harry_29
"Dementors," Harry replied coldly. "It’s what it looked like over the Carpathians – a thick, black cloud of hatred. If there’s enough to blot out the sun, then you can bet that there will be no reprieve from vampires."
Gabriella couldn’t believe her eyes. It was a line that stretched tens of miles from side to side; a dark band hovered above the treetops. She was certain it was smoke, but she was more certain that Harry was telling the truth. She began to sense the darkness, the cold, the sorrow as they flew closer. It was a tempest of despair; she swallowed.
"Voldemort must have summoned them from all across Europe," she said breathlessly. "There… there are so many. But they’re in the middle of their own war, battling the Centaurs. Why would they come to his aid?"
"He’s promised them his help," answered Harry. "If they—" He halted and she felt him shiver within her arms.
"What is it, Harry?"
"C-Centaurs. In Greece, there are two great herds. I… I don’t know how I know, but… one… one just disappeared. It… it’s not possible… is it?" Harry leaned forward on his broom, trying to peer into the darkness for some clue as to what had just happened. "The other heard is being attacked! The screams… the little ones. They’re being pushed toward the sea. We have to do something!"
The broom suddenly veered from its easterly direction and started north, right into the centre of the cloud of darkness. The sensation was palpable; Gabriella didn’t need to ask. Harry was angry and growing more angry by the second. The air around them was so charged she could almost smell it.
"Harry, it’s suicide. We can’t face them alone."
Without Harry saying a word, the broom shot upward, higher than she thought possible. The change in perspective revealed just how deep the black cloud of Dementors was. The line was wide, spreading like a swarm of giant locusts, but it was not that deep, perhaps a mile across.
"They’re sweeping across the country," said Harry, "looking for Jamie. Centaurs are just a bonus." He pointed down and to his right toward a small patch of green earth that stood out against the surrounding whiteness. "They’ve yet to reach the castle, but it won’t be long."
Gabriella looked down to find the line of darkness only a few miles away from reaching its goal. They might be able to make it to the castle on time, but they’d never be able to gather Cho and the rest before it was too late.
"We don’t have enough time," she said.
"We can, if we Apparate."
"From here?"
"Yes, from here!" snapped Harry.
Gabriella looked into his eyes. There was something more, something he wasn’t saying, but his anger was masking the other feeling.
"You first," he said. "Focus on the courtyard. I’ll follow."
"What is it that you’re not—"
"There’s no time! GO!"
She was torn; something was wrong. Without saying another word, knowingly denying her duty, Gabriella nodded her head. "Be careful, my love." She placed her hand across his face and pulled her wand. "Asha protect you."
"And also you," he replied, kissing her on the lips.
When Gabriella Apparated onto the courtyard, she found it quiet – too quiet. She opened a large wooden door that led to the main corridor. It creaked loudly. She quieted the hinges with her wand, but still cursed herself for not silencing them sooner. Stepping slowly forward, she found the corridor empty. She stood at the open doorway, waiting for Harry, but knowing that he wouldn’t be following her. She was unsure what to do. There was no way to Apparate back; she’d probably appear in the middle of the air. She was about to step back outside, when she heard laughter from within – a child’s. The sound pulled her in and down the corridor.
Still holding her wand aloft and following the giggles, Gabriella noticed that the ghosts that usually appeared in every corridor were absent. None were to be found hovering, or passing through walls. She continued to follow the laughter until she came to a door. She knew that it led to one of the larger entertaining chambers. Then, suddenly, Gabriella heard Cho’s voice cry out in panic.
"Jamie! NO!"
Gabriella burst through the door, ready to strike. Framed in front of a great wall of glass that faced toward Athens, was Cho, Anthony and little Jamie. Anthony sat, reading a book, apparently unconcerned about the danger they were facing. Jamie was crouched on a small swath of crimson carpet, only it wasn’t touching the ground. He was a good six feet in the air and climbing higher. Cho was chasing after him.
"Jamie! Get down here this instant!" Jamie simply laughed again and climbed higher.
Cho’s eyes met Gabriella’s and they filled with a new kind of concern.
