Search:

SIYE Time:1:45 on 29th March 2024
SIYE Login: no


Decades - the Tribulations
By gryffins_door

- Text Size +

Category: Alternate Universe, Post-DH/AB, Deathly Hallows Challenge (2009-1)
Characters:All
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Fluff, Humor
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG
Reviews: 11
Summary: (SUPERSEDED - go read the completed version: Decades)


"Dumbledore thought you were the better man to become Master of Death, didn’t he, Potter? Trying to play God, are you boy?"


I could only laugh, "That’s really funny, minister, because I rather thought I was trying to prevent some other fool playing God."


Harry used his foreknowledge of Book 7 to quickly and quietly defeat Tom Riddle, but he wasn't quite prepared for the truth about his new circumstances. A pre-7th year AU.
Hitcount: Story Total: 9314; Chapter Total: 3311





Author's Notes:
(edit: 28 April, 2018) Here is the DH challenge story, which has a few odd bits that may not make sense because they refer to events that are now fully developed in the now completed version of this story, Decades. I recommend reading that instead.




ChapterPrinter
StoryPrinter


It had been just over a week since I awakened to this new reality — what would normally be considered the most realistic dream imaginable or even the delusions of madness — that I had come to accept with surprising ease. I just couldn’t get over the feeling that everything was about to change. Again.

If I was dropped into the role of Harry Potter as some sort of test, I hoped I was passing. I became of age in the Wizarding world today, and the British Ministry of Magic was no longer on the verge of collapse. Saturday night I had escorted Lord Voldemort into his “next great adventure,” which I suspected would be significantly less than great. My plan to remain anonymous in his defeat didn’t work quite so well; one little mistake cost me a hearing before the Wizengamot, from which I managed to emerge unscathed less than an hour ago.

If only the Wizarding press was as easy to deal with as the Wizengamot.

The ministry had released news that “He Who Must Not Be Named” was now “He Who Turned Up Dead” in time for the Sunday morning editions, but only hinted at some sort of covert operation, which was fine with me. As expected, many wild theories were tossed about, several with my name attached. Monday I had moved out of Privet Drive permanently and into the Burrow, and that afternoon I went to Diagon Alley, ostensibly for some shopping, but a little media manipulation was my primary goal.

Sure enough, I was soon spotted by a couple of reporters who in turn drew a dozen more. Some of their questions were pure nonsense (who cares what shampoo I use? Honestly…) but most were fairly direct. I reiterated how glad I was that the bastard was finally gone, thanking the ministry, blah, blah, without really saying much. I certainly couldn’t tell them the truth — I would never have a day’s peace again.

One reporter asked how I could be certain that he was really gone this time, and I just couldn’t help myself. “Because my scar has changed,” I told him, lifting my fringe to reveal the new look. Of course, a flash went off and that was the leading news for the next two days. It was going to happen sooner or later; best to be done with it, I suppose, although the real story will have to remain a closely kept secret. No one would believe it anyway.

For now, the Minister of Magic requested a meeting with me, Ron and Hermione, but we had a more pressing problem with the media. Hermione had joined Ron and me in Mr. Weasley’s office after my Wizengamot hearing.

“Where did you find her, Ron?”

“Mad-Eye pointed her out to me early in the hearing; he spotted the bug on the side rail and figured out who she was.” Ron was beaming as he held up the jar. “And by the time Harry made that diversion with Thicknesse — which was absolutely brilliant, by the way — I was in place and scooped her up with no one the wiser.”

“That would explain Mad-Eye’s giggling fit,” I said thoughtfully. “Good thing you had my invisibility cloak.”

Hermione took the jar and emptied it onto the floor. “I can’t believe she’d try something like this again. Wands out… now!” She uttered the spell to force the beetle animagus back to human form.

Rita Skeeter stood before us, looking reasonably cowed but indignant. “Why, Harry Potter, what a surprise! And your little missy, too, and this is the fickle friend that snubbed you, right?”

“As usual, Rita,” I replied in an even tone, “your facts are hardly that. I thought we had an understanding.”

