Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Art of Self-Fashioning	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 26077 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 56
- 57
- 58
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Fifty-Seven—Dark Destiny
Harry and Terry had landed a good deal outside the St. Mungo’s entrance. Harry stood still now, his eyes closed, senses reaching out.
Yar circled on wide wings above him. Mice and ants marched in long columns through small pipes and tiny holes and other places in hospital where they wouldn’t be noticed. Harry could put his hand down and feel the small shape of the special creature he’d Transfigured from a hemlock leaf waiting in his pocket. It was as quiet and still as part of the cloth pocket itself.
For right now, he could sense no Death Eaters.
He opened his eyes and turned his head to Terry. “Let’s go.”
He’d brought his Invisibility Cloak with him, and Terry was good enough at the Disillusionment Charm to keep any eyes from following them as they slipped down Diagon Alley. Their brooms had been left behind, hidden under another Disillusionment Charm and a spell Terry knew that would convince most people they had business elsewhere. Terry had sounded a little upset at the thought of them coming back and possibly finding the brooms gone.
Harry had shaken his head in silence. “If we can’t come back for them before lots of people start walking around in the morning, we’re probably dead anyway.”
“What a comfort,” Terry had muttered, but he’d been silent since then. When they got to the actual entrance, Harry turned around and found him clutching the mirror in his pocket, eyeing the hospital façade doubtfully before he looked back at Harry.
“Are you sure that you can’t let me come with you?”
“Terry, be honest. Can you handle yourself in the kind of battle this is going to be? Can you kill without mercy? Without hesitation?”
Terry’s eyes narrowed. His wand flickered for a moment, but he wasn’t casting a spell. “Did…that’s the way you think it’ll play out?”
“There will at least be Death Eaters here,” Harry said calmly. “Probably Lord Dudders himself. Yes, I think I’ll need to kill, and the way I do it will be quick and lethal. I’m not going to hesitate if I need to save my life, or my parents’ lives, or any of my animals’.”
Terry sighed hard enough to rock a bat in flight, and then nodded. “You’re right. I can’t do that. I’ll stay out here and report on events the way you want me to.” He hesitated, squinting through the darkness between them, at what Harry knew was only a dim starry shape under the Invisibility Cloak, and added, “You be as safe as you can.”
“Careful always. Maybe not safe.”
All Harry got was a resigned nod, and then Terry settled back against the wall of the alley. Harry turned and flowed towards the entrance.
The spell that concealed it and registered visitors was actually ridiculously easy to break. Harry did so, knowing it would set up an alarm near the main stairs first, and as mediwitches and mediwizards rushed over with their eyes wide and shouts starting, Harry slipped past them and up the side stairs.
His parents waited above, like a heartbeat.
*
Terry waited until a hundred heartbeats had gone by. That was Harry’s request, and if Terry couldn’t do anything else to actually help in this battle, he would do what Harry had asked of him.
Can you kill without mercy? Without hesitation?
Terry sighed and fingered his wand as he pulled the mirror out of his pocket and unwrapped it. No, he couldn’t. And that wasn’t usually a problem, but now, it was. At least he and Harry had been honest with each other.
He framed the mirror with his hands and concentrated on Harry as hard as he could. For a minute, he thought nothing would happen. The surface of the glass was dark grey and swirling with silver clouds, but the clouds didn’t part to reveal Harry’s face the way he said they should. Terry frowned and tapped the surface of the glass.
A second later, Harry’s face was there after all. He blinked at Terry and flexed his hand. “You’re connected?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re going to just watch what happens, no matter what happens, and take the report back to Professor McGonagall and Regulus if I die or get captured?”
Terry’s hands clenched around the edge of the mirror. He wished there was something he could say. But there were no words for the look in Harry’s eyes, or the easy, devouring jog he moved at, or the snake curled around his throat and the mice running in front of him.
“Yes.”
Harry gave him a smile. Terry shook his head a little as he watched Harry come up against a protective spell and dissipate it with a flick of his wand. He was doing it with pure Wild, as far as Terry understood it, not really a spell. The witches and wizards in St. Mungo’s would still know that the spell had been broken, but the impression would be dim and fuzzy, and they wouldn’t be able to locate Harry from it. They would run around, looking in different places at all the different kinds of protective spells.