"Gabriella?"
"Cho, Anthony!" cried Gabriella. "It’s an attack! They’re outside the grounds. Get Jamie and get out of here! Back to England. Back to Hogwarts. Before it’s—"
"Gab?" asked Cho. Gabriella stood frozen as she looked past Cho and out through the open window. To the north was the barn where they cared for the Hippogriffs. Beyond it was a rolling fog of black, surging toward them at incredible speed. It was like a giant tidal wave, rising to crash over the top of them. Gabriella took one step toward the window, watching the rolling darkness, readying her wand to cast a spell when her entire view filled with a flash of fiery light. The great glass window imploded. First she felt the heat, then she felt her feet being lifted off the ground. Then, all went dark.
________________________________________
When Harry arrived upon the beach of the Island of Kefallinia, his first sensation was that of cold. It was as if hundreds of voices were crying out in fear, but it quickly faded and the sensation passed.
"I hate Apparation," he muttered to himself. Apparating over short distances was bad enough. Passing over hundreds of miles pushed him to his limits. His hands were clammy, his stomach churned, but he was grateful, after traveling over such a distance, that he wasn’t splinched into a rock wall.
He watched as Gabriella vanished her boots and wandered barefoot toward the water. She stopped and turned back at him with a smile, one he’d come to recognize.
"What’s that for?" he asked, walking over to her. Before he knew it, she was tickling his ear and he had to hold her away from him. He loved it, but insisted, "Would you stop—" He never finished. Suddenly, she shuddered in his arms in some sort of seizure.
"GAB!" he cried. She continued to shake, and even after the shaking stopped, she wouldn’t respond. "Gab, please!" He was beginning to panic when, finally, she noticed he was calling out to her. And, after she had explained what happened, he began to wonder if that’s what people thought of him when his forehead exploded in pain. Instinctively, he moved his hand up to rub the scar that was no longer there.
"We need to hurry! Come on!" he called. He ran and got his broom and then a cold thought shot into his heart. What if she was still under his control? He paused and used his inner eye to see that her aura was singular. When he opened his eyes, he could see that she’d noticed. He wasn’t sure what to say.
"You okay?" he asked.
When she looked at him, her eyes showed her warring emotions. She suggested that it would be best if he go alone. He couldn’t believe his ears. He’d offended her. There was no way of telling how close to danger they were. For all he knew they were surrounded right now. He’d lost her in France; he wasn’t going to lose her in Greece, not here, not ever.
He insisted she come and, once she’d mounted his broom, he flew as fast as he could toward Sirius’ castle. As they passed over the Corinth Canal, he began to hear voices cry out to him again. It was then that he realized that the minds screaming inside his head were the voices of Centaurs – stallions, foals, voices of every gender, of every age rose up into a tremendous crescendo and then sharply disappeared into silence. Though he was uncertain what it was he had just sensed, he was nonetheless confident that it had been total genocide, and the ones responsible were now being led by Voldemort towards their true goal, Harry’s child. His insides felt frozen, and a sense of anger, a need for retribution began to build within him, rekindling an unnatural warmth to fill the void.
As they approached the castle, Harry slowed his broom, proceeding cautiously. His greater desire was to attack, to exterminate his enemy – immediately. The only thing stopping him was the girl on his broom; he wouldn’t put Gabriella in any more danger than necessary. His fickle emotions were challenged more when he saw a black band of fog, rolling in from the north. He knew at once what it was – Dementors being driven forward by Voldemort. Immediately, he turned his broom in their direction, away from the castle and toward the coming darkness.
"Harry, you’re crazy!" cried Gabriella. In the beat of a butterfly wing, he’d forgotten she was there. It disturbed him, but not enough to shake his purpose. He wasn’t sure what to do… what to do…
Pulling hard on the broomstick, Harry guided their mount higher, straight up into the sky. He needed to see what the Dementors were doing, how far this band of darkness stretched. Down and to the right, he noted that Sirius’ castle was as yet unharmed, but it wouldn’t be long before it was discovered. He’d never reach the castle in time if they flew; not to do what he needed to do. Even Gabriella knew they were too far away, but for different reasons.
