27How many Wrongs have I committed?
Dumbledore's POV
Sometimes the greater good just isn't worth it. Yes I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian am saying that the Greater Good sometimes is not worth the sacrifice. For so many years, I have ignored the fact that Young Harry was being abused by his family, no, relatives as the poor boy calls them. But it's all for the Greater Good is it not? Such a question would have once calmed my mind and reminded me of what must be done. But now, on days like these, I must wonder.
Was I Wrong?
Was I wrong to put the dear boy in such a horrible home, to make him live a childhood that would make him think of himself as worthless. As nothing but a scarred freak? Was I wrong to test him through horrible, nightmare inducing adventures yearly to test his character, his resolve, his power. Was I wrong to leave him in the dark so much that he would not know his very own destiny. Was I wrong to hide to him the fact that one day, when the war is at it's climax he will have to die so that his nemesis, his villain, Lord Voldemort may die? For many a Horcrux were created, and the most vile of them all inside a innocent child who had just lost his mother and father.
The Horcrux, a truly vile invention of a sick mind centuries past. To commit an act of cold hearted murder to split ones soul, and then latch it onto a designated object so that your soul is trapped in this plane of existence. A flimsy imitation of Immortality, but a imitation nonetheless.
Yes, yes I was wrong.
But how do I fix so many wrongs to the poor child that has suffered so greatly for my mistakes? Tell him of the Horcrux, certainly. How will he react? After all, thinking you may die, and knowing you have to die are two very separate things. I never told him because I didn't want such a burden on the shoulders of a child, unfortunately I never realised that he was not a child from such a young age that it's criminal. Yes I will tell him of the Horcrux and lie in the hole I've dug.
Move him from the Dursleys. There is no other choice, I must get him away from those disappointments of the human race. Gods above, how much that child, no that man, has endured by those soulless creatures that call themselves "Normal". Yes he must be moved, let the blood wards rot.
A sudden whining sound filled the room. The office of the Headmaster of Hogwarts was not what most would expect from such a formal setting, instead it was filled with trinkets, small and big, of all colours filling the shelves, making a few short noises and motions. Most would find these as eccentric add-ons of an old man, but in truth they were all set to watch over different things. Some for every separate ward in Hogwarts, some the safety of students or professors, and some the headquarters of The Order Of The Phoenix.
But some, some very special ones are for one person only. For one Harry Potter.
The sudden whining was of a particularly genius bit of magic, if I do say so myself. The combination of Runes, Charms and Blood-magic, a complex area of magic that is stupidly outlawed in some countries, including Britain. The purpose of this little trinket was the health of Harry Potter. If he was in mortal danger from anything, the trinket would start whining and spinning.
The crystal ball looking trinket was doing just that.
For a few seconds, I just sat there, dumbfounded. What could be fatal in the home of the Dursleys? Then it hit him like a sledgehammer. The Dursleys themselves.
The panicked trill of Fawkes the phoenix jumped me into action, summoning my Patronus in the shape of a Phoenix, I ordered it to deliver a message to every teacher in the Order of the Phoenix to get to my office immediately. Soon after I rushed to the Floo Network immediately using a little known function of the Floo, calling upon several people at once. Mad-Eye Moody, Hestia Jones, Kingsley Shacklebolt and the Weasley family were all informed to rendezvous at 4 Privet Drive.
Looking towards the trinket of Harry Potter, I could see it speeding up significantly each second to the point it almost looked still. The whining that was once quiet was now a blazing alarm, pushing me to the edge of a panic attack.
Finally, after another 5 minutes of waiting the teachers of Hogwarts started pouring in. Minerva McGonagall, Fillius Flitwick, and Severus Snape.
"What is it Albus, I have just started my lesson plans for the new school year!" Shouted Minerva over the blazing alarm in the background.
"We must get to Harry's house Minerva, he is in danger and I have no idea how long he has left!" Albus shouted, his voice holding the panic he felt, a rare thing from the usual stoic Albus Dumbledore.
The ashen faces of the professors was all the reaction that was seen by Albus Dumbledore before he conjured a small rope and immediately turned it into a portkey, something that only he, as Headmaster of Hogwarts can do within these wards.
I quickly handed the rope to the professors and grabbed a hold of an opening. As I said "Activate" I could feel the torturous feeling of a portkey that to those of less experience would make sick more often than not. As the world came back into focus, we were standing in the eerily quiet street of Privet Drive. The moon clear in the sky shining down upon us as the only light provided in the dark night, the uncomfortably clean houses surrounding us were all dark, no light switched on, and no sound forthcoming. The street lights were completely dark, not working in the slightest. 4 Privet Drive, the temporary home of Harry Potter however was the one that provided the most discomfort. The dark, quiet house was just like all others on first look, until you stopped looking and started feeling. The presence of wards was certainly easy to detect, but the feeling of darkness, taint was the most prominent. As if Apollo himself had cursed this home.
