Two Souls
I was in a building. I wasn’t sure where it was specifically. When Mason Randall Asher and I apparated there, I found myself in a long black hallway, with featureless metal walls on all sides. Asher led me down the hall to our right, his cloak whipping behind him as we went deeper and deeper into the building. Every so often, we passed men and women wearing heavy black armor, armed to the teeth with assault rifles and all manner of other killing weapons. They stood vigilantly on guard, like motionless terracotta statues. We walked past a few closed doors, but no labels existed to indicate what lay within. Eventually, Asher and I reached a set of double doors, and he unceremoniously pushed them open.
We were in a round room, with a long crescent-shaped desk around its sides seated by a group of well-dressed people. Some of them were muggle military officials, and dressed accordingly in green and blue uniforms decorated with medals and badges. The others were Aurors, many wearing cloaks far more ornate than Asher’s. Most of these people were old, at least a few decades older than my parents. Some of them looked absolutely ancient, but their eyes were sharp and intelligent as they pierced my own.
“This is the boy?” said one of the Aurors.
“Yes, sir,” said Asher. The moment he used the word “sir,” I realized that I was in the presence of some very important people. “Alan Doe.”
“Mr. Doe,” said the Auror, looking at me. “I understand you have something to tell us.”
I looked up at Asher. He nodded at me. I took a deep breath. It was difficult to withstand the pressure in the atmosphere here, but I pushed through it and returned my gaze to the cabinet.
“The Death Eaters are not dead. They’re going to come back. Soon.”
“How?” asked one of the muggle generals. “How’d they even come back the first time?”
“Donovan Trackwell created a Phoenix Stone. It anchors the souls of his followers to the world of the living, and can bring them back to life after a certain amount of time.”
“Five months after the First Battle of Salem, one of the surviving Death Eaters performed a ritual using the Phoenix Stone,” said Asher. “It brought the deceased Death Eaters back to life, resulting in the Second Battle of Salem. We believe that this will happen again.”
“Nick Varennikov,” I said, looking at Asher. “He’s the one who’s going to perform the ritual. He survived the Second Battle of Salem. He’s out there somewhere, waiting until he can bring them all back.”
“How long do we have?” asked another muggle.
“It’s been three months since the Second Battle,” said Asher. “We estimate we have two months left to find the Phoenix Stone and destroy it before the Death Eaters can return.”
“How will we destroy the Phoenix Stone?” asked a witch.
“The answer is standing before you,” Asher answered plainly. “Alan Doe.”
There was a stirring among the cabinet. I heard whispers passing between them, but didn’t catch any of the words. I became extremely self-conscious, and clutched my arm.
“He’s just a child,” one wizard said quietly.
“He is a Reborn,” said Asher. “But that is not why he is the key to all this. There is another reason.”
Asher reached into the pocket of his cloak. The object he pulled out was one I was unfamiliar with. It was a glass orb, about large enough to be held with one hand. The inside of the orb seemed to contain some kind of obscure bluish mist, which floated around as Asher grasped it. He placed it on the table in the middle of the room, and the cabinet members leaned forward to get a better look at it.
“Thirteen years ago, a prophecy was made by a witch in Scotland. The prophecy was stored in the Department of Mysteries of the British Ministry of Magic, from which I have retrieved this record. The prophecy reads as follows: The Successor will entrust his soul to the soulless, and will bind the souls to the Stone. The Stone will be made from the Child’s soul, and the Child’s soul will be intwined. The Successor will rise in a dome of darkness, and try to make the City his own. The Child’s soul will be his thorn, and twice will be his undoing. Only the Child’s soul can destroy the Stone, and end his great returning.”
Asher finished reciting the prophecy and looked at the panel. The muggle military officers looked bewildered, but the Aurors were deep in thought. My head was swimming as I tried to comprehend everything he’d said.
“Mr. Asher,” said one of the muggle generals. “Explain the relevance of this... prophecy.”
