Egress
J prides himself on his intelligence, so on an entirely theoretical level he understands the appeal of religion. He knows that the unknown is something frightening, and that humans, as a race need something to hold on to to stave off the horrible contemplation of death, and use it as a sometimes completely arbitrary guide for their ethics, morality and lifestyles. He supposes that having such a structure on which to build one’s life actions and choices can be a comfortable way of staving off the unknown. It makes sense when looked at in relation to human nature. On an entirely personal level however, the appeal of religion entirely escapes him. He realized early on that no one was going to save him, and began working towards doing so himself. So he sees no purpose in praying to a being of questionable existence to fix whatever is wrong with his life. There is something inherently repugnant to him about the idea of submitting himself entirely to a being so much more powerful than himself, begging for its grace. He does not even wish to contemplate the price he would have to pay for such a favor.
Considering his general lack of contemplation on the subject, it is not very surprising that he’s never really given much thought to the subject of souls, which he had considered a primarily religious concern. So he had never really thought he had a reason to think about them before, which was rather foolish of him, now that he thinks about it, considering the fantastical nature of his own powers. He takes a brief moment to berate himself for the oversight.
He really should have considered it before, he thinks again as he stares blankly at the glowing wall of light in front of him. He feels detached, and perhaps a bit cold, but that’s usual for him so he doesn’t understand what this other strange other feeling welling from somewhere deep in his abdomen and the back of his mind is. The lack of information on the subject is disconcerting, so he decides to catalog what he does know.
Firstly, he is protected by a ward of some sort. A ward, which failed to protect him from Walrus or Horse, but was still apparently functional in some other capacity. Secondly, the ward is unique in that as far as he can tell with his limited experience, it is both permanent, and apparently powered by the soul of Lily Potter née Evans, his mother. Thirdly, he knows that it is powered by the soul of Lily Potter, but not why he is so certain of that fact, or whether this ‘soul’ fits his own conception of souls. And last of all, he knows that he cannot continue stalling. He will have to speak to Lily soon, especially after that first slip of his. He had, of course removed his hand from the wall of light right after addressing it/her, but he can still feel the thin thread of power connecting them like a tether rooted in the core of his power.
He braces himself for the onslaught of sensation and once more raises his finely trembling hand to the glowing barrier.
It’s warm, he notes, like the soil in the garden on a particularly sunny summers day. There is no violent onslaught of sensation, but rather an expansion of the connection between himself and the barrier. He finds himself immersed in its warmth, which he finds is not unpleasant. It’s how he imagines a warm bath would feel like. He allows himself a moment of indulgence, and basks in the unfamiliar feeling.
He is not quite sure how to speak to the ward, because surely there is a better way to do so than muttering to himself like a ‘nutter’ as he believes the colloquialism goes. So he sends out tendrils of his consciousness through the path created by his power, until he can feel the warmth of the barrier-spirits’s mind. They connect, like two broken pieces of an object being fit back together. He’s struck by an overwhelming sense of completeness and he doesn’t think he wants it to be any other way.
Then she whispers to him. The whispers aren’t words--they were never words, he realizes--for she is a being who has transcended the need for such things. They’re pure ideas, concepts images and emotions given birth by the interactions of two enormously powerful consciousnesses. It’s beautiful, the flawless translation of thoughts and knowledge from one mind to another, and J cannot help but admire its perfection.
Before, he hadn’t known about her. Hadn’t acknowledged her, and the connection was weak. Initiated but not completed. And so he heard her whispers, but hadn’t understood them. But as his mind touches her he knows, her whispers are clear now, a true voice instead of words spoken through thick fog. And she speaks to him; it seems to him an eternity listening and watching and letting the light and the power that is so much more than just Lily anymore embrace him. He is surrounded by a cocoon of brilliant light and consciousness, and he feels safe for the first time he can remember.
She speaks to him of what she was when she was human; the Muggleborn, the Mudblood, the Friend, the Wife, the Mother. The Unspeakable. She tells him of the oaths, the silence and her comrades draped in gray as they drifted like spectres through the halls of a place filled with silence and madness. She shows him a room, filled with rows and rows of glowing orbs, stacked on shelves. Prophecies, she whispers to him, as her ghostly hand caresses his cheek. There’s something hollow about her voice, as she says that, and it’s filled with an emotion that J will probably never understand.
She tells him of her childhood, making little miracles with a dark-haired boy with eyes like ink. His name is Severus, she says, and if she was still human he thinks she would weep. Her life flashes before his eyes, her thoughts through his mind. Watching her life he experiences more emotions vicariously than he himself would probably ever feel in a thousand years. It’s overwhelming, the flood of thoughts and emotions that are so obviously foreign, but he’s resilient and his mind assimilates the knowledge with little delay.