"We don’t have enough time," she said, and she was right; there wasn’t enough time. Not unless… unless they split up. Gabriella would have to try to save Jamie and the others, while Harry would have the chance to destroy the swarming Dementors that had harmed his family. It was an odd sensation, but sincere – yes, the Centaurs were now very much his kin.
"We could Apparate." For an instant, his mind dwelt on the large tapestry back at Hogwarts, showing the annihilation of the Dementors, the annihilation of everything. He looked down. Other than the castle, there were no other settlements in the area. Maybe, if he could control it—
"From here?"
"Yes, from here," he snapped. Why wouldn’t she just go? They were running out of time. "You first," he added. "I’ll follow."
If she didn’t Disapparate soon, the Dementors would be too close to the castle and he might—
"What is it that you’re not—"
"There’s no time! GO!"
At last, there was a snap and Harry took in a long, slow breath. Finally, he thought. He pulled at his collar; it felt tight, restrictive. He was developing a very Centaur-like disdain for the Dementors moving toward the castle, threatening his family and friends. They had killed. So would he. He would kill them, kill them all; he knew it was within his power. He would Apparate down in their midst and— A tingling, burning sensation brushed against his ear, singed the nape of his neck. He spun to see who was there.
"Singehorn?" Harry exclaimed. The scene had changed. He was no longer flying high in the air, but was instead on a dry, arid plane. The dragon, in his massive human form, stood before him. His red eyes glared, not with anger or approval, but with an impassive curiosity.
"Do you have a minute?" the dragon asked as a matter of courtesy with his deep, scratchy voice.
"NOW! But—" Harry stopped himself. In here, in this meeting place of the minds, time stood still. They could converse for what would seem like hours, only to have Harry return back on his broom the instant he left. He nodded to the elder dragon and bowed. "Forgive me."
"We," began the dragon, "are not far away. There are a few of us that have been watching, waiting. These Dementors are wiser. They have avoided our aviaries on the peninsula and have steered clear of our hatchlings."
"But they’ve killed an entire herd of Centaurs!" protested Harry.
"That is none of our concern."
"What? You can’t be serious!"
"I am old, Harry, and have seen many evils in my day. I would not venture to choose which evil I dislike most. It does not pain me to see wizards kill wizards, Dementors kill Centaurs, or… well, I could go on for some time. They all have, for their part, done very little for our kind."
"I’m a wizard," said Harry, stepping closer, almost in defiance. He was still angry over the death of his own, his Centaur kin. For a moment, his inner consciousness questioned why the allegiance was so strong, but the tempering sensation was fleeting and the anger bubbled forth once more. "We have to take action! We have to destroy the Dementors and those leading them!"
"I wonder of such wisdom," said Singehorn crossing his arms and saying nothing more. Not listening, Harry contemplated that with dragon fire he could charge the Heart of Asha far better than if he cast his own Incendio spell.
"The stone… are you near enough?" Harry asked impatiently. "You could recharge it and then I could—" Singehorn chuckled.
"Have you not learned, my child? It does not require it. Since the Joining your fire spells alone have been able to destroy these dark creatures. And it was there that Asha’s heart was charged with something far more enduring, far more powerful than fire, Harry. Do you not remember what it was? Would you then use such power to feed your thirst for revenge, to quench your hate?"
"They’re murdering vermin! The don’t deserve to—"
"Then again," interrupted Singehorn. His demeanour seemed to change, a slight echo of Harry’s emotions, and he leaned forward toward the young wizard, his red eyes glaring. "Fire does not destroy, Harry. It is, itself, alive. It is purifying. It cleanses all that it touches." Singehorn grinned and his smile revealed long rows of sharp white teeth. There was a glimmer in his eye that was most seducing, and Harry’s anger began to ebb to another thought – that the evil outside Sirius castle needed to be cleansed. It wouldn’t be murder. It was simply a time for a fresh start, a new beginning.
