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SIYE Time:8:38 on 28th March 2024
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Death of a Soul
By SparrowTail

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Category: Post-OotP
Characters:All
Genres: Action/Adventure
Warnings: Death, Disturbing Imagery, Mild Sexual Situations, Violence
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 6
Summary: After the encounter with Voldemort in the Ministry of Magic, Harry has found himself having spouts of anger that have been highly irrational, and sometimes even without slightest provocation. Other times he's dealt with stressful situations with his previous grace. Is Harry suffering from a mental disorder due to his recent and long-term sufferings or is there something going on behind the curtains of his mind? Harry returns to Hogwarts and explains this to Dumbledore who has an odd reaction to his predicament.

Meanwhile Voldemort has grown stronger and bolder with his plans and attacks on Muggles and the Ministry.

One thing is clear. After the prophecy Harry finds himself with no choice but to prepare for war with against of the most powerful wizards in the world.
Hitcount: Story Total: 4928; Chapter Total: 1150





Author's Notes:
Thanks to Seekers_Destiny for beta reading!

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“He’s an hour late now, something’s gone wrong dad!” exclaimed Ronald Weasley from the garden of the Burrow in the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole. Mr Weasley was caught with a worried look on his face but he managed a reassuring smile for his distressed son.

“We contacted the ministry half an hour ago son, there’s nothing more we can do,” said Mr Weasley. He didn’t sound very convinced.

“Arthur!” cried Mrs Weasley from the kitchen. “Eddy’s on the Floo!” An everyday muggle would have felt dismayed on behalf of poor Eddy who seemed to have famously caught the flu, and in the summer too! But Mr Weasley knew better, he thought of the fireplace network, and correctly so. He and Ron rushed inside the house to gather the news from Eddy who seemed to hold great importance at this time. He was met with the face of a man with a shark-like appearance in the burning-green flames.

“Arthur,” acknowledged Eddy with a positively insincere smile.

“Any news yet Ed?” asked Mr. Weasley worriedly. Even the Weasley twins sitting at the kitchen table knew better than to point out that the last two words uttered by Mr. Weasley rhymed.

“No Arthur, I just wanted to reassure you that we have our top people working on it. He will be found.” reported Eddy.

“Have they searched all the local hide-outs near Privet Drive?” inquired Mr Weasley.

“Searched all the what? No Arthur, we’re going to inquire tomorrow at his house to see if he hadn’t confused the dates by any chance. You know how boys are.” Said Eddy in a much sweeter tone than before, as if he could hide this utter lack of effort and care by topping it with sugar.

“You’re what?! What have you done so far then? Have you even sent anyone to look for him at all?!” bellowed Mr. Weasley, his eyes widening and his voice raising in an uncharacteristic show of impatience and loss of temper.

“Believe me Arthur, we’re doing everything we can,” persisted Eddy. Mr Weasley thought that the way Eddy said the last few words, he really meant to say “everything we want to” instead.

“You listen to me Ed, if you don’t send aurors searching for him right now, I’ll personally make sure that your time at the ministry becomes a living hell!” As Mr. Weasley’s voice was getting louder by the word, Eddy’s smile was being replaced by a stern look.

“Look Arthur, the ministry’s resources are stretched thin as it is. We don’t have the time to go looking for every boy who missed his portkey by a few hours!” Eddy said with a tone of finality.

“Edward, you personally read the letter we received today. Do you honestly think that it’s just pure coincidence that Harry hasn’t shown up yet or that the Minister’s Junior assistant is simply missing? And what of the ministry escort? Have you heard anything from them either? Surely if the boy was to simply ‘miss his portkey’ the escorts would have sent word?”

“Oh, the carelessness of young men! If only we could be in our prime age again eh?” replied Eddy in his previous false-sweet voice, completely ignoring the last question.

“You foul fish-mouthed raccoon!” hollered Ron. If anything happens to him, I’ll … I’ll …” Eddy’s face disappeared from the fireplace while Ron was left sputtering as he searched for a realistic threat.

He looked at his father with dismay. His dad always had a plan, he must have one this time. Ron was surprised at his own concern. He looked over to the twins who looked like they could care less and were casually sipping butterbeer. He didn’t blame them, after all, abandoning the Weasleys when they needed him the most wasn’t taken cheerfully by most of them. Mrs Weasley, however, was in another state. Her eyes were welled with anxious tears, ready to flow at a moment’s notice as she kept looking at the Weasley family clock with her hands on her chest.

