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ACT4CH37 -Defying A Dark Lord Part2
🕑 Added 2024-11-10 17:52:14 +0000 UTCEkrizdis had wishcrafted a chair for him, and Harry felt a little sad that it wasn’t the most surreal thing he had ever experienced.
Before this year, bullies were his sole problem. People like Malfoy. Even the Death-eaters, and to some degree, even Voldemort himself, fell in that category. People who were arrogant, conceited, and acting based on emotion instead of logic.
But things had changed ever since he had come into his power. First Voldemort not wanting to attack him directly, choosing to bring him down through alternative methods and proxies. A perfectly logical course of action, given Harry’s ability to insta-kill any magic the Dark Lord might throw at him.
And then had come the more dangerous opponents.
Men who played to their strengths, lurking behind the veneer of civility, hiding the darkness of their souls. Men who were content to wait as their plot unfolded and their pawns died left and right.
Men like Ekrizdis, Nicholas Flamel, and that invocator Schulz. And now… even Voldemort was shifting to that side of the table, if his plotting with Ekrizdis was any clue.
It was like the more he was growing into his power, the more accomplishments he had under his belt, the greater and more dangerous his opponents were becoming.
Our very strength incites challenge, Salazar’s memoirs had claimed. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict breeds catastrophe.
At the very least, he could still feel his — the sword being used by the DMLE Director, which meant she was alive. It was difficult at times to stay away from calling it his sword, but then he fiercely reminded himself that he was simply a user, a potential claimant that filled the conditions to wield the powers of that blade and the miracles vested within. He already had enough on his plate.
Yes, Godric’s legacy was not his to carry.
Harry closed his eyes, and felt the power of Death burning in his veins as Amelia Bones dragged out more power to face her enemies. Using the Black Family Magic, he had crafted a ‘bridge’ between himself and the sword, a really good one for a first-timer if he might say so himself. He had gotten the idea when he had used a similar technique upon the dementors, using those purple arrows to bind them by their source of Origin, before he channelled the flame of Summer into one of them, causing all of them to immolate and perish instantly.
Still, there was one tiny doubt gnawing in the recesses of his mind.
Just what was the Director unleashing that much power against?
Whatever it was, it had better end soon. There was no way he’d be able to fight Ekrizdis and empower the Director, especially with the way she was guzzling power faster than the Operarius when activated.
Then he felt a hand touch his left shoulder and all his thoughts vanished instantly.
“Don’t worry,” said Ekrizdis, or well, an Ekrizdis. Harry looked ahead and found that the one he had been conversing with had vanished into thin air, probably dispersed into the ectoplasm it was crafted from. Or worse, wishcrafted into and out of existence. It was a subtle hint that despite the opposing nature of their powers, Harry would only be able to injure or kill Ekrizdis if he managed to hit him first.
“It’s really a matter of ill timing, I suppose,” said Ekrizdis. “But apparently, Voldemort breached my defences. I certainly didn’t want him here until my magnum opus was complete, but I suppose you need to be more than a little stubborn to become a Warden in the first place.”
“...Voldemort?” Harry breathed.
“But you do not need to worry, little Warden. I’m certain the Director is making good use of your gift.”
He said it reassuringly, though it did anything but that.
In hindsight, it made a lot more sense, since just a single stab of the blade would’ve been enough to tear a dementor’s inside out if they came for them. But against Voldemort….
Damn it.
“Now, now,” said Ekrizdis with that mocking benign smile. “There is no need to get excited. Besides, I doubt you’d be able to match your powers against mine when that blade is guzzling through your magic faster than the current administration eats through your taxes. Why not just sit there, relax, and pour your powers while watching your proxy fight Voldemort by herself. But I am curious, Harry Potter. You are here, yet she is channelling your powers.”
“I wonder,” He met Harry’s gaze. “Whatever is your secret?”
Harry flinched just a little. He hadn’t wanted the other wizard to find out about that. But if the Director was facing Voldemort, then Ekrizdis was obviously aware of the entire thing. His very consciousness pervaded the entire island after all, like an awareness not dissimilar to the Black Lar, or the Warden mantle.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Ekrizdis raised his hand.
