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Innovator; Chapter 20: The Battle of Memories
🕑 Added 2024-01-10 14:14:05 +0000 UTCAuthor’s Note: Hello my dear patron family. Here’s chapter twentieth of Innovator. Hope you like it! Do tell how it was in the comments. Also, Chapters 1-17 are on my fanfiction and ao3 profile.
Author Out!
“I am Talking.”
‘I am Thinking’
Spells
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A good life is a collection of Happy Memories.
~Denis Waitley
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INNOVATOR
-Dev Sagittarius Black
~~Chapter 20: The Battle of Memories~~
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Alan glared at Voldemort, the one who had stolen his shape, his form, and his face. The glaring red eyes reminded him of the ugly scar that was on his head. The same that he had always felt was actually glaring at him, but he had always made that to be a ridiculous thought.
After all, magical or not, scars do not glare at you. Period.
“How I have longed to finally meet you one day, Alandale,” Voldemort smiled at the boy, who grimaced at the familiarity the Dark Lord showed, “For years, I have been within you. Waiting for you to one day come here and free me from the binding of magic that was put on me by your father’s sacrifice that day.”
“You were bound inside me?” Alan asked horrified, “I thought it was you who had trapped me inside this weird place, and were forcefully showing me painful memories to cause me pain.”
“No, Alandale,” Voldemort shook his head, “You, yourself came to this ‘weird’ place, as you call it. I am surprised that you don’t remember what happened before you came here. I am sure if you did, you would remember this place and why we are here.”
“I do remember what happened, alright!” Alan cried indignantly, “I remember fighting Harry, I don’t know why though. My body wasn’t listening to me, and then suddenly there was pain…”Alan frowned as his memories started to clear a bit, “I am sure, somehow, I was screaming at myself to stop fighting him and then I think I woke up too?”
“Yes, we did,” Voldemort smirked cruelly, “And then, Harry Potter forced the Draught of Living Death down your throat and then you came here, in this...’weird place’.”
Alan hummed in thought before his eyes widened, “WAIT! WE?!” He shouted, “What do you mean by ‘we did’?! What is this weird place that Harry sent me to?”
But Voldemort just chuckled, something that didn’t sit well with Alandale, “Oh, you innocent pig,” the Dark Lord shook his head, “You don’t know anything about your own self. Such a shame…such a shame indeed.”
“Oi! Tell me what I don’t know about myself, and answer the previous questions too!” Alan screamed at the being, whose laughter came to an abrupt halt.
“You can’t force me to tell you anything, Alandale Potter. This is the place where we hold equal ground. You can’t do much except request and hope that I’ll acquiesce,” the Dark Lord announced before he turned to look at the vast expanse of space that both the mages stood in, “And this ‘weird place’ as you so eloquently put it, is your own mindscape. The one place that can be called, ‘The Powerhouse’ of your sleeping body.”
“And Harry sent me here while you were trapped here by my dad’s magic?” The Boy-Who-Lived enquired.
“Yes, the sacrifice of James Potter gave you the amount of magic that was required to power the rune of protection, Sowilo, that has been stitched in your skin,” Voldemort told him before he turned to face the boy, “That night, my one mistake caused a part of me to be trapped inside the rune. For the first few years I didn’t know how or why I was there, trapped and alone. I tried to escape but the dome that you just cracked prevented me. Since then I have tried to break free from the binds.”
Alan absorbed everything like sponge to water. He didn’t understand much. Like for instance, why did Voldemort come after him when his father had to sacrifice himself? What was this ‘Sowilo’ rune? Did Harry have the same rune of protection or was he the only one with the rune? If yes, then why? How did Voldemort get trapped inside his scar of all places, and, this last one was concerning, “The memories I watched showed the scar, and I always felt as if someone was looking at me; was it..?”
“Was it me? Yes, Alandale, I’ve been inside that scar for almost all your life,” Voldemort told him, “And yes, I saw everything in it. Your mother’s death, your brother’s first meeting in the Diagon, your first official meeting in Hogwarts. I even tried to break free of this bind and return to the Original One when he was here in Hogwarts. I didn’t know who it was, but then, I felt that bond pulling me to him and I tried my best to free myself.”
“So that was why my scar pained me everytime Quirrell turned his head away from me,” Alan deduced, “Which means you saw the Diary, and the incident with Bellatrix and Pettigrew in third year too.”
