9The little group huddled together in the dingy room was silent. The atmosphere solemn and tense. No one wanted to speak the words that they knew were truth, especially on this day. Night had settled on the world and the darkness mocked them. They all wondered why they were gathered and the date was only adding to the gloom. It was July 31st. Just over a month since everything seemed hopeless and everyone felt lost. Their savior and friend was gone, today would have been his 16th birthday had the tragedy not happened. Hermione glanced around at those present, a heavy weight in her chest. Even knowing how stubborn her friend had been, she still felt an overwhelming sense of guilt that she hadn't tried harder to talk him out of going. Maybe if she had, then he would still be among them, still be the troubled teen with the weight of the world on his shoulders. She knew she should be grateful that he wasn't suffering anymore, that he was finally at peace but she couldn't bring herself to feel that way. They needed him, Ron needed him, Sirius needed him, she needed him. She needed her friend back.
The door opening with a bang interrupted the silence and Sirius made his way into the kitchen, stumbling as he made his way to a seat at the table. He glanced blearily at those sending him disapproving glances. "Geh off it. Is a man not allowed to drink as he sees fit in his own home!"
Molly Weasly looked at him with a soft look of pity in her eyes and moved to comfort him but he shook her gestures off and sent a snarl at the rest, causing everyone to turn away.
The man had taken to drinking every day, attempting to drown his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle. It wasn't healthy and many had tried to talk him out of the damaging behavior but none had succeeded and they had given up with Remus reminding them that he needed to grieve in his own way. The werewolf shuffled tiredly into the room, moving to sit next to Sirius and subtly casting spells to clean the drunken man. Dark circles lived under his amber eyes and many turned their pity onto him. Though they all felt the ache of loss, especially those who were close to Harry, it seemed Sirius and Remus had taken it the hardest and the former professor had taken it upon himself to watch over Sirius, afraid the man would do something rash and stupid.
Unknown to the rest of the Order, Remus was also using watching over his friend as an escape for himself. The thoughts he kept having and the emotions he kept having to hide were honestly scaring the poor man. Ever since that dreadful night, the wolf reared its head more and more, the rage swirling in the depths of his being barely kept contained. He feared what he would do if it got loose. Yes, he wanted revenge, he wanted vengeance and his wolf latched onto those deep feelings and wants but he was also scared of hurting someone, potentially killing someone and if that would finally make him into the beast the Ministry portrayed werewolves to be. He wasn't sure if he wanted to find out. Instead, he kept an eye on Padfoot, comforting when he could and making sure the drunken man didn't kill himself falling down the stairs, or Merlin forbid, run outside and get caught by Aurors.
He was pulled out of his rivaling emotional thoughts as the door opened once again, a tired looking Minerva and Albus walking through the doors. He wasn't surprised to see Severus not follow them in as he hadn't attended a meeting in weeks. Something had happened between him and Albus but no one knew what.
Albus took his place at the head of the table as Minerva sat to his right, the witch looking every bit her age. Blue eyes scanned the gathered members with somber eyes that only held a hint of the twinkle they once sported at every occasion. He placed gloved hands on the ragged wood before him looking worn.
"As we all know, the Death Eaters are becoming more active, the war looms in front of us, creeping up faster than even I anticipated. Voldemort," most at the table shuddered at the forbidden name being uttered, "has been sighted on numerous occasions but the Ministry is still denying the truth of the reports, claiming hallucinations. I fear this war will be upon us in a short matter of time."
"Albus, forgive me, but we know this already. What is the point of this meeting, today of all days?" Molly spoke what they all wondered, her voice hitching slightly to betray the tears she held back.
"Precisely what you think. With the darkness coming, I thought we could all use some time to mourn before we will have war on our doorsteps. I know it has been but a short time since young Harry was taken from this life but we must take the grief we feel and turn it into strength. The power of love knows no bounds, Lily's sacrifice that vanquished Voldemort once has proven that and we need to take the love we feel for Harry and use it to honor his memory. Fight for his memory and destroy the evil that darkens our world before it is too late," the twinkle seemed to shine brighter as he spoke. He couldn't let them become weak just because a child had died, they needed to see that his sacrifice was necessary, to see that they could use it to fuel their fight.