"Professor!" Shouted a familiar voice in the inky darkness surrounding the street. As I look around I see the unique pink hair of one Nymphadora Tonks. A, what many would call, beautiful women that has just recently completed her Auror course with flying colours, the apprentice of Mad-Eye Moody, one of the best Aurors currently in the force. A member of The Order Of The Phoenix, and one of the best Hogwarts graduates in her year. Also a unbelievably clumsy person that always provides entertainment when the situation is dire.
As can be seen by her promptly falling on her face as soon as she shouted.
"What is going on Nymphadora?" I asked, regaining the stoic voice, while my eyes were trying to find anything wrong. Looking back towards the Auror I could see the brief scowl on her face at being called by her first name. Truly, the young can no longer appreciate a good, unique name.
"I'm not sure professor, I was just on my shift when the power went out, every house, every street lamp just turned off after a massive blast of power came from the house! Then every noise just stopped all together! Something is going on professor and it's coming from Harry's room." She rattled off, clearly uneasy from the current situation.
As I looked back towards 4 Privet Drive, the feeling of darkness was just becoming more and more prominent. A sudden chorus of pops signified the arrival of the other members of the Order Of The Phoenix. As I looked around, I couldn't help the feeling of fear bubbling up in my chest.
"Harry Potter is in danger, the perpetrator is unknown. All we know is that after a immense burst of power from the room of Harry the entire neighbourhood has ceased any sound or light. We are going in blind so be careful." With that I looked one more time around The Order Of The Phoenix and walked towards the house shrouded in a feeling of darkness. I could hear the rest of the Order following behind me cautiously, the tell-tale "thump" of Moody the most obvious. As I reached the door, I drew my wand, unlocking the door with a simple flick and pushing it open. Only to find destruction.
The walls were dark as the night, peeling off the walls then whipping back, the floor creaked, some of it darkened as if burnt, other parts untouched, glowing with eerie cleanliness. The cupboard under the stair was leaking a feeling of loathing and untameable rage, the door shaking in trying to hold such power in, the sound of a ghostly whimper of small child leaking with the emotions. The furniture overturned, smashed, and burnt. The windows cracked, but not letting go. But the worst of all were the shadows replaying a scene of abuse. On the end of the corridor, just before the stairs there were three shadows in human form, one the size of a adult whale, one a child whale, and one a skinny boy. The skinny boy was lying on the floor, shadows leaking out of him in certain areas as if blood was running from a human, while the other two shadow humanoids were relentlessly beating the skinny boy. Where the shadows were, there was a thick, dried pool of blood left ingrained into the very floor, forever a reminder. The whole scene made the Order feel bile rising to escape, Hestia Jones actually keeling over and vomiting onto the burnt floor.
As I tore away my gaze from what must have been an event of the past, I walked towards the stairs, doing all I could to ignore the shadows mercilessly beating what must have once been Harry Potter.
The rest following in my wake, cautiously walking up the stairs.
As I was halfway up the stairs, I could hear faint voices conversing, or arguing. One sounded confident, arrogant and deep, full of power, the other sounded frail, weary, but with a steel resolve. One was certainly the voice of Harry Potter, the other was a voice that I had long not heard. The charming, cunning voice of Tom Marvolo Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort.
At the sound of the dark lord my heart froze cold, a feeling of apprehension almost taking control, as I fought down the feeling to stay in control. With the battle won, I charged ahead, no longer caring for cautiousness, only to save Young Harry.
Reaching the door I tried to pry it open, finding it looked and frozen cold. Looking closer at the door I could see frost spread throughout the entire door. Listening closely I could just make out the argument, as I did all I could to pry the door open, physically and magically.
"- YOU FOOL! Do you not understand that there is nothing that should stop one to have power! Think on my offer Harry Potter, imagine what we could do together, The power we would posses! We would be unstoppable, unbeatable. WE WOULD BE GODS AMONGST MEN!" Voldemort hissed, clearly trying to do something futile, getting Harry Potter to join Voldemort.
The was a second of silence, then two, then three until it stretched onto a minute. And suddenly a wheezy laugh erupted from the room
"You truly think I would join you Tom! I don't care about power, I don't care about wealth or any of that which you are obsessed about! YOU MURDERED MY PARENTS! I would rather die then help you! But you will die! You will die, I don't care if its by my hand or anyone else's but someday, soon you will die, Tom!" Harry screamed defiantly, bringing a wave of pride to this old man's heart.
"Die? Do you truly think I, Lord Voldemort, can die! I am IMMORTAL! I have travelled the road to immortality farther than anyone to have ever lived! . ! But you can, of you so fragile mortals can die. And you will die, Harry Potter, on this day you will die. But how about I destroy your oh so precious hope? How about I tell you WHY I cannot die! Yes that certainly sounds like fun!"