If Harry was right.
The mirror showed Harry coming to the top of a staircase and turning left with no hesitation. Rushing stone walls blurred by, and then he was in front of a door set almost flush with the wall. Terry winced as he heard some moans, tortured by distance. He supposed those were other patients in the Janus Thickey ward, caught in nightmares or whatever insanity had brought them there.
Harry opened the door.
Terry leaned forwards. Harry had thought You-Know-Who would send Death Eaters to capture him when he tried to leave with his parents, but Terry was betting on there being someone in the room already.
There was no one, other than James and Lily Potter. Harry stepped up to them and took something else out of his pocket. It was a small black book, but when he opened it, there was a hollow space inside, filled with small sheaves of paper that didn’t resemble pages. Harry began to read them, whispering. Terry tried to listen, but the language didn’t sound like Latin or English.
Another Black artifact. Harry had told him what was going to happen, but Terry didn’t know if he believed it. He knew why Harry was reluctant to use wand magic if he didn’t have to, though. It was possible that alarm spells would pick up on that in this ward, no matter what kind of magic it was.
A soft blue-white glow flooded out of the book and around James and Lily Potter. It held them in outlines, growing brighter and brighter until they looked more like silhouettes to Terry, and he was squinting to keep seeing them. Then Harry snapped the book shut and clapped his hands.
The glows gave a single flash, and then they were no longer leaping flames, but crystal cocoons. Harry moved the book back and forth, and thin, shimmering lines of light extended from the book to the cocoons. When Harry turned and trotted towards the door, snake moving lazily around his neck, the cocoons followed him.
Terry sighed and leaned back against the alley wall. Now he just had to wait for Harry and the Potters to get back here, and he was fairly sure Harry could avoid the Healers thanks to his mice and ants scouting for him and the Invisibility Cloak he still wore half-draped around him.
He was still surprised, though, that You-Know-Who hadn’t sent a Death Eater to stand in the room.
Then he felt a sharp, cold sting to the back of his neck, and as he slumped and dropped the mirror to break into glittering shards on the ground, he heard laughter in his ear.
Maybe he didn’t need to.
*
Harry paused when he felt the Wild shift inside the mirror Regulus had given him. Regulus had said they relied on charms that the Black ancestors had placed into them, and the charms had nothing to do with the Wild.
All Harry knew was that he felt a warmth in the mirror’s frame that wasn’t there when it simply lay on the shelf or in the cloth. Terry had been holding it, watching him as he went into hospital.
Now he wasn’t holding it.
Harry went to a window, and waited for a moment until he saw the shadow of wings in the distance. Then he signaled to Yar, and she swept towards the alley where Terry had been standing to see what was happening. Harry made his way along the corridors, changing direction whenever the ants and mice came scurrying back to him with a warning.
In the meantime, he took the white scorpion, his special creation, out of his pocket and placed it gently in his curled fist.
He came out of the front entrance of St. Mungo’s with his parents floating behind him. He turned towards the alley. He thought it might be one of the Death Eaters, but that was unlikely.
And he was right. Lord Dudders stood holding Terry slumped under one arm, his red eyes aimed straight at Harry. What must be a borrowed wand was resting against the back of Terry’s neck. His tongue curled out and lapped slowly at the air like the tongue of the snake around Harry’s neck. That snake, unfortunately, was an adder and not venomous enough.
If Lord Dudders was even vulnerable to snake poison. He might not be.
“You will give me your parents for your friend,” Lord Dudders said.
Harry remained still and said nothing. His senses were on high alert, extending out. Further out. And further. He could hear heartbeats if he listened hard enough. Since there was no other sound in the alley at the moment, he could hear Lord Dudders’s.
“Have you listened to a word I said, Potter? You will trade me your parents for your friend. Or he dies.”
Harry had even subtler chances than that to pick something up. For example, if he concentrated hard enough, he could sense the Wild in an ordinary magical being who was doing nothing but waiting to move into action. It was easiest with his animals, made of almost pure Wild, but he could do it with other wizards, too.
“Then you will all die,” snarled Lord Dudders, and lifted his wand from the back of Terry’s neck.
Harry threw the scorpion at him.
