บท 344: Chapter 344: The Land Between
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I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.
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Unknown place, Unknown Time
With a final surge, Harry was pulled through the shimmering rift, vanishing into the swirling storm of colours beyond, leaving behind a prison devoid of dementors, the chained corpse of a Dark Lord impaled in the heart with a black spear, and corpses all over the maximum-security wing.
It was impossible to describe his journey home. Reality itself was unravelling around Harry, slipping through his grasp as he struggled to make sense of the chaos. He had a plan—though calling it a plan was a stretch. Really, it was a gamble. He was using his own magical signature as an anchor, trying to trace it back to its origin. But it was guesswork at best. If he was being honest, he didn't fully understand the bizarre magical event that had hurled him into another universe in the first place, not after just a few months of work. Oh, he was going to study it mercilessly when he got home if he got home. As for now, he was doing his best to replicate the event to guide him back. It was reckless, insane even. But if the only other choice is a slow and painful death in another universe, then it was the best he could do.
The universe twisted around him, bending in ways that defied logic like the very fabric of space was being torn apart. Blinding colours, some too intense to look at, others muted and dull, streaked past him in a disorienting blur. Shapes morphed into otherworldly forms that seemed wrong as if they shouldn't exist. It wasn't just strange; it was disturbing like his mind was rejecting everything it tried to process. He closed his eyes, deciding to let his Arcane Hearing fully guide him. It was oddly comforting that even as the laws of space and time were rendered useless in the void between worlds, his single most valuable skill, the ability to analyse the workings of magic, of the universe itself, as songs, made sense.
He followed his soul's song, trying to see anywhere it could resonate. He was using it as a magnet, as it tried to return to its source, to its home. He didn't know if he was moving. Space and Time were meaningless in this cursed place, and yet he felt the pull get closer and closer, he heard his very soul sing in a way that it hadn't had ever since he found himself in another universe.
His presence in the void was an anomaly and it showed as his protections were slowly eroded by the chaos around them. Harry gripped the Elder Wand tighter, the ancient wood scorching his palm as he used it to power through them, enhancing his own magical circuits, which burned with agony. The pain was unbearable like every nerve in his body was set ablaze. He felt like he was being torn apart from the inside, but he couldn't stop. He had to focus. Home. He clung to the thought of Daphne, of everything that had brought him this far. That was his anchor, the only thing holding him to any semblance of reality.
Then, just as he thought he would lose himself to the madness, the chaos around him began to fade. The storm of colours dulled, the lights dimming into softer, muted shades. The wild motion slowed, becoming a drifting haze, like a dream fading on the edge of waking. The strain on his body lifted, the searing pain fading into a dull numbness. The furious buzzing of the wand diminished until it was just a faint hum. Everything...quieted.
Harry finally opened his eyes and noticed that the kaleidoscope of colour had disappeared, giving way to an expanse of cold, lifeless grey. Not the comforting grey of a foggy morning, but an empty, oppressive void that stretched out endlessly in every direction. No sound, no shapes—just a bleak sea of mist and ash. It felt like the universe had simply stopped. Even time itself seemed frozen.
Harry floated there, suspended in this strange nothingness, the weight of his journey pressing down on him. As the silence dragged on, an unsettling thought crept into his mind. This wasn't home. This wasn't anywhere. No warmth, no life, no sky, no ground—just endless grey. For the first time in his life, Harry opened up his Arcane Hearing and found utter and complete silence.
He sighed, the sound oddly echoing in the stillness. "Brilliant," he muttered, glancing down at the wand in his hand. "Absolutely brilliant."
Suddenly, the ground beneath him solidified. He was no longer floating but standing on something unnaturally flat and cold. A voice echoed from the void, soft but ancient, as though worn down by centuries of time. "That you are, Peverell... that you are."
Harry whipped around, eyes darting in every direction. "Who's there? Where am I?" he demanded, trying to keep his voice steady.
The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, a low chuckle trailing behind it. "You are everywhere, and nowhere. You are at the beginning, the end, and the middle, all at once."
Harry rolled his eyes, frustration bubbling up. "Vague riddles? Really? Could you just—not?"
There was a pause, and then the voice chuckled again, this time sounding amused. "I suppose you're right. It's been an eternity since I've spoken to anyone. Sometimes I forget mortals prefer things more... straightforward. Very well. You are in the borders of your material plane, the shield that protects your realm, and I am its protector. Did you truly think that you could just come through when the Light and the Dark failed to do so for aeons?"