As I was listening attentively, a sudden force slammed into the door. Looking up from my attempts at magically opening the door, I saw Nymphadora banging on the door, ramming with her shoulder, kicking, punching, anything that could work. As I looked upon her face I could see tears streaming down her face, a look of anguish in her eyes. I couldn't help but wonder just when Nymphadora began to care so much for Harry. As Voldemort started his dastardly monologue again, granting us time to try to save Harry, I once again focused on overpowering the stupidly powerful locks on the door.
"You see, dear Harry, I created Horcruxes. Don't know what those are? Well I would be disappointed if you did! Such dark magic known by Gryffindors Golden Boy? The scandal! A Horcrux is a object in which someone puts their soul into through a act of murder. Sounds a bit simple doesn't it? But alas there's so much to do with making a Horcrux, I don't want to bore you with the details now do I? You see Harry, I am immortal, for not only do I have one Horcrux, I have many more!" There it was, the confirmation Albus had been looking for for so long. Proof that my hunt was not for nothing.
"But something went wrong. On the night I came to kill you, and killed your parents, your mother did something that I still do not understand... Something that resulted in what we are now. You see, dear Harry, on that night I was going to bestow upon you the honour of being the sacrifice for my final Horcrux! But my body was perished, and my soul was already prepared for latching onto something. And it did. You, Harry James Potter, are the vessel for my Horcrux!" There were sharp gasps amongst Order members, but Nymphadora didn't seem to have heard anything, she was still pounding on the door, trying to force it to open with her bloody fists.
"Funny, how fate works, is it not? That you who was prophesied to kill me, was actually keeping me immortal? For so many years I have been in you, in your head, in your soul. But I had to do something to survive, didn't I? After all a Horcrux is never meant to be inside of a wizard. And so I did. I fed of your magic. You were never at full power, merely at close to a quarter. You were never fully sane, for I always messed with your mind, your emotions, your memories. Your very soul was weary of the constant battle between us, and that is how I am here, this very moment. You lost, Harry Potter, and I escaped! I cannot be killed, for I am the very magic that was once under your control! Resistance is futile Harry Potter, your death has come." The door was finally starting to budge, the magic exhausted, the structure weary from the pounding. Only a few more seconds.
"So what do you say to that, Harry Potter?" Voldemort hissed malevolently.
…
"Why do all villains monologue? Seriously no one wants to hear your whiny, bitchy voice." Harry answered back defiantly, bringing a amused look into Dumbledore's panic stricken eyes.
Finally after a final few seconds of a magical and physical bashing, the door gave in with a mighty crash, flying of its hinges from the combined force of Nymphadora's ramming, and Dumbledore's spells. As we looked into the room, you could feel the magic vibrating, hurting our eyes through it's sheer intensity.
Harry Potter was laying down in one side of the room, broken arm resting on his chest, face bruised, and a large gash along his chest from the left shoulder to the right hip, along with a small cut going from just above his right eyebrow down through his eye, stopping at the bottom of his face, at the jaw.
As a scream of rage left the Dark Lords mouth, everyone turned their attention to him.
He was ghostly, like a corporeal patronus but made of darkness. His usual features, the snakelike face and blood red eyes standing out in the dark glow surrounding his ghostly body, magic radiating from him like a tsunami. He seemed to float on a platform of darkness, just above the ground.
Just as I was about to act, he screamed "GOODBYE, HARRY POTTER!" and flew right into Harry.
For a second, nothing happened. Just as I was about to move forward to help Harry, his back arched and he stiffened. Then an primal scream of agony broke through his throat, ripping it to shreds.
The scream seemed to break Nymphadora from her coma-like state and she tried to rush forward, until I caught her arm and held her back. The amount of magic that went into Harry was impossible to survive, it will rip apart his body, then burn it to ashes, and completely incinerate his very soul.
"NOOOO!" Screamed Nymphadora as she struggled through my steel grip which, for such an old man, was surprisingly strong.
As Harry's scream continued tormenting everyone who heard it, bringing tears to these old eyes, his body began to rip apart, skin being ripped to shreds, blood flowing from his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. The magic that was ripping his body, mind and soul apart seemed to start shining through every cut. His body began to burn, the emerald green fire starting at his feet, burning away his essence, piece by piece. His ashes starting to fill the room, the bright red particles floating around the room in seemingly random patterns. The scream was still going, even though he looked an inch away from death, then it intensified, as the flames engulfed his very core the screams reached an all time peak. The flames moved on, turning the poor young man into ashes. Until finally, there was nothing left, and all that was heard was the remnant of an soul shredding scream of agony forever to be heard by any who step into the room, and the soft sobbing and crying of the various members of the Order, and the heartbreaking, anguished wailing of Nymphadora Tonks, currently on her knees, her head in her hands, tears flowing like a broken dam. This was all processed by Albus Dumbledore before he realized just what happened. Harry James Potter, a young man who was like a loving grandson to him, was just killed in a way more tormenting that a hundred cruciatuses. The tears that flowed couldn't be stopped by Poseidon himself, as his knees buckled under the weight of what just happened, he landed on all fours, barely keeping himself up. His breathing short and loud, desperate. His usually stoic face gone, to be replaced by torment, grief, suffering and something he had not felt since the days of Grindelwald. Pure, cold fury. Hatred strong enough to power a hundred killing curses.
