theBlackStaffAndNightMarE
patreon
ACT4CH29 - Violent Redemption
🕑 Added 2024-07-23 14:42:44 +0000 UTC“SIRIUS!” Harry yelled. The moment his godfather had vanished, the purple mist restraining him dissipated, dropping him down to the floor with an unceremonious thud. Harry pushed himself up, nearly slipped on the bloodied remains on the floor, looking around for his godfather. Everything around him became muffled, replaced by the deafening roar of his own heartbeat, and the silent cries of his soul.
SIRIUS!” He yelled. “SIRIUS!
His breath was coming in searing gasps. Sirius had to be somewhere. He looked up at the runic circle above. The intense purple had dissipated, and the portal was frothing and hissing, rendered unstable by the lack of anything anchoring it to reality. Desperation clawed at him, his mind racing with thoughts of what it meant, and what he could do to stop the inevitable from happening, to save them, to change the course of this tragic moment. He looked around again, and then at the solemn face of Luna Lovegood.
“WHERE IS HE?” He snarled, his eyes morphing into a stare so very similar to that of a basilisk. “Where have you sent him?”
“I have done nothing, Harry Potter,” said Luna calmly, the Avatar of Destiny still retaining her hold upon her consciousness. “You’re upset, but it’s not worth making things worse.”
That was the wrong thing to say. Harry levelled his wand at Luna’s face, his face strained in a feral snarl. “Not worth it, you say? You could’ve stopped him. I summoned you. We were having a deal. Sirius was not part of this.”
“He made himself a part of this the moment he invoked the Black Magic, Harry Potter,” she said. “The Obsidian Mirror is the Lord of Bindings and Contracts. Not even I would dare tread over the grounds it has claimed for itself.”
“Bullshit!” yelled Harry. “The Abstract is you. You could’ve —”
“Dunamancy reveals all possible futures, Harry Potter,” said Luna, still calm. “But they ultimately mean nothing unless the choice is made.”
“You’re not the one that just lost his family,” said Harry. You could have stopped him if you wanted to!”
His hands were shaking, his eyes brimming with tears. Fire was burning in his heart, Fire that was both healing him and making him feel worse than the lowest scum on the planet. He could feel it bolstering his magic, and also left him feeling utterly impotent at the same time.
Luna’s expression darkened for a moment. “My wishes have nothing to do with it. I could heal you, if I were meant to be so. But that role is Summer’s to fulfil. I could destroy those that have inflicted this loss upon your person, but it is Death’s role to play. Your free will must take precedence if Dunamancy is to have meaning. Trust me, Harry Potter, I am quite limited to what I can do. Limited, in fact, to what I have already done.”
“Yeah,” he snapped. “Let my godfather take the fall for me. Helped him do it. Thanks.”
“No one made him choose that,” countered Luna calmly. “Just like no one forced you to deal with Lucius Malfoy and take over as the Circle’s anchor. You made your choices. One of them led you here.” She spread her hands. “That’s a fair ball. Nothing to do now but play it out.”
He did not believe it, he would not believe it, and fought with every bit of strength he had. The Avatar would not understand.
“It’s about the price, isn’t it?” asked Harry. “Everyone wants something. What is it? Tell me, I’ll pay it.”
The Avatar watched him, her eyes calm and knowing and sad. “I know you will. You will perhaps not understand this, but I have done what I can.”
“But you have done nothing.”
“From your perspective, perhaps,” she said, and frowned momentarily, immersed in thought. She took a deep breath, and looked as if considering her words with great care. “It is one of the choices of being mortal. Much is hidden from you. Remember, Harry Potter. Myriad are the paths of Destiny. Your godfather, Lord Sirius Black, knows this. Choosing to manifest the Obsidian Mirror, in your blood nonetheless, is not something the Black Lord would have done at a whim.”
The atmosphere was filled with silence, as Harry digested that. “You're saying there's a chance to…”
“I’m saying many things,” said Luna seriously. “I have done all that I can, Harry Potter. From here on, it is up to you.” She started to turn away, then paused and said. “Consider your godfather’s words carefully.”
Harry blinked. And then she was gone.
