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SD: CH116 - Desperation Part 2
🕑 Added 2024-06-20 16:22:49 +0000 UTCAmelia Bones lay dead on the floor. A muggle doctor would’ve pronounced that ‘brain death’ was equivalent to the state of ‘real death’ but I knew better. Her lifeforce had depleted, her magic fading, and her soul was slowly sundering itself from its earthly bonds, the process delayed by the World Anchorage that tethered me to her. I had other tethers, of course, so Amelia’s death wouldn’t remove me from this Reality, and wouldn’t magically affect me except a loss of a 100 units of World Anchorage.
But the same couldn’t be said about her. She was dying, her spiritual self already between two worlds, and the only way I could hold her soul and restrain it from leaving was if I too, stepped into both worlds with her.
There was only one way of doing that.
I raised my wand, and channelled every bit of power available to me.
“CAVE INIMICUM!”
The strongest known privacy charm expanded out of my wand, and I guided the barrier to reach out as far as I could, spanning over a fifty feet radius. Trying to maintain a ward this large was going to exhaust me within a minute, maybe one and a half if things went in my favour.
Thankfully, that was all the time I needed.
Switching Paths…
Activating Path NECROMANCER
Registering Affinities…
Binding…
Welcome, Necromancer!
A soft, serene smile spread on my face as I sat in meditation, embracing what I was.
Harry Potter.
Tetherer.
Necromancer.
The Black Lord.
I smiled, and in my eyes, the whole stadium was reflected as my gaze grew and grew and grew. A vision swam before my eyes, a world silenced. I saw the infinite darkness of the void beyond consuming all things. I felt the death of the world itself approaching.
But before all of that, the ones in my vicinity would have to pay the price for my desires.
Don’t get me wrong. I was not being cruel. They had suffered, and I would let them die as true heroes, perished in the line of duty, killed by the explosion caused by Malfoy and his ilk. The bill would, of course, come due for Malfoy, but that was for later. For now, these Aurors, these veterans would find some meaning in their existence. Fulfilment of what I knew to be to their purpose.
A purpose that I would define.
Establishing parity with physical constitution…
Enacting…
Accessing available affinities and Perks…
I raised both hands, and spoke with a familiarity I didn’t possess.
“Eat.”
A whirling sensation erupted out of me, like the world had been caught in a gale, only there was no wind. Instead, a hideous emptiness oozed out. Black, sludge-like fumes branched out of my body and gripped the bodies of those fallen around me, people that were one foot in the grave only barely staying away, though whether by luck or sheer defiance was difficult to say. The dark power trickled through their bodies, twisting them, coursing through their veins to corrupt their souls before they could their earthly forms.
The people screamed. Aurors. Hit-wizards. Civilians. I didn’t care who they were. All I could feel was them screaming as their minds and souls were torn apart. They thrashed wildly as they lay on the floor, unable to do a single thing as every single memory they had acquired for their entire lives were getting ripped out, disabled, sifted and discarded by something that they didn’t even understand, something that ravenously fed upon their very souls.
Accessing Incarneum
Magic was closely interwoven with a wizard's faith. You needed to believe in the magic for it to work — not just that it will happen, but that it should happen.
And that was what made Tom Riddle, or any necromancer, so dangerous. Magic was essentially a force of creation. Even with disciplines like transfiguration and charms that dealt more with altering the nature of existing objects rather than creating them from scratch, the caster had to create the result in his mind first, and then shape the object through his willpower, intent and magic. Necromancy on the other hand, made a mockery of life, even as the caster used it to destroy. Besides being murderous and extremely icky, there was something utterly profane about using magic to create a rotting semblance of a human life. Every time I even considered it, my stomach turned a little, just thinking about what it might be to work a spell like that.
And necromancers like Voldemort actually believed in it. Which really seemed to twist him further and further into an inhuman. A deadly, powerful, calm and intelligent inhuman.
The irony was that it was the same deadly, calm, intelligent inhuman approach that was going to help me save Amelia.
I raised my wand, potent necromantic energy seeping out of it, and drew my first rune.
“INGWAZ!”
The power of Initiative. To go against the universe itself and do what one wanted to do. Had this been conventional magic , or healing, I would have gone with the Tiwaz rune, the generally accepted rune for willpower.
“WUNJO!”
The rune for lifeforce. Spiritual strength. Magic. That which flooded the human body and made it alive. The spiritual component of Life itself. With a complex series of wand movements and a confidence that felt both familiar and alien at the same time, I created a path to converge the flow of lifeforce towards the new sink — a runic circle floating above Amelia’s unmoving form.
