Chapter 66 - Harry Potter Fan-fiction 23 - World Changer (2/2)
Harry didn't know what to say. He was broken and decrepit and his heart was in ruins. Ginny was right and she knew it.
”Go ahead and go to Malfoy's,” she said, turning away from him. ”I'll make excuses for you.”
It was too much. He had no control over anything - not over any aspect of his life. He couldn't deal with her incessant screaming, she was driving him stark-raving mad! How could he spend the rest of his life with her? He didn't fancy being talked to in such a way, to have to walk on eggshells in his own house, but it seemed as though he couldn't even act anymore unless he had her permission. He was stuck.
He headed for the sidewalk, Apparating on the spot for the sanctuary of Grimmauld Place. Ginny got her way and he was in no mood to consult with even Malfoy that evening, her permission had effectively destroyed his dėsɨrė to do so.
~oOo*oOo~
He slept in one of the spare rooms on the Third Floor, falling into a deep whiskey-induced sleep.
Like so many nights before, he dreamed of that night in Lestrange Manor.
When he woke up, panting for breath, it was still dark out.
How had everything gone to shit?
Would that he could use a Time-Turner and go back and change things.
The intel they had received, shortly after the war, on Rabastan Lestrange's whereabouts had led them - impossibly - to Lestrange Manor. Harry couldn't believe their good fortune, it was supposed to have been an easy mission.
”Tell me why I can't simply Avada the man on sight, 'Mione?”
She sighed and glanced at him with a half-smirk. ”Because, as I've told you, he has an artifact we are quite keen on retrieving, and Aurors are not supposed to use such curses anyhow.”
”Must be pretty important if an Unspeakable is worried about it,” Ron told her.
”It is, Ronald. If Lestrange activates the chalice, it can have dastardly effects on the world as we know it.”
Harry could still remember the way Ron had dismissed Hermione's concerns, ȧssuring her that he and Harry would take care of everything and why didn't she go look for wedding dresses with Ginny? Hurt had flashed through her eyes very briefly, and Harry had considered saying something, but he hadn't. Ron often hurt Hermione by saying such thoughtless things. Harry could kick himself now that he hadn't called the wizard out each and every time he had done so. Hermione was not a witch to be shrugged off.
They had been too pompous, too sure in their own capabilities. Their egos had grown rather large since being heralded heroes of the wizarding world only a few years prior. Lestrange was the last of the Death Eaters, and once they captured him, they could put the miserable war behind them.
But Lestrange had not made the task easy on them.
They were immediately ȧssaulted with traps upon entering his manor. He'd seemed to be expecting intruders, and he was prepared to meet them. Harry was too busy fending off the unexpected attacks to see the onslaught of dark curses coming, to know that this would be the turning point and the day he regretted more than any other. The dark hex severed off his leg, immediately. It stumped him so effectively, his eyes looking on unbelievably to the severed appendage and he only half-heartedly threw up a shield to stave off the rest of the wizard's attack. He cast a tourniquet charm on his knee and absently recalled seeing Hermione run across the room, straight towards Lestrange and deftly evading the traps at the entrance.
Her eyes had been set on the ritual the Death Eater had been about to perform. Lights were lit in sconces lining the platform that housed a goblet of sorts. Lestrange was too busy sending curses sizzling angrily through the air to immediately notice Hermione's slight form as it darted behind him in a blur, her goal set on capturing the cup. When she did get her hands on it, she wrapped it carefully in her jacket, not touching the polished metal with her bȧrė fingers. It was only something Harry recalled vaguely, but then back up had arrived. Ron had signaled reinforcements and Lestrange was becoming overwhelmed.
Harry had crawled across the room, unused to the feeling of being without a leg, and the meaning of the loss not even dawning on him yet. Hermione needed his help and he felt compelled to go to her. She needed him and what she was doing was important. He ducked around curses and hexes that were flying through the air from both sides, his goal only on reaching Hermione.
”Harry!” Her eyes shrilled with terror at the sight of him, momentarily forgetting her precious package wrapped in her arms as she ran towards them. ”Oh, gods, what has he done?”
She reached for her wand, flicking a series of spells over him and Harry felt his pain lessen.
”No,” he told her decisively, casting a strong shield around them. ”I need to get you out of here. You have the cup and we need to get to safety. Ron can handle him with the rest of the Aurors.” It was hard to speak, hard to breathe, hard to gain a footing in reality.
With single-minded focus, he reached for Hermione, who looked at him sadly, her eyes holding wisdom that was well beyond both of their years combined. ”We need to destroy it. If nothing else, we at least need to do that.”
”Vanish it.”
”Harry, this is a World Changer , it can't be simply vanished.” She swallowed convulsively, honey eyes filled with concern and love. ”Harry, I-”
Her words were cut off by a particularly strong series of well-aimed slicing charms that severed through his shield like buŧŧer. Hermione gasped and held up her wrists in confusion, watching in shock as blood curled around her forearms and dripped to her elbows. She was riddled with slices, deep cuts, and when Harry made to raise his wand, he found that he was too. He could no longer see out of one eye.
”Ron,” he gurgled, blood clogging his throat. ”Get Hermione to St. Mungo's NOW.”
