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SD: CH115 - Desperation
🕑 Added 2024-06-18 16:37:01 +0000 UTCIn 1849, French writer Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr wrote ‘plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose’ — the more things change, the more they stay the same. In other words, despite apparent changes or advancements in society, certain fundamental aspects or patterns remain unchanged over time. The muggle probably didn’t know it, but his wise words certainly applied to a whole lot of things other than societal changes and aspects.
Like time-travel.
Or reality distortion.
Or Ireland winning the 1994 Quidditch World Cup despite Victor Krum catching the Snitch.
After concluding my little tete-e-tete with Narcissa Malfoy in the dingy corners of the unused public bathroom, I had returned to watch the match. Though, calling it a match was an inapt description since it was more like Victor Krum versus the Irish Chasers, what with the Bulgarian Chasers reduced to mere spectators as their keeper deliriously tried to fend off the Irish Chasers from scoring goals in a frenzy. It didn’t help that the referee Adelheid Bersch allowed a succession of dubious calls that allowed Ireland to gain fifty points, while simply ignoring blatant violations from the Irish side.
That’s the problem with having a team that depends on your ‘star’ to carry you. Krum was their ace, but the ace wasn’t good enough against the Irish.
I saw Victor pounce downwards, tricking Lynch into a proverbial goose chase towards the floor below. The spectators were yelling for Krum to catch the snitch, while others screamed at Lynch to beat Victor at his game. What neither could see was that it was a Wronksi Feint, since the snitch was actually hovering right behind the Bulgarian Keeper’s left ear.
The kind of things you notice with increased affinity to magical sensing, and a greatly elevated attunement to the kinetic element. One only needed to read the legends of Cu Chullainn and Mac Roich to know what speed demons were on the battlefield. With everything else happening during the summer, I didn’t have the time to actually touch my Firebolt or go on a ride, something I wanted to correct as soon as I went back to Hogwarts. Ron’s dream star was going to suffer a reality check once the Triwizard tournament started.
Wait. Was I actually feeling jealous of Victor Krum for being above ‘Harry’s’ level of play? Or was it the incubus taking note of a possible competition?
Huh! You learn something new everyday.
As the match ended, I watched the crowds in the stands scream about poor officiating and even possible sabotage, breaking into one of the most spectacular mob fights I had ever seen, and Amelia had to order her Auror squads to don riot gear and institute a curfew. Runic shields sprang into existence, as the mob devolved into spellfire. The aurors sent neon sparks up into the air, and a light drizzle began to fall from above. Mass produced quantities of calming draught, erupting from multiple nozzles, began spraying down at the unsuspecting masses below, while more security personnel rushed in, taking the Quidditch players out first, followed by the occupants of the Top Boxes.
“Return to your tent and take Susan with you,” said Amelia to me under the pretext of helping me walk out safely. “Whatever madness you warned me about, I can only thank my lucky stars that it hasn’t happened yet. I’d be glad if things ended in a terribly boring night.”
“Or maybe,” I joked. “They saw your teams in action and got cold feet?”
“One can only hope,” said Amelia with a tired sigh. “This entire thing already has me exhausted. I’d ask you to come home with me and Susan and spend the night but I know you have all sorts of hijinks planned before this event is over. Really, I could do with another oil massage.”
I remembered what happened the last time I gave her an oil massage and smirked. “Promises, promises, Amelia. Tell you what? If everything works in my… in our favour, I’ll fit in an oil massage and an overnight visit before leaving for Hogwarts.”
“Excellent,” said Amelia, and walked away, leaving me on my own.
As I walked out following the Aurors and other personnel, I noticed Ludo Bagman, who had fainted earlier, was now looking at the leprechaun gold calculatively, and a slight nod at Fred and George made them take note. The twins winked at me as they went on with their victory celebrations while Ron looked both excited and flabbergasted that his words had come true. Maybe I could twist that into making him believe he was a Seer. Not sure if that would make him focus better or turn him into a charlatan, but it would definitely be an interesting year.
By the time the crowds were finally let out of the stadium, I was already at the Potter tent. As promised, Susan had come with me, and she was currently helping Penelope with making some drinks for everyone in the magically enlarged space. I noticed a little friction between her and Hermione, possibly because either registered the other as a threat, or potential competition in my hierarchy of lovers.
