章 37: Chapter 37
AN: Edited by Kaladin1707. Thnx a lot bud.
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Hi, just wanted to address this in the starting AN this time, cause it seems not all of you read the ones below the chapter. I've been barking about this story containing Incest for a long, long while now, so it was a little surprising to see quite a few reviews claiming their disgust for the last chapter. I don't care, I just hope all the ones who're still reading this story are well aware of what they're getting into now. So if you're still here, I'll take that to mean you're fine with incest or find yourself capable of stomaching it. Anymore complaints will be ignored, sorry.
Now with that in mind; hope you all enjoy this chapter!
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The scratches of hurried scribbling were the only imperfections in the otherwise calm silence that lay snuggly upon the lowly-lit office of Hogwarts' Headmaster.
Its sole occupant was perched on the edge of a narrow sill, availing himself of the natural moonlight that trickled in through the open windows.
The contents of the letter laid heavily against his mind, placing upon him a burden he no longer wished to carry. Nor did he think himself capable of it.
Not anymore.
But it was the right thing to do; and between the choice of easy and right, Albus Dumbledore would always choose the latter.
Thus, reluctant though his hand was, the message soon came to completion all the same.
'My friends,' It began. 'It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter, though I have no doubt you are all aware of its necessity. I do not enjoy nudging your memories of the recent event, but the worst we've always feared has now come to pass. Dark times are ahead of us, and we're woefully unprepared for what is about to come. As you may have guessed, I am reassembling The Order of The Phoenix and I desperately need your help. Now more than ever. I urge all of you to put aside your differences, and unite against our common enemies. One more time.
Your friend and teacher,
Albus Dumbledore
P.S: Need a place for Order meetings. Any offers are welcome.
His hand stopped scribbling, and silence finally conquered the room whole. The old man peered into the starry night, gentle wisps of wind swaying strands of his beard back and forth.
It was a good night. A calm & bright night. One undeserving of being squandered on such grave matters. Yet needs must, and Albus Dumbledore had done worse things on better days in the long years of his life.
Sighing, the bespectacled man turned to his bird. "Do you think this will be enough, Old friend?"
His phoenix cocked his head; dark piercing eyes staring within his soul—judging yet forgiving.
"I fear that I have lost their trust." Dumbledore admitted, staring back into the free skies. "But I fear not gaining it back greater still."
A stinging torridity lit his right hand up in fire, the sudden inflammation evoking a slight wince from the old wizard.
He glanced down at his gloved right hand, and the reminder of his mortality stared back at him—a flimsy piece of cloth unable to hide the surety of his rapidly approaching death.
"And I fear even more so that I do not have the time to do anything about it."
His phoenix chirped from his perch, shooting a soothing aura of joy and serenity through Dumbledore's soul.
…And yet, it was no match for the sickly sensation in his hand—which grew increasingly frail as the Death element slowly slithered its way down his forearm.
Still, Dumbledore confronted it with barely a grimace. It was a penance that he accepted. A penance for his mistakes and arrogance. A penance for being so blind in his knowledge and faith that he'd let himself be caught completely off-guard; not once, not twice, but three times in just this past decade.
A shame he did not even have the luxury of blaming it upon his old age. For where the average mind may suffer, Dumbledore had always been a shade cleverer than most. And that had, unfortunately, continued well into his old age.
With another silent sigh, the old man slid down from the sill, straightening upon his legs to approach his table.
"Albus!" A sudden enraged voice screeched from above. "Those sniveling cowardly arselickers removed my portrait! How dare they!? It is my house! My house, I say!"
Dumbledore did not turn to the portrait, taking a seat on his desk as he began making preparations. "Calm now, Phineas. I take it they've established the Manor as their base?"
"Those filthy fancy-robed bastards!" Phineas continued seething. "They call themselves Death eaters? How about Cock Suckers instead? Or Serpent Swallowers, eh? More fitting if you ask me."
Dumbledore simply opened his small diary, revealing all the active members of the Order before its disbandment. A wave of his wand and the letters started duplicating, making copies of themselves all addressed to the specific Order members one by one.
"Would you please deliver the messages, Fawkes?"
His bonded partner gave an accepting caw and disappeared away in a gust of flame, taking with him the scattered letters.
