavier than they ever would be. Despite all of this seeming hospitality, it was still an event for the Black family. Which meant wands were concealed and ready to sling a curse at anyone who ignited even the smallest of grudges.
Walburga Black was, as always, the host for tonight’s events. Not just due to it being her home that housed what was needed for tonight’s festivities, but it was also an event to celebrate her son. The woman was festooned in a lavish amount of gold bands and necklaces, her robes done in an opulent crushed red velvet. Even her personal House Elf Kreacher was wearing a slightly nicer pillowcase for the event.
“Walburga, lovely to see you again as always,” came an honied voice as out of the shadows one of the men who had married into the Black family came tumbling out. There was mead already staining his breath and his eyes were heavily unfocused, “Thank you for inviting us to the ritu-OOF,”
The man was cut off by a shove to the ribs by the woman at his side, the one who seemed to be tired of her husband and his clear drunkenness.
“Ignatius, I would advise you to not breathe another word. Or just stop breathing altogether,” she hissed in the man’s ear before snatching his drink and sending the man away, “I am sorry about him Walburga. He is such a useless man,”
“I’m shocked you haven’t gotten rid of him. I am certain such a feckless whelp like that cannot be of any worth to you, my dear Lucretia,” Walburga cooed as she took the drink off of her distant cousins’ hands, giving the small chalice a sniff before wrinkling her nose in disgust, “And such a bad taste he has in drinks. Kreacher,”
With a crack, the aging House Elf was beside his Mistress in an instant, her preferred drink of a heavy port already waiting on a tray.
“Is there anything you would like Lucretia? I have heard the odd rumor of your drink of choice,” Walburga purred.
“Ugh, is your brother still spreading that rumor? I accidentally take a sip of blood meant for a potion and now half the family is convinced I got turned into a vampire over the winter,” Lucretia said, the word vampire falling out of her mouth with mild disgust
“It doesn’t help that we rarely ever see you after sunrise,” Walburga joked before waving Kreacher away, “Still, I wouldn’t change that. A number of the family are afraid of you dear. Better to have them watching their back near you, instead of watching your own,”
Lucretia didn’t respond one way or the other, but her eyes narrowed as she spotted a few of the other distant members of House Black eyeing her. She gave them her best tooth-filled grin and watched as they moved their attentions elsewhere.
“I suppose there is some merit to those foul creatures and the fear they inspire. Tell me, is your eldest child ready for the evening,”
Walburga looked upwards, her eyes barely glinting in the candlelight, as she seemed to peer through the many levels of the manor.
“He frets in fear. Though he does not know what it is he must do tonight, the child is far too aware of things. Frankly, I blame it all on Bellatrix. I swear, she was already mad before her Ritual. Such talent, but far too unrestrained for her own good,”
“I hear she boiled the skin off of one of Narcissia’s suitors. The man has been in the Janus Thickey Ward ever sense,”
As if just speaking her name summoned her, both women heard the mad cackle of Bellatrix as she entered into the main hall. Her eyes were already brimming with madness, no doubt enhanced by being this close to the ritual chamber. Most, if not all of those born into the Black Family were feeling the pull of the chambers deep below the Manor. They could feel the magic within humming as it waited for yet another tribute.
“Auntie Walburga,” Bellatrix crooned, gleefully waltzing over to her Aunt without a care for those she pushed out of the way, “I haven’t seen you in so long? Is little Siri ready? Ooh! Can I be the one to help bring him down,” her eyes were all but shimmering with madness and malice as she spoke
“As amusing as it would be, I would prefer my son to be relatively unharmed before tonight. You already did a number on him earlier this week from what I have been told,” Walburga scolded, though her tone and words seemed to do little to affect the young woman.
“Oh, it was just a few curses. I just wanted to soften him up for a little bit. Just in case he doesn’t do it. He such a weak little thi-,”
Bellatrix didn’t get to finish her words before she had Walburga’s wand pressed firmly against her throat
“I don’t care if you are my niece or not, I will bleed you faster than you can think if you ever speak ill of my child,” the tip of her wand flashed for a moment, and Bellatrix flinched back as a thin cut suddenly appeared around her neck, blood leaking slowly
“Oooh, Auntie has claws. I’ll leave the little boy alone…for now,” Bellatrix laughed, running her fingers through her own blood before licking her finger clean. With a mad burst of laughter, she was once again off, skipping through the rooms without a care.
“I’m shocked you let her off so easily,” Lucretia muttered as she pulled a flute of wine from a passing House Elf, “I’ve seen you do far worse for far less,”
“As loathed as I am to say it, she isn’t wrong,” Walburga returned her wand to her hostler once more, “That boy of mine has no drive or ambition. At least nothing like those before him. I can only hope that tonight molds him into a proper Black. If not, there is always his brother,”
The conversation became distant, as did the scene itself. Slowly, the color began to leach out of everything, turning into a black-and-white tapestry of moving images. He felt so far away from them, floating further and further away. As he did, his memories of reality began to take root. Fear filled his mind.
Only then was Harry Potter freed from the memory.
The young man found himself coming to an all too familiar sight. There was a crackling fire before him and sitting before it in a soft-backed chair was Sirius. Or rather Not-Sirius, as he refused to call the possessed man the name of his godfather. Harry jolted fully awake as he took in the sight of the man glaring at him. He strained his arms in an attempt to get up and escape, only to find them and the rest of his body heavily bound to a chair of his own. Nervously, his eyes drifted down to his hands, thankful when he didn’t see that cursed ring on any of his fingers.