As he looked up into the room that was once Harry Potters, he could still hear the scream, quieter, but still there. He looked up to see the ashes of Harry Potter still there, flying randomly around the room. Stubbornly refusing to leave. The darkness that once pounded on the walls of the room was gone, not a trace of it left. The blood that was once Harry's sizzling until it turned into vapour, joining his remains.
I looked back at the Order, Minerva leaning against the wall, head down, unbelieving of what just happened as her tears fell and hit the floor loudly. Fillius sitting with his back against the wall looking into the opposite wall blankly with tears coming down from his eyes. Mad-Eye Moody's magical eye for once completely still, looking nowhere but where Harry once lay, his body completely stiff as if he was about to attack an enemy. Kingsley and Hestia supporting each other as they both had tears steadily falling from their eyes, bodies shaking from suppressed emotions wanting to break free. The Weasleys, Molly crying loudly into Arthur's shoulder as he stood there, tears coming from his eyes that were filled with the grief of looking at someone he was proud to think of as a son. The Weasley twins, Fred and George looking expectant, the tears on their face doing nothing to hide their expression of disbelief, as if they truly believed he would suddenly appear, laughing at a prank successfully done so that they wouldn't have to deal with the grief of losing a true brother. And then he turned back to Nymphadora. The one except himself that seemed the most affected by the recent tragic death of a true hero. Her tears haven't stopped, instead only speeding up in frequency as they flooded out of her eyes like a tsunami of emotions, all wanting to be released. Her eyes broken, grief stricken, filled with anguish. The amused and mischievous glint in her eyes that was always there completely gone. Her wailing reaching straight through any defences and ripping everyone's heart apart. He couldn't believe it. Harry Potter was dead.
All of a sudden, from every corner of the room, as though from the very pits of the earth itself a defiant roar broke through the grieving members of the Order. The earth shattering roar was a flood of emotions: defiance, rage, determination, and pain. The roar was like a challenge to the gods, coming from a god himself. As the roar kept getting louder, the ashes of Harry Potter started swirling around in a tornado, bright red, emerald green, inky black, tanned bronze, and metallic silver. Slowly, the colours seemed to be merging, creating something through pure magic. The winds in the room whipped around, as everyone stared at the tornado in awe, except Nymphadora looking with unbridled hope in her newly alive eyes.
The tornado was making a body, a body around 6 foot tall, lean muscles packed to the fullest, making him look like a warrior rogue, a strong but built for speed warrior. The body had bronze coloured skin, like a tan, not too much but not too little. The body started forming, creating a 6 pack, the leg muscles looking as if they were ready to run and jump for miles without breaking a sweat, the arm muscles looking ready to explode, able to lift a car with one hand, and a van in the other. As the body muscles were complete, it continued on till it formed toes and fingers, and a certain part of the body that I will not mention. The face which was blank till this moment started caving in where the eyes would be, the mouth quickly forming, and the face getting definition, high cheek bones prominently displayed, a face looking like it was sculptured out of marble by an artist. The eyes started to form through the emerald green ashes, forming into glowing emerald eyes that seemed to capture your very soul and judge you worthy or unworthy, metallic silver outlining the emerald perfectly, caging you in, and bright red might seeming to float through the eyes randomly seducing you further. The hair finally started growing, the hair on the head was messy, untameable, blacker than the night itself with bright red highlighting the tips. The tornado seemed to die down, the body, kneeling on one knee with his hands resting at his side and his face held high. As the last of the tornado of raw magic was dyeing down, two slits opened on his back, just long enough for a drop of crimson blood with drops of silver dripped from the slits, before more could leak out wings started growing into massive wings the size of his body, with an angelic beauty to them only added by the extremely soft looking metallic black feathers, the wings themselves were a black darker than the deepest pits of the void, tipping of the feathers with blood red tips.
As life seemed to flow into the eyes of the body, Nymphadora raced towards him and caught him before he fell towards the floor, unconscious. The impossible has happened.
Harry James Potter is resurrected. And better than ever before.
AN:
If you want to imagine the wings go here: and then just make the wings the darkest black you can imagine, and make the tips of the feathers blood red as if they just cut through someone.
Btw this chapter was meant to be 2000 words long, I kind of went overboard... Heh. Well I guess you can call this a sorry for not writing so long.