“No, no,” he said conversationally. “I simply abhor spoilers. I’d rather solve this quandary myself. You just sit and watch, as my opus is complete. Hmmm, let’s see…. Gryffindor was no Vessel, had no Family Magic for himself. And the connection forged between yourself and the blade….”
Harry gritted his teeth as the madman’s mind went full throttle. “Hmm… multiple origin points between the two of you, compounding the connection and establishing a bridge between the caster and the artefact. Yet clearly the timing, the purpose, the method… It doesn't feel like a rushed process. Yet the execution demands a source, a conduit, a…. A reverse possession, perhaps? That pouch you gave her earlier was…. no , even that would require a constant swapping of energies, but maintaining a perpetual switching spell like that would…. Pfft! Hahahahahha!”
Whatever he was about to say was drowned in his own mad laughter.
“You.. you actually….”
His face twisted into another uncontrollable bout of laughter. His feet stomped hard and his eyes tears up. He laughed and laughed so much that Harry wondered if the ectoplasmic construct would just fall apart.
“I… Pfft!” Another Snort. “Ye— yes! I see it! I see it!” chuckled Ekrizdis. “I should’ve known you were up to something when you killed my dementors earlier by tying their origins together. Binding, of course. I had assumed you were simply using it to channel your power through it, but no, you went a step beyond that. You… you played with causality!”
Harry fisted his palms at being pegged so easily. Ekrizdis was right. The sword of Godric Gryffindor was an ancient artefact, capable of channelling every form of magic in existence. However,Death and Summer could only emerge from the blade when Harry Potter channelled his magic through it. In the order of things, ‘Harry pouring magic’ would come before ‘Death or Summer surging out of the blade.’
Or it would have, if not for the recent forays into the study of causality after his episode in the Prison of Possibilities.
The Black Family Magic of Binding was all about tying things together, at least on the physical side of things. But when one shifted to binding ‘concepts’, that’s when things got really interesting.
By binding the ‘history’ of the two Family Magics being cast through the blade, Harry had been able to forge a bridge that worked less of a ‘magical energy transmission’ and more of a reversal of causality. Cause was pushed into the future, the effect coming before it.
Instead of ‘Harry poured his magic, so the blade unleashed Death,’ it became — Death was surging out, so Harry must have poured his magic through it.
“But I wonder, Harry Potter,” said Ekrizdis. “You do know that Voldemort created his body from your blood, right? What happens when he gets the sword?”
The sudden whitening of Harry’s features made him dissolve in peals of laughter.
....
....
....
Voldemort was confused.
He didn’t like being confused.
For several long minutes, he had fought Amelia Bones. Her technique had definitely refined from the clumsy, determined Auror he remembered from the First War, to someone that fought with an ironclad control over her magic. Every spell was aimed at the vitals. Not a single spell wasted on flamboyance or demonstrating her ability to fight on par with someone like himself.
But it wasn’t enough.
Far from it.
Voldemort could have ended the battle in the first ten seconds, fifteen at worst.
But then there was that blade.
Godric Gryffindor’s blade. One that had supposedly come to Harry Potter when facing Salazar’s basilisk. It had made him wonder if the Potter line was descended from the Gryffindors and if Potter, in a curious draw of Fate, was shaping up to become Gryffindor’s heir, just like Voldemort himself had become Slytherin’s.
But then Potter demonstrated that strange, impossible power of Death. The power of the Peverells.
And if that wasn’t enough, Voldemort had been stumped the moment he had attempted to steal into the Sunken Vault, only to find himself barred from entry.
The conclusion was affirmative and terrifying.
Harry Potter, wielder of Gryffindor’s blade, possessor of the Peverell power of Death, had become the next Warden of Voldemort’s great ancestor’s legacy.
It seemed the boy was intent on taking everything away from him. At the same time, it taught him that he wouldn’t be able to approach things the usual way anymore, not with the boy.
It was why he had approached Schulz, and Ekrizdis. In that order.
It was why he had avoided facing Potter in direct combat, allowing others to entrap him.
It was why he had thrown away the game of shadows he was playing with the Ministry, and revealed his presence publicly.
So why, why was he suffering this setback? Why was this woman able to use Potter’s powers through that blade, when he himself couldn’t, even with Potter’s blood —
His thoughts screeched to a halt, something that almost cost him a bone-breaker aimed for his neck.