Harry stood there, alone, shivering with weariness and a deep sense of loss. For a moment, he sold himself the idea that this was all a facade, a prank by his godfather. That Sirius would jump out of nowhere and yell ‘BOO!’ at him or something, or tickle him until he was down on the ground, clutching his stomach and roaring in laughter. The image of his godfather sitting in Dumbledore’s office, claiming how he was a free man now, and wanting to take him in, flickered before his eyes, followed by dozens more. Sirius helping him get back to his feet after the experience with the wraith, Sirius acknowledging him as a son of Black even if it meant going against the Charter, Harry initiating a hug for the first time on his birthday after Sirius wished him —and many, many more. The one man that had truly been family to him, the one man that had given him what nobody ever could, the one man that had escaped Azkaban, survived dementors on the run, and gotten him under the protection of House Black… that was the man that had willingly sacrificed himself to save Harry from a terrible fate.
All because Harry had been so caught up by his own ego. Told himself that he was involved in things too large, too grand for his godfather to keep up, whether it be his own communion with Ignotus, his wardenship of the Sunken Vault, or his private research and foray into the Abstract, he had willingly chosen to keep Sirius away from it.
As if his godfather was beneath him.
That realisation, the despair, the self-loathing, the helpless fury, it crumbled him. Like a terrible weight, it hung over him, crushing him, shattering him. He burned, burned deep down in his gut, burned in places he hadn’t known could hurt.
He didn’t remember what spell he cast, or the words he said, if any. But he remembered staring up at the runic circle, the origin of every single terrible thing that had transpired ever since it appeared. He remembered reaching for that pain, pain that demanded an outlet.
Harry gave it one.
What blasted out of his wand was no explosion of Death energy, no flames of grey sprouting out with intense prejudice, ready to swallow the world around it. Instead, a huge shaft of pale grey exploded out of his wand, almost like liquid light. It struck the Circle in the dead centre, vaporising the entire Circle in a single blaze, leaving a sky devoid of colour in its wake.
He barely registered the deafening klaxon that went off, as the massive barrier all around the hospital crashed like glass over granite. His left hand clenched, and the familiar weight of the sword of Gryffindor landed in his palms, his fingers clenching around it. All the damage the Circle had done to him was already healed, and Summer was currently raging within his heart, pumping out more magic that he could ever want. He needed to find Neville first and see his condition, and find Dumbledore to see what happened about the prophecy and Azkaban.
“There he is!” shouted a familiar voice. “Potter! Stop!”
Harry thought about not doing it for a second. Between everything that had happened, dealing with the bureaucracy felt like the least of his concerns. But then he spotted Kingsley among the group that was approaching him. Sirius would have wanted him to follow the law, so he stood there, impatiently, as the Aurors approached him.
“What the hell happened here?” asked Kingsley, eyeing the bodies.
“Death,” said Harry, barely struggling to contain his absolute rage. “Where’s Dumbledore? I have information that Voldemort will try to hit the Department of Mysteries. Maybe he’s already done it. And —”
“Sir!” alerted one of the Aurors. “Lucius Malfoy’s body is here. He’s dead. As are all these werewolves. Their blood has been drained out of them to fuel this Circle.”
I knew it!” exclaimed the irritating voice of John Dawlish. “It’s some kind of nefarious plot and he’s on it.” The Auror levelled his wand at Harry. “You’re under arrest, Potter, for the murder of Lucius Malfoy and the beasts. You’ve the right to remain silent, and anything you say or do can be used against you in court.”
“Dawlish!” snapped Kingsley. “Are you seriously claiming that Potter of all people? For Merlin’s sake, he’s the one that took the Circle apart by himself. All those people outside, they owe their lives to him and Black. Speaking of, where’s Black?”
“Gone,” said Harry slowly, his fingers clenching around his wand. “He sacrificed himself to close the Circle.”
“Black is dead?” Kingsley breathed.
Harry couldn’t find it in himself to correct the man. Sirius was no Vessel. Lord or not, he could not directly invoke Family Magic the way a Vessel could. And even then, the Anima was a terrifying place to be, even for a Vessel on their best day. There was no saying what sort of hellish fate had found his godfather.
“Kingsley Shacklebolt,” he said quietly in a voice shaking with emotion. “You’ve got to trust me. Azkaban is under attack.”