Dumbledore turned, peering up through the gap above his half-moon glasses. "Am I to understand that Sirius truly has defected to the dark?"
Finally stopping his incessant rant, Phineas snorted. "That scoundrel was the one to tear me down, so I'd say yes. I don't get why this is so surprising to you, Dumbledore. My family has always birthed bad apples. And while I wouldn't claim to be much better, Sirius is certainly blacker than most."
Dumbledore sighed. "I simply cannot match the man he has become, with the boy he had been."
"Wouls yous two shus up? " A bleary voice snapped from a picture stuck behind them. "Is two in the night. We gon' nee some sleep toos. Portraits traveling's a tirin' job."
A multitude of voices supported his objection, forcing a tired nod of supplication from Dumbledore. "Of course, gentle portraits. My work is almost done."
One of the chief causes responsible in hastening the escalation of Death element was stress and over-exhaustion.
At least, according to Severus. And Dumbledore was willing to put his trust on the young man when it came to subjects like these.
To battle these causes, the headmaster had developed a few specific habits in recent days—one of which was to empty his mind before sleeping; for the dreams, if turned to nightmare, could cut his annum of remaining lifeforce in half.
Approaching the dais fixed with his Pensieve, Dumbledore touched the Elder wand to his brow. His powerful Occlumency helped sift through the memories, dragging the targeted ones to the fore. Then, with a concussing pinch to his head, his wand removed a wispy strand of glowing thread that he dropped down in the calmly sparkling liquid.
Faces of Ariana, Gellert, and a young Tom Riddle swirled down to the bottom, making up for his biggest mistakes in life—instantly relieving a great part of the burden from his shoulders.
Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. Dumbledore had lived a great life, a long and fulfilling life. But the demons he had to bury in the pages of his dark past were just as many.
This time, he focused on his more recent failings, reviewing them involuntarily as his Occlumency brought everything to the forefront of his mind.
Harry Potter. The fourth biggest mistake.
Dumbledore still didn't know where he went wrong in this.
Few things could surprise Albus Dumbledore anymore. But reviewing the memories of that night, witnessing with his own two eyes the way Harry Potter fought, had given him a shock unlike any.
Thirteen years ago, when he'd found the two mewling bundles in the wreckage of Potter cottage, amidst the corpses of their grandparents, he knew the prophecy had begun. What he did not possess however, was the knowledge as to who it truly meant. Voldemort had left a magical mark on both; a lightning shaped mark on the green-eyed babe's brow, and a rough circle on Jacob's neck.
The only difference came from the magic he sensed within their scars. Where Harry's was dark and fierce, Jacob's was...calm and mundane. But ignorant as he was about the Horcruxes then, Dumbledore had very little idea what it meant.
At that time, he had hesitantly concluded—based simply on his magical sensing—that Harry must be the one. The brooding darkness was too similar to a young Tom Riddle.
He hadn't known then that his guess was correct. He wasn't sure. And desperate as the country was, with dark wizards roaming the streets—hounding for blood of the children who marked their master's end—Dumbledore had come up with a quick plan.
Hide them away, as safely as he can. Together.
A part of him knew the best route was to separate them. As the muggle saying went; don't put all your eggs in the same basket.
Yet he hadn't been willing to be so mercenary then. Guilt forced him to not treat the two as simple instruments of prophecy, but as brothers who would need each other to confront their dark fate. Brothers who could be better than him and Aberforth.
But fate would not have it. The Dursleys—and the powerful & mysterious blood wards that had erected over their house—were completely unwilling to take them in. And thus the arrangements were made; one brother under the blood wards; the other under the watch of close friends to Potters.
Four years ago however; when the two joined Hogwarts, Dumbledore was forced to admit his assumption had been wrong. That Harry wasn't the prophecy child; Jacob was.
It was easy to conclude truly. One still had his mark—though light & almost faded—the other did not. One was sorted in Gryffindor—yes, he was a little biased here, scramble off—the other Slytherin.
The most telling of all however….one was full of love for his family, the other…seemed incapable of anything but jealousy. And love—Dumbledore had concluded—was what will truly defeat the Dark Lord.
For Love was the power Voldemort knows not. And never shall.