“Yes, Potter I saw everything that you saw, and I remember things from before the time you did,” Voldemort told the boy, “But the question here isn’t what I saw or what I know about you,” He smiled, “The question is what I will do now that I have the opportunity to finally kill you and take control over this body of yours.”
Alan immediately stiffened at that, “Take control of my body?”
“What else, Potter?” The Alan look-alike sneered, his red eyes filled with disgust, “You have wasted all your potential, Potter. It’s about time that someone like me uses it and molds your body in a way that perfectly utilizes the ancient Potter and Peverell family Magicks. Your ‘Good Boy’ image will be used as a means to utterly destroy this filthy world that you hold close to yourself, as people close to you will die by your own hands.”
Alan clenched his fist at Voldemort’s words, “As if I will let you do that!” He screamed at the Dark Lord, “You will have to go through me to get control of this body, and I will be damned if I lose to a freak like you! I have defeated you once, and I will do it again!”
“And I have defeated you twice already, Boy!” Voldemort announced, his red eyes glaring dagger at the Boy-Who-Lived, “If it wasn’t for that wretched brother of yours, you would have been dead many times by now. Twice by my own hands!”
Alan winced at Harry’s name, he still had a lot of things to ask his brother about, and there were definitely one or two apologies that he owed to the eldest Potter. But that was for later. For now, he needed to defeat Voldemort, or at least keep the Dark Lord at bay so that he couldn’t control his body.
“I see, you want to die in pain, and suffer my wrath instead of the painless, swift death that you were offered,” Alan look-alike-Voldemort said and took his stance as he flicked a wand out, “Then so be it…”
Alan steeled his nerves as he glared at Voldemort, he knew that his opponent was probably the strongest he had ever faced, as it was Voldemort himself, and this time Harry could never come to save him. He flicked his hand too and was surprised when the same wand came out that was in Voldemort’s hand.
‘Alright…’ Alan thought, ‘It’s time to defeat a psycho and stop him from killing me…easy enough’ He dodged two red bolts of pure energy which dissipated in the space behind him, ‘Or maybe not..’
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“You still don’t want me to give him the Wiggenweld Potion? The boy has been this way for about an hour now,” The Matron of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry asked her employer, who stood by her side.
Dumbledore looked at Alan Potter’s twitching form, which was in the secluded section of the Hospital wing. The boy had been shifted to the Hospital wing after his brother had left him in the Headmaster’s office.
But it was today that Pomfrey had reported strange magical energy around the younger Potter, and he had immediately left his meeting with Bagman and the others who were in Hogwarts to finalize the preparations for the Yule Ball that was going to be held tomorrow.
“Yes, Poppy, I don’t want you to give Alan the potion,” Dumbledore told her somberly. He hadn’t told her anything that day when Poppy had asked him exactly ‘why’ the youngest Potter had been given the Draught of Living Death. Only that it was for his and everyone’s betterment. She was asked to just monitor him and take care of the boy until it was time to give him the antidote.
Poppy had made one hell of a ruckus when she had seen Alan’s condition and Dumbledore was thankful that the Matron trusted him enough that she hadn't even suspected it when he had used a small bit of compulsion on her.
He hadn’t wanted to do that, it made his skin crawl with disgust when he had to resort to those methods and play with the trust that his friends and employees had in him. But there was no other option. If he hadn’t done that, then he was sure that Poppy wouldn’t have relented in her inquisition. After all, he couldn’t just tell her ‘Oh, Alan got possessed by the piece of Voldemort’s soul in his scar and fought his brother,’ right? The compulsion charm helped there.
“But the boy is obviously in pain, Albus,” Poppy was worried, “And his magic is fluctuating too much, it’s as if the boy’s magic is fighting to take control of something within his own body, I don’t think I have ever seen anything like that.”
‘That’s because there has never been a case like Alan Potter, Poppy’ Dumbledore thought, but didn’t say, “I am sure that whatever is ailing the boy, his magic is trying to heal him and…remove it.”
“It would be much easier if you could tell me exactly what it is that the poor boy is suffering from,” Pomfrey glared at Dumbledore, “Honestly, the way his facial muscles are switching from being tightly scrunched to immediate relaxation, it seems that the boy is suffering constant bouts of Cruciatus exposure, something that is absolutely impossible.”