“Fuck! Missed!” exclaimed Rufus Scrimgeour.
Voldemort narrowed his eyes in spite. It would not do to let these silly mortals believe they could injure him.
‘Wonderful,” he sang. “A woman that believes she is my equal because of a borrowed blade. And an Auror pretending to be a hero. Your only chance to run away, mortals, is now gone.”
“Borrowed or not, it’s perfect for killing you, Tom Riddle,” snarled the Director.
Voldemort twitched. Any spell he could cast would disintegrate before that blade.
He turned his feared wand menacingly. “Let me show you why I am the most feared Dark Lord that this nation has ever known. Why I, and I alone, is the rightful descendant of my great ancestor Salazar Slytherin.”
With complex flicks of his wand, he transfigured the dead bodies and fallen debris upon the ground into huge whips, before transforming into seven massive snakes with steel-tipped tails that came at the Aurors from all directions. Instantly the battleground became a feeding ground for thirty-foot long serpents with magic-resistant scales as they viciously charged at their creator’s Parseltongue command. He added a sonic amplification charm, using his Parsetongue’s innate power to cause nervous breakdown among the DMLE. A wide flourish, and the entire area was inundated with water, making it difficult for them to even gain ground to stand on, while the snakes moved while doubling the snake’s mobility.
Potter’s power could eat away magic.. That much was certain. He was certain it could also cut those serpents without the slightest issue. But what if Bones couldn’t even gain enough ground to wield that blade?
Speaking of —
Accio blade.
It didn’t work.
Voldemort frowned. He should have expected that much. If not Potter, then at least Bones must have had the foresight to cast anti-summoning charms upon her greatest weapon. Well then…
“Geminio horribilis!” He hissed. It would be fun to watch Bones attempt to cut those serpents and watch in despair as they multiplied even more. And also, just to be sure —
“Miasmus mortiferum!”
“Venenum Umbrarum!”
“Serpens Osculum!”
“We’re dead!” exclaimed one of the hit-wizards. “We’re so dead!”
They have no idea, thought the Dark Lord. Crouching on one of the few remaining pillars, Voldemort watched, smiling.
This was going to be fun.
....
....
....
“You look confused,” said Ekrizdis. “Not surprising. I’ll admit you’ve experienced more of the Anima than most would in their entire life. Doubly so, given how young you are. But take it from someone that has vested decades and centuries into understanding the Anima, my project is inspired.”
“Inspired? Try insane,” snapped Harry. “Just what is wrong with you lot? It’s like every single person that rose to become Warden lost their marbles completely to become evil, twisted megalomaniacs. Voldemort out there wants to destroy the magical world and I’m the only one that can stop him. Instead I am here, listening to your crazy theory of pulling the Anima into this world because you simply couldn’t find a safer way to achieve your own variation of Family Magic.”
“Ah,” Ekrizdis’s eyes glittered. “I see it now. You truly do not know.”
“Know… what?” Harry demanded, his tone laced with cold iron.
“I do not wish to attain Family Magic, little Warden. The true goal of the Animus Eternum is far, far loftier than that. After my project is completed, the new world will regale me as the saviour.”
“If you’re a saviour, then I’m Merlin Emrys!”
Ekrizdis snorted. “A suitable comparison, even though you would not understand why. But I do understand a little about you now. Perhaps I was going about the wrong way.”
“If your harebrained idea is to bribe me with treacle tart next, I’ll tell you right now it won’t work.”
More snorting. “Listen, Harry Potter. And listen well. I am not attempting the impossible. I am simply correcting things back to the original path.”
Harry narrowed his eyes.
“Explain.”
“For as long as humanity can remember, the Anima has always been connected to it. Right from the age of the dinosaurs and perhaps even before. Back then the powers were wild, instinctual, just like the animal forms in the mortal world. Even today, shades of those primordial forms remain. You call them totems.”
A shudder ran down Harry’s spine.
“In the wake of intellect’s rise in the new world, these powers gained their own sapience, their purpose. Gaia, Osanyin, Prithvi, Joro, Ra…. They have been called many names, over many civilizations. It was there to spark and fan the flame of Man’s awakening, to spin the wheels of civilization, and when the forest of civilization grew unmatched and needed clearing for new growth, they were there, to set it ablaze.”