“Well,” she simpered, “you can hardly blame me for going after the biggest scoop of the year. Can’t you just see it — ‘Boy Who Lived Saves World, All in a Day’s Work!’ And my editors will pay a king’s ransom for the details of just how you pulled it off, Harry! I just need the right photo to go with…”

“Another thing that’s not going to happen. I told you to stop bugging me, which you haven’t done, and then you have the nerve to collect that insidious rumor rehash about Professor Dumbledore into what you call a biography. You know, Rita, you’re a very talented writer. It’s too bad that you never learned how to be a proper reporter.”

“I’ll have you know…”

“I don’t want to hear it, Rita, and we’re about to be late for our appointment with the minister. Hermione, you know what to do.”

“Oh, yes! I’ve never actually done a memory charm before,” she smiled as she aimed her wand at Rita’s horrified face, “but I know the theory well enough…

Obliviate.”

* * *

“Ah, Harry Potter,” Rufus Scrimgeour said, shaking my hand, “so good of you to collect your friends on such short notice. I know you have a busy day planned, so I don’t want to keep you any longer than absolutely necessary, but we have much to discuss, yes, much to discuss. Please, sit down.”

The minister motioned us to a table. He was being suspiciously friendly, meaning he wanted something. I knew why we were here — at least I thought I did, and the false pleasantries seemed unnecessary. I glanced over at Kingsley Shacklebolt, who I had asked to make some excuse to attend. Hopefully his calming presence would keep tempers under control. There were two others in the office that I recognized as visitors at my hearing, but they were sitting in a corner apparently waiting for our meeting to conclude. Scrimgeour ignored them.

He clapped me on the shoulder. “Fine job this morning, son. You made quite an impression, I must say, and I have no doubt that Dumbledore would be extremely proud, had he been here to see you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Speaking of your old headmaster, you may be surprised to know that the three of you were all mentioned in his will. Most of his estate he left to Hogwarts, of course, only a few personal bequests, and you three the only students out of thousands he taught over the years. Of course, I suspect that he intended these items to be needed during your work to defeat Tom Riddle, so I won’t dawdle.”

I purposefully hadn’t told Ron or Hermione much about what to expect, and Ron seemed to be curious but wary, while Hermione kept glancing nervously at the two strangers in the corner.

Scrimgeour grabbed a roll of parchment from his desk along with a drawstring pouch. Reading the anticipated bequests from Dumbledore’s will, he handed Ron the Deluminator and Hermione the ancient book that was an original Tales of Beedle the Bard. “Those are quite valuable items, both of you, so I would take great care with them.”

He turned to me, his expression darkening. “Now, Potter, we both know what he left you, don’t we? And we know that Gryffindor’s sword is not yours for the taking, but you’ve already borrowed it, haven’t you? And we both know what’s inside this Snitch, don’t we?”

My hand had risen automatically, and Scrimgeour placed the little winged ball from my very first Quidditch match in my palm, forcing my fingers to grasp it. I could only stare blankly, dumbfounded. How…?

“And you are no doubt wondering how I know all this? Why, the same way you discovered it, Potter, by reading this most interesting story…”

From out of nowhere he produced a huge, hand-bound volume containing hundreds of pages of parchment and dropped it onto the table, deliberately creating a loud thwack that made us all jump. Stamped in fancy gold leaf on the leather cover was simply a large number seven.

“No…” I breathed.

“Yes, Potter, open it.”

I obeyed, reluctantly, and turned to the title page and read, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

“Harry?” squeaked Hermione, reading over my shoulder.

My blood felt like ice as I quickly turned through the pages. It was all there — the escape, the wedding, the frustrating months of endless searching for Horcruxes — and the story of the Hallows.

Beside Hermione, Ron looked up, bewildered. “Is this what I think it is?”

I shook my head in disbelief. “It’s what happens… this summer until next May… in the other timeline.”