Dumbedore’s eyes widened at that, he hadn’t thought of the possibility that Voldemort might be torturing Alan’s soul to get control of his body. And, now that he knew, he still couldn’t do much because he was sure that Voldemort would immediately come out, and he didn’t have enough power to stop the Dark Lord. Not with so many children around them, and not without Harry.
“I am sorry, Poppy,” Dumbledore sighed as he turned from the boy, “I really wish I could.I need you to trust me on this, we have no other choice but to wait for the right time. If we want to save everyone, we will have to wait more.”
“And when will your ‘right time’ come, Albus?” Pomfrey cried after him, “When will you give the boy the antidote to the Draught and rid him of his obvious suffering?”
“Hopefully soon,” Dumbledore looked toward the snow covered grounds that were outside the Hospital wing, “Until then I want you to continue to take care of the boy, and report to me if anything else happens. Also, please tell me if his twitches stop. If they do not stop soon, then you should give him some pain relievers and some muscle relaxers.”
Poppy shook her head tiredly, “I will see what I can do while you make him suffer like this.”
“I am not doing this for my personal benefit, Poppy, you should know better than that,” There was a hint of frustration in his voice, “I am not proud of what I am doing for the boy, and please do not take my reluctance as a sign of pleasure or satisfaction, I hate myself for doing this.”
“Then why are you doing this?!” Pomfrey cried, “Just tell me what this boy is suffering from and let me give him the Wiggenweld potion. I’ll do my best to heal him.”
“He doesn’t need a healer’s magic, Poppy,” Dumbledore sighed, “The thing he’s suffering from can only be cured by two people.”
“Who?”
“Either his brother, Harry, or Alandale will have to heal himself.”
“But, didn’t you say that Harry is out of Hogwarts for some Guild work?” Pomfrey asked him, as that was what she remembered the headmaster telling her and the other professors during their yearly meeting on the winter solstice.
“He is, and that is why I am telling you,” Dumbledore took a deep breath as he made up his mind, “You cannot give Alan the Wiggenweld Potion unless the boy’s health is in grave danger, and even then you will alert me and only do it in my presence. The only other person who can be present in my absence is Harry Potter, and no one else. Am I clear?” he asked sternly.
Poppy opened her mouth to give a harsh response and tell the headmaster that she was a healer first and his employee second, but the absolute resolution, and the force in his eyes, made her rethink her words. In the end, she paused to think about what he had said and then she gave her agreement reluctantly.
“Good, thank you for taking care of Alan, Poppy,” Dumbledore turned to look back at the boy, his eyes softening slightly “You don’t know how much you are helping him.”
She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t doing anything, and that it was because he wasn’t telling her the complete truth. But she knew that the topic would end the same way, so she decided to just stay silent.
Pomfrey watched Dumbledore move toward the door when she got a random query, “Albus?” He turned. “It’s the Yule Ball tomorrow, and Alan is a champion. Isn’t he supposed to be present in the opening dance?”
Albus nodded, “Yes, he should be, but it’s not a requirement as the Yule Ball was mostly started for other schools to mingle and share stories and laughs while enjoying a night of fun.”
“But the traditions…”
“They are a way to give honor to the champion. It’s not a requirement and since the Yule Ball isn’t a ‘task’ of the tournament, Alan’s magic will not be damaged if he stays out of it.” And with that, Dumbledore bid her goodbye as he left the wing. Poppy turned to look at the boy, he had that relaxed expression again which meant that he wasn’t suffering from the pain.
She covered his body in a blanket and measured his temperature which, strangely enough, was normal. After that, she left the room reactivating the alert charm that would alert her if there was any shift in his magic again.
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Brown eyes glared at the form in front of them, at the dark lord who had taken his form and was glaring with equal anger and hatred back at him. There weren't any cuts on either of their bodies, no rupture of skin, poking of bones, no torn clothes or anything like that. Hell neither of them were breathing heavily either because there was no need to breathe in the first place.
And Alan knew why.
This weird place that he had thought he was trapped in by Voldemort, was actually his own mindscape and Voldemort was the one who was trapped here, right in his scar. This was the place where all of his memories were stored, which definitely told him why there were so many objects and why each they held a memory.
Apparently, there was something called occlumency? It was an Art of the Mind that made a barrier and a construct to organize one’s mind and memories. And, since his mindscape was basically a freely floating space with all his memories spread out in forms of various objects, it was quite obvious that he was pants at this occlumency thing that Voldemort had gloated about.