And it wasn’t even the only point of concern.
Hestia had invited Tonks to our tent, and given the way Tonks had been giving me icy looks, it was clear she had taken my postponement of our little ice-cream date as a personal rejection. It probably didn’t help that I hadn’t even mentioned an alternate arrangement. Both Hestia and I were suspicious of her sudden agreeing to date me, and believed that it was just her cover to try to figure me out, which made it less of a casual date, and more of a cop hounding a suspected criminal to see if she could gain some evidence.
Too bad I had other priorities to focus on. Once things were taken care of and I was away at Hogwarts, I could ask Hestia to reschedule things, perhaps on a Hogsmeade weekend.
Even that wasn’t all of it. While Hestia and Tonks had engaged themselves in glasses of Ogden’s Finest, Tent Potter received a surprise visit from Anastasia Greengrass and her ‘friend’ Emmeline Vance. Apparently both of their husbands were away meeting some ‘old’ friends, and with the recent dealings between House Potter and House Greengrass, Anastasia wanted to come and greet me. Emmeline, my acquaintance through Gideon Abbott, had just gone with the flow.
It was funny, seeing Tonks’s expression at finding Emmeline walk in there. The woman was both her senior at the Ministry, being in charge of the Obliviation Office, and at the Order, where she was in charge of teaching Occlumency to young and untrained recruits. After what happened in the last war, Emmeline was also tasked with filtering through the members, checking for potential spies and traitors among them. Unlike how it was in the books, the Order of the Phoenix was a competent, covert organisation that operated from the shadows, mostly staying limited to gathering intel from all possible sources, and establishing diplomatic relations with others.
In the end, both ladies decided to stop for drinks, while I walked out, wanting to go meet the Weasleys. Even if events followed the canon route, things would fall apart quickly and I didn’t want the Weasleys to be miffed at me. As I crossed the tents towards the one with WEEZLY written on it, I noticed the twins talking to their father, explaining their big plans for the money they had bet with Ludo Bagman. Apparently the sucker had come to pay them off in Leprechaun gold, only for Arthur Weasley to come in. Somewhere between explaining what was going on, the leprechaun gold had vanished, leaving a red-faced Ludo Bagman facing the wrath of an angry Arthur Weasley.
“Look at them singing,” remarked Fred.
And indeed they were. Even from a distance, I could clearly see the crowds pouring out of the stadium, towards their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. With Ireland’s victory, they were going for an extended celebration.
“I can’t believe it’s taking them that long to come out.”
“Ah, that’s the limitation of Wizarding Space, Harry,” said an excited Arthur. “Mass distribution is always a challenge in wizarding space design. If too many people leave the area too soon, it can cause sudden contractions within the Space and tamper the charms inside. These things are expensive, you know.”
“It’s been over half an hour now,” I protested.
“And it’ll take another half an hour before the last of the crowd gets out. And finally the Aurors will deactivate the auxiliary enchantments and then they’ll come out. Fascinating things, wizarding spaces are. I’d have loved to study them, but I only managed an EE in my Charms NEWT. If only Molly would have shared my interest!” He moaned. “She had an Outstanding in Charms and Defense.”
“Charms and Defense?” I asked, a little surprised. Maybe her victory over Bellatrix in the books hadn’t been a fluke after all.
“Oh yes, my Molly actually wanted to join the hit-wizards back then,” explained Arthur. “But her father was most insistent on getting her married to Angus Prince, and while we were dating each other,, I wasn’t quite confident to be able to support a family with her.”
“But then, how did you — you know?”
“Boys! Why don’t you go see if your mum has finished making cocoa and fetch a glassful for Harry here?” He said, pulling me aside and speaking in softer tones. “Please don’t judge her when I say this, but she fed me a love potion back then. Of course, it wasn’t like she needed it, for I was head over heels for her, but it pushed us to do the unexpected and she got pregnant with William.”
“I’m guessing her father didn’t like it.”
Arthur winced. “He was furious. Would’ve almost cast her out of the Prewitt family, if not her brothers Fabian and Gideon.”