“Yes,” Scrimgeour crowed, “fascinating stuff, how you three manage to elude Tom, breaking all sorts of laws in the process, using Unforgivables, breaking into the Ministry of Magic and Gringotts…”

“We break into the Wizarding bank?” Ron said, incredulous.

“Yeah, we convince a rogue goblin to help us sneak in to get the cup. Unfortunately, we’re discovered and we make quite a scene, busting out on the back of a dragon…”

“A stolen dragon, Potter!” Scrimgeour was enjoying this far too much. Even Kingsley appeared to be smirking slightly.

“Wicked…” whispered Ron, as Hermione could only gape in astonishment — scandalized no doubt.

“But wouldn’t you agree, Minister,” I challenged, “that desperate times require desperate measures? Besides, none of this will ever happen now; it’s all fiction, a fairy tale.”

“Ah, you’re right, Potter, except now we know that the Deathly Hallows are no fairy tale!”

“The Deathly Hallows?” questioned Hermione. “Harry, what is he talking about?”

I sighed heavily. “Pick up your book of Beedle the Bard, Hermione, and read ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers.’”

“Hey, I know that story!” Ron exclaimed.

“I know you do, Ron, just listen while she reads it.”

And Hermione read the tale of the three brothers who cheated Death by building a bridge to cross a river, were each granted a gift and tried to outsmart him — one by demanding an all-powerful wand, the second by getting a stone that could bring someone back from the dead, and the third — wisely asking only to hide from Death — received Death’s own Cloak of Invisibility. The first brother died violently, the second went mad, and only the third was successful in leading a long life, and when he was ready to meet Death, it was on his own terms, as an equal.

She finished and looked up with a frown. “This is just a children’s object lesson, right?”

“Apparently there’s more to it than that,” I muttered. “The three brothers were named Peverell and really existed, and they each had a powerful magical item that fit the story’s description. According to legend, whoever united the three would become Master of Death. You’ve probably heard of the Elder Wand as the Deathstick or Wand of Destiny; its ownership is frequently transferred through violent duels that are recorded throughout history. It was Grindelwald’s until Dumbledore defeated him, and Dumbledore used it from then on. He was buried with it. The Resurrection Stone, as it became known, became part of the Gaunt family ring; they were probably descended from the second brother.”

“That ring that cursed Dumbledore?”

“That’s the one, and now it supposedly resides inside my Snitch.” I held it up as she regarded it with skepticism.

“The third brother was an ancestor of mine. His cloak was handed down from father to son, eventually to my dad…”

“Your cloak belonged to Death himself?” Ron exclaimed in horror.

“Dumbledore thought that the presence of Death personified may have been an embellishment of the story, but the artifacts are definitely real.”

“Dumbledore told you of these?” asked Hermione.

“Not personally, no, but he does in here,” I said, indicating the book.

“And Dumbledore thought you were the better man to become Master of Death, didn’t he, Potter?” Scrimgeour was dangerously quiet now. “Saturday night, you disarmed Draco Malfoy, didn’t you, Potter? Made sure you were master of the Elder Wand, knowing you already had the cloak and were going to receive the stone, right? Well, Potter?”

I shrugged. “You’ve got it all figured out, I see.”

“Yes, this book has been most enlightening, Potter.”

“I… where… How did you get this?” I finally demanded.

“My guests would be better able to answer that. Gentlemen?”

The two strangers stood and stepped forward. One had a full head of white hair and a goatee; his slightly pear-shaped body spoke of many years at a desk. The other was tall and slim with sandy hair, probably no more than thirty. He appeared ill at ease, his eyes downcast.

“This is Donald Terwilliger, an Unspeakable from our Department of Mysteries…”

The older man held out his hand and shook hands with each of us. “Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, so pleased to meet you. Mr. Potter, it is so very good to see you again, and congratulations on your success.”

“Erm… have we met before?”

He glanced around nervously. “You… no one has told you?”

Statements like that always meant trouble. “Told me what, exactly, Mr. Terwilliger?”

“Oh, dear, I wasn’t expecting… Minister Scrimgeour?”