World Anchorage — Amelia Bones falling…
35%
30%...
Damn it. Faster.
Dagaz, the rune of transformation came next. Followed by Thurisaz, Naudhiz and Perthro, the runes for reflection, necessity and stability. The three-dimensional arrangement of the sequence initiated a process of osmosis into Amelia’s body, creating a facsimile (reflection) of lifeforce flooding through her system, providing everything necessary for its stability. That her body had been healed through my use of Meta-Luck earlier only facilitated the process faster.
The art of Incarneum was a tricky thing. It followed the principle that primal magic, the substance that created souls, created life itself — it was all permeating. It operated from the idea that the caster was the only one whose existence was worthy, thereby making everything and everyone else less. The discipline shattered the concepts of individuality and viewed everyone else as ingredients, their lives crafted from the same matrix and thus, could be altered and reused to add to the caster’s own spiritual constitution, using it to enact miracles ranging from accelerated spiritual healing from dark curses to ensuring that one’s life never ended.
And it was working. For the Anchorages were being pushed up again.
World Anchor — Amelia Bones has gone up by 3%
World Anchor — Amelia Bones has gone up by 7%
World Anchor — Amelia Bones has gone up by 2%
And so on. The body was healed from within, and so long as the anchorage stayed over the other side of sixty, things should be safe.
It was time to cast the final rune. I raised my wand and —
“EXPELLIARMUS!”
My wand went sailing out of my hand. I turned around, shocked, infuriated, and surprised, exactly in that order, as my gaze settled on the angry gaze of Nymphadora Tonks, her teeth clenched, her wand levelled at my face as she silently summoned my wand to her feet, and pressed it down on the floor with her shoes.
“Cease whatever you’re doing, and stand up! Your game is over, whoever you are!”
“Nymphadora —”
“DON’T CALL ME NYMPHADORA!” She bellowed. “And get off from Madam Bones’s body. I’ll say it one last time. Stand up, and cease whatever you’re doing! Or else….”
“I am Harry Potter,” I snapped. “And can I ask you to piss off? I’m trying to save Ame — Madam Bones.”
“Don’t lie!” she snarled. “That’s not healing! That’s dark magic! I don’t—”
“EXPELLIARMUS!”
Nymphadora’s own wand was sent flying out of her hands, as she stared, dumb-struck at her best friend turned opponent levelling her wand at her face. “Hestia —”
“INCARCEROUS!”
Tonks stepped back by several steps to avoid being caught by the hex, and I instantly summoned my wand back to my hand. Hestia quickly summoned Tonks’s wand into her left hand.
“Harry,” said Hestia, her expressions blazing, “Complete what you were doing. And fast!”
“Have you lost it completely, Hestia?” screamed Tonks. “He’s an imposter! Open your eyes! He’s doing dark magic!”
“Not dark magic,” snapped Hestia. “That’s Necromancy! Get on with the times, Dora.”
Tonks looked conflicted between snapping back and actually registering what Hestia had just revealed to her. Not only was I, the Boy-Who-Lived, casting dark magic, but the darkest of magical arts — Necromancy, over Amelia Bones’s body. Meanwhile, I quickly undid the damage Tonks had done by interrupting the ritual.
“URUZ!” I said, drawing the rune of Restarting. Of Renewals.
And the runic circle continued to pour the liquid darkness into the DMLE Director’s body.
World Anchor — Amelia Bones has gone up by 6%
And yet, Amelia Bones didn’t so much as move a finger.
Come on, Amelia. Don’t give up on me now. Come on.
....
....
....
No.
This couldn’t happen. Not again. Not when she had finally found somebody to be with after all this time.
Harry was not James, but he was hers.
James had used her, Harry had completed her.
James had been given her hand, her feelings and her body to enjoy through a contract. Harry had defied her, fought her, and defeated her in a battle of her own choosing, conquering her mind, body and soul.
James had always been a child, yearning for the bird in the bush and ignoring what he had in hand. Harry was her lover, and even if there would be more, he would always be hers.
And now, when her lifelong exile had finally come to an end, now when she had finally found a taste of being free meant, when she was truly satisfied in bed with the man of her dreams, she was being snatched away from him? Even as she stood in this dark corridor, she could feel herself moving away from reality, from her own body. The pain from her battered form had clouded her mind, leaving nothing except raw agony flooding through her body, and yet all she could think of was the feeling of having his hand in hers during those last but vital moments. She wanted to tell him that the weekend he had spent at her manor had been the only weekend she had truly lived after over a decade and half.