“Finally, I was starting to worry that you would get lost in there. It wouldn’t be any fun if you did,” Not-Sirius spoke, though Harry was hard-pressed to say it was truly him. His tone and cadence were off, and the way his voice echoed made it seem like there were several people trying to speak from his throat at the same time.
“What did you do to me? Why did you show me all those memories,” Harry asked, trying his best to keep his mind as focused on the situation as possible. Trying his best to keep that pang of fear and worry out of his own voice.
“Helping you understand,” Not-Sirius spoke with his stolen voice, “It wouldn’t do us any good if you don’t understand,”
“I’m not too keen on being forced to look at your home movies, so why don’t we pass over that part and get to what you want with me,” Harry gripped, grunting in frustration as he tried once more to break whatever spell was holding him down. He even tried feeling for his magic but could feel something blocking his access
“Your attempts to escape are foolish and will not be met with mercy again,” Not-Sirius flicked his wand into his hand, “The House of Black has numerous ways to cause pain without leaving damage to a body. Shall I demonstrate,”
“I’d rather you-AAAH,” Harry's voice was strangled as a cry of pain was pulled from his body. His eyes went wide as he felt his leg breaking. He could hear the snapping of bone in his head, rattling his body.
“Such a delightful curse, crafted by Cygnus Black. It replicates the breaking of bones by stimulating the nerves within the bone and body,” Not-Sirius spoke with utter dispassion as he cast the spell once again, not even blinking as Harry yelled out once more, “No need to physically hurt someone when you can cast this. It was a favorite of Bellatrix. I believe she cast it once on Regulus in his sleep,”
Harry had no ability to pay attention to the words spoken by the possessed Sirius, he was far too busy crying hot tears as he endured the pain from his other leg. It was impossible to ignore or escape, the sensation of each inch of his bones being compressed and broken. All the while the only signs of anything happening were his own whimpers of pain.
Eventually, Not-Sirius relented in their curse, releasing it after a few more moments. The pain took a while to radiate away, all the while Not-Sirius sat there and watched with those empty eyes filled with madness.
“As you can see, we have no qualms with harming you. We made a mistake in thinking we held enough influence over the one known as Sirius. That he would kowtow to our whims. We have corrected that mistake,”
“Wh-what did you do to Siri,” Harry ground out from clenched teeth, still trying to fight back the slowly fading pain
“Reunited him with the half we held. The half that we own. Used it to keep him fully submerged. He will not be returning,”
An all too familiar pain began to seep into Harry’s mind. The same pain he felt when he watched Cedric die. A gaping void that tore at something deep within him.
“You lie,” he hissed, his voice wavering with anxiety
“We do not. He will not be returning. Once we have completed the ritual, we will fully take over your body, his soul included. The man you once knew is gone,”
“I won’t let you,” Harry gasped, his breathing shallow and rapid, “I won’t let you do this to him,” Harry let his anger seep into his eyes, the room growing cold for a fraction of a second, “Whatever you are, I will kill you before I let you hurt Siri again,”
Not-Sirius shifted in their chair. The normally calm visage they had given Sirius cracked ever so slightly. It was gone after a moment, but it was enough for Harry to know that they were shaken.
“You will not. We will break your mind. We will render you weak and helpless. When you are at your lowest point we will then conduct the ritual. You will return to understanding soon. For now, you must suffer. You must break,”
The shadows of the room seemed to grow larger as Harry felt the magic in the room shift. His eyes watched as the shadows from under Not-Sirius chair began to stretch out towards him. Even without access to his ability to see magic, he could still feel them. They detached from the ground and began to wrap themselves around Harry. He could feel their coldness, not unlike the Dementors from his fourth year. The room began to fade away as he was drawn back into their hold. Be it memory, or something else.
The Chamber of Secrets was cold and unwelcoming, something that Harry was not shocked to discover. The air was damp with chilled moisture and it clung to his robes heavily. Robes that were already a tattered mess after the slide down the pipe and the ordeal with Lockhart. He was glad the man got his by his own spell, even if it had led to the only way out of the Chamber being blocked. All the same, he pressed on. He had to save Ginny.
He could hear the soft sound of scales scrapping along the many tunnel walls as he entered the chamber proper. He was sure the basilisk knew he was here, he could practically feel its awareness of him in the air. All the same, he pushed down that fear as deep as it would go. He couldn’t let it take hold, not when time was already against him. The diary had been alone with Ginny for far too long for Harry’s comfort.
The tunnel eventually opened up to the chamber at large, and it was there that Harry found her. Ginny, collapsed at the edge of an inky black pool of water. The diary sat atop her chest. Not caring for how much noise he made, Harry ran over to her, footsteps splashing loudly in his wake. He slid to the ground beside her, looking her over.
“No. No no no no,” he kept repeating under his breath as he gently picked up her head. The way her head rolled lifelessly to the side made him feel sick, “You can’t die. Not like this,” he weakly tried to feel for a pulse or any sign of life.
“It is hopeless, child. I have already drawn the last of her life,” came a voice just as cold as the Chamber.