It’s pleasant, the feeling of their minds touching. He knows now that she is the reason that he is never alone, that she is the whispers that accompanied him even in darkness. But he knows that he cannot sit there forever, his hand reaching out to a ward visible only to him. There is very little human left in her, he knows this from watching her memories, for she is but a shadow of the Lily-that-was, she lacks the freedom to act of her own volition.
So he knows that he must ask the important questions.
You try to keep me safe, don’t you? He asks her with images and bursts of color. For what else is a barrier for? There must be something out there, searching for him.
He receives a feeling of agreement.
What is your purpose? What else can you do?
I protect. She replies with a flood of warmth and the sound of clashing steel. I am the shield and the weapon. I am the sanctuary that hides. I was but a woman once, human, and weak. The woman I was bound herself to you, as a sacrifice, a shield. And then I became this, something so much more.
You hide me? From what?
The one that killed me. And the ones that serve him. They claim to Eat Death but are simply agents of mindless destruction.
You speak as if he is still alive.
He ceased to be human long ago. He is alive in the same sense that I am, and as mortal.
This was news to J. It would seem that his enemies are everywhere, and a defeated Dark Lord who possibly sought vengeance upon him was the most alarming. He pauses.
Who left me here? Why was I left here, with these people? He needed to know if his suppositions were correct.
Dumbledore left you here, with my sister. He could sense me, but did not recognize me. He thought me a mere blood ward, created from the sacrifice of the Lily-that-was, which would protect you from the Death Eaters, but requires the anchor of a blood relative. That is the function that the one you call Horse would serve. Regardless of that, you were meant to live with your Godfather, Sirius Black. He was a friend of your father, and our will states that custody of you would fall to him in the event of our deaths.
I know of Sirius Black, but he is currently in Azkaban for the murder of a man named Peter Pettigrew. Remus Lupin is also unavailable.
Peter Pettigrew is a rat in every sense of the word. He betrayed us. If Sirius did kill him, then he had every right to do so.
So the man was innocent of betraying the Potters. He would explore the possibilities of that later.
You say that you are not a blood ward, so does that mean that I do not have to live here, with Horse? If I left could you hide me? Even from Dumbledore, and anyone else that might find me?
I am bound to you, in mind and soul. I exist solely for you. I can hide you from anyone, should you wish it. This was pleasing.
Is there any place that I may go, that no one else knows of? I trust your ability to hide me, but I do not wish to take any chances.
There is a house, in Winchester. The knowledge of its location died with me. It is approximately forty kilometers from here.
I were to leave now, at this very moment, how long do you believe it would take for it to be discovered that I am missing?
Petunia and her family, held no love for me while I was alive, and they hold even less for you. They will not report your disappearance to Dumbledore. Arabella is not the most attentive of people, and she will more likely than not, not notice your disappearance for months, if not years. Dumbledore has placed a tracking spell on you, but It can be removed, and placed on Petunia’s son. He will not notice the difference.
It was terribly convenient, thought J to himself.
Why didn’t you remove it from me before?
All you had to do was ask it of me. I can take no action unless you ask it of me. I exist for you.
He waited the few days until the snakes returned. He felt that he owed it to them to at least tell them where he was going. The larger snake was ecstatic that he was finally leaving, to the point that J was actually becoming concerned about his spastic twitching. He was quite certain that it wasn’t normal for snakes. The smaller snake simply ignored his comrade, offered his congratulations and promised to visit J.
He didn’t have any belongings, to speak of, so when the snakes left here merely turned on the spot with the image of the house in Winchester firmly in his mind.
Lily had shown him a form of teleportation used by stick-wielders, which was apparently called apparition. She had given him her own memories of the process, so given the size of his core and the distance to Winchester he should have no problem 'apparating’ there, even without previous experience. According to her memories apparition was akin to being sucked through a particularly violent straw, and arrival was heralded by a sharp ‘crack’.
This was evidently caused by the violent displacement of air particles.
Unlike in Lily’s memories, his arrival at the house in Winchester, which did not currently have a name, was silent and almost instantaneous. His time between places was brief, but he can recall an intense cold and darkness, neither of which were uncomfortable.
He attributes this to the fact that he is not actually a ‘wizard’. The Other space he passed through seemed unique to his form of teleportation. He’d have to find a better name for it than that.
He checks his connection to Lily, to make sure that he didn’t leave her behind.
Lily? Are you there?
She replies in the affirmative.
The house is decently large, with two stories and a basement which Lily tells him is outfitted as a potions laboratory. It stands alone, with a large amount of space on all sides, and a copse of trees blocking the view of the house from the street, as well as a small forest out back. The house is on the outskirts of Winchester, far enough to be decently isolated, but not far enough to be outside of suburbia.
The nearest building is apparently an orphanage, called Whammy’s house.