Still, even if she was dying, she drew hope and satisfaction on the fact that Harry and Susan, the two people most important to her, were both away and safe. Harry would keep Susan safe, and he was there, kneeling before her in her last moments, probably fruitlessly attempting to cast spells to save her life.
But it was already too late.
Or was it?
A darkness was rushing in, like the waves of the ocean in the shroud of the night. Maybe this was what would take her into the Afterlife, if such a thing existed. Amelia thanked herself for having the foresight of having a portrait commissioned and placed in her office. Susan would know to activate it. Even in death, Amelia could watch over her niece, and see Harry give her the life that Amelia herself was denied.
“No, wait —” she said, as the darkness grabbed her. “I just need a little more time.”
But the darkness wouldn’t listen. It pulled her, enveloped her. Amelia didn’t know where those terrible energies would take her. Perhaps they would wash away everything she was, her memories, her magic, her existence. Giving up, she closed her eyes and let herself be pulled, surrendering herself to her fate. The feeling of her hand in Harry’s would now dissipate, and all she would feel would be nothing.
…
Or would it?
The feeling didn’t dissipate. Instead it strengthened. And with it came a whole bunch of other sensations. A terrible wrongness, a rush of vitality, and with it came pain.
Agonising pain.
She was moving away, away from the dark corridor into something familiar.
A world of crimson.
And pain.
And…
And…
Amelia didn’t know what it was, but one thing she definitely understood. Harry’s fate, her fate, entwined as it was — it all made sense. She focussed her entire attention on the black tendrils dragging her.
Whatever it was, the end it was not.
....
....
....
“INCARCEROUS! STUPEFY! LOCOMOTOR WIBBLY!”
Hestia kept hurling spells at her best friend, as Nymphadora Tonks, despite being wandless, kept proving exactly why she was Alastor Moody’s protegee. Alastor Moody who was retired, and for that reason, absent at the World Cup. A good thing, for he too, would be dead otherwise like Kingsley Shacklebolt, Michael Proudfoot, and others. I hadn’t sensed Gawain Robards’s soul within the stadium so he must have either been outside my established territory, or he wasn’t even inside the stadium when the explosion took place.
“UGH!” exclaimed my secretary, shifting from firing basic hexes and stunners to faster offensive spells to take down her best friend who was utilising her metamorph talents like nothing I had ever seen. One moment she was a little girl, the next moment she’d be a tall, ruddy man, and the immediate next, she would be an athletic figure dodging through Hestia’s spellfire without the slightest bit of effort. She’d run circles around Hestia, keep dodging in unpredictable ways and kept getting closer and closer, sometimes at me, and at other times, at her, keeping Hestia on her feet and panting as she neared magical exhaustion with every passing second.
“BOMBARDA!” yelled my secretary.
Tonks leaped back and settled with a cold stare at her once best friend. “I guess you’ve truly changed, huh, Hestia? An exploding curse at your best friend to save a dark wizard that’s pretending to be the Boy-Who-Lived? Guess it’s always about sex with you, isn’t it? You just want to have the best sex, no matter who suffers because of it! First Charlie Weasley and now… but I guess my words wouldn’t matter to a traitor like you, would it? I’m not gonna be surprised if you try to kill me next!”
“She won’t,” said the most surprising voice. “But I will.”
Nymphadora snapped to her right, staring flabbergasted at Emmeline Vance, who stood further away, wand aimed at her. “Emmeline, you —”
“PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!”
The full body-bind curse from Hestia hit Tonks, taking advantage of the sudden distraction, and the metamorph Auror stiffened as a rock, rooted on the floor, her eyes glaring at Emmeline Vance who slowly walked up to her.
“Hestia might let her friendship prevail over her thoughts even in such dire situations, but I will not. Harry, continue with the ritual. Is it what we think it is?”
“Close,” I said, gritting my teeth as I felt the gathered lifeforce finally converge into the runic circle. Thurisaz had begun working, which meant that the gathered souls would soon lose every bit of their identity. But it also meant that all their fears, all their agony, all their curses at being mutilated in such horrifying manner would also pass through, unless it was filtered by something capable of absorbing it.
That was me.
“Next time, try to be a little subtle with things,” scoffed Emmeline. “And if you can’t, at least use a bloody privacy ward.”