Harry looked up to see the no longer pale figure of Tom Riddle before him. He looked just the same as he did when he was pulled into the diary. Just far more flesh and blood. Harry could see his throat move as he breathed with his stolen life. Could see the faint pulsing of a heartbeat that he had ripped away from Ginny. Everything about him was nothing more than a stolen thing. Even the wand that he had aimed at Harry wasn’t his, taken from Ginny most likely.
“On your feet child. I wish to see you die on your feet, not on your knees,” Riddle demanded, though he didn’t give Harry an option as he cast a spell that allowed him to puppet the boy as he pleased.
As Harry felt his body jerk unnaturally under the spell, he couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong. Everything about this felt wrong. Felt off. He had no time to dwell on it as he found himself suspended in the air above the cold water. From above it, the water looked fathomless, and he found himself fearing falling into its unknown depths.
“Tell me, did you think you had a chance of beating me? The Heir of Slytherin. The Dark Lord. The one who made you the orphan that you are? Was it blind hope that you could somehow get revenge for being the reason your parents died,”
Every cold word was a punch to Harry’s mind. They tore down the fragile walls he had built up, ones made up of sarcasm and intellect. A security blanket he used to shield himself from the worst that the world could ever hope to throw at him. They should have meant nothing, but they did.
There was a deep hissing sound that caught Harry’s ears and he turned to face the tunnel he had just come from. From within its depths came the basilisk, it massive body curling free from the confines of the tunnel. It wasn’t alone, for trapped within its coils were the last faces Harry wanted to see down here.
“Ron…Hermione,” Harry felt the names in his mouth like heavy lead. There was no way that they could have been here, yet there they were.
Ron was busy beating the tough hide of the serpent with his fist, all the while Hermione was crying out for help to any that would hear. A cry that would never leave the depths that the chamber resided in.
“Such a mistake, having these fragile fools at your side. A loud-mouthed red-head and a bushy-haired know-it-all. They would be safer had they never befriended you,” Tom taunted, before he turned towards the basilisk.
Harry heard the hissing but could not make out what was being said. However, when the large serpent maneuvered its coils so his friends were poised directly under its head, did he have an inkling what was said.
“You can’t do this,” he shouted, trying to toss himself at Tom angrily, “You can’t do this to them. You don’t do this to them,” the words were running out of his mouth freely, unable to understand why he said it as he watched his only friends in the world try their best to not look up at the snake that leered down at them.
“I very much do,” Tom responded simply, “Rather, this is what you do. This is what happens to those who are involved with you Harry. They die. They will all die and I will make you watch. Just like this,”
It was sudden, how it happened. The creature flexed its coils, the unyielding muscles crushing the smaller bodies of Ron and Hermione. Both of them cried out and looked up. As they did, both Wixen saw the yellow glowing eyes of a basilisk. Its glare carved a pathway into their souls, burning them away. Not even a scream escaped their mouths before they, much like Ginny, became limp. Dead.
Agony. It was all Harry could feel. Pure agony as he hung in the air, useless. He watched with red, tear-filled eyes as the snake bent its head low and, in one terrifying motion, swallowed the remains of Ron and Hermione. Agony. Revulsion. Fear. Self-hate. All of them swirled in his mind. They took hold in the deepest parts of his mind, like freezing cold locks that would not be removed.
“This isn’t what happened,” he whispered, but he was finding it so hard to believe that. Ron and Hermione were gone. He had seen it happen. Done nothing to stop it. It was his fault. All his fault.
“It is what happened. You failed to save your friends. You let me kill that poor little girl. This is your legacy, Harry Potter. Dead friends and family. All because you failed,” Tom faced Harry once more, his stolen wand pointed at the boy, “Now it is time for us to end this. I shall take great pleasure in killing you slowly,”
Harry felt his body slowly start to descend, the horror of understanding etched onto his face. No amount of thrashing or begging was going to save him, though it didn’t stop him. His body continued its downward descent into the inky black waters below. Tears filled his eyes as he felt the water claim his feet first. Wild eyes looked around the chamber for any savior. He looked for Fawkes, his heart filled with the yearning to see the bird. To break free from the reality of what happened in the Chamber.
There was no phoenix song to fill his ears.
As he felt the cold waters splash over his chest, Harry felt himself giving in to the despair of it all. Giving into that icy cold feeling of helplessness. It was a shard in his chest and it was eating away at all of him.
The water touched his neck and he could taste the foulness as it splashed into his mouth. He cast his eyes once more around the Chamber. Just before the water covered his vision he could have sworn he had seen someone standing just out of sight. A snake on their shoulders. Someone who looked like him.
Then the water filled his lungs.
Coughing and sputtering, Harry found himself violently thrown from whatever he was just in. Memory or fabrication, it was hard to tell. He was far too busy trying to desperately cough up the feted water that had just been in his lungs, drowning him. Even though nothing was coming up beyond bile, he could still feel the liquid in his lungs. Feel the pain of gasping for air and getting only water. The pain of drowning to death.
"Ron...Hermione. I'm...I couldn't save you," Harry barely whispered, his mind fracturing as the memory of what he saw and the truth of what happened in the chamber began to splinter and mix together in his mind. The reality of both becoming hard to recognize.
“Madness. There are many ways to induce it,” came the quiet voice of Not-Sirius, pulling Harry’s attention away from his plight.