“You know you won’t win this, Potter,” Voledemort sneered, “The control on your magic and body that you need has severely deteriorated because of my weeks of work on your magic. You are basically working on the left out part that I didn't have enough time to convert to mine.”
“And you are forgetting that this is my body and my mind, Voldemort,” Alan shouted, “You are but a weak part of the whole, you are nothing compared to me here.” The redhead smirked when he saw the other one bristle at his words.
Alan knew that this scarmort was right, because even if there were no cuts or obvious signs of a duel, they had been fighting for hours now and whenever a spell landed on the other one, the pain was quite obvious.
So, even if he wasn’t sweating or sporting cuts over his body, Alan knew that he was getting exhausted mentally and the exhaustion was shown in his movements and his magic. And then there was the pain that both of them suffered from.
The boy-who-lived knew that even if the Dark Lord wasn’t showing it, he was still suffering from the pain. The spells that he had managed to land on his look-alike weren’t weak. They were strong, and Alan could see that his enemy’s mask of haughty indifference was breaking. Slowly, yes, but it was.
And now, he only needed to find a way to hasten the process. Preferably before his magic gave up and he lost the battle, and, with it, his life.
“I don’t think that time, or magic, is in your favor, Potter,” The Dark Lord grinned, “I am still in much better shape than you, and that’s saying something since this is your own mindscape we are talking about.”
Alan grit his teeth and sent another volley of stunners at Voldemort mixed with a blasting hex, “If only I had known that you were the one who made me do all those horrible things, I would’ve rather died than listen to your voice!”
His look-alike laughed at that, “I wish I had that kind of power before, idiot boy,” He sneered, “I would have taken control of your body long ago if I had that much leeway with the bonds. Unfortunately, my power only started to increase recently, and when yours decreased to minimum levels after that horrible show you gave with the dragon?” Alan flinched at that. “I was only able to start my work after that.”
The dark lord smirked at the redhead, “So you can’t blame me for anything you did before that. It was all you, Potter. You are inherently bad, and worse than your brother.”
The reminder of Harry being better didn’t make it any easier for Alan, but surprisingly he wasn’t as affected by it as he had been before. He chalked it up to finally knowing how he had actually behaved with the boy, and about their accidental meeting in Diagon Alley, something that he still needed to talk to him about.
“Harry might be better than me,” Alan growled, not feeling shame on admitting the truth, “But that doesn’t mean I am bad. It just means that I have to better myself.”
“Tough words for someone who’s going to die in a few minutes,” Voldemort smirked cruelly before his red eyes gleamed and he raised his hand towards the floating milk bottle.
Alan was both confused and worried. Why would the dark lord summon the memory that was in the shape of his milk bottle? But then the boy was horrified when he saw that Voldemort grabbed the bottle and drenched it in his magic.
The bottle suddenly gained a dark, dirty green aura and Alan could feel the memory changing. He could feel the memory turning from a happy and joyous one to that of cruelty and nightmare. His eyes widened when he realized that Tom Riddle’s magic had changed his actual happy memory of his mother and turned it into a nightmare.
“And now you shall suffer the pain that you never knew!” With that Voldemort threw the cursed bottle shaped memory towards Alan. The boy’s eyes widened as he dodged the attack, he saw the psychopath summon another one of his happy memories and turn it before launching it too.
“What the-” Alan dodged it and looked behind himself when he saw the floating cursed memories. The Dark Lord had cursed his memories. He had destroyed his happy memories and his magic had turned them into ugly nightmares.
And Voldemort was slowly turning all of his happy memories into nightmares and launching them at Alan like bombs. The Boy-who-lived knew that if he got touched by even one of them, he’d be forced to watch the memory again and suffer the pain that came with it.
The younger redhead dodged two more memories, and was about to turn when something hit his leg. He looked at the green aura around his first quidditch memory. His eyes widened in shock as the memory blasted on contact and his vision turned white.
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Outside the mindscape, Poppy sat beside the boy as she looked over her patient worriedly. The boy’s magic had started to react even more violently and that wasn’t a good thing. It had been hours since this strange thing had started and even now it still was going, in fact the pain, flinches, and the magical lashes were even more rapid and reckless now.
She checked his temperature and his pulse, both were steadily going higher. She opened his mouth and slowly poured the muscle relaxer to stop his muscles from spasming and his heart from beating so hard that the boy accidentally went into cardiac arrest.