She shook her head, grabbing Harry's hand and attempting desperately to speak. ”You must promise me something.”
Harry could hardly focus on her words, through the pain and the blurred vision and the ringing in his ears. Where had his wand gone? How was Lestrange still upright and dueling four wizards at the same time? He became distantly aware of stone statues - gargoyles - moving along the manor and attacking the four Aurors. They needed more men!
”Promise me, Harry!”
”What!” Anything , he screamed in his mind.
She handed him the wrapped cup, now drenched in her blood. ”You must find a way to destroy this, and never use it! I don't care how tempting it is to try, you must never do it!”
His fingers scraped against familiar holly wood. Her words streaked across his brain in a jumbled mess—nothing made sense! ”Vulnera Sanentur,” he said desperately, swallowing against the pain that was ȧssaulting his body. The healing spell worked slowly to seam together the wounds she had sustained, but there had been so much blood lost! Her eyes fluttered shut before opening and refocusing. So many feelings swam in her eyes as she captured his gaze with hers, weak and sluggish. So many things left unsaid.
”In another life...maybe...but no, Harry...never.”
Incoherent ramblings he had initially dismissed, so focused on healing her as he was.
”Please, don't die on me, 'Mione.”
But she was wavering and he didn't know the right spells, and his strength was faltering. She was slipping.
”Hermione!”
This time when her eyes closed, they did not reopen.
In a blind rage of fury, he let his magic sizzle through him and focused it angrily on Lestrange. ”Avada Kedavra!”
The electrifying green light lit up the dim manor, momentarily surprising the Aurors that stood fighting as it shot past them and straight to his target. His first ever Avada, and it teared at his very soul. Brokenhearted and beyond weak, he had collapsed to the floor, unaware of how changed the world would be when he awoke.
”In another life,” he said aloud, getting up and sitting in the chair that stood by a ċhėst. ”What did you mean, Hermione?”
He'd replayed the words many times. She had made him promise to destroy the cup, that had seemed to be her life's mission, and he had tried, but damn if it wasn't impossible to do!
He regretted not telling her how he felt, how he'd felt for years, for in the moment that she had faded in his arms, he had realized it beyond a shadow of a doubt—it was only she that caused his heart to stutter in his ċhėst...that caused his lips to twist in a genuine smile...a true laugh to wrench from his throat...love to bloom in his heart. She was the one witch he wanted, and now he couldn't have her, and wasn't that just painfully ironic?
She was all the good in him, and without her there was nothing much left.
His expression turned dark and contemplative.
Moving towards the ċhėst, he cast the unlocking spell and reached in for the jacket that still housed the cup he never destroyed. He pressed the jacket up to his face, even though it was dry and crusted over with blood, trying to recapture the memory of her scent.
”Harry,” Ron said with wide eyes. ”You're in a bad way.”
”Obviously, Ron.”
”And Her-,” he swallowed rapidly. ”'Mione's cup?”
”It's destroyed,” he lied.
Though why he had done so alluded him. He had every intention of destroying it as he promised but when he'd failed, what had stopped him from turning it in...concern that he would be held accountable for lying about it in the first place? Still, it had been his duty and he had wanted to take care of it.
But now…
...But now he felt... differently.
”Hermione,” he spoke aloud, the dark inflection of his tone sounding unfamiliar on his tongue. ”You said it changes worlds...what if I want my world to change?”
He thought back to how Lestrange had set up a ritual before he intended to use the cup. Really, Harry did not know how to use it even if he wanted to. Hermione's research on the subject had vanished from her office upon her death. All he knew was that she was wary of pressing her flesh up against the metal.
The promise he made her streaked across his brain, but the temptation to try and to somehow discover the power of the seemingly harmless cup and learn to harness it was far too great. He was a broken failure, he may as well be an oath-breaker too.
The need for her eclipsed the pain of breaking his promise, and only made the hole in his heart all the more prevalent.
”You made me promise, lovely, but you left me.” He ripped the jacket from the cup and stared at the elusive goblet as it sat in his ŀȧp, puzzling over its power. ”I'm sorry,” he said as he flexed his fingers over the cup - the World Changer - for the first time. ”If you're a World Changer,” he smirked, the taste of the whiskey he had over-consumed still fresh on his tongue. ” Change my world. ”
It was instantaneous.
His words coupled with his fingers on the cup seemed to galvanize its power into action, and he was suddenly swept up in a bright, shockingly yellow light. The light was so bright, it shone through his tightly closed eyes, ripping and tearing at his body as a cacophony of sound erupted around him.
He was stunned as he gripped the cup before it flew from his hands and then he was grasping at air. He hadn't expected anything to happen—not really—and here something definitely was. He had a moment of panic as he wondered if he should have tried to research more, find out what exactly he was supposed to do to influence the change instead of letting it take him blindly.
He was helpless and that was bad!
His body shifted through something foreign - like a dimension he couldn't fathom - and then he was catapulting through light and sound. His body felt disconnected from his mind, somehow he was aware of his soul flying, morphing, changing before exploding into something hard and solid and whole.
The ground was spinning impossibly fast and he felt nauseous but he forced his eyes open anyway, his vision clearing sharply as his gaze clashed with honey-colored eyes.
”Harry?”
~oOo*oOo~
Chapter End