Asher answered patiently. “I have had professionals from around the world study this prophecy after its connection to the Salem incident was confirmed. We are certain that the Successor it refers to is Donovan Trackwell, or Darkanoss – the New Dark Lord, the successor to Lord Voldemort. He entrusted his soul to the soulless by forming a contract with the Dementors, and bound the souls of his followers to the Phoenix Stone. That is why they cannot die.”
“But the prophecy says the Stone will be made from the Child’s soul,” said a wizard. “Who is the child?”
“We have studied that as well. After extensive research, we believe we have identified them.”
“Who is it?”
“Emma West.”
Asher’s words didn’t seem to reach my brain. They pulsed through my ears like a throbbing echo, and only the third time around did I finally process them. My jaw slowly hung open. I felt something undefinable moving inside of me, pressing tightly against the edges of my heart.
“Who is Emma West?” asked a general.
“A Reborn witch who was killed during the First Battle of Salem,” Asher answered.
“That can’t be...” I said quietly, shaking my head slowly. “Emma... she died after the battle already started. He didn’t use her to make the stone. He couldn’t have.”
Asher looked at me. “The prophecy did not say that Trackwell used Emma West to create the Phoenix Stone. It said: the Stone will be made from the Child’s soul, and the Child’s soul will be intwined.”
He returned his gaze to the Aurors. “The Phoenix Stone was made using the feathers of an Arabian phoenix. This prophecy indicates that Emma West was that phoenix’s magical familiar.”
“What’s a magical familiar?” I asked weakly, still dizzy from the earlier revelation.
“It is an extremely rare occurrence in which a magical creature shares a part of their soul with a human wizard or witch. The connection exists from birth, even if they are thousands of miles apart. When the two meet, they can perform the spell Atovius Familiarus, which is unique to each caster. The spell combines the powers of that magical creature with the wizard or witch. It is immensely powerful.”
“So what does this have to do with Darkanoss?” asked a general.
“Darkanoss created the Phoenix Stone using Emma West’s familiar. Because of that, the Phoenix Stone is connected to Emma West’s soul. Darkanoss is unable to destroy that soul, because he gave a piece of his own soul to create the Phoenix Stone. The forces repel each other.”
“But Emma died,” I said, still fighting the intense pressure in my heart. “So her soul... it’s gone. Isn’t it?”
“That is what we thought initially. But you have defeated Darkanoss twice already, Alan Doe. That should not have been possible. Only the soul of Emma West has the power to defeat him.”
My eyes widened. “What are you saying?”
“You possess the soul of Emma West. She lives inside of you.”
These words blindsided me. The impact was so strong that for a few moments, I was completely deaf to the room around me. It was like I was floating through space. My thoughts ran chaotically, struggling to keep up with the knowledge that had just been bestowed upon me.
Emma... lives inside of me?
Asher continued speaking to the cabinet. “When that girl died, her soul absorbed itself into Alan Doe. Thus, Darkanoss cannot kill him, and attempting to do so will eradicate his body. He has already failed twice because of this. The Child’s soul will be his thorn, and twice will be his undoing.”
“Only the Child’s soul can destroy the Stone, and end his great returning,” finished the witch who had spoken earlier. “Which means that Alan Doe is the only one with the power to destroy the Phoenix Stone.”
Everyone looked at me again. I had nothing to say. There were so many things to take in at once, but nothing affected me like the knowledge that I now possessed Emma’s soul. How was that even possible? I still remembered the moment of her death, when that proud and brave girl fell to the ground beneath Karen Blair’s wand, her blonde hair waving one last time in the frozen summer air. Had that feeling of admiration for her that I felt moments before drawn her soul into mine? Or had Emma somehow entrusted her soul to me, in the split second that it had left her body? Neither possibility made sense. I had never even heard of something like this happening, and even Asher seemed to think it was unprecedented. Somehow, through some astronomical miracle of magic, or some other unknown means, Emma and I were tied to each other. I thought of my Patronus, the way it had taken the form of a doe when I first conjured it for her. Emma’s doe. Maybe we had been connected all along.
You will understand soon. She is still with you. That is why this is happening.