The Matron tried to stabilize Alan’s magic with her own but as soon as her magic connected with the boy’s she was thrown back a few steps from the harsh backlash that she received. Alan’s magic wasn’t in the mood to be in contact with anyone else’s right now, so she simply sat back on the stool as she kept on monitoring his status through the night.
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Alan screamed in pain when he returned from the memory. It was horrible, Voldemort’s magic had changed it so much that he knew he’d have nightmares of the fall he saw. Even though he knew that nothing like that happened in reality.
He heard Tom’s laughter and the boy glared at him. ‘This..this creature….’ he screamed in frustration as he looked around and spotted the Birthday cake memory. He knew it was one of his happy memories so it wouldn’t harm him.
Alan didn’t notice that he had accidentally summoned the memory to himself from afar, something that he hadn’t been able to do yet, as he grabbed it and threw it at his red eyed look-alike in frustration.
Voldemort stopped laughing when he saw the memory and immediately dodged it. He glared at Alan, “What do you think you’ll achieve with that, Potter?” He sneered, “You think you have the power to do that for much longer? You are wrong! You are nothing but a weak and idiotic wizard who is trying to challenge the strongest wizard of all time. You should have just died easily when you had the chance.”
Alan on the other hand was still reeling from the shock with the amount of fear that Tom showed when he had dodged the memory. He then remembered that each time the evil spirit grabbed a happy memory, there was some amount of pain that showed on his face which he tried to hide.
His brain was working really fast now as he thought about ways to utilize this small observation. Even now he could see that Voldemort winced when he grabbed the cake shaped memory and turned it into a nightmare.
This meant that since nightmares were a curse for him and a boon for Voldemort, the happy memories played the same role, only in reverse.
Alan grinned when he reached that conclusion, ‘Alright Tom, it’s time to actually begin the battle of memories…’ The boy grinned as a plan started forming in his head. It was a foolish idea, and a very flawed plan. But it had a really small chance of working, and, right now, anything that worked against Voldemort would be classified as a boon in Alan’s eyes.
What followed was a bizarre event where both specters started summoning and throwing object shaped memories at each other. Alan learned that he could summon as many as four happy memories at once and also that Voldemort was also heavily affected by happy memories if one managed to touch him.
Just like Alan, the Dark Lord would also be forced to relive a memory when it touched him and, despite the length of the memory, it would only be a momentary lapse during their battle, which meant that they would return almost immediately from the memory and start throwing it.
Unfortunately, the youngest Potter also realized three things. One, Voldemort could summon seven nightmares at once; two, converting a memory like the Dark Lord was doing was extremely painful and taxing on his magical strength, so he had to avoid doing that and instead focus on using his already happy memories; and three, he didn’t have much strength left now.
Unfortunately his enemy had noticed the three things too if the grin that stretched across his face was any indication.
“Tired, are we?” Voldemort smiled, “I told you Alandale, you are weak. And a weak person can never stand against a strong person.”
“You aren’t much better yourself, Tom,” Alan grinned when Voldemort bristled angrily at the name, “We both know that you aren’t as strong as you were when we started. I might be weak right now, but that’s because you are holding my magic and using it against me.”
“And soon you will lose your control over the meager amount of magic you still have,” The Dark Lord’s red eyes gleamed, “Once that happens, I will destroy you and the world shall fear my name once more.”
Alan shook his head, he can’t let that happen. He can’t let Voldemort win. Not when the world was living peacefully. It would be an absolute nightmare for every single living being!!
That’s when Alan looked behind the dark lord and saw all the happy memories that were still floating behind the dark lord which had been thrown at him by Alan. He knew that a fairly similar amount of nightmares were floating behind him which he had dodged from Voldemort’s side. The plan he was thinking of was a really stupid one, and now he knew that if he failed then there would be no one to save him, or the world.
But it was the only thing he could think of and he knew that he’d have to execute it to perfection, even a single miss wouldn’t work in his favor.
Voldemort saw Alan summon two more happy memories and he shook his head tiredly, the boy was a persistent one that was for sure. But, according to the dark lord, persistence never helped you achieve your goal if it was too high for you. One should know when, and where, to stop.
“Foolish boy..” He muttered as he summoned three more nightmares and launched them at the boy. Unsurprisingly, the boy launched the happy memories too but surprisingly, the happy memories collided head-on with the nightmares causing all four of them to blast out as blinding white light filled the battle mindscape.