“The ministry has always had it’s own interest as a priority.” Said Mr. Weasley in a grim tone. “But this ... this utter lack of care for the citizens it swears to look after, refusing to help people in need because they may someday prove to be a nuisance for the current government? This I cannot abide by. Believe it or not, during Fudge’s prime the ministry was the epitome of efficiency and things were more or less transparent. It’s all been downhill from then.”

Mr Weasley’s face suddenly grew resolute, as if he had come to a decision he didn’t particularly like. “I’m going to look for him,” said Mr Weasley. “I’ll stop by to take Remus with me. The more the better. Molly, look after the kids if you will and make sure that the charms stay up. I may be a while”.

“I’m coming with you,” said Ron. “You just said the more the better!” he continued as he interrupted his father’s disapproval.

“Arthur look!” exclaimed Mrs Weasley pointing towards the clock. Mr Weasley turned around to look at the clock and sure enough, the hand was moving from ‘mortal peril’ to ‘travelling’. Mr Weasley and Ron looked at each other for a second and then both rushed to the door, their bodies colliding with each other as they both tried to fit through the doorframe simultaneously. After a few seconds of struggle they managed to get through without incident and ran to the edge of the garden. “Any second now, son”. More than a few seconds passed by with the utter silence of the night being punctured by the painful chirps of crickets.

“Molly!” yelled Mr Weasley, “It’s still on ‘Travelling’!” yelled back Mrs Weasley correctly guessing her husband’s question, never taking her eyes off the clock and wincing every time the clock hand quivered - which it seemed to be doing a lot of.

“Something’s wrong with the portkey, or with him,” said Mr. Weasley. “It’s just a small toothbrush. If he’s having trouble grabbing on to it then the portkey is stopping and slipping every time he loses his grip.”

“What if the portkey stops somewhere bad?” Asked Ron, “Like inside a wall or a tree?” he added.

Mr. Weasley didn’t say anything but his look suggested that it wouldn’t be good. Suddenly, he narrowed his eyes and craned his neck forward as if looking for something in the distance. Ron snapped his head in the same direction and saw a dull bluish-purple distortion approaching fast, but stopping and instantly reversing a few meters back now and then. But the all interruptions aside, the portkey was coming, and it was coming fast. “He’s not stopping. Dad, why isn’t he stopping?” Asked Ron. But before Mr Weasley had a chance to reply they were met with a cold splash of water as a man landed flat on his back, wet and shivering, but very much alive.

“Oh thank Merlin!” exclaimed Mr Weasley as he fell to his knees and pulled the boy into his arms. But all he was greeted with was vomit as the shivering man’s stomach recoiled with all that it had been through.

Mr. Weasley, just like everyone else, was also not particularly fond of being retched upon. But this was a sign that his boy’s body was functioning properly at some level. He looked over the boy and saw scratches and minor injuries, but nothing a wave of a wand couldn’t heal. The real problem was the swelling in his chest and possibly the water in his lungs.

The boy screamed in pain as his body began to change. His black messy hair grew red and the scar on his forehead started to fade. He started growing taller which made his clothes fit a little better but it made the injuries, and probably broken ribs worse.

A sudden realization dawned on Mr. Weasley as the boy’s new features started becoming more clear. Holding a mortified expression, he said “Quick Ron, run inside and tell Molly to bring out the healing kit. We need to do something fast before his ribs puncture his lungs.”

“Sorry lad,” said Mr. Weasley as he whipped out his wand, pointed it at his the shivering wet boy and said “petrificus totalus, finite incantatem!” the first spell froze the boy up and the second stopped the effects of the potion. “What did you do that for?! Was it necessary to petrify him?” asked Ron who had been on the receiving end of that spell a few times when he was practicing with the DA.

“Yes lad, the way he was thrashing about he could have damaged a vital organ with a distorted bone. Come on, let’s bring him in, we need to take care of his lungs. I’ll explain on the way.”

Ron bent down to pick up the frozen body of his brother but Mr Weasley interrupted “I know he’s petrified Ron but I think its best that we just use Magic, locomotor corpus!.”

“Of course,” said Ron sheepishly. Not being allowed to perform underage magic was starting to take hold again as with every year and he’d forgotten that simple tasks and chores could be done with magic.