Sam’s words from my dream in St. Isadora suddenly made sense. Throughout the war, the thought of Emma had always given me courage and strength, but now I realized that maybe it was more than just a thought. There was a piece of her inside of me. I was both Alan and Emma. The two of us were one, and together, we were the only ones who could stop Darkanoss’s plan.
“You say the soul of Emma West is the reason the Death Eaters can resurrect,” said one of the muggles. “Doesn’t that mean if this boy dies, then they can’t come back anymore?”
I was alarmed. I knew the general wasn’t directly insinuating that I should be killed, but the thought alone was unnerving. Asher was quick to put this idea down.
“If Alan Doe was killed, we would lose our only means of destroying the Phoenix Stone. Darkanoss and the Death Eaters would become unstoppable.”
“But I don’t understand,” I interjected, still confused. “Blair was able to kill Emma. But isn’t Blair’s soul bound to the Phoenix Stone too? Why didn’t it repel, like Darkanoss’s spells did with me?”
“You’re confusing two different phenomena. The Phoenix Stone anchors the souls of the Death Eaters, but they are not connected to it the way that Darkanoss is. Darkanoss sacrificed a piece of himself to create the Phoenix Stone, not unlike a Horcrux. That piece is tied with your soul – or rather, Emma’s soul. Darkanoss himself cannot kill you, but his followers can.”
“The Phoenix Stone must be destroyed,” an Auror concluded.
“Do we have any clues as to its whereabouts?” asked one of the other generals.
“I have my Aurors scouring the area surrounding the Salem Valley in search of Nick Varennikov. When he is found, he will be apprehended, and the Phoenix Stone will be secured.”
“How will we destroy it?” I asked. “The prophecy said only the Child’s soul can destroy the Stone. Even if her soul is... inside of me... how do we do it?”
“We find the phoenix that was used to create the stone. Your soul and Emma’s are the same, which means that phoenix is now your magical familiar too. The Atovius Familiarus spell conjures the power from your shared soul, and should be capable of destroying the Phoenix Stone.”
I thought long and hard about this. Emma, the phoenix, and me. All our souls were intertwined, and we were the key to finally ending the war. We had two months left until the Ritual of the Blind could be performed a second time. It wasn’t much time. But there was no other way. Thousands of people had died because of the Death Eaters. If we didn’t find and destroy the Phoenix Stone soon, it would happen again. There would be a third battle. We had gotten lucky so far, but even if I was able to destroy Darkanoss, he would just come back again and again and again. The Phoenix War would go on forever. I couldn’t let that happen.
I pressed my hand against my heart. Somewhere deep down inside of me, I almost thought I could feel Emma’s presence, her spirit burning inside of me. I wouldn’t let her down. I wouldn’t let her sacrifice be in vain. I would be the one to end this – to foil Darkanoss’s plan once and for all.
* * *
When the Second Battle of Salem ended, the city was immediately placed under martial law just as it had been after the First Battle. But this time, instead of returning Salem to regular governance after a month, the military remained in charge indefinitely. The beautiful little city where I had grown up became a police state, one in which all citizens – especially wizards and witches – were closely monitored at all times. Entry and exit into Salem Valley was strictly regulated, and the town’s borders were more heavily guarded than the Canadian border just a few hours north of us. While this severely limited the rights of Salem’s populace, particularly its magical community, I never thought of the military rule as overstepping its bounds. I may feel differently now, but at the time, it was reassuring to see so many soldiers defending Salem from potential threats. Even if I knew the muggles would stand little chance against the Death Eaters, at least this time we were prepared if they attacked again.
And they would attack again. That was something everyone was in agreement about. Unless Nick Varennikov was found and apprehended before the five month window closed, there would be a Third Battle of Salem. The thought of it horrified me. I couldn’t bear any more violence, and neither could Salem. We had lost too many people. A few weeks after the Second Battle ended, I had attended a mass funeral conducted in the field south of Salem where the Soul Vortex had first touched down. That field had been turned into a graveyard, with thousands of tiny white stones indicating the names of the deceased. Liam Manfred was among them. I don’t know how long I cried at his grave. I don’t think it was long. I was running out of tears to shed. I felt so terribly empty inside, like life had no meaning and everything was hollow and pointless. A few times I wondered why I even carried on at all. If it weren’t for my friends, especially Peter, then I honestly don’t know if I could have made it through.