Scrimgeour didn’t seem to notice our exchange. “And this is his American counterpart — a sleep agent in their Department of Magic…”

The younger man finally looked up. “That’s undercover agent…” he muttered wryly.

“Yes, whatever — John Wilson has been most helpful in this entire operation, and made it possible for us to recover these important historic magical artifacts.”

Something about John Wilson tugged at the back of my brain, but I couldn’t manage to bring it forward. I took the proffered hand and gave him an appraising look.

“So… Agent Wilson, how many others know about what’s in that book? Or the earlier books?”

“As I am working on a joint operation between our two magical departments, I’ve given a preliminary report to a select committee from each. They have been given strict warnings about Horcrux information and are taking it very seriously. A task force is beginning a worldwide search for all published references, most of which only define it without specifics. Works that provide any sort of instruction will be immediately confiscated and pertinent parts destroyed. It will take some time, of course…”

“Of course… right. Sounds like you have that covered.” I hadn’t thought beyond keeping the current situation secret. In time, all of this would become common knowledge when the books were published in the Muggle world. All the more reason to act quickly.

“What about the Hallows? Who knows that they have been located?”

He averted his eyes once again. “Those same committees received a separate report. They saw little need for secrecy, and the reports were forwarded to several magical research organizations to gauge the level of interest. Your Royal Academy of Magic has been particularly persistent about wanting to study them.”

“Well, they can’t. These things should have been left to fade into the fog of legend. Didn’t you listen to the Bard? The wand and the stone are both the products of vanity and folly. They are too dangerous and too great a temptation. If I had my way, they would disappear permanently. And the cloak is a family heirloom, therefore private property and no business of others.”

“Getting a little possessive, are you, Potter?” Scrimgeour cackled. “Feeling a little of that temptation, just as Dumbledore did? Trying to play God, are you boy?”

At this I had to laugh. “That’s really funny Minister, because I rather thought I was trying to prevent some other fool playing God. And if you really read those seven books, you would know enough not to ask that question.”

“He hasn’t had the chance just yet,” interjected the Unspeakable. “We started our transcription at the seventh book, of course, wanting to know what was coming, and we’re working backwards through the set. The volume from your third year should be finished this afternoon, at which time we will start on the second year volume.”

“But,” I asked him, “how did you manage it? This book won’t be published for another ten years, and it describes things that haven’t happened yet in this timeline or its own.”

“Pensieve memories, Harry,” clarified Agent Wilson. “I read each volume out loud in that timeline, then when my memories jumped back the decade, I simply dropped that memory into a pensieve and a dictation quill automatically records it onto parchment as the memory recites. A little time-consuming, but it gets the job done.”

That timeline… memories jumped the decade…

“Hold on! Are you telling me you were there? The other timeline?”

“Oh… yes, of course, but… I suppose there’s no easy way except to just say it. Harry, or Jimmy as it were, I was Wiley.”

If my jaw could stretch to the floor, it would have. In my other life, Wiley Johnson was my next door neighbor as youths and a friendly thorn in my side for years, a favor I returned whenever I could.

“Right — if you’re Wiley, who told us to join the army?”

He laughed. “That was your dad. Said you didn’t have the discipline to be a stock car driver if you couldn’t avoid the trees on the side of the road. Instead you became a helicopter pilot, went to war and came home with medals across your chest.”

“And my bum in a wheelchair. It’s really you, isn’t it? You couldn’t resist adding that last bit?”

“Helicopters?” “Medals?” Hermione and Ron had yet to hear any of my other life.

John — or Wiley — spoke before I could stop him. “Oh, yeah, he was something else in the air.”

I shrugged. “What can I say? I like to fly… but how did you get here? How did I get here?”

“Donald, you need to give him the letter.”

“Ah, yes, I knew I was forgetting something!”

A sealed parchment was placed in my hands. A familiar script flowed across:

To Harry Potter upon his successful return

I nervously broke the seal and began to read.