“What are you doing to me? That…it didn’t happen like that,” Harry was so sure it didn’t. Yet the memories of the truth were muddled with the memories of the event he just lived through. The line between the two was starting to become thin in his mind.
“For most,” Not-Sirius continued on as if Harry hadn’t spoken, “True madness is something they will never attain. Their lives are too filled with emotions that often conflict with madness. Once they escape circumstances that could blossom madness within them, it will allude them,”
Harry looked around the room, finding himself no longer in the sitting room, but rather a darkly lit room of some kind. He was still bound by the shadows, though he was forced to kneel on the cold stone floor. The voice of Not-Sirius seemed to echo against the dark green stone walls. Walls that were lined with gold and streaks of red.
“Not us, though. Not those born with Black blood. Madness is something that calls to us. Something that molds us. Something that we wield like a wand. Every Black that is within us knows this madness. Has been made to embrace this madness,”
“If you say madness one more time, I may actually lose it,” Harry growled, his green eyes filled with burning ire, “If you want me then just let Sirius go and do it already,”
“Oh, it is not that easy. You do not understand what we are and how we came to be. If you did, you would know that your mind must be broken. Must be properly mad, for us to take root. Sirius was already mad, mind tattered beyond repair. It is what made him so easy to take over. Such a weak mind for a Black. You though, your mind is far stronger. It needs more despair and pair to be truly shattered like his,”
Footsteps echoed in the chamber as Not-Sirius stepped over to Harry. For the first time, the young man was able to get a better look at the face of his Godfather. The souls had warped most of his facial features, the once rugged but handsome visage seemed to constantly be shifting. Ever so often there would be a flicker of the Sirius he knew before the face morphed once more. The eyes were the worst part. They seemed to be writhing with shadows, like snakes underneath a puddle of water. Wanting nothing more than to escape the confines they were trapped in.
“Worry not, young vessel. Your mind, even when we break it, will hold up against our multitudes. We will wield your power in the name of the Dark Lord. He will-,” Not-Sirius trailed off as he was interrupted by, of all things, laughter.
Despite everything that happened and his current predicament, Harry laughed at the words of the souls using his Godfather as a puppet.
“You are doing this for Tom? Oh, you all are going to be in shock when you meet him then. He has this thing about being the only one that can hurt me. At least he did. Still, I don’t think it will go remotely how you think,”
“You lie child. We have seen the horrors this Dark Lord has caused within the minds of those who have seen him amongst us. He will be honored to have us amongst his ranks with your limitless power,”
“He will kill you all the moment he knows it's not me. If I were you, I’d just let me go and hope that I don’t come back with my dads in tow,” Harry threatened, feeling a bolster of bravado fill his veins.
Not-Sirius looked down at Harry, reaching down to violently take hold of his chin. Thick fingers squeezed with unnatural strength and Harry swore he could feel his bones creaking under the pressure as the shadow-filled eyes of Not-Sirius looked at him.
“We will not be threatened. You will now understand what we are Harry, while we prepare to break your mind once more,”
The shadows began to crawl from the bindings around his body and inch their way toward his face. There was little Harry could do to stop their advance, but all the same, he smirked up at Not-Sirius, knowing full well that he had gotten under their skin.
The shadows entered his eyes and once more Harry was pulled into a mindscape not of his own making.
Walburga stood atop a plinth in the chambers, looking down at the gathered members of House Black below her. She had waited so long to be here, to be the one conducting this ritual. While it was her manor that held the Ritual Chamber, it was always the parents of the child that conducted the ritual. Finally, it was her time to add yet another to the grand power that the House of Black possessed.
“My dearest family, allow me to welcome you, formally, to this lovely evening. Once more we are welcoming another one of our family into the depths of the power we hold,”
Walburga listened to the soft claps as she spoke, enjoying the rush of feeling powerful as she stood upon the plinth. Looking behind her, she stretched out her hand, beckoning the only other person upon the plinth with her. Her eldest son, Sirius Black.
Fear filled every spot on the young child's face. It was etched into his brows and reflected in his eyes. Fear. He knew this day was coming, and knew what he was expected to do. Yet, even knowing all of that, he was still fearful. Bellatrix, when she told him what this ritual was, said that he wouldn’t do it. That he was too much of a coward to be a true Black. All while using the tip of her wands to ‘playfully’ burn small spots along his arm.
That had been a month ago and he still wasn’t ready for what he had to do.
Walburga gave the boy a glare, one that promised much pain if he didn’t obey. He slowly walked out, being sure to stay just slightly out of his mother’s reach. Not that it did much when she reached her hand out and firmly took hold of his shoulder.
“My son, Sirius Black, will no doubt be a name that is known and revered within our world. Raised to our ideals of honoring the Dark and protecting its chosen Lord. He is more than ready to do his sacred duty and join us as a protector of the Dark,”
The young Sirius Black looked as if there was anywhere else he’d rather have been than standing next to his mother and looking out at his family. The fear and apprehension weighed heavily on his shoulders as he stood before them all, unsure of what to do. All he could do was give a sheepish smile as they applauded him.
And condoned what he was supposed to do.