"Yes," whispered Harry to himself. "Yes, I understand. The war… it must be stopped. The darkness on both sides… I must—"
Harry watched as the perfectly cleansed terrain behind Singehorn, the lifeless desert, faded and then vanished, and he found himself, still hovering on his broom, high in the air. Without hesitation he Apparated into the midst of the Dementors, just north of the castle, as a wave of darkness rolled past the barn where Buckbeak and the other Hippogriffs were usually stabled. For a second, he thought he heard voices… they were arguing.
It was then that he noticed a swirling Patronus, racing past the barn to meet the darkness; then another. A wizard, or wizards, was battling the onslaught from behind. Harry’s mind was cloudy, unclear on what exactly he should do. Another long, narrow Patronus passed him, a powerful one, knocking him to the ground. The tumble only served to stoke his rage.
"This war," he muttered to himself. "It must stop!" He held his arms out wide, spanning the line of Dementors flying above him, swirling around him. It was cold, and the sounds of screams were beginning to work their way into his mind. It was then that he noticed a great, green dragon as it roared above his head – Casinius! Harry concentrated, trying to reach his mind to the dragon’s.
"Icendiamos!" he cried.
Emanating directly from the stone, hidden within his chest, fire erupted from between his outstretched arms. At the same moment, the dragon spit fire and it was like adding a tanker of propane to an already raging inferno. There was an explosion of heat and power. Harry could hear the screams… the burning, sizzling sounds… the silence. Another dragon, this time a pale blue, roared as it passed on Harry’s right – Crestian. He could hear her speaking to him and he responded. There was a another roar and the two dragons split up, strafing the line of Dementors, on either side of Harry, with fire.
Harry held his arms outward again, stretching to each horizon and repeated the spell. "Icendiamos!" This time, great spheres of fire, twisting into tornadoes of fiery gasses, roared from both his outstretched palms and swirled along the line of Dementors on either side of him. There were more screams, but this time distant, this time human.
"We can stop them," he thought to himself with excitement. "We shall stop them! Stop them all!" …or were the dragons speaking…? "We shall cleanse the land and it shall be reborn anew." Again the vision of the tapestry at Hogwarts flashed in Harry’s mind, the arid desert scene behind Singehorn, it was a vision of death and destruction, revealing to Harry his own sense of Centaurian rage and dragon glee and… and something more, something darker. He paused, frightened that the emotions swirling in his mind, prodding him to wield more power, weren’t truly his own. In that moment’s pause, there was a cry, faint and distant… a child’s cry from behind. Harry turned.
"Jamie?" he muttered, trying to clear his thoughts, trying to find his own centre; then he saw it. "The castle!" he breathed.
From where Harry stood, all the way to the front of the castle walls, a good football field away, nothing stood higher than a few inches off the ground, much of it polished a glossy black. No Dementor remained alive. The barn… the barn holding Buckbeak and the other Hippogriffs was gone. There was nothing but blackened ash. Whatever wizard or wizards that had been casting Patronus spells had either vanished or been destroyed.
"What… What have I done?" The two dragons circled above. He could feel their pleasure.
"Well done, Primate!" one of them congratulated him. "There are more creatures just to the north. Shall we attack?"
"GO!" he commanded. "Leave me!" They obliged, flying to the east, the fading sound of their wings beating against the air the only noise to be heard. There was no other sound of life, save for the crying coming from the castle.
"JAMIE!" Harry yelled out, running toward the broken castle walls which had fallen inward on themselves. No sooner had the dragons left than the dark cloud began to reform above the castle grounds, filtering out the sun. There was a handful of snaps and pops from behind him, and Harry looked back to see a group of wizards, some fifty yards away, wearing the garb of Death Eaters, hoods covering their faces, standing like carved statues. Harry raised his wand to strike when, from their centre, emerged a thin, pale wizard, wearing no hood and dressed in bright red robes.
"Draco?" Harry sputtered in disbelief. The blonde smiled and, even at this distance, Harry could see two long, pristine fangs. The former Slytherin was still thin, but he looked far better off than when Harry had last seen him in prison.
"I heard about the fire and I knew it was you," Draco called, but his voice was unnatural. Had the vampirism affected him as it had Dakhil? "I had to come see for myself."