“Polyjuice potion has a reputation of being extremely reliable and works well with almost all charms and curses because it changes the body at a fundamental level with the least amount of magic being left over in the process.” explained Mr. Weasley as the body slowly levitated through the door. “The flip side to this, however, is that the body needs to be functioning properly for it to work. A severely broken bone may not be recognized, or may change disproportionately. Since the fast growing body appears to have several broken bones, the change is frankly alarming. I’ve stopped the damage from getting worse for now but I’ll have to properly inspect him to be sure.” He concluded with a grim expression

They brought him up to the master bedroom where they laid him upon the bed, Mrs Weasley sobbing at her son’s side. Even the twins looked solemn. “Let’s inspect the damage shall we?” said Mr Weasley as he ran his hand over the body. “adiuuatur aquam!” started Mr Weasley with the drying spell as Mrs Weasley opened the blue bags labelled ‘Home Healing Herbs’ and ‘Medicines for Most Minor & Major Maladies’.

---

Percy Weasley awoke with a start. The last thing he remembered was drowning in a lake. He reached out to the right side of the bed instinctively. This time, he found his glasses. As he put them on and the world once again became crystal clear, he looked around to gauge his surroundings. But before he could take in the visuals, his other senses were bombarded with stimuli.

He was home.

He allowed himself a tired half-smile as he took in his old room. There were hints that his childhood belongings had been removed from the room and placed back in again. Little things, like a drawer out of place, or posters switched around.

Immediately, the sadness took over. How could he have been so cold, so lustful of perceived success that he had hurt and trampled over the only people in the world that truly cared about him? In his journey as a cold and calculating person, as a manipulative and scheming bureaucrat looking to climb the ladder, he had given himself over to the service of people who did the same thing for a living. This was a guilt he was sure he’d wake up with for the rest of his life.

But he was home now. He could smell something cooking in the kitchen but he didn’t realize what. He took a deep breath, which he soon realized to be a painful mistake.

His lungs felt like they were tearing apart as they expanded, like a piece of overstretched rubber. His ribs also complained in an agonizing fashion as expansion disrupted their healing process. Then came the coughing. Each heave and expulsion of cough brought with it a new kind of pain in places he’d never felt anything before. He tried to stop the coughing but all he could manage was pathetic yelps interrupted by wheezing.

After what seemed like an eternity of pain, the door barged open and his face was cupped in soft and warm hands as someone tried to make him drink a cold, tasteless liquid too thick to be water.

He sputtered most of it out but some managed to go down his throat and started boiling instantly at his body temperature. The fumes of the boiling liquid made their way down to his wind-pipe aided by his heaves and soothed his hurting lungs, finally dulling the pain.

Gasping for sustained airflow and eyes still watering, he looked around and saw the outline of his mother sitting at his bedside. His pain somewhat dulled, he leapt forward and hugged her. Her familiar scent and touch bringing back a thousand lost childhood memories of innocence and joy.

For the first time since almost half a decade, Percy Weasley wept.

---

“How’s he doing?” Asked Mr Weasley as his wife came down the stairs.

“Better, I wish we could have given him the healing potions sooner.” replied Mrs Weasley.

Mr Weasley gave her and understanding look but said “You know we couldn’t have. If we were to regrow any tissue or bones while the polyjuice was wearing off it could have been a disaster.”

“I know,” sighed Mrs Weasley “it’s just hard seeing him in such pain.” she managed to say as tears welled in her motherly eyes.

“I know dear, but he’s safe now. And he’s home. By the looks of that tray, he ate all his breakfast!”

Mrs Weasley smiled a genuine smile, still tearful but very much past the sleepless worry. It was a running joke in the Weasley family that the day Percy finished his food would be the day that Dumbledore would shave his beard. Of course, this joke hadn’t been made in over a year and it seemed that Dumbledore was up for a shaving.

Her expression changed back to a sad wavering smile. “He was telling the truth, Arthur.” said Mrs Weasley.

“I know dear,” replied Mr Weasley wearing an expression similar to his wife’s.

“He was telling the truth and we didn’t believe him.” pressed on Mrs Weasley. “We didn’t believe our own son and he almost died!” She choked on the last word.

“Molly…” Mr Weasley said in a consoling tone as he moved himself closer to comfort his wife. He held her hand and continued “We couldn’t have done anything. We discussed several times at the last meeting remember? I’m sorry to say this but our son wasn’t the most reliable informant after his deliberate attempts to bring down Dumbledore last year. The stakes were too high, we had to move Harry.”

This did little to console Mrs Weasley as she forced back her tears, but with a strong resolution and force of will, put on a brave face and stood up. “Well, time to wake up the rest of the sleepy heads. And Arthur, never again.” she said looking straight at her husband.
“Never again” agreed Mr Weasley. It was time to explain some things to the children.