Molly nodded slightly, acknowledging the truth in his words. "For Harry, we will win."
Unbeknown to the gathered Order members, a pair of eyes observed them from the shadows, listening, calculating. As the witches and wizards began to come out of their stupors, rehashing stories of their fallen savior and comforted each other in their grief, the presence disappeared. Remus' nose twitched and he felt a slight sense of unease, but pushed it down, too focused on his inner battle to even pay attention to what his own senses told him.
Upstairs, in a dirty room, a cupboard door opened, the elf inside stunned without a sound. Kreacher watched with wide eyes as a stranger wrapped in shadows reached past him to his collection of heirlooms he had saved from those dreadful blood traitors. He struggled to move, to save his mistresses treasures but found that the magic holding him was too powerful even for his elf magic. The shadow stopped it's searching and pulled it's prize back towards its form, a set of pale lips smiling as it held its prize before its face. He recognized it, of course. It was Master Regulus' locket, the one he was meant to destroy but couldn't. It was his failure looking him in the face and it was about to be taken from him. The glistening gold, the green stones in the shape of a S on the front, all served to mock him.
"Thank you Kreacher, for saving this," the voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. With those words, the locket disappeared from sight and the house elf felt whatever magic held him release and he jumped up, but the stranger was gone.
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The fire cast its warm glow into the otherwise dark room, casting shadows across the one man who sat at a mahogany desk with his long, spidery fingers clasped under his chin, a far off look in his eyes. It had been just over a month since everything seemed clearer once more, that a fog of obsession and an intense urge had left him. At first, he had brushed away the feeling of unease as to what had caused the urges in the first place, but he had always sought to sate his curiosity. Ruby eyes flicked down to the pages of the book before him, scanning the words once more as though not fully comprehending them in the dim light. He could see just fine but he still didn't want to accept what they said. His face turned into a scowl and he resisted the temptation to toss the book into the flames.
The author didn't know that this man would be reading these words that were written and take them as an offense against himself, yet he was. 'Those who hear the words of a prophecy can either ignore, prevent or attempt to fulfill its meaning. These things, however, are all meant for interpretation and those who otherwise may have been spared from so-called fate, unwillingly place themselves in the midst of the turmoil. In short, those who meddle with prophecies, self-fulfill them and cause them to become their reality.' The words sat innocently taunting him from their pages.
Standing abruptly, the man whose name brought fear into the hearts of all who hear it, began pacing, agitatedly twirling rolling his wand between his fingers. If anyone were to see the feared wizard looking so human they wouldn't be able to believe it was the same man, not that they would live to tell the tale. The large viper curled in front of the flames lifted her head and flicked her tongue out several times, sensing her master's agitation.
$Masssster?$
Immediately the footfalls stopped and he turned to look at his familiar, the only one whom he trusted and would admit to having any positive emotions towards. $My beloved, I have come acrossssss information that impliesssss that I causssssed my own downfall. Ssssurely you mussssst sssseee why that would be upsssssetting.$ She cocked her head slightly to the side and stared into his eyes, sensing that there was more to it. Voldemort, You-Know-Who, Tom Marvolo Riddle, gracelessly, though of course still being graceful in an ungraceful act, folded into a lush armchair closer to his familiar. Nagini uncurled herself and slithered towards him, raising her head and allowing him to rest his hand on the base of her head.
$I can feel the lossssss of the diary more ssstrongly assss time goesss on. The ritualssss have worked marvelousssly but there issss sssstill ssssomething wrong. I am sssstill too fragmented. Hate, rage, loathing, thesssse are familiar, acceptable emotionssss yet I am unable to contain them assss I oncsse wasss. The compulsssion is lifted, but there is ssssomething misssing sssstill. It wasssss gone and even now that I am more whole, more of my better ssself, it has not returned but issss a disstant ache. There but changed and it infuriatessss me to not know what it issss.$ He hissed sharply, his anger seeping through the words.