Walburga, wand outstretched, began to mutter in a language that hadn’t graced the lips of anyone other than her House. The thick feeling of dark magic began to fill the air, as she wove a spell into the very walls of the house. Everyone stood still, even the erratic Bellatrix, as the magic began to shift the house around them. The floor and the plinth seemed to be descending into the ground, while runes oozing a dark green miasma filled the air. Tendrils of this miasma flowed around and from the members that bore Black blood, tying them all together in the arcane ritual. Drawing on the power that they sacrificed a portion of themselves to obtain.
These tendrils extended deep into the Earth, saturating the ground around the manor, hidden away in Wizard Space. It pulled on the life force of the Muggles that lived nearby, the only reason this manor was built in this particular location in the first place. Many would merely feel lethargic, unaware that years of their lives had been stripped from them to act as fuel for the ritual.
Within the chamber, a multitude of pillars encircled the members of the Black family, torches at their tops igniting with hellish flames. Wisps of dark smoke undulating unnaturally as they were fed from arcane flames. The plinth upon which Sirius and Walburga stood within the center of it all, atop the crest of the Black Family, etched onto the floor in gold and emerald.
“Tonight,” Walburga replaced her wand, her eyes all but pitch black from the Dark magic she was channeling, “We will add another soul to our collective. Another soul that will be bathed in our truth, in our madness. Half a soul, willingly given, to ensure the eternal survival of our family and its duty to protect the Dark,
Not a soul spoke or even dared to speak. They merely watched as a dagger was summoned in the air. Its blade, made by Goblins, was forever encrusted with blood. The once gleaming silver was barely visible beneath the thick layers of blood that had been plastered on. Blood that still looked fresh, as if the blade itself was forever dripping with the life that it took from others,
“Tonight, we baptize Sirius Orion Black into our family. We take his gift of half his soul so that it may strengthen us all. So that we may live on and serve the Dark. Eternally,”
The blade was almost magnetic, humming with the darkness, sin, and iniquity. Sirius wanted nothing to do with it, finding it repulsive to behold. However, within his blood, it called to him. It called out to the madness within his bloodline. To the horrors the House of Black had done throughout the ages. A generational stain that could not be denied. Merely exploited and abused.
His arms moved of their own accord, reaching out to take hold of the blade. The moment his fingers curled around it, Sirius felt the world fall away. Felt himself fall away. The only thing that existed, at that moment, was the blade and what it demanded of him. What it needed him to do. What it needed him to sacrifice. All for the greater good of his family.
He turned the blade on himself and plunged it in deep.
It wasn’t the plume of crimson spray that came from his chest that made Sirius yell out in agony. Nor was it the searing pain of the blade cutting into his chest. No, the pain that left Sirius feeling utter anguish and pain was that in his soul. As the blade dug deep into his chest of its own accord, he could feel it touch a part of him that had never been touched before. The blade latched onto it, winding it around its body. The foul darkness within the cursed blade began to corrode and eat away at the boy’s soul. Sirius could feel the tears in it, the small rents in the fabric of his being. The blade was destroying him, consuming him.
Then, without warning, when the blade had enough, it pulled itself free. The guttural ripping sound echoed in Sirius’s head as the blade tore his soul in two.
The world came back into view for Sirius, the boy collapsed onto the plinth. There was no visible sign of the blades having stabbed him, beyond a faint scar going along the middle of his chest. He did, however, feel it. The sensation of a hollow wind blowing through half of his body. The weight of something he had carried since birth, suddenly reduced by half. If he focused, he could feel the tears rippling within him. And the cries of his torn half echoing in the distance.
His eyes landed on the blade, watching as it dripped with his blood, absorbing his sacrifice. Taking that which was precious to him and absorbing it alongside the other souls that were within the blade. Sirius watched as a stone rose from the center of the room and the blade plunged itself deep within it. The collected souls and their power funneling from it and into the manor as a whole.
As he watched this perverse and arcane display of dark magic, Sirius suddenly turned around. Gone was the young child and in his place was the elder Sirius Black. Haunted eyes looking out into the distance.
“I need you to understand, Harry. I need you to destroy it,” the distraught man whispered
“Sirius,” Harry breathed as he came back to reality,
Harry was still bound to the floor and as he looked around the room, he recognized it for what it was, the ritual chamber he had just been shown within the memory. There were no lit pillars, but he could make out the groves of the Black family crest carved into the gold and emerald underneath him.
“You are awake. This will not do,” the voice of Not-Sirius was standing atop the plinth, muttering as they waved around their wand, “The ritual is not ready. This one has to be different. This one has to put us into you. This will take time,”
“Sirius, I know you are in there. I saw it. I understand,” Harry’s voice was broken, stained with tears he didn’t know had been coming from him, “I’m sorry that they did this to you and I will save you. Just fight them off, I know you can,”
Not-Sirius levitated off of the plinth, landing in front of Harry, wand limply at their side. Those eyes filled with writhing souls looked down at Harry, not an ounce of mercy to be seen.
“You seem to think your words will reach him. We have had him far longer than you have known him. We hold half his soul, half his being. We bury him under memories and pain, fueling the madness within him. Madness that your paltry words could never hope to break through,”
Not-Sirius bent low, looking over his captive with those swirling eyes. Harry didn’t waver, matching the glare with one of his own. Harry didn’t know what the collective of souls was truly thinking, but he knew enough of Sirius’s facial cues to know when the man was worried. Right now, Not-Sirius looked very worried in the eyes of Harry, even if they didn’t say it.