We spent as much time together as we could. It wasn’t as easy as it had been before. The movements of all magical citizens were carefully monitored, and the military didn’t like us going wherever we wanted on a whim. We were permitted only one routine travel destination: a warehouse in the south part of the city, where Asher continued his lessons on Defense Against the Dark Arts with the surviving Reborn kids. We all hated the thought that this terrible war wasn’t over, and that we would once again be forced to put our lives on the line. The military and the Aurors tried to sugarcoat it, but the facts were clear: we were child soldiers. We always had been. Our role in the coming battle would be more important than anyone else’s. We were the key to stopping this war, once and for all. And though I hate to say it, no one was more important than me.
I had Emma West’s soul. I was the only one who could destroy the Phoenix Stone. That meant that I was a priority asset in the eyes of the soldiers and Aurors. If I died, then the war was lost. Nothing would stop Darkanoss and the Death Eaters from resurrecting over and over and over. We had been able to defeat them twice by the skin of our teeth, but unlike them, we couldn’t fight forever. Every life we lost was very real. Our casualties were high, while theirs were nonexistent. Despite all the lives they’d taken, not a single Death Eater had truly died yet in this war. They were an invincible army of the undead. Sooner or later, they would have what they wanted. Salem would be theirs, and they would begin their great war against the muggle world. Even with vastly superior numbers, how could the U.S. military or NATO or any other muggle force stand a chance against something like that? Even if it took years, Darkanoss’s followers had all the time in the world. They would destroy everything in their path, and sooner or later, they’d get what they wanted. They would rule the world. Our only chance at stopping them was to destroy the stone – which meant that I was humanity’s last hope.
I hated this role more than anything. I would sometimes curse my naïve past self, the one who would daydream on the playground about being a hero like Harry Potter, the one destined to defeat the great villain. I learned it the hard way: there is nothing glorious about being the Chosen One. I was the only one who could save the world, and that was more pressure than my little heart could handle. I spent hours every day sitting around my house, gazing out windows at my yard and just wondering why, why me, why did it have to be me, why does it have to be me? I knew exactly what would happen if I failed. I would let everybody down. All of the lives that had been lost – they would be for nothing. Their sacrifices would be in vain because of me. That’s not a position that any child, any person, should ever be put in. I found myself rereading Harry Potter’s memoirs, now filled with intense empathy for him. I understood now why his public image had been so modest since the Second Wizarding War. It wasn’t that he shied away from glory and fame. It was that having gone through something like this was nothing to celebrate.
Nevertheless, I did find some comfort in reading about him. Harry Potter had always seemed like a legend in my mind, a mythic figure, but now I realized he was human just like me. Rather than making me think less of him, it made me respect him more. I wanted to be like him more than ever; not as a hero, but as a person who made it through the worst of the night. Harry Potter had witnessed so much pain and death. The Phoenix War was like the Battle of Hogwarts on repeat. Yet he had persevered, and ultimately, he had destroyed Lord Voldemort. I wanted to believe that the same could be true of me. But Lord Voldemort was just a historical figure to me, a villain of the past. Darkanoss was very real, and even knowing he couldn’t kill me as long as the Phoenix Stone existed, I didn’t feel any safer. I was terrified of him.
My friends and family prepared as much as they could for the coming battle. Witches and wizards weren’t being allowed to leave Salem; the military made the excuse that it was to monitor for potential Death Eater activity, but the consequence of this was that we would be forced to participate if a Third Battle did indeed occur. This is yet another point that history glosses over; we were prisoners in our own home, and unlike the hundreds upon hundreds of muggles who fled Salem over those few months, we had nowhere to run. So we trained, almost constantly, our combat training overtaking the time that we might have once spent learning math and charms and geography. We weren’t children anymore. We were warriors, veterans of a bloody war, and our final battle was approaching fast.
We weren’t ready. I don’t believe we ever could have been. I couldn’t have possibly imagined that despite all the horrors I had witnessed so far, they were nothing compared to what would come next.