Lord Dudders snapped his wand over and cast a fire spell. His aim might even have been true, if Yar hadn’t dived from above at that moment and locked her talons on his arm, slashing it and shaking it to the side.
The spell missed, and the scorpion flew the rest of the way and curled its tail to sting into Lord Dudders’s boots. Lord Dudders roared wordlessly and twisted his arm, smashing Yar into the alley wall. Harry heard one of her wings break. Then he raised a foot and crushed the scorpion with a stomp.
In the meantime, Harry had crossed the distance between them with great bounds. The crystal cocoons swayed behind him, bound to the book he carried in his pocket, but didn’t come close enough to impede him in battle.
As Lord Dudders looked up, Harry broke his right kneecap with a swift kick, and then reached out and scooped up Yar and tucked him close to her. He could do nothing for the scorpion.
And he could do nothing for Terry. His senses had told him the truth. Terry had no heartbeat. He had no sense of the Wild.
Lord Dudders was close to him for a moment, a repaired hand lashing out and closing around his arm. Harry raked with his one free hand, the claws on his fingertips glittering in the dim light of the moon. Lord Dudders hissed but didn’t let go of him.
Harry looked up into his face. Or what used to be his face. If this was what Horcruxes had made of him, Harry wondered why he would ever want to use one.
“You are still not afraid.”
Harry saw no use in responding to that. He wished he had brought someone with him who could Apparate.
“Have you moved your Horcrux from the bank yet?”
The hand around his arm faltered the slightest bit. Harry lowered his head and hit Lord Dudders in the chin with the top of his skull.
There was a screech that had nothing human about it, and which Harry wouldn’t dignify by calling animal, either. Lord Dudders had bitten his tongue, from the way he staggered back. Small trails of blood ran down his chin.
Harry ignored the distant flare of pain and raised his hand again. This time, he angled his claws carefully. He had only a moment, but that was longer than he had had when he was trying to break free of Lord Dudders’s hold before.
He couldn’t kill him, not while there were still Horcruxes in existence. But he could maim. And some maimings were more useful than others.
Lord Dudders looked up, and Harry cut his mouth open from cheek to cheek. His claws stabbed into Lord Dudders’s tongue and tore it out.
The screech that followed this time was marked by the gurgling of blood.
Harry wrapped Yar tight in his arm and reached for Terry’s body. Lord Dudders snarled something inhuman and waved his borrowed wand, and chains shot out of it, aiming straight for Harry. Harry ducked and rolled back, and watched as a shield sprang into being, walling him off from Terry’s corpse.
I’m sorry, Terry. He could do nothing more for Terry than he could for his scorpion.
At least Lord Dudders was slowing as he staggered upright—and he wasn’t upright all the way. Harry nodded. The scorpion had managed to sting him through his boots after all. That meant the venom was pouring up slowly through his body, dissolving bone and muscle as it went.
It wouldn’t kill him any more than the removal of his tongue would. But it would slow him.
The shield showed no sign of falling. Harry backed away until he was near the crystal cocoons of his parents again, and watched Lord Dudders with unblinking eyes. A great deal depended on whether Lord Dudders would attack again or retreat the way he had when Professor McGonagall liquefied his hands.
The monster, the man, whatever he could call himself—but not an animal—was staring at him. Harry stared back. There was blood, shocking on the pale skin, running from his mouth and the ruin of his tongue. Harry looked at him, and said nothing.
He did try to say something, but with no tongue, there was no making out what it was. And Harry saw no reason to try. He fell back another step. He had to reach the brooms and get his parents and Yar out of here.
In the end, Lord Dudders Apparated away. He took Terry’s body with him.
For a moment, Harry stood there with his head bowed. Then he turned and Summoned the brooms that had brought them here.
The cocoons his parents were in followed him without slowing down. Nothing could harm them while they were wrapped in those shields, unless something damaged the Black artifact itself.
Harry flew in silence. His parents were with him. He would find some way to remove the curse that Lord Dudders had put on them to prevent them from being healed, and he would indeed Transfigure their brains the way he had been dreaming.
But he couldn’t help remembering Terry.
*
Minerva laid the book she had been reading down and closed her eyes. The book was about wish magic, that powerful, always unconscious kind of force that made miraculous things happen when the person holding it wished hard enough.