“I… see,” I said, wondering why on earth was Arthur Weasley spilling dirty secrets of his marriage to me of all people. “I guess it’s a good thing then, that she’s still a Prewitt. I mean, the other Prewitts are dead, aren’t they?”
“Well there is Muriel and her family,” said Arthur. “She’s Molly’s great-aunt, but from a cadet branch. The Prewitt family is matrilineal, so only a female Prewitt can assume control. Unfortunately, Molly’s pregnancy out of wedlock went against the Prewitt Charter, so she can never take up the mantle.”
And that was why they had all those kids until Ginny, I mused. “I had often wondered….”
Arthur shook his head like an old elephant. “Molly is quite stubborn. She refused to give up the mantle of Prewitt. It took us seven attempts to have Ginny. I like to think that it was our growing desperation along with the magically powerful number seven that helped us get a female child. Once Ginny gains her OWLs, she can offer her candidacy for the Prewitt name.”
I sensed a But coming.
“Unfortunately, that came with its own complications,” said Arthur, slightly distraught. “I’m not sure if you know this, Harry, but witches in general tend to have more difficulties procreating than their muggle counterparts. It’s why you have so many wealthy families, yet the majority of them end up having a single, or at best, two children.”
The contradiction was obvious.
“Uh, Mister Weasley —”
“Arthur, please.”
“...Arthur,” I said. “If you don’t mind me asking, why exactly are you telling me this?”
Arthur pursed his lips. “I… I just don’t think I’m the right person to answer that. Think of this as a sign of trust between us, Harry. Perhaps the next time you come to the Burrow, we can discuss this further?”
I tilted my head slightly. “Sure —”
Every single hair on my neck suddenly rose and stood on end, all the way down to my heels. Gooseflesh erupted over my entire body at once, and a primal, primaeval wave of utter terror flickered through my brain, utterly dislodging every rational thought in my head.
“...mind.”
I looked ahead, at the Quidditch World Cup stadium in front of me. That feeling… it hadn’t been the result of some random eddy of energy. A wave of magic that focussed was nothing less than a disruption, an attack, the psychic equivalent of an ear-piercing shriek, loud enough to burst eardrums — and whatever had done it wasn’t even in sight yet, or…
Or was it?
For one long, uncomprehending moment, I just stood, staring, bracing myself for whatever was about to follow and felt a tiny bit silly when nothing happened. And then….
“GET DOWN!”
BOOOOOM!
One moment I was talking to Arthur; the next moment, the entire stadium went up in a mountain of flames. There are no words to convey the sheer violence of it. There was just this single, terrible power in the air, a sudden blow of disorienting pressure, as if I had been hit by a truck made of pillow-top mattresses.
For a couple of moments, I heard nothing, felt nothing. A familiar high-pitched tone like the Emergency Broadcast system droned within my head. Lights danced in and out of my vision. My eyes wouldn’t focus enough to track them. Smells were incredibly sharp. The air was acrid, thick with smoke, laced with the scents of things it is unhealthy to burn. Some part of me recognized that the stadium was burning, seeing the flames erupt out of it and crash down like comets upon the hapless crowds below. I told my muscles to move but they failed to obey. Maybe they did, it was impossible to tell, leaving me drunkenly impaired.
Vulnerable.
Then it hit me.
The stadium was burning! The stadium was BURNING! And inside it was —
“AMELIA!” I yelled, and raced towards the burning wreck. I think I noticed Arthur and one of the twins were trying to stop me, but I shook both of them off with a violent twist of my shoulders, and rushed in. Within seconds I had rushed through the burning edifice, the heat making me feel like I was standing in the heart of the sun. It was suffocating, my body bursting out in sweat only for it to immediately evaporate before it could do much to cool me down, while my robes began to smoke, scorched in the heat of the flames all around. If not for my innate magic cocooning me like a shield, I’d probably have fallen several times already.
The air hung heavy, thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid bite of brimstone. Silence, a thick blanket where the stadium's usual cacophony resided merely seconds ago, was broken only by the distant wail, a mournful symphony approaching. The Quidditch World Cup stadium, the heartbed of tonight’s entertainment, lay in a state of shattered grandeur.