“I know,” said Kingsley, but we’ve got even bigger problems than that here, Potter. Neville Longbottom transformed into an Obscurial and destroyed half of the Alley. Whatever forces we still retain are trying to bring him down with Albus’s help.”
“Bring him down?”
“An Obscurial is a danger to the Statute of Secrecy, Harry,” said Kingsley sadly. “Regardless of how or what happened, a lot of people lost their lives when Longbottom transformed into an obscurial in the middle of St. Mungo’s. The explosion on the rooftop also killed several hit-wizards and injured the Senior Undersecretary. Since then, it was causing rampant damage and nothing we can do can stop him.”
“Where’s Dumbledore —”
“He’s trying to restrain him. He had the idea to use house elves to dissipate the power of the Circle while you dismantled it from inside.”
That made a lot of sense. Mors Exesa was terrifyingly well-suited to destroying magic, but the liberated energy from the collision still did business with the laws of thermodynamics. And Harry was not skilled enough to cast Death energy alongside a freezing spell at the same time.
“After Neville Longbottom transformed into an Obscurial, he’s been attempting to use the elves to trap it inside a ward and seal it off.” Kingsley paused for a moment. “Though, I believe he’s trying to do that half-heartedly. The moment Neville Longbottom transforms back to human, he will be summarily executed as per the law.”
“Executed?” Harry hissed, magic and rage oozing out of him in waves. “A Death Eater polyjuices himself to look like me, attacks Neville and his grandmother inside the hospital, kidnaps Hermione Granger, and drives Neville to the point of transforming like that, and somehow that’s his fault? How did he even get loose? I thought Newt —”
“Professor Scamander gave us his statement. Apparently, the Senior Undersecretary did not trust in your shield and ordered the hit-wizards to take it down.”
Hearing that caused Harry’s fraying resistance to snap completely.
“That — that bitch!” He snarled. “I should have —”
“Killed her?” accused Dawlish. “Like you killed Malfoy? Looks like you’ve a lot to answer for. What happened? Did Black find out about your true colours? Is that why he isn’t here, magically dead and gone like the others back in the grave —”
He paused right there, as for the second time in a matter of hours, John Dawlish found himself in an impossibly dangerous situation.
On the receiving end of the lethal blade of Godric Gryffindor, aimed between both eyes by Harry Potter, his eyes morphed into basilisk-yellow.
“Choose your next words very carefully, John Dawlish,” seethed Harry, no longer willing to give a fuck about the man’s delusional ramblings. Malfoy might have been the one behind the wheel, but it was because of people like Fudge and Umbridge and Dawlish that things had actually gotten to this point. And, Harry thought ruefully, himself, for not taking the daft, delusional bitch seriously right off the very start.
“Harry,” said Kingsley slowly, “lower the blade. We can talk things through. Raising a weapon against a DMLE official is against the law.”
The timbre of his voice had changed. Kingsley meant business. He hadn’t changed his stance just yet, but he was the sort of person who would let you know his intentions.
The owl animagus form didn’t appreciate the aggression in Kingsley’s voice — or maybe it appreciated it way too much. Harry’s first instinct was to sever the screaming twit’s neck with a single twist of his wrist. The blade of Gryffindor was already saturated with Death right down every single inch. But that would have been impolite.
Plus, assuming he ended up stopping Voldemort from getting the Death Eaters out of Azkaban and killing all the resistance forces, Wizarding Britain would still be there tomorrow, and that would mean dealing with the law. The last thing he wanted was to end up as a fugitive and destroy all their careful and methodical victories they had gotten on the political landscape.
One stupid fool was simply not worth it. And neither was this the time to tangle with the bureaucratic system.
Unless…. Maybe that wasn’t what was happening here.
Dawlish was on Fudge’s call. And between Umbridge sweeping the entire episode with the DADA curse under the rug, and declaring it to be protected under the Official Secrets Act, Harry was now sure that they had something to do with Hermione’s abduction. The Death Eater imposing as him, attacking Neville, Voldemort crafting Project Prometheus — all of it was skilfully crafted to destroy Harry’s position in the political spectrum, while trapping him inside the Circle, forcing him to transform into the Hunter. And when that happened, the outcome could potentially vary from his death, to Ministry incarceration, assuming they even could, to utter annihilation of the magical world.