---

Percy put on his glasses and slowly moved himself to sit upright in his bed. He looked at the place on the wall where his clock used to be but it wasn’t there anymore. He scanned the room and located it on the wall behind his bed. That was where he used to have it when he first got his room. He’d moved it at once when he realized that he had to crane his neck around every morning when he got up, as he craned his neck this time. It was nearly 6 ‘o'clock in the morning. Wonderful, he’d slept for an entire day after yesterday’s breakfast but was only slightly hungry. He suspected that his mother had slipped him some sleeping draught in his pumpkin juice and then kept him nourished using strengthening potions. Bless her. He took a deep breath, very slowly and carefully this time. He could feel a dull ache in his lungs when they were at full capacity. He felt around his ribs which also seemed to be mended.

Just to make sure that he wasn’t on an anaesthetic potion, he removed his wand from the side-drawer and muttered “iniuria lumos aperio!” while slanting his wand towards himself.

A blurry orb of blue appeared and he ran his wand up and down his body. The orb remained blue except when he scanned his chest. That’s where it turned slightly yellow. Good, he was mostly healed. As long as the orb didn’t go bright orange he was good. Red meant dead.

Nox!” he muttered and the light went out. He stood up on his bed and reached out for the clock on the wall but stopped half-way and smiled sheepishly at himself. He wasn’t nine years old anymore. “Wingardium Leviosa!” he thought silently and with a swish and flick of his wand, moved the clock to the left wall. Perfect. “adhaeresco!” he finished with a sticking charm.

It was still too early for anyone to be up, especially since it was a Saturday during summer. He had developed the habit of taking a shower before going to breakfast. At first, he’d liked it because if there were to be any company at the breakfast table they weren’t dressed and ready, it made them feel inappropriate, unclean, and more open to manipulation. Now, however, he just couldn’t stand being not fresh and ready at the table.

As he emerged from the shower, clean and ready to begin the day, his mind wandered to the company he’d be expecting downstairs. Butterflies danced around in his stomach as he thought of his brothers and Ginny. They’d forgive him. They were Weasleys after all. But he knew that this forgiveness would come at a price. A different kind of price for each of the six siblings.

It was still 7 o’ clock. He moved to his study table and sat down on the chair. He examined the desk closely and smiled. How many hours had he spent here religiously working at some homework or academic project? Too many to count. He could see the ink stains on the table where he’d fallen asleep on the desk. Silently chuckling at these vivid memories, he took out a piece of parchment from the drawer, dipped his quill in ink and began his letter to Professor Dumbledore.
It was nearly 11 o'clock now and no one had barged into his room yet. Either no one wanted to disturb him, or no one wanted anything to do with him. The family clock downstairs probably told everyone that he was home and not in any immediate danger so they felt no rush to check on him or wanted to give him his time. He was thankful for it since he had no idea how he’d confront his family.

He thought about the events that occurred two days ago. He wasn’t surprised that aurors hadn’t shown up when he’d been attacked. His escorts had been quickly overwhelmed by the attack but he was prepared. Or so he had thought. In any case, all his tedious studying during school and ministry training had paid off. He knew he was a more skilled wizard that people thought him to be when they looked at him. Although he had sustained heavy damage, he had managed to stun his last opponents and had tried apparating away to a safe place, but all he’d managed was to apparate to a few streets down in London. Far enough to escape another wave of attack, but close enough for plan B: taking the portkey. In his hasty attempt at the plan, he had forgotten how long it would take for him to escape with the evidence of the attack and he’d paid a painful price for it. But he was sure that by now his father had found his miniaturized omnioculars and had reviewed the evidence.

He smiled; the ministry was in trouble now. Dumbledore and Harry were the two main reasons for Fudge’s downfall and the change in the Ministry. The government knew that Harry couldn’t be trusted as a blind ally and that his unusual sense of morality made him unpredictable. He was also quite certain that the ministry had read his letter to his family before he took the polyjuice potion and had impersonated Harry to save the boy from a cruel fate.

Percy wasn’t a fool, he knew that once the ministry had read his letter there would be no more help for him either. The old ministry he knew was gone. The one it had been replaced by was several measures worse. Fudge had been a good minister for peace-time. But a war was coming. He realized that he had a new-found respect for his parents, and for the previous generations. During the last war the ministry and the order had fought together against a common enemy. Even as the ministry had fallen from within due to it’s sheer size, it had fought back valiantly and with an honest moral compass.

Or perhaps history was too kind to the old ministry. It’s an old and true idea that history’s written by the victors and in the end, the ministry had won because of one young infant. The very person that they now wished dead.

Percy realized that he was growing grim about the mouth and that he was rapidly falling prey to pessimism and poor morale. There was no putting it off now, he had to see his family and learn of the latest developments.

He squared his shoulders, opened the door, and began the slow march downstairs.
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