“Set it —”
“Ablaze. You heard me right. The Age of the Gods was a world of magical species, a world where the divine and the amortal lorded over fellow humans. An era where the rules of mankind and the laws of the world were different right down to the very fundamental physics of reality itself until the End appeared.”
A foreboding feeling rose through Harry. “The End of —”
“The End of the Age of the Gods,” said Ekrizdis. “How that came to happen, nobody knows. Not even Salazar Slytherin had any idea of how that came to be. I searched and searched and searched across centuries, delved deeper into the Anima, but found nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was like one fine day, the gods just decided to vanish, closing the gates of the Anima until nothing but the barest rifts were available, cutting off Reality from the age of mystery and ushering in the age of mundane physics.”
“And whatever remained of the Anima were Family Magics that could manifest only through appropriate vessels,” Harry surmised.
“Precisely, and it has been on the decline ever since. Nobody can explain exactly what brought forth that tipping point that shifted the world from the age of chaos and mystery into a world of immutable laws. Physics became an overwhelming aspect of the surface texture of reality. It resulted in a slow, guaranteed recession of the ancient magics, leaving the mundanes as the predominant race in the world.”
Harry scoffed. “Muggles are not —”
“Aren’t they?” Ekrizdis challenged. “They do not respect the whims of the world like us magicals do, nor do they respect it for its unfathomable power. As if this world isn’t a living, breathing temple of pure wonder, but a machine that exists to serve its needs. You might be the Nexus Child, little Warden, but you have not lived through the wards that have devastated the world over the last millennium. You have not felt the leylines slowly dry out and vanish entirely from the planet’s surface. Muggles dare to walk where they were never meant to tread. And as they do, the spiritual declines.”
Harry didn’t know what was worse. That Ekrizdis was essentially repeating the same logic that Daphne had given him, or that he was agreeing with the ancient archwizard on the subject. He knew, more than anyone, just what kind of forces lay beyond the Anima. He knew of the dozens and dozens of magical disciplines that were either discarded or forgotten, simply because the newer generations of wizards were simply not born with the natural affinity of the trait. The tomes of the Lair were filled with dozens of examples.
Incarneum. Dunamancy. Lumenweaving. Umbracraft. Veilstitching. Bloodsong, and so on.
Even the ones that still existed were either the Family Magics, or taught in venerated and highly protected magical guilds.
He didn’t have to like it to know that what Ekrizdis was speaking was the truth. And the worst part? He now had an idea exactly why the Ministry had kept his existence a secret from the world for centuries. Why letting an amortal soul-sucking parasitic species to exist and threaten the safety of fellow magicals was unanimously acceptable to the Wizengamot.
“Minister Rowle,” said Harry slowly, choosing his words very carefully, “he and the Wizengamot let you survive, because of what you… no, what the Animus Eternum promised them.”
He met the man’s gaze. “You promised them the eventual return of the Age of the Gods.”
Ekrizdis smirked, enjoying the twitch on Harry’s eyebrow. “I am simply following Salazar’s legacy, little Warden. Where the great Slytherin failed with the Operarius, Flamel gained his power of permanence through his Stone. Even Wenlock, despite his shortsightedness, found a way to make whatever pathetic magic witches and wizards are left with into behaving more efficiently, making them better. Superior to the mundane. We expected much from Tom Riddle, but it is sad to see that genius polymath vanish in his irrational fear of Death. I can only infer that he experienced something so terrifying as a necromancer that he dedicated his life in search of immortality, however twisted it might be.”
And wasn’t that interesting?
“What of the mundane?” Harry asked.
“What of them?” Ekrizdis shrugged. “Magic blooms in rare souls, Harry Potter. And their number is dying every generation. Perhaps the Seers can even foresee a world completely devoid of magic itself. Who knows, perhaps someday you yourself will unleash that mad power within you and rid the world off Magic. It’s what you seem apt at after all.”
Harry scowled. Partly because of the condescension, and partly because that was exactly what Ignotus wanted.
“Join me, Harry Potter,” said Ekrizdis. “Together, we can achieve where the other wardens failed. The Animus Eternum can return the Age of the Gods, open the Gates through which Mystery would return to this world, returning us to our golden age.”