Shopfronts gaped like broken teeth, their displays a macabre collage of singed mannequins and twisted metal. The vibrant yellows and greens of the amusement units were reduced to skeletal frames, their paint peeling like blistered skin. A lone butterbeer stall, its brightly coloured awning ripped to shreds, stood as a stark reminder of the place’s interrupted routine. A stray shammock, a colourful reminder of the excitement from earlier, lay snagged on one of the half-molten stands, its fabric billowing like a mournful flag in the dust-laden breeze.
I ran through it.
The stadium wasn’t just burning. It was breathing fire. The stands, once bastions of steel and glass, now resembled grotesque furnaces, their windows glowing malevolent orange. The stairs, slick and rising like serpents, now shimmered like obsidian rivers, reflecting the infernal light. Smoke, a writhing black beast, choked the atmosphere, obscuring everything into a perpetual, apocalyptic darkness.
Dust, a gritty shroud, settled over everything, coating the once-polished chrome of the stands in a layer of despair. The iconic Top Box stood resolute, yet its facade bore the scars of the blast - a spider web of cracks marring its constitution, as if the very soul of the stadium had been etched with the violence.
I ran through it all.
Yet, amidst the inferno, flickered embers of defiance. Hit-wizards, those that were positioned in the periphery and the grounds, charged into the flames, their wand spitting defiance at the inferno. On certain corners, I noticed the silvery sheen of the protego spell, with silhouettes of survivors huddled together, their faces illuminated by the dying embers of hope. Some of them emerged like shadows, dazed and stumbling. Some, cloaked in dust, coughed, their faces streaked with soot and tears. Others, their clothes ripped and bloodied, moved with a slow, stunned purpose, sifting through the wreckage for loved ones, their calls echoing with a desperate hope that fought against the rising tide of despair. The vibrant lifeblood of those present had been cauterised, leaving behind a wound that would take far more than healing spells to heal.
I continued running, looking around desperately for that one face that truly mattered. That one woman that mattered.
And then I found her.
Amelia lay on the floor, covered by a wall of dust. One knee had bent so that she was lying on her lower leg. The other leg was crushed beneath a large piece of the ceiling that had fallen off, taking the better part of her lower body and her left palm.
“...Amelia,” I whispered. “Oh God.”
I knelt over her. Her eyes were open wide as she stared up.
The fire around us flared again, briefly turning the world scarlet.
I didn’t care.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get you out in a jiffy,” I promised. Placing my wand atop the fallen rock, I drew on my emotions, the shock, the pain, the feeling of helplessness… I took it all and channelled it into a single spell that I cast using Parseltongue.
“Confringo.”
The curse did its job perfectly, shattering the bonds within, and the once-large boulder turned into sand and dissipated in the wind. Instead of being happy at the successful casting, I staggered back in horror, looking at Amelia’s condition. The boulder had smashed her innards, leaving nothing but splintered bone, torn tissue and blood, making a pool around her, merging with her crimson hair. My instincts screamed to cast Vulnera Sanentur on her, but casting it would only serve to kill her faster, since it drained the magic from the victim, and hers was already down to fumes.
Episkey wouldn’t do a thing, and I didn’t have any healing potions on my person.
“DOBBY!” I yelled. “DOBBY!”
No one responded. Then I remembered that the anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards present around the stadium area prevented even house elves from popping in and out, unless they were previously registered.
Amelia made a couple of gurgling, choking sounds.
“No,” I said. “No, no, no. Amelia? Come on, Amelia!”
She looked up at me for a second, and the corners of her eyes wrinkled as she smiled weakly. Her face had gone grey. Her lips were blue. “Harry…. You’re here. Good. At least…”
She closed her eyes and coughed. Despite the extreme agony, she reached across her chest with her other hand and weakly touched my hand with hers.
“Harry,” she said. “Take care of — Susan. Tell her, she is… free.”
“Susan’s not big on relayed messages,” I said, choking on my own words. “If you want her to know she’s free, tell her yourself.”
Amelia coughed again. Or maybe she was trying to laugh. It was difficult to say. “Idi-ot! I— Harry, I love —”
Her eyes were on mine, and I couldn’t look away.
And I saw the flame of a candle flicker and go out.
Her eyes emptied. Just emptied, like the windows of an abandoned house. One moment, her body had been gasping for breath, straining, her face full of pain and confusion. Then…
It was just an empty house.