All because of the machinations of one Dark Lord that didn’t even have to come out of the shadows.
The pieces were beginning to fall in place. Dawlish was a tool. He probably was simply ordered to stop him and take him out of the picture for the rest of the day.
Or for keeps.
And whatever followed with Lucius Malfoy’s dead body might just have given him the excuse.
But it wasn’t really the problem.
The real issue would be what happened after he openly resisted or worse, attacked a duly enabled Auror of the British DMLE. His senses tingled, alerting him to the presence of three other Aurors that were slowly but steadily raising their wands, no doubt readying their stunners. Those wouldn’t work, but an Incarcaerous might just do the trick if they caught him off-guard. A single flick of his wand could send them flying, but things could get really complicated after that, and he preferred to be something other than a wanted fugitive.
Unless he just killed them all.
The area was empty. Save for the five Aurors around, there was no instant backup. Everyone else was busy with Neville, and Azkaban. Things had devolved to the point that they were playing by the old-school rules, the owl within him suggested. Dawlish had crossed a line. Umbridge’s actions had unleashed the obscurial. It was simply too easy to put them all next to Voldemort, give in to his instincts and just start butchering them all on general principle. It would be too bad for Kingsley, who was a decent man and part of the Order, but there were about ten thousand reasons around him why the logic came down to the side of eliminating both of them, as well as the Aurors behind him, and proceeding to Azkaban. For all Harry knew, Dawlish was a Death-Eater agent trying to take him down.
Kill them, said a quiet, hard voice inside him.
Harry closed his eyes for a second. Maybe he should’ve just apparated away when he had a chance. The owl within him was reacting to the fear in the air, and it sensed a town full of cowering prey to be enjoyed. It paced the length of the cage Harry had built for it inside his head like a hungry, restless animal.
No, said Harry. Killing wouldn’t help. Not this time. Gotta keep it simple.
“Kingsley, Auror Dawlish,” said Harry. “I’m not your bad guy. But if you don’t let me help, there won’t even be a Ministry by the end of the day. Azkaban is under attack, and Neville needs my help. And if it matters to you at all, Voldemort has got his hands on the Prophecy.”
“What?” Kingsley’s eyes went wide. “How do you —”
“Oh, so you do know about it, good to know,” said Harry scathingly.
“How do you know about the Prophecy?”
“Lucius Malfoy told me,” said Harry flatly. “Voldemort has the Prophecy, and the dementors have mutinied. Sirius Black is gone. Half of your forces are fighting and failing against an obscurial that’s ravaging Diagon Alley. Do you really want to fight me, when we could all help the DMLE forces trying to fend off the dementors in Azkaban? Fight Voldemort?”
“Shut up!” yelled Dawlish, frothing in the mouth like a rabid animal. “Shut up with your delusional bullshit! The Dark Lord isn’t back! This is just a lie you and Dumbledore are spreading to incite mass panic.”
“Harry,” said Kingsley again. “Put that blade down. Let us discuss. You have to agree that the situation looks bad, and without Sirius here, and everything else going on, we have to take you into custody. I promise it will be over soon.”
“It will,” said Harry, a dark expression flitting on his face. Without even shifting a glance, he levelled his wand behind him, and a wall of force that made the very air crackle in violent protest slammed into the group of Aurors that were slowly raising their wands to apprehend him. The blast bodily lifted them up and threw them back by several feet. With a sweep of his wand, Harry sweeped their bodies together mid-fall and trapped them by transfiguring chains of rock from the ground. Another flick, and their wands were sent flying randomly.
A calm, expectant, calculating look took over Harry’s features. To Kingsley Shacklebolt, it was like staring at a jaguar stalking its prey. The naturalness in the predatory act as nature intended was exactly what the Boy-Who-Lived was exuding right now. Cold, hard, furious green eyes met Shacklebolt, who for the first time, wondered if he had truly ever known Harry James Potter.
“Now then, Auror Shacklebolt, do all of us a favour and create a portkey for me.”