A figure materialized from the mist. It wore a black hood, that seemed to swallow the very little light that was in this place. It was thin, almost bony, really. The air grew colder, just a bit, and Harry felt this intuitive sixth sense, one that warned him of danger against his person. Even to his Arcane Hearing, he only heard hundreds of small whispers and a coldness that he knew no fire could ever stave.
There was only one thing he could think of that could make him feel like this, "Are you Death?"
The figure tilted its head in amusement more than anything, "Death? Did you seriously think that Death would ever come to meet with you? You're just a single soul, that belongs on a single planet, that's in a single realm of existence, that's in a single universe. You've seen a fragment of the multiverse, just a cup of water to the eternal ocean of existence and possibilities. Sure, you navigated it quite well, even if you bumbled around like a child. Still, you're pretty young to have achieved that. Hmm… Not bad for the Lord of Space and Time, I suppose. Nevertheless, Death is a primordial being, the very concept of the end given form. You're still some uppity mortal. It'll be like you trying to see a bacteria. To be fair, there were legends about the first one having actually met the entity, but that doesn't matter, not anymore."
"So, who are you then?" he asked.
The black cloak morphed away and revealed a face that made Harry's blood turn cold. He stared at a familiar face, black hair and striking green eyes that glowed with power. The resemblance was unsettling. They looked alike, almost too alike, except this man was older, his face sharper, a bit more angular, in a way.
Harry tensed, "It's not polite to wear someone else's face."
The figure raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I'm not. This is what I looked like before I ascended to this... place. I might have had a bit more muscle on me, but brute strength means nothing in this place anyway. Still, you should be more respectful, considering I'm your ancestor."
"Ancestor?" Harry frowned. "You called me Peverell, but Ignotus had grey eyes, not green."
The man looked thoughtful for a moment. "Ignotus? Now, that's a name that I haven't heard in a while. I was around your age when I first met him, just as you are meeting me. Back then, I still thought I could escape my fate."
Harry's mind raced. "Who are you, then?"
The man's expression shifted, becoming more serious. "I was once known as Mordred Pendragon, though that name holds little meaning now. I'm simply this realm's guardian."
Harry blinked, caught off guard. "Mordred? As in Arthur's son? The knight who betrayed him at Camlann?"
Mordred's face darkened. "The same. Though the tales don't tell the whole truth. The Battle of Camlann wasn't about a throne or betrayal. It was a war between Light and Dark—between Merlin and Morgana. And I was caught in the middle."
"The battle that destroyed Camelot," Harry murmured.
Mordred nodded. "It was more than that. It was a fight for the fate of the world. My mother tried to break open the prison of the World Serpent, and Merlin refused to stop her, even at Arthur's behest, too busy trying to bind the fey to his will as he prepared for what he thought was the start of Ragnarök. I worked with the Lady of the Lake to trap them both. She fought for her people's freedom, and I hoped to delay the end of times. In the end, I made a choice. I let Arthur kill me as I killed him. My victory was prophesized, you see, and yet I sacrificed it, sacrificed everything, to power the fey's ritual. I wasn't supposed to have died, you know. I was prophesized to rule over Camelot. My mother thought me to be nothing more than he pawn, to be her general in the coming war. She never expected me to defy her, and my sacrifice broke one of the greatest prophecies in history. It was enough for the Fey to seal both Champions' connection to the Light and Dark. They fey killed them in their weakened form, empowered by my sacrifice, but not before they were banished from this material plane. We sacrificed much to kill the Champions of Light and Dark, to wipe the slate clean and stave off Ragnarök. I paid the price with my very life. That should have been it, but fate… fate had other plans."
"And now you're here," Harry said, understanding dawning on him.
Mordred's gaze softened. "Now I'm here. And so are you. We share the same curse, Harry—the curse of heroes bound to Ragnarök."
Harry's grip on his wand tightened. "I'm no hero."
Mordred smiled knowingly. "I said the exact same thing. But destiny doesn't care for what we think we are. The path you're on... it's the same as mine. You're following in my footsteps, whether you like it or not."
Harry protested, "And how is that?"
"You're fighting the Champions of Light and Dark as I did. You hold the Peverell crest as I did, you gathered most of the Deathly Hallows, as I did, as Ignotus Peverell did, as his predecessor did. We were all given a choice. We were to bow to fate's wishes, to let Ragnarök occur, purging most of humanity. We all refused, and we all ended up here, in this place, protecting the barrier the gods created against the Light and Dark, waiting for the next hero of Ragnarök to take our place, or the cycle to end."