“One thing you all should know about my Godfather is that he is far too stubborn to let anyone hold him down. He denied you all before and got himself blasted off that vile family tree. I’m sure he’ll go against your family again,”
“You are a foolish child, placing your faith in people who are too weak to see their own goals accomplished. We will delight in taking over your body and burning that out of you,” Not-Sirius tried to look assured, tried to look as if they were in complete control.
Yet Harry knew better. He knew that there was enough of his Godfather in those eyes, swimming just under the surface. Waiting for the chance to be free.
“See you soon Padfoot,” Harry whispered, before the shadows once more found their way into his eyes, burrowing into his mind and sending him back into darkness.
Not-Sirius looked down at the troublesome boy, the way his body moved ever so slightly as he was plagued by whatever demons their magic had pulled from his mind. The sooner this was done, the sooner they could leave behind the body they were currently inhabiting. Move into a body that would give them the proper power. However, before they could do that, they would need fuel for the ritual.
It is one thing to move half a soul into another item or vessel. It requires very little external power to do so. The magical energy provided by those who gave their soul was more than enough to suffice. To move the almost hundred souls that made up the collective would require far more. The manor had been built with this in mind. Located around Muggles, subtle spells are woven into the very Earth to attract them there. To have them settle. Propagate. Cattle for the slaughter for any of the dark spells or rituals the Black family may make use of. For a spell like this, the entire herd of Muggles was going to be needed.
Dark green magic began to build in the air, the multitude of voices speaking out in one. Each voice adds a layer to the ritual magic. Making it stronger. Calling it from the very soil and to rise out onto the world above. The ground shook with the power of it all, starting out as a mere shake, before turning into an all-out quake. Beyond the view of Not-Sirius, the world beyond the walls of Grimmauld Manor was in a tumult.
The buildings that made up the Muggle establishment of Grimmauld Place were on the worse end of it. From the moment the quake started, the residents who called the place home felt as if the world was imploding around them. They swore they could hear voices in their heads as they rushed outside or hid under tables, crying out in fear as their possessions came crashing down around them. Fear gripped them tightly as they watched cracks form in the walls and in the foundation of their home, as they watched the impossible. Watched as walls over another home began to form within theirs. The façade of Grimmauld Place was coming down around them, lives silenced as the Muggle foundations and walls caved under the emergence of the Manor.
The ground around the steadily rising Manor was not spared this destruction, as it too was torn apart by the quake the house was causing. Those that were outside scrambled in fear, unable to escape the voices still chanting in their minds, as the Manor rose. The sky began to darken, clouds swirling as the wind violently tore through the streets. Green tint filled the skies as the air hummed with the thickness of Dark Magic. True Dark Magic. The kind that would rot away the very space around it as it burned.
The ground before Grimmauld Manor had become a horrid thing of jagged concrete and exposed wires. Those who had survived the initial quake were doing their best to move about, afraid of falling into the wide gashes that had been splintered in the area. Not-Sirius, from within the fully risen Manor, could feel the Muggles. Could feel their souls and the power within. Their voices spoke louder, echoing into their minds until all other thoughts were made naught. The voices of Not-Sirius took root in their minds, calling on the Dark Magic that had been seeping into their veins from just being in proximity of the Manor. They heeded the magic call.
Young. Old. Even those who were injured from the quake were pulled towards the manor. Every Muggle soul within that ten-mile radius began to head for the Manor. Heading to the place where their souls would be harvested for the mass of souls that made up Not-Sirius. Harvested souls that would never know rest once the ritual began.
From within the Manor, Not-Sirius continued to chant, eager to have those souls within its grasp. Eager to have the power that Harry Potter possessed.
Even though Harry knew that this was all an illusion in his mind, it didn’t make the terror he felt any less real. The biting cold air. The thick fog hung low to the ground. The pale moonlight filtered through the trees. The rows of tombstones that looked like jagged teeth coming from the ground. He was here again. Once more at the graveyard.
Unlike the times when Voldemort had invaded his mind, or when he was here in reality, he wasn’t tied down to the tombstone belonging to Voldemort’s father. Instead, he was free to roam the graveyard and that just added to the fission of fear he felt racing along his spine. He was, notably, sans his wand. No doubt to add to the torture of it all. With little choice, Harry made his way through the graveyard, with no true destination in mind. Just the blind hope that maybe he could find a way out of this prison made of his own failings and fears.
There was no sense of time as he walked, the graveyard just stretching on forever. He didn’t know if he had been walking for seconds or days. All he knew was that the scattered gravestones he saw seemed to have no end to them. The moonlight never shifted and the fog only seemed to shift ever so slightly in the light wind. He was aimless in his wandering, not sure when he would stop when his eyes caught sight of one of the graves.
While the others were covered by dead patches of grass, this one looked fresh, the dirt still dark with moisture from having been tilled up from the Earth. Harry could smell the damp earthen scent that came from it. Against his better judgment, having seen a number of horror films to know better, Harry moved closer to the fresh grave. The tombstone had a thin layer of moss growing over it, but not enough to obscure the name that had been carved into the stone.
Cedric Digory. Sacrificed for Harry.