Harry kept his wand high, but Draco made no such comparable move. Then Harry remembered Gabriella’s vision… red… was this—
"What are you playing at?" Harry called out, the cloud of darkness, Dementors, swirling high about his head, still blotting the sun. He was beginning to feel cold and the faint sounds of screams tickled the back of his mind, but there was more… a collection of voices, mutterings, and calls of command. Harry shook his head, unsure what it was he was hearing. His eyes shot around, looking for Lucius; or was Draco the vessel for Voldemort? "Where’s your father?" he yelled. "Where’s Voldemort?"
The hooded Death Eaters unmoving, statuesque and frozen in position, Draco continued to step forward as if he wasn’t listening. Soon he was some thirty feet in front of Harry, a mass of Dementors at his back. The voices in Harry’s head grew louder.
"Tell them to stay back, Draco, or I’ll fry you all. I swear!"
Draco simply smiled. "Always the drama queen," he drawled. Again the tone of his words was surreal, as if it emanated from—
"This is ridiculus!" someone clicked and scratched. "Take his soul." It took a moment before Harry realized he was hearing the voice of one of the Dementors. He’d never heard them speak before. Then, he remembered. For a split moment, Harry glanced to the ebon ring on his finger. Of course, not only could he hear them, he could speak to these creatures!
"Stay back, you filth!" he yelled, focusing his words to bend to their language. The Dementors halted, if only briefly, taken aback that they had all heard Harry’s words in their own tongue. Oblivious, Draco continued to swagger ahead.
His smile was Cheshire like and the arrogance was overwhelming. Every fibre in Harry’s body said not to trust him, but he was hesitating. Why? He should destroy him and the Dementors behind him now. Yet, the thought of what he had done to the barn and Buckbeak was burned into his memory; he took no action. Soon Draco was ten feet away. The screams began to crawl into Harry’s psyche, growing louder as Draco moved closer and the Dementors closed in from behind the blonde. Harry’s hand began to tremble.
"I can’t believe this is going to work," a Dementor clicked.
"What?" Harry thought. "Work?" He hesitated no longer.
"Expecto Patronum!" he cried. An enormous stag erupted from his wand. It wouldn’t harm Draco, but at least it would repel the swirling darkness. The Dementors screeched and scattered. Harry could hear them cursing. With the cloud parted, the sun’s full rays fell on Draco’s face. There was a puff of smoke and naught but a small pile of ash remained in the place where he stood.
"DRACO!" Harry screamed out, rushing forward and falling to his knees. He’d killed him! "No!" Suddenly, a blast of cold struck Harry’s back. He never heard the spell, but he knew at once what it was – Petrificus Totalus. He could feel his body turn rigid as he crumpled to the ground.
He heard the crunch, crunch, crunch of footsteps moving toward him over the charred and kiln-dried earth. Someone took his shoulder and spun him over. It was Draco Malfoy, only he was dressed in different robes – these were green. Above his head was something that looked like a floating umbrella, shading him wherever he moved. His face was drawn and tired, more gaunt than the Draco he’d seen before, the one dressed in red. He looked ill; nonetheless there was a thin line across his lips and, when he spoke, Harry could see his fangs. They were barely noticeable, not the extended spikes curing about the lower lip of the red dressed Draco.
"I knew you wouldn’t kill me," he whispered, kneeling down at Harry’s side. His voice was as Harry always remembered it – snide and haughty. "You’re wondering about this?" he asked, rubbing the ash of his other self’s remains in his fingers. "A bit of advanced transfiguration is all. You really should be more careful. I might not be at Hogwarts, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been training." Harry’s eyes were on fire, anger beginning to fill his veins once again. He’d been duped. "You’re angry. I understand. I would be too, but we’re partners, right? We’re going to see this thing through to the end… no matter the cost. He must be stopped."