“Did,” I said through clenched teeth. “The necromantic energy ate it up.”
“That makes sense,” said Emmeline, nodding. She turned to Nymphadora. “I know you probably have a hundred and forty-six different things going on in that head of yours right now, Tonks, but trust me, you have no idea of what’s going on, and letting you act now is only going to make things worse.”
The only thing Tonks could do was clench her teeth.
“Ah, that’s unfair. Hestia, you should at least let her speak,” chided Emmeline softly, her casual demeanour only making her look crazier. Without waiting for Hestia, the Obliviator twisted her wrist a little, and Nymphadora let out a loud cough, her face now devoid of the binding enchantment.
“Guess he’s got you in as well,” sneered Tonks.
“The correct grammar would be that he got in me,” corrected Emmeline shamelessly at a flabbergasted Tonks. “But I doubt that matters to you any more than to say… what I ate for breakfast yesterday.”
“What’s wrong with all of you? That imposter —”
“Is Harry Potter,” stressed Emmeline with such conviction that even Tonks was caught flatfooted. “Despite how it might look, despite the differences you’ve seen, and despite the necromancy he’s doing right now, trust me, Nymphadora Tonks, that is Harry fucking Potter!”
“And how do you know that?” yelled Tonks.
“I’ve been inside his mind,” said Emmeline coolly, before a cold smirk flashed across her features. “Granted, not as many times as he has in me, but it's the principle that counts. I’ve seen his memories. I’ve seen his mindscape. He is unequivocally Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.”
“Can you even hear yourself speak?” snapped Tonks, frothing in the mouth. “You’re a married woman, Emmeline! You’ve got a son that goes to Hogwarts! And you’re shamelessly claiming to sleep with a boy, who’s currently performing necromancy over the DMLE Director’s body, and you and my so-called best friend, both members of the Order of the Phoenix are helping him? Have both of you utterly lost it?”
Emmeline sighed. “I suppose there are times when the full body-bind curse does make sense.” She turned at me. “Harry, might I ask you to hurry up and finish whatever you’re up to? There’s no telling who else might be here and what Lucius Malfoy and his ilk might be planning to do next. Speaking of, you never mentioned anything about an explosion.”
“I would have,” I said, as the raw emotions from the souls threatened to tear my mind apart. “If I had known. Now let me concentrate.”
“Figures,” said Emmeline. “Domino effects and all that.”
She raised her wand, “Now then, we can do this in, how would Albus put it? The right way and the easy way. The right thing here would be to explain everything to you, and prevail upon you to see sense and not attack us the moment we release you. It means trusting you to understand the severity of the situation and trust that Harry Potter is actually trying to save the DMLE Director, no matter how ghastly or dark the magic he is invoking. It means helping us fight through whatever sinister plans the Death Eaters and Voldemort have planned for tonight.”
“Vol— voldemort?” asked Tonks, blanched.
“Yes, remember him? Dark Lord, terrorised the nation for over a decade before this guy here offed him for the better part of two decades? The one that nearly ended half the lineages in Britain because of his hypocritical pureblood supremacy movement?”
“Emmy,” warned Hestia. “Stop chatting with her. Just obliviate her and be done for good. Who knows what else might happen?”
“Right. So much for doing what’s right versus what’s easy,” grumbled the Obliviator, making me wonder if she had one too many bottles of firewhiskey from my tent before coming here. “Well Tonks, we don’t have the time to explain everything and trust you to keep an open mind and not fuck the night’s plans. So, it’s gonna be a quick Obliviation. You’ll remember passing out from drinking one too many glasses of firewhiskey at the Potter tent. Not exactly something that looks good on one’s resume, but hey, after this shitshow of a Quidditch World Cup, everyone needs a pull-up miracle.”
She levelled her wand at her face. “Obli —”
“AVADA KEDAVRA!”
The loud casting of the killing curse from afar, followed by the green light that shone amidst the darkness far away stopped Emmeline in her tracks. And with that, a loud and terrifying howl tore through the silence like a tank through a wall of glass.
“... Werewolves,” murmured a horrified Hestia, looking up. From the shattered ceiling, the light of the full moon trickled to the floor. “I… I had forgotten.”
“An explosion that killed most of our Aurors and hit-wizards,” said Emmeline tersely. “And now we’ve got Death Eaters throwing killing curses and their pet werewolves prowling for prey.”
She turned at Nymphadora and gave her a cold glare. “Well, girl? Can I trust you to defend my back or what?”
The metamorph blinked. “I… I suppose I can do that.”