What is good now, Nicholas Flamel had told him, can become evil in the future. And what is evil now, can become good under different circumstances.
Could the Animus Eternum be the Good that would change the world for the better? Or would it be the final nail in the coffin that would seal humanity’s fate into the dark and treacherous waters of the Anima?
Daphne would completely agree with Ekrizdis. Fleur would too. In a world of mystery and gods, magical creatures would walk as equals. In one stroke, all existing bigotry over meaningless tripe like blood purity would vanish, for what use was that, when the gods existed above, bestowing powers unknown and unseen. All those disciplines that now lay forgotten and gathering cobwebs would have many practitioners. Magical Arts would return. Muggleborns would not be looked down ever again. Witches and wizards would not have to hide and practise their arts in secrecy, for the Statute would no longer exist in a world where Magic was Might.
Harry was sorely tempted.
He was, after all, human.
But he still hesitated.
There was something he had to know first.
For a moment, he was back in the Lair, listening to Ananta-Shesha as the golem imparted to him the legacy of the previous Wardens. And according to the golem, Myrrdin was the greatest among the Wardens. He was the one that had unleashed the Operarius, and then something happened that caused him to create the Tunnel of horrors to seal them beneath the Sunken Vault.
Harry remembered striding down into the tunnel to verify the golem’s words for himself. He remembered sensing powers that were truly evil. Magics and existences that were, by their very nature, horrible and twisted and wrong, and capable of turning someone with the best of intentions into a screaming abyss that left nothing but devastation in their wake.
Magic that was best left shackled beneath the Lair forever.
Magic that was the cause behind the creation of some of the most heinous, darkest and dangerous creatures in existence.
Like the being in front of him.
“Perhaps what you say is true,” he said at last. “Perhaps the Eternum will fulfil the Wizengamot’s wishes and return the magical world to its golden age. But tell me this, what happens when the Gates are opened again? What happens to the existing world? What protects them from what lies beyond?”
“Luck,” said Ekrizdis with an unconcerned smile. “If they are lucky, they might just die a painless demise. Or, they might equally survive and find themselves in a new world with Wonder in it. Sacrifices are necessary for every great ritual, and this is no different.”
“Ritual. Like the one cast upon the Hospital?”
“Sort of,” said Ekrizdis. “You are experienced in rituals yourself. Surely you know the relevance of experimenting with something on a small scale first, before attempting it on a larger scale?”
“As above, so below,” quoted Harry. “I see. It all makes sense. The Circle. Voldemort. Schulz. The Animus Eternum. You did not want me trapped inside that place. You wanted to confirm what I was. That Circle over St. Mungo’s, the one that caused so much death and destruction…. The one that Sirius sacrificed himself to save everyone… that was just you testing your grand design, wasn’t it? Let Voldemort and his minion play things out, while you tested the Circle’s effectiveness against the Nexus Child.”
His voice was filled with cold iron by the end of it.
“Okay, I know that sounds bad,” said the madman, waving his concerns away with the manner of someone dismissing a nasty rumour. “But I had to be certain. I couldn’t just unveil everything and perform the greatest experiment of the millennium after the creation of Hogwarts without being confident of my chances, could I?”
Harry closed his eyes, and chuckled. “I don’t know what’s worse? That you’re wrong, but have firmly deluded yourself that you’re right? Or that for a moment, I almost believed you?”
He met the archwizard’s gaze. “But I see what you are now. You’re a nutjob that’s so bent on reshaping the world in your image that you’d go ahead without caring for the consequences. You have been out of touch from your mortality for so long, that you’ve forgotten just what it is that makes us human. And yet look at you, making decisions for the fate of all humanity, like it’s not only acceptable for you to do so, but also your prerogative. You are no saviour, Ekrizdis. You are a rabid beast, one that needs to be put down. Not only for others’ safety, but also your own.”
The smile on the madman’s face faded and became distant, and for a moment, a tiny hint of frustration flickered in those orbs.
“I see. Negotiations have failed.” He sighed. “Well? Do you think you can afford to attempt to fight me now? That woman seems intent on draining your power out.”
Harry stood up and settled into a fighting stance. “Let’s find out.”
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Afterdark230
Rage mode unlocked….