"I refuse," Harry replied with a dry tone.
"Oh, my dear. Fate doesn't take no for an answer, especially since you killed the World Serpent. Ragnarök will happen. The prophecy is now in effect. My predecessors as I just circumvented it, made sure it didn't begin. For you to escape it, you'll need to break it, and I don't think there's anything in the material world that can do that. I don't think your planet will survive from the backlash alone either."
Harry prepared to say anything, only for a raspy voice to speak up from all around him,
"When the serpent falls and silence reigns,
A war of shadows and light shall start again.
The sky to fire, the world to rend,
A legacy reborn as the gods descend.
From death's embrace and broken vow,
A child shall rise, marked by the raven's brow.
Master of ruins, of ashes and dust,
In their hands, a future we fear to trust.
Death and Fate, now intertwined,
A tapestry of existence, misaligned.
Only ash will remain, the final scene,
A silent world, cold and unforgivingly serene.
This prophecy, in whispers cold,
Of Ragnarök, cruel and bold.
Not an end, but a cleansing blow,
For from the ashes, a truer world may grow.
A necessary purge, the past swept clean,
So the new may rise, untainted by what has been."
The last Potter couldn't help but shiver as he heard it, "What the fuck was that?"
"The full prophecy is Ragnarök. The fates wish to cleanse the world, to start over. We all refused. And now it's your turn. You'll be faced with the same choice. I have to say I'm not envying your position."
Harry shook his head, his voice low but firm. "No. I'm not going to play along with some prophecy, and I won't let myself be dragged into a war that promises nothing but ruin. Dumbledore and Grindelwald can go fuck themselves. It's not my problem."
Mordred's smile was sympathetic but weary, as though he had heard it all before. "I said the same. We all did. But this isn't just a war, Harry. It's a cycle, a curse that binds us all. You think you can refuse, that you can walk away. But the moment you activated your crest your fate had already been predetermined. The fact that you killed the World Serpent doesn't really help."
Harry's fingers tightened around the Elder Wand, his mind racing. "There has to be another way. I won't let the world burn because of some ancient script written by gods that don't care what happens to us."
Mordred stepped closer, his presence imposing yet almost comforting in its familiarity. "There's always a choice, Harry, but none of them are easy. You either break the cycle or let it consume you. Refuse, and you'll end up here, like me, watching the world teeter on the edge, powerless to stop it. Or you'll let Ragnarök happen, and the world will burn. My song is ending, Peverell, whether the story continues or not will be up to you."
Harry felt the weight pressing down on him again. He wanted to scream out his frustration at the world but he restrained himself, "I'm not like you," Harry muttered, half to himself. "I don't have to follow your path."
Mordred's eyes softened with a deep sadness. "No, you don't. But every path you take will always lead to this place. There's no running from it. You'll always have to make that choice eventually. I personally, don't really care all that much, to be honest. Either way, my watch will end, and I'll be at peace in Death's hands."
Harry stood there in the grey void, the oppressive silence around him somehow louder than the prophecy that had just been recited. The world seemed smaller and darker, as the weight of inevitability pressed harder. He wanted to fight it, to scream against the injustice of it all. But for the first time in a long time, he felt truly powerless.
And yet, in that powerlessness, something stirred. Wasn't he also powerless when he stood up to Dumbledore as a first year? Wasn't he also powerless when he was imprisoned in the Gardens of Avalon? He would figure a way out like he always did. He must.
A spark of defiance, burned deep within him, "Do you think I'll just bow to the whims of fate?"
Mordred simply shrugged, "I don't care. I did my job. I told you your destiny, as Ignotus told me mine. Do with it what you will and eventually, you'll learn, as I did, about the futility of circumventing fate. Go forth, oh lord of Space and Time. I am curious as to how you'll fare against it. At least this promises to be entertaining."
Harry barely had any time to think about those worlds until he fell down some weird hole, and everything went white. In a blink of an eye, he found himself in a familiar series of mountains, surrounded by snow. He was in Durmstrang. He could feel it, the sense of belonging, the familiarity of the world. He was back home.
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AN: I'll be honest here, I'm not sure about this chapter. It's kinda hard to get back to the original story after the previous arc. I thought about making Mordred speak in old English, a bit like in Elden Ring, but I decided against it. Still, since this is the beginning of a new arc, I'd rather it lands well, so I don't mind rewriting it if you don't like it. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
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If you want to support me check out my patréon at https://www.patréon.com/athassprkr
I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions of them so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.
Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.
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