There was another collection of pops and snaps in the distance. Immediately, Draco bent low to Harry’s ear. "Harry," he whispered, "trust me… now, more than ever. This can’t look real, it has to be real." Draco rose to his feet, fear flickering across his eyes. "I’m… I’m… Forgive me for this." Draco waved his wand and, with a sharp tearing sound, the front of Harry’s robes were torn away, revealing his bare chest.
"Draco?" called a low, drawling voice from across the burnt field. There were more pops.
Draco looked down at Harry and mouthed the words, "Be ready." There was the briefest of hesitations and then…
"Diffindo!" he cried. Harry’s chest exploded with searing pain. He would have cried out, but he couldn’t. Four razor-like cuts appeared across his chest. He was sliced as if a lion had run his large claws from Harry’s left shoulder to the lower ribs of his right side. "Diffindo!" Another slashing movement criss-crossed the clawing pattern on Harry’s chest, mimicking the one before and leaving an enormous, broad X created from bleeding strips of flesh.
Blood began to flow freely as Draco knelt low and drank from the open wounds. The Dementors began to move in, but Draco cast his own Patronus, a large silvery snake that coiled and struck. "Stay away from him!" he yelled. "He’s mine!"
"DRACO!" Lucius Malfoy suddenly appeared in Harry’s view. "Are you mad? What in the name of Morgana are you— Potter?" Lucius’ eyes flashed with a spark of glee. Then his head snapped up, looking toward the demolished stones of the castle. "Is this it? Is the boy here?" Then back at Draco. The younger blonde was drawing another swallow of Harry’s blood. Lucius seemed to snap to his senses. His voice was stern, reproachful. "Do you know what you’re doing? This isn’t what—" he stopped himself and then sighed. Draco had ignored him throughout, lapping at Harry’s open wounds. Harry was wincing with pain as he saw a look of disgust fill Lucius’ expression.
"What have you become," his father drawled in disdain. Draco stopped, and, for the first time, he looked up, his face covered in blood.
"Only what you have made me, father; only what you have made me."
"You know that the Dark Lord—"
"The bastard’s mine!" yelled Draco, rising to his feet. "I finally have him under my control and you want me to hand him over to that… that failure!" Lucius slapped Draco hard across the face, spraying blood into the air.
"Never speak like—"
"You’re a fool!" yelled Draco. He pointed at Harry. "Potter has the stone! Don’t you see? He knows where it is! With it, you could lead the Death Eaters!" Draco stepped toward his father, wiping his face with his hand and shaking the excess blood onto the scorched earth beneath. "Look around you! He did this because he has the vivificus stone. Who gives a damn about a baby? Get Potter to hand it over to you, and YOU would be the new Dark Lord! Father, whatever power he held over you twenty years ago, with the stone, you can pay that wisp of a spirit back for what he’s done to our family!"
Lucius hesitated… and then his eyes darted all about. Was he looking to see if anyone was listening? Harry couldn’t move to see if there were others nearby. He’d heard other Apparations. Where was Voldemort? Whose body had he taken control of? Lucius’ eyes settled on something or someone behind Harry. Nonchalantly, he slipped out his wand, pointed it initially at Harry, but then quickly raised it up to the object he had been looking at.
"Avada Kedavra!" he hissed. Green light sprang from his wand and Harry heard a thump as something fell to the ground. With a smirk, Lucius slipped his wand away. "I always liked Goyle, but we couldn’t have him blubbering about things he doesn’t have the comprehension to understand. Besides, he was never the same after his son died."
The elder Malfoy stepped close to Harry and knelt. Between thumb and forefinger, he grabbed a strip of loose flesh on Harry’s chest and pulled. Harry tried to defy the agony in his eyes, but they gave him away as a tear of pain slipped out and slapped against the glassy earth.
"Now… Potter," he drawled, "what’s say you tell me where the stone is and I heal these nasty scratches? Otherwise, I think Draco here might just have to drink you dry." He tugged on the flesh again and Harry screamed in silence. "What do you say, lad?" Lucius placed his hand on Harry’s forehead and the Gryffindor felt his muscles release from the neck and above. He could speak. "Is it really worth it?" Harry felt Lucius get a tighter grip on the loose flesh. "Do we have a deal?"
________________________________________
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