He never imagined this 'Power' to be direct, of course. How could he? Voldemort was the embodiment of magical might and raw power. Had he possessed Dumbledore's knowledge and wisdom, the Dark Lord wouldn't have needed Grindelwald to conquer the world.
He alone would've been enough.
How could anyone surpass him? No, the Power had to be abstract. Completely unexpected. Something that Voldemort would never prepare for. Something Voldemort had never experienced.
Love….what else could it be?
He was wrong. Oh how very wrong he was. Looking at the memories of Harry Potter downing a batch of Death Eaters, then forcing Grindelwald into caution, Dumbledore knew he'd screwed up in a big way.
For the past couple of days, he'd been prowling through every corner of the world within his reach, trying to form a solid image about the boy, anything that might hold some explanation for the recent oddities.
…And the conclusions that he'd landed upon were…disturbing, to say the least.
Harry Potter was no longer the boy that Dumbledore knew him to be. The boy that had graced the halls of Hogwarts with his….not quite gracious—though still welcoming—presence.
That Harry Potter seemed to have been buried underneath this new entity. And this new entity…might just be the power that Voldemort knew not.
It made an incredible amount of sense now. Especially when the true implications hit him.
How could a person change their entire being in a matter of weeks? How could someone boost their magic to an entirely different level in but a single summer? A level that only three beings in the past century had ever managed to touch upon.
'The Horcrux.' A familiar chill spread through Dumbledore as he reiterated his conclusions.
"It has to be." He whispered to himself, looking down at the fading image of Tom Riddle.
After all…this was the true reason why Dumbledore believed him to be the Prophecy child…if he wasn't willing to believe Voldemort's own admission for any reason, that is.
There was a reason Harry could talk to snakes, there was a reason Harry was in Slytherin…
A part of Voldemort's soul lived inside Harry.
Somehow, the night that Tom murdered Lily's parents, a part of his soul broke off and attached itself to little Harry, creating him into a living, breathing Horcrux.
And knowing how suddenly Harry Potter had managed to form a completely new persona, Dumbledore was willing to bet there was a connection here.
'A persona inspired by the piece of soul in his head…'
It was a chilling thought to be sure, painting a picture of unbearable grimness. For if even the saviour of the Wizarding World fell under the grasp of darkness, their world was already doomed.
Dumbledore hoped not, but any more clues would only come when the new Lord Potter deigned to give him a reply.
Only upon personally meeting the boy could the Supreme Mugwump form more solid conclusions.
And he hoped for some answers soon….
For time was shorter for him than anyone realized.
With a shaky wince, Dumbledore removed a thick glowing thread from his mind, dropping it down in the Penseive—finally relieved of all the stress and fear.
At least for tonight.
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Dumbledore was not the only one currently drowning in uncertainty and helplessness as the night moved on.
Even after three days to process the events, the members of Tonks family were still wrecked with despairing shock. Jacob had been a part of their family for much longer than the Potters. To see the boy turning dark with such ease….no. There must be something going on behind their backs.
He must've been Confounded, surely. The Dark Lord must've wanted the Boy-Who-Lived…
But he wasn't The-Boy-Who-Lived. Harry Potter was.
The implications did not bear thinking.
While the senior Tonks were still reeling in from the shock of the events, their daughter was facing an entirely different conundrum.
She sat at her desk, her room closed and a pen held between her fingers. There were three letters sprawling upon the desk; two were from her ex that wanted to make things right again, and the last was her own, addressed to one, Harry Potter; complete but never delivered.
The promise of that day laid crystal clear on her mind, but she didn't know if things were still the same anymore. Well…she was the same, but she doubted the man she'd laid with that day—who now visited her dreams every night—was the same.
The beast who'd shagged her like there was no tomorrow, who pleasured her in ways no one ever has, who wrapped her in arms more tender and secure than anything she'd ever felt…the one whom she'd made the promise to that evening—a promise she fully intended to keep…
He was no longer the same. Now, he was The-Boy-Who-Lived, the twin of the one she considered brother. The most famous person in the world currently, and perhaps the most important.
'…And the one who completely ignored me that night.'
She knew she was being a little stupid of course. His father had just died, his mother unconscious…he had graver things in mind than receiving a blowjob.