“You cannot escape, Potter!” said Dawlish, half screaming, half laughing, his rotund eyes now gone hysterical. “You’ve attacked multiple members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement! It’ll be Azkaban —”
Snikt!
Dawlish let out a gargling cry of shock and agony as the legendary blade slashed through his mouth, cutting neatly through his cheeks and lips, leaving behind a large gash that made his mouth look twice as large. Blood oozed out of the gash, as Dawlish fell down to the ground, while teeth and what looked like a half-cut tongue dripping with blood fell right beside him. Another snap of his wrist, and the Auror’s right arm was hacked off, and fell down to the ground with a loud thud.
“Harry!” Kingsley breathed, frozen stiff. “What — what have you done? You just attacked —”
He paused right there as Harry levelled his wand at him. “I’m done wasting time here, Kingsley. One portkey to Azkaban, please.”
“Harry Potter, this won’t end well. You —”
“I’d advise you to do what he says, Kingsley.”
Kingsley went stiff, and turned around as the familiar form of Amelia Bones stepped into view. She looked war stricken, with multiple lacerations on her face and arms that were slowly healing back. Her DMLE uniform had been slashed at several places, with ribbons falling out, stained with the colour of blood. Next to her, Rufus Scrimgeour appeared with a pop, limping slightly on his right leg. His left arm looked particularly worse, like someone had run it through a grinder. Harry wondered if the man had attempted to apparate in or out of a warded area forcibly and gotten splinched. That the man was still standing and not fallen on the ground, spasming with pain spoke volumes about his pain tolerance.
“Madam Bones,” breathed Kingsley. “Potter just attacked multiple Aurors and severely injured a Senior Auror.”
“I know perfectly well what Potter just did,” said Amelia Bones, surprising them further by pressing her wand against Kingsley’s back. “And if you are truly insistent about following the law, then I must inform you that Minister Fudge exercised his discretionary powers through Article 92 of the Wizengamot Charter, declaring all members of the organisation known as the Order of the Phoenix as criminals to be apprehended. As an Auror in service to the British Ministry of Magic, your allegiance to this association labels you as a criminal, pursuant to Section 476 on charges of sedition against the Ministry.”
Kingsley stared at him, flabbergasted.
The woman made a huffing sound. “I know my Aurors and Hit-wizards like the back of my hand, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Especially when one of them has been taking repeated sick leaves to go on secret missions for the Order. I knew Albus Dumbledore wanted me watched and guarded, and an Auror that worked with me on a daily basis would be the best person for the job.”
Kingsley winced at each word as though they were physical blows.
“Luckily for you,” said the woman. “I happened to meet the Chief Warlock on the way, and given the sudden insurgency our nation is facing, I have exercised my discretionary powers as DMLE Director, with the Chief Warlock’s permission, declared the current standing as a failure of the constitutional machinery of Wizarding Britain, and imposed the Bane of Discordia.”
Silence rang in the place for two excruciatingly low seconds.
“For your benefit, Mr. Potter,” said the DMLE Director. “It’s an imposition declared through the approval of the Chief Warlock, vesting the DMLE Director the authority to temporarily take control of the Executive wing of the government.”
“But — but the Minister would never agree to this!” Kingsley spluttered.
“No surprises there,” said Bones. “But much like the Emergency invoked by Article 92, the Bane of Discordia can only be deposed by a complete Wizengamot sitting. Until such a time as Cornelius gets the complete Wizengamot to sit together in such trying times, I am in control.”
“I — I understand, Madam Bones,” said Kingsley, “but Harry Potter—”
“Is needed right now,” said Bones in a no-nonsense tone. “The dementors have gone rogue and taken over Azkaban and turned it from the Ministry prison to a fortress. We were baited, and they captured most of our people. Me and Rufus barely managed to get out and not without repercussions.”
She gestured at the man’s splinched arm.
“I…. err, can I look at it?” Harry offered. Even to his rage-filled mind, he knew a potential opening when he saw one.
Amelia Bones arched an eyebrow. “I had heard that your unique thaumaturgy had all but crippled your ability to cast the standard spellcraft, Harry Potter.”
“You heard right. Fortunately, what I’ll do isn’t exactly standard.”
“Go ahead,” said the man. “It isn’t like we have a better option.”