“Th-that’s not true,” Harry admonished the gravestone, “I didn’t kill him! It was Wormtail,”
Despite his assertion, the gravestone didn’t change. Instead, the fresh earth trembled for a moment, before a decayed hand exploded from its depths. Molted and pale, it was heavily emaciated. Bony fingers grasped at Harry, snagging his legs as the boy tried to crawl away. Pain radiated from its grip as Harry tried to kick himself free. Instead, he watched as the decayed corpse of Cedric Digory rose from the grave.
“I should have been the champion,” his voice was rough, cracking with an unnatural creak, “Not you. If you weren’t there, I’d be alive,” the remains bellowed
“I’m sorry Cedric, it wasn’t my fault. Moody-,”
“Never your fault is it,” Cedric interrupted with a growl, “Even though you are the reason I died,”
“I-I,” Harry began to stutter, feeling his heart clench in his chest.
He watched as Cedric lorded over him, taking rattling steps forward as Harry continued to scoot backward, saying anything to try and appease the advancing corpse.
“Nothing you can say will change it. You kill everyone around you. And I'm not the only one, nor will I be,”
There was a rumble of the earth behind Harry and he turned to face it. Just there, far larger than any of the others, were two imposing tombstones. Made of crumbling granite, Harry felt his body go cold as he read the names on them.
Here Lies James Potter: Died For Nothing
Here Lies Lily Potter: Gave Her Life For Nothing.
Words that Harry often told himself when his nightmares would creep in. The phantom memories of his mum and dad, dying for him. Even if Tony and Loki were his true parents, Lily and James still died for nothing in Harry’s eyes.
Soon their corpses joined Cedric’s rising out from behind him to loom over Harry. Their faces were far more decayed than Cedric’s, barely recognizable through the putrid colored flesh tearing away. Dirt-covered bones peered out from between gashes and tears, adding to their horrific visage.
“Not even our son and we had to pay the price for your existence,” James snapped, the sounds of his bones grinding together making his speech distorted
Both he and Lily reached for Harry with their bony fingers, the tips scratching into his skin. The pain was enough to get Harry scrambling to his feet. He could feel their hands just barely missing him, grazing his ankles as they tried to grab him.
“It’s not my fault,” Harry cried at them, watching as they slowly made their way towards him, “I didn’t want any of you to die. I’m sorry,”
“Sorry won’t bring us back,” Lily hissed, her voice a croaking whisper, “Sorry won’t make up for the lives you cost us,”
“If it wasn’t for you, I’d be champion. You’d be the one who died in the graveyard,”
“I’d still have Sirius and Remus in my life, instead of rotting in the ground,”
“If I told Loki no, you’d never been born and all of us would have been better for it,”
The gravestones began to move, pressing in on Harry as they seemed to tower over him. He could read the names carved into the stone; Hermione, Ron, Sirius, Remus, Molly, Fred, George. Loki. Tony. So many names. So many lives. So much death, all because of him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Harry repeated to himself, clinging onto the mantra as he curled down on the ground, the corpses and gravestones above him. He could feel the pressure of it all, pressing him down into the earth. Burying him among the lives he ruined just be exist.
“And here I thought you were stronger than this,” a voice punched through the noise of it all.
His own voice.
Harry dared to look up, finding the tombstones and corpses that had been leering at him gone. The entire graveyard seems to have vanished, all that was left was the dark field. The dark field and a singular tombstone. Leaning up against it was Harry himself, dressed in thick black robes and with a snake draped across his shoulder.
And with eyes gleaming a bright red.
“After all, you survived the kill curse, you should be far stronger than this,”
“Who…are you,” Harry asked cautiously, getting up slowly while keeping his eyes on his double, his curiosity pushing his fear aside for a moment
“Think of me as a part of you that is very much out of place. Much like my friend here,” the double gestured to the snake who merely gave a soft hiss of recognition, “Both of us here due to reasons beyond our control,”
Harry looked at his doppelganger and the snake, searching them for something. He had no idea but he could feel a twinge of…familiarity towards them. Like looking at a friend you’ve known your whole life for the first time.
His copy moved from the gravestone, his steps smooth and even. His gate was almost unnatural, the way the robes billowed around his ankles making look as if he were levitating just a few inches off the ground.
“I know what you are capable of. Why do you let those…creatures invading Sirius torment you so easily? Their magic is nothing compared to what you can wield. This mental prison should be child’s play to you,”
“Don’t change the subject, who are you,” Harry demanded
“You truly don’t recognize me,” it was the snake who spoke this time, the sounds of parsletongue filling his ears, “You wear me around your neck,”
“You’re the locket,” Harry whispered in recognition, the snake nodding as well
“Such a dreadful container, I do prefer being here in your mind instead of within its emptiness,”
Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at that, though it was not a laugh born of humor. Mostly one born of utter confusion.
“I know that this is a lot to take in,” his double spoke, having moved close enough that the pair of them were eye-to-eye with each other, “For now, we are both here to help you get out of this shabby prison you are in. We are only able to keep their torments away from you for so long,”
The way his double spoke, the way he pronounced words and elongated others. It sounded familiar, though hearing it with his own voice was making it hard to discern where he had heard that cadence before. It would have to wait though, Harry really didn’t want to have to deal with more voices of the dead coming his way.