Alan sidestepped the third nightmare that was launched at him, it was time now. He shielded his eyes from the white light and grit his teeth as he raised his hand towards all the happy memories that were floating behind Tom and summoned them toward the point where the being stood.
Voldemort was just about to open his eyes when suddenly he was hit from many sides, he was confused just for a moment as to what had hit him like this. But immediately the magic of the happy memories coursed through him and Voldemort felt pain like he had never before. It was like his Cruciatus but increased many-fold and each of them pierced his very being.
When the light from the collision subsided and Alan opened his eyes, he saw the kneeling form of the Dark Lord. His eyes were closed in pain and he was screaming his voice out as each of the happy memories that floated behind him were attacking him now. The younger redhead knew that he couldn’t miss now because if he did, there would be no chance to survive.
So, Alan grit his teeth at the fleeting amount of magic he had as he floated towards the dark lord. He knew that this would be his last attack, and, if it didn’t kill Voldemort, then the psychopath would surely kill him and he wouldn’t be able to stop it.
Scarmort opened his eyes when he felt someone touch his head, he glared at the boy even though unbearable amounts of pain was coursing through him, “This won’t hold me for long, Potter. And I will make you rue the moment I free myself,” He growled like a chained angry beast.
“I know you will, and that’s why I plan to destroy you now,” Alan started rotating his hand over his head and summoned all the happy memories that were floating in his mindscape. Every single one of them.
“I will make you pay for this, Potter!” Voldemort screamed, “I am the Dark Lord Voldemort. I am immortal, and the strongest wizard ever! And I. Will. Utterly. Destroy. You. Filthy. Potters. One Day!”
Alan glared at his look-alike as all the happy memories were about to collide with him, “Well, that day is not today, and, if even one of the Potters live, the day won’t ever come.” And with that the Boy-Who-Lived used every bit of his magic to pull the memories to him. He jumped away from the dark lord and escaped the violent impact that Voldemort’s prone form suffered head-on.
The last thing Alan saw, as he was thrown back from the force of the blast, was Tom’s screaming form crumbling before his eyes as black smoky wisps emanated from him, the dirty green aura around the milk-bottle memory slowly receding as the taint from Voldemort’s magic disappeared along with the dark lord’s departure from his mindscape.
‘Well….that went well…’ And with that Alan closed his eyes.
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Inside the infirmary, Pomfrey woke up with a jolt when she felt the alert ward break into pieces from magical overload. She rushed to the room that held Alandale, and on her way she heard an ear piercing screech that momentarily halted her.
She threw the door open and gasped in shock at the condition of the room. All the beds were thrown away, the stools, chairs, and her own table were burnt to ash, and all the windows had shattered as their frames dangled from the window sills. There were even burn marks on the walls.
Poppy rushed towards the only patient in that room and was surprised when the bed beneath him was the only thing that withstood the carnage that had happened inside the room. She touched the boy’s sweaty forehead and flinched at the scalding hot temperature that was emanating from him.
The healer calmed herself a bit and started to perform the charms and procedures that were needed to counter and control the boy’s irregular symptoms, like the temperature that was slowly cooling down and calming his heartbeat.
Pomfrey also noticed that Alan was taking deep breaths and he had stopped twitching or scrunching his face in pain. This was a good thing, at least. But what worried her was the ruptured scar on his forehead, and the thick black liquid that had poured out of it and was slowly releasing wisps of black smoke.
She cleaned the ruptured area first, and was about to take a sample of the black liquid, when she noticed that it had completely vanished and the pillow beneath Alan’s head that was dirty a moment ago was clean again.
Poppy knew that there was only one man who could answer her questions, and he had many to answer. But that was for later, she checked the time and sighed. It would be six in the morning soon, and today was the Yule Ball. She’d tell the headmaster about this later as he will be really busy today.
The Matron checked the boy’s rapidly cooling temperature again. She frowned at the speed and then checked his pulse that was slowly going weak. This wasn’t a good sign, not at all. Pomfrey opened the boy’s eyelids and noticed that his pupils were dilated. She flicked her wand to check on his magic and her mind halted in shock.
Alandale Potter had used every bit of magic inside him and had succumbed to a magical Coma.
“Oh no…”
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Ending note: There you have it fellas, chapter Twenty of Innovator, hope you liked it.
Liked it? Loved it? Needs some changes? Please, do tell.
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