Much like how he had cast it earlier with Daphne in the lair, Harry began writing a runic sequence in mid-air, drawing on the power of Summer. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he actually felt there was way more to it than before. If Summer had been like a rippling stream earlier, it was a fast-flowing river in turmoil now, with agitated waves crashing against the shore at every point.
The sequence of Uruz, Laguz and Kenaz floated in mid-air. With an afterthought, Harry added the Wunjo rune, symbolising lifeforce and vitality, to allow better cohesivity between the runes, and the power of Summer, which was synonymous with growth. The three Aurors stared in fascination, as Scrimgeour’s arm began to morph, twisting back into position by itself, the nerves and tissues reworking them into proper place. Before the next ten seconds had passed, his arm looked like it had never been injured in the first place.
“It’s… it’s healed,” murmured Scrimgeour, looking at Harry with a look that bordered between respect and curiosity. “Thanks, Potter. I owe you for this.”
“Potter… Harry,” said Amelia Bones, albeit in a softer tone. “Is it true that Sirius is…”
Harry clenched his fists. “Voldemort planned for me to enter the hospital. He knew I’d take control of the wards to neuter the runic circle, and set a trap. Sirius… he exchanged himself for me, and got pulled into the Circle. He could be anywhere in the Spirit world now, searching for a way while being hunted by the inhabitants, and that is if I am being optimistic.”
Amelia squared her shoulders, her expressions betraying nothing. “I see.”
Harry looked away, staring at the distance. “It’s all my fault. I should’ve trusted him. But I didn’t. I was reckless. Fudge and Umbridge have been causing problems all year long, and I flat-out ignored them, treating them like they were inconsequential. And now look at where that got me. Sirius is gone. Neville’s father….” He closed his eyes and exhaled. When he reopened them, they were shining with a combination of anticipation, intelligence and cold hard fury.
“Madam Bones,” he said softly, framing his words as a request. “Take me to Azkaban. I can help.”
“Harry, I understand how you’re feeling, but you’re just one man,” said Kingsley. “You cannot fight everything by yourself. The Order —”
“Will do nothing,” he said, the words scraping out of his throat. “Because it can do nothing. I started this on the night of the Third Task, when I killed all those Death Eaters. It’s time I finish the job.”
He let out a hiss, and Morty, the snitch zoomed towards him and jumped into his pocket.
“I am done waiting. Voldemort starts losing potential allies now. And if you try to stop me, I’ll fight you too.”
“Admirable sentiments,” said Amelia Bones, giving him a hard look. “But I cannot allow a citizen, one unaffiliated to the British Ministry of Magic, access to the island of Azkaban. As such,” she raised her wand in a random direction, and moments later, a purple-coloured folder swooped down from the sky that she caught with one hand.
“Kingsley, could you kindly fill it up, please?”
“Amelia, is this going where I think it is?” asked Rufus.
Amelia Bones regarded him coldly. “I have just lost my best hit-wizard, Rufus, and the majority of my forces are held captive while high-profile and dangerous Dark wizards have taken over Azkaban, courtesy of the dementors. I have it on official record that Harry Potter’s patronus can kill dementors, and if this scene is any indication,” she gestured at the dead bodies on the floor, plus the incapacitated Aurors, “he is fairly capable of holding his own.”
She met Harry’s eyes.
“Harry Potter, normally this would require you to pass through an Internship after the completion of your OWLs. But given the unusual circumstances, I waive off those technicalities and apppoint you, for as long as the Bane is held in place, the position of Hit-wizard in service to the British Ministry. Will you accept?”
Harry stared at her in stark surprise.
“Well?” asked Bones dryly. “I don’t have all day.”
“Yes,” he croaked. “Yes, I will.”
“Good,” said Amelia, turning to Kingsley. “Gather every Auror and hit-wizard we have, including honourable discharges. As of right now, we are at war.”
Comments
Afterdark230
Unleash the Harry!
SSs34TheElf
Thank god Dawlish got shish kebabed. Couldn’t stand his drivel any longer lol. I find it funny that you had Kingsley play the stereotypical Fanfic Dumbledore “Does Nothing” Hypocritical role. Super excited for the next chapter. Thanks for another good one!