Nagini gave a gentle nudge of her head against his hand and his eyes darted to her giving an uncharacteristic partial smile, more of a miniscule lift of the corner of his mouth. These were the only moments that the Dark Lord would let his masks down. He wasn't ever going to be an emotional man, never going to be considered a 'nice guy', but in his moments of sanity he wasn't as heartless as he appeared.
He ruled with fear for a purpose, and yes, he enjoyed causing pain and seeing the look of terror on his victim's faces, but that wasn't all he was. It never had been, but after being painted as such he had taken it in stride. He had already gotten followers in his task using his charm and intellect, he had decided to take what the masses wanted to portray him as and use it to gain more, to gain those that needed to be ruled with an iron fist of fear and degradation. It was only with the fear of death looming over him, the fear that he too would be defeated as Grindlewald had. If it had come down to his defeat, he wouldn't have given in so easily and he had harbored no doubts that he would die before someone bested him. He was the best and that would be the only way to prove otherwise.
So he began his searches for the secrets of immortality and he was thinking rationally enough now to admit that it was also the decent into madness.
Revealing that he had regained his previous ambitions, to the select followers that would follow him more readily for it, had been the best decision he had made in this last month. Even those of his most trusted did not know the full extent of what he had done to return to a semblance of his original self but he knew those he had spoken to would help him back on his way to the glory that was rightfully his. He had finally come to terms with the effects of the rituals he had imposed on himself in secret but he still had bouts of instability and the balance of keeping his unstable visage to those who needed fear to fuel them helped when he was unable to keep it contained. He still struggled with reliving past experiences in his mind and wanting to curse himself for his rash behavior or stupidity. Who in their right mind would toy with your greatest enemy and give him a chance to escape, which he had, when he could have just killed the boy and been done with it.
The pain in his hand tore him from his thoughts and he gazed at it unseeing for a moment before a wordless spell healed the crescent shaped wounds in his palm. He massaged his temples and rose from the armchair to once more pace. "I should see how Severus is coming along with the potion," he muttered softly under his breath before sweeping from his office and to his meeting room.
Applying his standard glamours, and schooling his features into one of cold indifference and impatience, Voldemort pushed his intent to summon one Severus Snape to appear before him. Feeling the magic call to the Potion's Master through his Dark Mark, he began tapping his fingers against the arm of the throne. He hated waiting.
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The little cottage had never been described as warm and inviting, never been set up to tailor to any guests and the only occupant that lived in the dwelling preferred solitude to inane ramblings. Books lay strewn across every available surface, a heavy cauldron bubbling over a small fire the only noise. Cupboard doors remained open, potion ingredients and vials visible on the otherwise empty shelves, parchment scattered along the floor with messy, hurried writing thrown across the pages.
Severus Snape was not a dirty man by any means. He prided himself on his cleanliness, though most would question it seeing as his hair always held a layer of grease from the fumes of the potions he so loved. These weeks spent researching, searching, and studying would have enraged him with the outcome of his simple home, had he not been so immersed in finding answers. Spinner's End was not a lavish place, not something any pureblood would be caught dead inside without a permanent
Mumbling under his breath, he combed through yet another book before snarling and throwing it to the floor. He ran potion stained fingers through his greasy locks and deeply sighed, trying to calm his anger. With a flourish that was so naturally ingrained, he swept to his feet and stalked to the cauldron with his latest experiment simmering away. Giving it a quick stir as was required and leaning over the fumes, he inhaled to check if the scent was what he was hoping for, burning hair with a hint of metallic undertones stinging his nostrils, fortunately not making him cringe as he had long ago become accustomed to unpleasant smells when brewing his potions. He pushed memories away at how he had attained the hair that had been used in the concoction, admitting in a small corner of his mind that he had been wrong about Potter's upbringing, with an even smaller corner wedged into the deepest pits that he almost wished he could go back and amend his relationship with the brat, to be closer to the child of his unrequited love.