“No,” I said. “No, no, no.”
And the Screen flickered in front of me.
You are losing Anchorage from Amelia Bones
100%
95%
90%
85%....
Lower and lower it went, and regardless of my efforts, Amelia neither moved nor reacted. Angry, I cast whatever healing spell I could, but the World Anchorage kept going down.
I bent over her. Airway, breathing, circulation. I opened her mouth, tried to make sure it was clear. But it was pooled with blood.
I couldn’t see her then. Was weeping. I bent over her anyway, and breathed into her mouth.
Nothing.
The house was still empty.
65%
60%
55%....
No! It couldn’t end this way! I had plans! And those plans required Amelia! More importantly, she was someone I wanted as a partner. I wasn’t going to let some random Death-Eater attack take away my destiny of becoming God. My…
My…
It hit me.
Meta-Luck is being deployed…
World Anchorage raised to 100%
Used Meta-Luck : 34
Remaining Meta-Luck: 74
A surge of energy swelled inside Amelia’s battered, broken and most certainly dead form and for a moment, I believed I had done the impossible. I had resurrected her, snatched her from the jaws of death and returned her to the living. Meta-Luck had the power to rewrite Reality, so why not bring the dead back to life? Surely, surely —
You are losing Anchorage from Amelia Bones
100%
95%....
“NO,” I whispered. “No! No! NO! NOT AGAIN —”
And yet it was happening. The Meta-Luck had raised her anchorage back to 100, but it hadn’t done anything to restore her quickly depleting magic, or her body’s deteriorated state. If only I could —
Meta-Luck is being deployed…
Third-degree burns on a third of her body. Complete muscular and nervous damage of the left leg, left palm and her lower abdomen. Spinal damage. Massive skin damage to her right hand.
Nobody could heal that kind of injury, magic or otherwise. And yet —
Used Meta-Luck : 69
Remaining Meta-Luck: 5
And yet, it did nothing, for her anchorage kept falling lower and lower…
55%
50%
45%..
I was out of options. No spell, no ritual, nothing I had in my arsenal could do anything. Her body was healed, but her soul had already been sundered and it was depleting her lifeforce. And I had exhausted the lion’s share of my Meta-Luck. The moment her lifeforce went down completely, the moment her magic vanished, so would her anchorage and Amelia would be gone past the point of no-return. Not even Meta-Luck would be able to bind her soul and tether her to the….
My eyes widened.
“...Tether.”
The Tether System transformed people into Lilims, and served as living anchors, tying myself to them. So long as they stayed intact, I would be fine. Not even Death would be able to touch me. But the door didn’t open on both sides, and I could tether someone else by latching their souls to myself.
The Incubus Lord had no such power.
Luckily, someone else did.
Just like that, I knew what to do next. I glanced at the fallen bodies all around me. Several of them were groaning, cursing, crying, taking their last breaths, but most certainly alive. What I was going to do would break every rule in the book, and would be probably the darkest and vilest thing I would ever do. If Amelia ever truly found out what I did, she’d probably kill me with her two hands, Magic be damned. But —
But if I did this, and I succeeded, then Amelia would stay alive.
It was an utterly selfish thing to conceive of. Only a person that valued his own life as the only one worth living would be able to progress with what I was planning. But Amelia had a 100% anchorage, and I could safely bet that I would be able to turn her into a Lilim, and thus, her safety and continued existence would guarantee my own existence. A twisted little truth, but for this particular incident, it could work,
And if I didn’t, a part of me pointed out, then I would be committing a great evil for nothing.
Damned if I tried. Damned if I didn’t.
Steeling myself, I came to a decision.
Switching Paths…
Activating Path NECROMANCER
Registering Affinities…
Binding…
Welcome, Necromancer!
Comments
NightFury
Exciting stuff. Can't wait to find out what happens next.
Robert Hernandez
The perfect chance for Harry to kill Lucius Malfoy is now, by using his life to save Amelia but without it being linked back to Himself or her that's the best right now than he had planned
KristofferXxXxX
I would have done the same if I was SI Harry here, I would rather save Amelia by any means necessary if it could save her life at the cost of other lives being sacrifaced.