My dear Harry
The fact that you are reading this means that my fears of leaving this world prior to the completion of our mission were well founded. A friend of mine in the Department of Mysteries has access to that commodity that I, through my own foolishness, was unable to give you. I asked him that should I predecease our adversary, he would use the means at his disposal to make time available to you, that you would learn what I was unable to teach. As I understand it, it is proxy magic that cannot harm you personally should it fail, but is extremely limited in its flexibility — exactly ten years, no more, no less. I trust that your detour was as enjoyable as it was enlightening. I have faith in you, Harry, and encourage you to have faith in yourself, and the power within. Godspeed.

Yours always,
A.D.

I took a moment to breathe before addressing the Unspeakable. “And just what is ‘proxy magic,’ or is that privileged information?”

He scratched his goatee. “Yes, it is a tightly controlled secret for obvious reasons, but I can tell you that by proxy it means that your physical self does not make the trip through time. In this case, a substitute was established with its own memory set, and although it carried none of your personal memory, it was essentially you, and returned to you at the expiration of the decade, rejoining your existing memory. I believe Albus thought it a perfect fail-safe, as it is very low risk, and its success here is unquestionable.”

Unquestionable indeed. More like unbelievable. Just when I was coming to grips with something Dumbledore had done, I find that there was yet another huge thing he had kept from me. I had to spend a decade ignorant of magic with my hateful relatives, then again as a young adult. I wished someone would confer with me when I am being used for the greater good.

* * *

“And then hero-boy tells the entire Wizengamot that pure-bloods have no special talent, they’re just victims of Tom Riddle’s big prank!”

I could do with less “hero” references, but my birthday guests found Tonks’ version of the hearing much more entertaining than mine, which had been a rather brief, “I got off…”

“Old Moldywarts a prankster? You-Know-Who would’ve thought?” said Fred (I think), before attacking his third slice of cake.

“We could have hired him as a consultant for those backfiring wands,” replied the other, probably George.

“Or nasty stains that last forever.”

“Or a new line of snake-related products, in case any other Slytherins develop a sense of humor.”

They looked at each other for a moment.

“Nah, never happen… definite money loser, that one…”

The birthday dinner was a relaxed affair with the Weasleys and Delacours along with a few Order members. And a bloke who enjoyed embarrassing me with stories about my other life as Harry/not Harry.

“We wouldn’t have won our district senior year if it hadn’t been for Harry catching the football so well.”

“Dean Thomas said you weren’t supposed to catch the ball…”

“No, Ron, this is American football, an entirely different game. It’s a misnomer because only occasionally do you actually kick the ball, mostly it’s carried or thrown. It’s a little like Quidditch without flying in that the ball is about the same as a Quaffle but more pointed, and the players all act like human Bludgers, since part of the strategy is to knock each other down. And when a fifteen to eighteen stone linebacker running full tilt slams into you head-first with that helmet, it feels just like a Bludger, too.”

“Sounds like fun!” the twins agreed. “Where do we sign up?”

But eventually they wanted to know about my war experience, and if I got those medals then, how come I was trying to avoid getting an Order of Merlin, or even that I had any involvement in Voldemort’s demise.

I hated discussions like this, but I had to say something. “I signed up to be a professional soldier because it seemed like the thing to do, defend your country and all that, and that’s heroic stuff to folks back home who like the safety and freedom that security allows. I only got those medals because I got hurt doing my job, not because I wanted them. It’s not that I wasn’t appreciative, but there were lots of heroes still fighting, doing their job, that didn’t get those medals.

“But here we’ve got people doing heroic things all the time — Aurors, healers, and the like, all doing it because it’s part of their job. Ron, Hermione, how many times did we save each other during first year alone? Yeah, it was good to get house points, but that sure wasn’t why we did it.

“Everyone seems to think I’m something special because of what my mum did, and I can never thank her for that, except to live as best I can, that it was worth it somehow. But she didn’t do it for any award, either. Don’t you guys think that if the roles were reversed, that your mum wouldn’t give her life for you? You know she would! You think I have to be a really powerful wizard to beat Tom, don’t you? Well, I thought I did, and after Dumbledore couldn’t beat him, how in bloody hell was I supposed to? The only thing that kept me from going totally nutters was the fact that I trusted Dumbledore to find a way.