A more confident person would've written him a letter, offering her condolences and perhaps asking if they could meet again…
But Nymphadora was not that person. She focused instead on the fact that he was currently the most desirable bachelor in the world. There must be thousands of absolute bombshells lining up to get their lower cheeks clapped by him. What the hell would he need her for? Particularly considering he'd all but confirmed their relationship was nothing but purely physical.
'But you're special.' She tried convincing herself. 'You have something no one else will!'
Yet, the sheer thought that the only reason he might desire her was for her ability sent pangs of anger and helplessness in her.
She'd thought her heart would grow more peaceful once she accepted her faults and desires….but if anything, it seemed to create only more problems for her.
The world was not willing to stay still for Nymphadora Tonks. It was not willing to wait for her heart to calm.
And now, she was back to square one; uncertain and despairing over her future.
While the Tonks family reeled in shock, the Weasleys were somber and quiet.
Loyalty was something natural to them. Something they did not need to ask or expect for, as they simply believed in its existence in all members of their family. And while Jacob may not have been as close to them as his sisters, he was still counted as one of their own.
And the idea that one of their own could betray them as such would never have crossed their minds before…
Before the events of that day. Because that day reminded them exactly how things had been in the last war.
Betrayal was but one aspect of the war, and both the elder Weasleys knew this intimately—having participated in the last war.
If anything, Jacob's betrayal and James' death marked the start of the war for them. They knew things were about to get worse. Betrayals, deaths, panic, and destruction…all will soon follow its wake.
For this was only the start.
The lone light in this darkness came in the form of Harry Potter. They'd seen him fight that night; Molly Weasley from the stadium's top box, and Arthur from up close and personal—so they simply dismissed the Ministry's words. They didn't need them to confirm what their eyes saw.
The Weasleys were one of the few who'd witnessed the complete events of that night. So while they were aware of the dark times ahead, they knew things would be better this time. With Dumbledore at their helm—to guide Harry Potter—they would surely fare much better.
And thus, to keep the despair away, they chose to put their faith in the One-Who-Shall-Conquer.
But while they may have found ways to deal with it, the same could not be said about the children. More specifically; the Potter sisters who they'd come to view as family.
Dorea Potter spent most of her time in the Weasley house—along with her little sister. The Potter Manor was too quiet and different for her right now, the wound too fresh to be alone in a house that made her feel unwanted.
Her new brother was never there for her like her father would've been. At times, she almost felt he didn't want them—Dorea and Rose—in his life. So busy was he with their mother and Bella, that Dorea was beginning to feel like an intruder in her own house.
Dorea wasn't a child to cry at everything. But just a single thought of her father made tears bubble within her eyes. And there was no comfort to be found in her house anymore.
Her mother shied away from any mention of James or Jacob, Bella was always either with Harry or the Ministry, and the one person who seemed stable and strong enough to pour her feelings upon was a stranger. Harry may have been her brother, but he was still a stranger.
A stranger too busy to deal with her. A stranger who most likely did not care about the betrayed rage brewing inside her. A stranger who likely gave not a fuck about her heart being minced into fine pieces.
She truly believed, had she not felt the responsibility for her little sister, had the Weasleys not been so welcoming, she would've done something truly stupid.
She hoped everything would be alright. She hoped their family—or what remained of it—could get together like a family should. Could find comfort in each other in these terrible times…
She hoped. But she didn't believe in it.
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For Harry, the subsequent days after that very memorable night passed in a complicated mess of hasty events.
Just a single night had managed to put the entire world in a state of mass panic and confusion, whilst re-introducing Harry to his days of fame—ending the blessed anonymity that he'd enjoyed for the last couple of months.
Harry couldn't decide what was worse; Voldemort's slow and torturous reveal in the last life, or the sudden and premature disclosure in this one.
At least in his previous life, he and Dumbledore had managed to soften the blow of the revelation. Here, it was like putting a gallon of icy cold water over a bunch of completely ignorant—and unconcerned—crowd.
Sure, he wasn't seen as a liar this time, wasn't held as a pretentious prick, and his year in Hogwarts would no doubt pass in utter bliss compared to the last time.
But on the other hand, he now had to deal with a whole new range of challenges that he simply wasn't ready for—having never experienced it before.
First came the task of comforting a heavily grieving family. A family who'd been complete strangers to him until recently, and it reflected very clearly in his siblings eyes.