“Harry,” said Hestia in a defeated voice. “How long do you think —”
“Not for long,” I promised her. “As soon as I’m done saving Amelia, I’ll join you lot. Until then, one of you needs to protect the Weasleys and Susan and Herm… oh shit!”
Hestia blanched. “Harry, Hermione hasn’t morphed during any of the full moons before. There’s no reason for her to suddenly shift now.”
“True,” I said, clenching my teeth. “But she hasn’t had this much amount of necromancy pooling around on a full moon night either, has she?”
“I’ll take care of it,” said Hestia.
“No,” said Tonks. “I’m a metamorph. Lycanthropy doesn’t affect me. I’ll make sure Susan Bones and Granger are safe. Buty I need answers,” she levelled a gaze at both women. “And it better be a good one.”
And then she left,
I glanced at Emmeline and Hestia.
“Well, go on,” said the Obliviator. “Hestia and I will take care of things until then. But don’t let us have all the fun alright?”
“I’ll try,” I said dryly, closing my eyes.
I felt the collected lifeforce take root within Amelia’s body, and felt magic surge within her. Her consciousness was missing, as was her soul, and yet, physically, her body was active. Blood was forcibly being circulated by magic. The brain was slowly showing signs of activity.
The dying people around me gave out one last bellow of agony, rage and despair. It was the final scream of someone who knew they were dying and utterly powerless to prevent it and who didn’t even know why. Death from the burns and scars and falling masonry was one thing, but feeling their very soul being hacked apart? That was an entirely different experience.
All their life force, their souls were churned and harvested and pulled together by the tendrils, dragging them kicking and screaming out of their very bodies into the runic circle, only for Thurisaz to transform them into neutral lifeforce, and Naudhiz and Perthro to direct their new movements inside a body that would become their own.
I ignored it all. I had come too far to turn back now. The dissolved soul fabrics were all done pouring inside Amelia’s unmoving form. It was time to apply the final rune and finish this for good. With shaky hands, I cast the final member of the runic enchantment.
“HAGALAZ!”
The rune of awakening.
I dropped the wand, and raised both hands over her still form. With the confidence that the universe was mine to command, I ordered the darkness.
“GIVE. HER. BACK. TO. ME!”
....
....
....
In the middle of the Potter tent, Hermione Granger suddenly dropped her mug of cocoa, her eyes turning a dark silver. She went still, her eyes dilated, and her breathing momentarily stopped.
".... "Granger?" asked a wary Susan.
A look of surprise and elation flitted through Hermione’s silver eyes, before she threw her head and howled in mindless rage as her muscles started to bulge and her jaw cracked and distended into a muzzle full of long, sharp teeth.
Saliva dropped from them.
Her clothes were torn from her morphing figure, and swept away by the raw energy emanating out of her like a wind. Her metallic silver fur reflected the erratic light inside the tent, while looming over her. Standing over eight feet tall, the beast radiated with primal power that was overwhelming to the bulk of the world’s population.
Her nose flared and a myriad of scents and magic filled her senses. Dark power. Necromancy was afoot. Fire was burning. Curses. Spellfire. Fear. Danger. Screams escaping into the night from souls as they were being rendered apart. All of that and more were recognized instinctively with a single whiff.
The silver werewolf held up a paw full of sharp, metallic claws. Black fumes of raw necromantic energy oozed out of them.
....
....
....
Lying on the floor in torn, hacked apart robes with a body as pristine as ever, Amelia’s body twitched. The black power that was seeping down into her from the runic circle above finally finished its descent, forming a strange inscription right below her neck, in between her breasts.
Dark eyes suddenly shot open and Amelia Bones screamed.
Comments
Critical_Hit
I think it is because the Necromancy that got into her when Harry fucked her and turned into a Necromancer the first time.
Hadrian v.E.
I hope Lucy gets torn apart. Harry, Hermione, and anyone interested should each take a piece off of him.
Alatoic
Damn, quite the chapter, quite gruesome, I expected Harry to use the dying and wounded not the healthy wizards around it. Hope not many aurors and hit wizards were in the area. And the transformation of Hermione is quite the surprise, is she a Uber-werewolf? and even in her state can she direct her rage against the other werewolves and death Eaters? By the way I really hope they suffer a great deal of loses before the night is over, they cause a lot of damage.
Robert Hernandez
So everytime Harry uses the power of Necromancy Hermione turns into her werewolf form interesting or was it just because other werewolves were attacking