“What’s the plan then magic mirror? It’s not like I have my wand or anything on me,” Harry groused, making a show of patting down his pockets
While the snake gave a hissing laugh, his copy seemed much less amused
“You do not need a wand to use your magic, let alone in your own mind, you foolish brat. Just pull on it like you did earlier. Draw it to you, focus on the walls of this prison, and then just let your magic out,”
It seemed so simple, hearing it from his double. Hell, it was like when he would mutter to himself over some complex problem. He’d form a whole conversation between himself, working through the problem by bouncing the ideas off the voice in his head. It had always seemed more real than not sometimes, and seeing this double here was starting to mess with his perception of reality.
Still, if there was ever anyone Harry was going to listen to in a pinch, it was going to be himself.
It had only taken him a few moments to find the crack in the barrier around his magic. The magic seemed to flow freely this time, only needing him to gently tug on it for it to start flowing into him. The familiar chill warmed him in its own paradoxical way. With a slow breath, Harry let his magic flow from his body, the chilling energy running through him like a river. Reaching out with his mind, he found the edge of the prison Not-Sirius had put him in. He let his magic reach out to it, and push.
Opening eyes he didn’t recall closing, Harry was awestruck by the fractal patterns of ice spreading across the night sky. The ground itself was covered in a permafrost that gleamed in the moonlight, eating away at the graveyard itself. Soon, Harry was standing in a field of snow, flakes drifting from the sky. The oppressive sensation he had been feeling before was gone.
“A bit too chilly for my taste,” the snake hissed as snow coated its green and silver scales
“It’s perfect,”
“It’s perfect,”
Harry and his double spoke at the same time, turning their gaze to the other. Red eyes looking into green ones. Questions being reflected between them
“In due time, we will talk again,” the double said, pulling his cloak tighter around his body, “For now, you need to wake up and find your way out of this place. Save Sirius if you can, but do not do so at the cost of your own life,”
“What do you mean ‘if I can’? He showed me the answer, I can save him,” Harry argued
“You still can’t use all of your magic, better to save yourself instead of playing the hero. Again,” there was irritation in those words and the double leered at Harry.
“I’m not leaving here without Sirius. I don’t care what you or the snake think. I have to save him,”
“The only thing you have to do is survive by any means. Not risking your life that others have died to protect. Or do you not care about their sacrifices,”
Harry felt a twinge of rage building inside of him, his magic reacting by erecting a spike of ice just inches from where his double stood
“Do not say that,” Harry spoke quietly, “I am saving him. You have no say here, no matter what part of my mind you may be,”
The double looked at Harry, arms crossed and the snake draped around his shoulders. Harry refused to break eye contact, even as the wind began to whip around them.
“Fine, be a reckless and foolish child. I will not step in to save you and neither with he,” the double gestured towards the snake who was trying to bury himself inside the cloak for warmth, “If you survive, I shall look forward to speaking to you once more. Now leave,”
Harry didn’t know how he felt being kicked out of what was his own mind, but he didn’t care at the moment. As he felt himself being pushed further and further away from the wintery landscape, he felt his eyes wrench open. The familiar sight of the chamber greeted him, as did Not-Sirius, floating above the floor covered in green magic of some kind. His eyes were washed in light, as if in some kind of deep trance. Wisps of the same green magic were floating in the air and being pulled down into the stone walls. Harry swore he could hear faint wailing coming from them.
The shadows that had bound him were gone and Harry didn’t waste his chance. Getting up to his feet he quickly checked for his wand, finding it still in his pocket. Slowly he stood, trying his best to not make a sound as he looked around for an exit, spying a set of stairs just behind the floating Not-Sirius. His steps were slow, creeping along the stone floor as if he were back at the Dursleys, sneaking into the kitchen for some water. Years of knowing how to walk silently, come into play.
“Where do you think you are going,” the voice of Not-Sirius echoed around him and Harry dared to turn around.
Despite the almost ethereal light coming from their eyes, Not-Sirius was looking dead at Harry, its face twisted in a writhing sneer.
“Off to the chip shop, want something from there,” Harry spoke before his brain even could register how foolish what he said was.
Stupid boy, run!
The locket hissed in his mind and Harry took off, running up the steps as green magic began flying from the wand of Not-Sirius, just barely missing Harry. Despite pain coming from his legs, no doubt due to the spell Not-Sirius used on him earlier, Harry pushed through. He took the steps two at a time, doing his best to feel the incoming spell fire and doge it. He only looked back long enough to erect a wall of ice with his magic, cold mist flowing from his hands and forming a jagged barrier between him and Not-Sirius. It wasn’t going to hold for long, but hopefully just enough for him to get away.
Harry stumbled into a landing, his eyes looking for any visible exit. All that greeted him were a number of winding hallways and staircases. The Manor had become a maze, one Harry had no idea how to navigate. Panic was starting to sweep into his mind, fear of being captured as he heard the sound of splintering ice from the stairs below. He had to make a move, to run.
“Harry,” a voice, faint and distant, echoed down one of the halls. One that was very familiar
“Kid, where are you,” came another one, this one far too loud to miss
“Loki. Tony,” he whispered, “They found me,” he said before the stairs below him were filled with the sound of shattering ice.
With no other option and Not-Sirius on his heels, Harry ran down the hall where he had heard the voices of his fathers. It wasn’t much to go on, as the halls turned and twisted wildly, but he pushed on all the same. Chasing not just their voices, but a warm pull somewhere within him. A pull that was bringing him to his family. To safety.
"Someone actually came for me," Haryy said, tears running down his cheeks as he ran.