Dorea and Rose visibly showed their uncertainty to his presence, tip-toeing around him like he were a wild dementor about to suck out their souls any second. A part of him couldn't help but wonder if they resented him now, for practically replacing their father and brother in a single night. He was the only male remaining in this house after all. Worse yet, he'd barely started living here but was already the Lord of House. That was bound to breed some bitterness.
The fact that they spent most of their time with the Weasleys or Tonks simply echoed his sentiments.
The next challenge came from the potential visits from family friends. The House of Potter enjoyed a very close friendship with a number of powerful families. The ones that Harry did know and recognize were the Weasleys, Tonks, Longbottoms, and Lupins; all of whom had a direct entrance to their fireplace.
The first thing Harry did after becoming the Lord of the House was to completely ward off the fireplace's entrance—with Bella's help and agreement—from unwanted and unwelcome visits. While he was familiar—more than familiar, in some cases—with most of these people, he was in no mood or condition to deal with anyone as of now.
Thankfully, the half-assed apology—asking for their understanding in regards to his grieving mother—was accepted by all of them, and the only contact for the Potter manor with the world at large came through letters and Patronuses.
He suspected involvement of Dorea and Rose—who did not stop their visits on his accord—for the ease of their acceptance.
Though his sisters may not have stopped visiting the families, they followed his condition of being back before sun down without a complaint, simply giving a hesitant nod and not questioning his…request? Order?
He had yet to decide what they took it as.
That was simply the beginning of his problems however. The next came from the fact that apparently—as Bella had warned him—being the Lord of the House came with one too many duties and responsibilities.
The easier ones involved keeping the family business and investments running—which could, fortunately, be delayed for some time—and constantly keep the house Elves busy with new tasks and orders—which barely took a minute of his time.
The harder ones however, involved politely rejecting the Wizengamot's summons, citing 'Family issues which you all must be aware of', and adjusting the House wards to reject all the new waves of fan-mails—though only after scouring through it for anything important—while restricting the access to only those he considered important.
Thankfully, the Potter wards were incredibly powerful and self-reliant, simply needing him to state his will and intentions to clear away the rabble of paparazzis, journalists, and reporters. He first confirmed it working on an Animagus—yeah, specifically bug ones—before finally letting himself trust the Manor's privacy and security.
Of course, it wasn't just work-work-work for the new Lord. There were also some juicy benefits that Harry did not mind one bit. Namely; the access to family Magica.
It was common knowledge that in Magical Britain, the sacred-28 families represented the face of their country's nobility. What wasn't common knowledge is that out of these 28, few families were held in an even greater position, separating them from the rest. These few families all had one thing in common—access to Elemental magic.
Or, as the people in this world liked to call it; Family magic.
The House of Potter was one of those special few families. It first came into being when its founder managed to—pardon the pun—unearth the secrets of the Earth element.
Mastering the deeper elemental mysteries enabled him to carve a juicy piece of Magical Britain's economy for himself. By turning his father's mundane Pottery business into a thriving gallery of art pottery, he created for himself an empire in the trading industry.
A little unimaginative in Harry's eyes, but considering they were currently the richest family in Britain, surpassing the Malfoys by a mile, he found himself unable to complain.
What certainly wasn't unimaginative was his hand-written conclusions on Elemental magic.
'It seems spells are all created by taking inspiration from the elements found in the natural world, making them just a pale imitation of the true might an element can unleash. My conclusion is that the wizards and sorcerers of old gave words to magic. Utilizing these words, they can manipulate the inner magic to a certain degree, changing its properties to replicate an element's effects, and tracing specific runes in the air—wand movements to the less learned—to finally give form to their magic, releasing the completed spell upon the real world. It's ingenious really, but incredibly limiting and pathetically lower in power.'
'The true elemental Magic does not care about all these words and aerial runes. Words give no help here, and you have to manipulate the elements in the air all by resonating it with your inner magic, forming a solid connection between one's magic and the magic in the elements, and controlling it through your emotions and magical control.
'To use elemental Magic, one must master their minds much above the common wizards, not simply their emotions, but also their Will and focus. One must also have enough sensitivity to magic to be able to sense the elements in the air, which is the very first requirement.'