No wish would bring Terry Boot back to life.
Her stomach swam with sickness and the remnants of the bloody magical exhaustion that had kept her from going along, or Harry from asking her. Minerva rubbed her belly with one hand and wondered, for a moment, what Harry was feeling, whether she should go and ask him. His face had been blank when he had entered the house with James and Lily and settled them in beds above.
But that very blankness had forbidden her from asking. Well, that and fear of what he might say when she asked.
The door of the library opened. Minerva looked up, then started to her feet when she saw it was Harry. He leaned on the door as if he was wounded. She started towards him.
He raised his head, and Minerva halted, dead still. The rage in his eyes was as heavy and cold and present as fog. It crept around her, and she found herself numbed by it. She swallowed, wondering if he had come to ask her a question, wondering if she would be able to make her tongue move to answer it.
“I know we have to destroy the Horcruxes,” Harry said in a distant voice, as if he was teaching his own class and reciting facts to them. The rage continued to spread and gloom and dampen everything. “After that, he’ll be mortal and he can die. And I have plans to bring down some more of the Death Eaters.”
He looked at her. “But I want him to suffer. I wanted him to die quickly, but now I think he should suffer. Do you think he should? Can we risk it?”
Minerva sighed and touched her forehead with the heel of her hand. Talk about questions I am unprepared to answer.
But it became easier if she thought about things the way Terry Boot would have. She lifted her head. “Do you think Terry would want you to expose yourself to the risk that this is going to be? Would he want to be avenged if it means that you’ll die along the way? And never achieve anything you fought for?”
Harry prowled slowly around the library. Minerva could almost see the shadow of a tufted tail twitching behind him. Not that she thought Harry had altered himself to add a tail that he would have no use for, but it was interesting that he resembled a stalking great cat so clearly.
“I think I know why Lord Dudders didn’t have Death Eaters standing ready in the room or with him in the alley.”
Minerva blinked at the sudden change of topic, then reminded herself Harry was grieving. He was entitled to talk about whatever he wanted. “All right. Why?”
“I’ve either killed them or captured them so far. He didn’t see a reason to give up more followers.” Harry turned his head, and the firelight caught, gleaming, on his eyes. “He’s going to fight me himself when the moment comes.”
“All right,” Minerva repeated, slowly. “What does that do to your plans? Or to what I said about what Terry would think?”
Harry’s eyes closed in a slow blink. Minerva’s chest clenched. She decided that was probably as much grief as Harry would ever show her.
“I can kill him with less risk because he won’t have the Death Eaters around him. After I destroy the other Horcruxes and make him mortal.” Harry began to prowl again. “I was thinking that I might have another plan to take him down, but it has to be me. I want to watch the light fade from his eyes the way I didn’t get to see it from Terry’s.”
Minerva knew no words for this. She stood still, and watched Harry stalk in two more circles before he spoke again.
“I don’t want to take a long time. You’re right. That would be a risk. Terry would think poorly of me for it. He thought I should concentrate on more things than just my parents. I won’t get a chance to do that if I die fighting Lord Dudders.”
Minerva breathed out slowly. Thank you, Terry, or his memory of your words. He’s not going to fall into this madness where only revenge matters to him.
“I can make it quick. I’ll do that.” Harry paused, looking into the fire. Minerva waited again, although she had no idea what she was waiting for this time.
Harry finally turned to face her. Minerva couldn’t speak. His eyes were wilder than the Forbidden Forest. Light shone from deep inside them, flaring and shifting, a blazing, glazed green so intense that Minerva lost the sensations of her own being in watching him.
“But in the moment when I kill him,” Harry said softly, “I am going to fill that moment with pain.”
He stalked to the door and laid his hand on the latch. “I need to talk to Neville. Do you want to come with me?”
Minerva licked her lips. It was an unusual offer, with Harry so often convinced that he knew what was best. “What are you going to do?”
“Talk to him about dying from the Killing Curse to remove the Horcrux inside him.”
Minerva narrowed her eyes so that tears wouldn’t spill, and nodded.
Harry kept his back to her all the way down the corridor. It didn’t matter. She remembered too well what his eyes looked like to need to see them.
- 56
- 57
- 58
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Art of Self-Fashioning