Thankfully those fat muggles and Lily's horse of a sister would never remember meeting him or the rather oddity of his request. They had promptly refused of course, as soon as Petunia had realized who he was, and he had had to bind them, rather forcefully as they had hit the ground hard enough for blood to spit through their mouths as something undoubtedly broke in their weak bodies and he took from their minds where Potter's room was. He was surprised and shocked to find the boy had been made to live in a cupboard for the first eleven years of his life but shoved it aside to go find the remnants of hair he had come searching for. It hadn't taken him long to find and that was a bit disturbing, as he had found multiple clumps all swept under the bed but he had deduced that he would return to scavenge their minds once more when he wasn't so pressed with time.
Shaking his head rather forcefully to clear the fog in his mind, he turned back to his project. The books had proven useless, it had been weeks and countless tomes had been poured over looking for some indication, some answer as to what happened beyond the veil. There were many encounters with archways in a similar style, but not one book, not one person had ever went behind the curtain and returned. Anyone living and witnessing still held no answers, had no definite reason and as such, the archways were ordered to be destroyed, once more the inability with human's rationality to accept something they didn't understand rearing it's head. These arches, these gates to the next world could prove undeniably useful, if progress was made. As it was, only one known pathway remained, and Harry Potter had fallen through it in the Department of Mysteries. The Unspeakables had no answers as to what laid beyond, only that there was no returning, they were positive it led to the next life, the body being destroyed in the process. But Severus Snape was not the type to rely on useless rumors. He knew something was wrong, and he trusted his instincts and if Albus had tricked him, he wanted revenge for the life it had forced him into.
He had been an angry boy, a boy too mad at the world to think clearly of what consequences his choices would have and it had made him fall into the life he currently had; stuck between two manipulative dictators. There was no mistaking that Dumbledore was just as much a power hungry lord of the Light as Voldemort was the Dark Lord, he just went about it in a different way; constantly spouting about the Greater Good and appearing in the guise of a kind old man. He hadn't been able to understand it in his youth, too guilt ridden by the part he played in Lily's death and he let himself be manipulated and guilt tripped, but no more. If the old coot had made him not swear a true oath than he could finally be free to make a real choice again.
He knew either way that he needed to know what had happened to the Potter brat. Regardless if the oath was real, he still had a lingering sense of guilt and as much as he hated to admit it he knew he would still try to protect the insufferable child; if only because it would, in some small way, feel like he would be making Lily proud.
Steeling his nerves and pushing his self-preservation to the side, he wasn't able to hold being a spy to two great powers without his own form of bravery after all, he scooped a ladle of the softly boiling potion, placing it delicately into a vial and used a quick charm to cool it so the glass did not shatter from the immense heat. He would get answers. Gritting his teeth, he raised the vial to his lips, speaking the only words necessary for this potion to work.
"Show me the fate of Harry Potter as it currently resides," with the softly spoken syllables pouring from his lips, he tipped back the vial and swallowed it in one gulp.
The results were instantaneous. He stumbled as his vision slanted and he couldn't tell if he was standing up anymore. Cursing his own stupidity since he of all people knew better, he succumbed to the visions flashing before him. Distantly, as if it was happening to someone other than himself, there was a slight burning tingle in his left forearm.
A/N : So here you have it :) I had a majority of this typed for awhile but the characters didn't wanna work with me. I haven't fully decided how I feel about this chapter yet so I am literally posting this on a whim so I don't nit-pick it to death. I have most of the time spent beyond the veil written but I'm still trying to get that part to cooperate too. XD Let me know what you think, especially if the characters are believable enough since I know I am deviating from canon quite a bit and I want to make sure it makes sense what the thought processes are of those portrayed.
Also, I would greatly appreciate knowing if you would like to have more POV of how things have changed or how characters are reacting or if I should just get straight to the point.
Again, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!
Gurgaraneth - Yes I am leaning towards having a mate for Harry's creature side but I don't have it figured out quite yet.