'No, scratch that, it seems I wasn't sensing the elements directly, but the magic within them. Quite obvious, now that I think about it. So magical sensing is required to sense the magic in the elements, which wizards can then manipulate. Truly, my eyes have opened to the true power of the world. Almost makes one wonder….should a true master of elements will it, could he change the world as it is?'
Honestly, Harry would've liked nothing more than to spend all of his time in the library, forgetting the rest of the world as he dove into this subject with all his being.
Unfortunately, he had a whole lot more to take care of...and Bella wasn't letting him be.
And he wasn't willing to ignore her.
In all this whirlwind of activity, Bella was his sole pillar of support. She guided him through the political mess of Magical Britain, helped him answer all those important mails, accepted his request to give the mighty middle finger to Dumbledore and his 'Order'—both of them received an invitation, and both of them sent a rejection—and finally became sort of his liaison with the Minister.
They both knew there was a lot of air to be cleared between them. They both knew there were a lot of secrets to be revealed. They both knew they were avoiding the subject.
And they both understood the reason behind it.
Yet, he knew the time of revelation had to come sooner or later. Knew he will have to either come clean or prepare another dirty lie. And he was simply unwilling to continue the latter anymore. Not with Bella.
He could see it in her eyes; behind the understanding, the conflict and impatience brewed, along with slight desperation and frustration.
On the fourth night since the Black day, just when they were about to retire for bed—he was mightily pleased when she'd shifted to the Manor—he held onto her shoulder, stopping her in place.
Laying the same kiss upon her cheek—he could still remember it, clear as the crystalline water—he stared into her deep violet eyes that widened significantly.
"We will talk, Bella. I promise."
The nod and relieved smile that he received was enough. For the time being.
Of all these events however, the one thing that never failed to disturb him was Lily.
The night of their coupling still laid starkly upon Harry's mind. The dark pleasure, the rising passions, the lustful moans...and the sheer intense fucking.
He remembered it all in the forefront of his mind. Would be difficult to forget really, considering it was one of the longest bouts of debauchery he'd ever engaged in, finally giving his wrung body some rest when the day had gone well into the afternoon.
But it seemed that wasn't the case with his dearest mother.
The moment they'd woken up—late in the evening—Lily acted like the previous night never happened between them. As if their last memory together was that of him saving her from Grindelwald. As if the woman he'd laid with that night was simply his imagination, his lust for the gorgeous redhead shining through...
Yet, she wasn't a good enough actress to convince him. He could observe it in the way she moved around him; always cautious and nervous. He could see it clearly every time he touched her; the slight flinch and the darkening of her cheeks. Hell, he felt it every time they were together; her hurried and unfocused movements around him, her shaky and clammy hands whenever he was close...
No, she couldn't fool him. Yet she kept quiet, not wishing to touch the subject. And not letting him do so either.
And that made Harry just as hesitant to share his secrets as well. How could he broach his past life when his current one was so messed up?
His own personal conflict over their incestuous night was almost negligible. It took but an hour or two of inner monologue to sort through his feels.
Yes, Lily was his biological mother. Yes, their actions were reprehensible in the eyes of the public.
Yet, he found himself not minding that night as much as he would've imagined. How could he? After everything he's been through.
But the bigger reason was simply because he did not consider her his true mother. Harry had seen his real mother, and not once either. First in the mirror of Erised, then in the portrait of the Order, then those mind raping sessions with Snape, where he dug deep to the memory of the night she was killed...
Yes, Harry had seen his mother. And the difference between her and this Lily was like day and night. His true mother was...well, motherly. Pretty yes, but a mother nonetheless.
This Lily was more beautiful than the Fleur of his old world, more fiery than Ginny ever had been...and bustier than any woman he'd ever met or seen in his previous life. She belonged in the no.1 spot of the supermodels list in Witches Weekly—tied with Bella—instead of being a mother of four.
Perhaps these physical differences shouldn't be enough for him to view the two in such different lights...but considering the only thing he knew of his true mother were her looks, second-hand compliments showered on her by others, and the slight warm tingling in his heart, it was enough to completely separate her from the woman he'd first fucked that night.
...And unfortunately, as it would seem, also the last time.
For the woman who'd suddenly taken over her body that night did not pay a visit again, and Harry was almost ready to dismiss that incident and start healing this gaping wound in his and Lily's relationship that has been created...
Or so he'd thought
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