“I discovered it wasn’t about fighting more skillfully with more powerful spells. David beat Goliath with a single stone and a lot of faith, and because no one thought he could. That usually means a higher power is involved. It was like that for me — the power of a mother’s love, a healthy dose of elf magic, and the faith to not turn tail — that’s how little things can overcome powerful things. But I only did it because it was my lot, my obligation to the fates, and I just wanted to get it over with. But I didn’t do it alone, and Dobby won’t take any awards, so I don’t want one either.”

Everyone looked at me as if I had bubotuber pus covering my face. Trust me, I know the look. Is there something wrong with just wanting to be a normal guy?

I cheered up in time for the wedding, which I was able to attend without a disguise. I danced with Ginny, kept Viktor Krum away from Ron and Mr. Lovegood, caused Aunt Muriel to throw a wobbly, and danced with Ginny. All in all, an excellent time.

After everything had wound slowly down and the guests were finally gone, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and I were still sitting at one of the tables discussing what I should do about the Royal Academy of Magic and the Deathly Hallows. I couldn’t put them off forever.

“I’m not sure if I can even get to the stone, anyway. It’s locked inside the Snitch, and I wasn’t able to open it until I thought I was about to die. That’s what the inscription meant.”

“What inscription?”

“It shows when I touch the Snitch to my mouth. Remember, this is the one I nearly swallowed?”

I reached into the mokeskin pouch that Hagrid gave me and withdrew the slowly fluttering golden ball, pressing it to my lips. An inscription appeared, but it was not the one I was expecting.

“It’s different,” I gasped. “What did you do Dumbledore?” I held it up so the light caught it, and I read out loud. “I unwind and parte at a word, To where mourning ne’er is heard. He’s given me yet another infuriating riddle…”

We floated several theories about, not really getting anywhere, until Ginny, blankly staring far away, whispered, “I know what it means.”

* * *

My decision on the Hallows was made the next day. Professor McGonagall requested that Hermione and I pay her a visit at Hogwarts to discuss a re-vamped Muggle Studies program, since Tom had murdered Professor Burbage earlier that summer. When we arrived, we were quite surprised that Muggle Studies was actually the second item on her agenda, the first being the appointment of Head Girl and Boy. The choice of Hermione wasn’t the surprise, it was me. But she assured me that I had earned the respect of the faculty and the students, blah, blah, but I had this brief notion that I was the new poster boy for Hogwarts.

We were almost finished when one of my proximity alarms went off, and we rushed down to the grounds to discover my old friend Wiley attempting to tunnel under Dumbledore’s tomb.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” he spluttered, covered in earth, a result of my rude summoning charm, “but my superiors…”

“Are not my superiors, Wiley, or John, or whoever you are. I thought I knew you, but you were just there to keep an eye on me, weren’t you?”

“Harry, it’s not like that…”

“Oh, tell it to the giant squid.”

He only screamed on the way up from my banishing spell. He appeared to be attempting to vanish a few extra items before splashing into the middle of the lake.

“Mr. Potter, I hope you have not put him in mortal danger.”

“No, professor, he swam competitively, so he should be fine. One thing is certain, that we cannot allow this sort of thing to happen again. Hermione, could you ask Professor Flitwick if he knows any charms that will summon a wand through solid stone?” I stared at the tomb as I spoke.

“Oh, of course! If he doesn’t, I’m sure we can look something up!” She trotted off toward the entrance stairs.

“Professor, while we’re alone, there is another matter I’ve been meaning to discuss with you…”

* * *

The day had finally arrived. Over a week of preparations had worn me out, and I was at a loss to think of any better protections, anything undone. Hopefully, my paranoia would not be tested.

I took a sheet of parchment and wrote the instructions for the first step. I rolled it and tied it to Hedwig’s outstretched leg. “Okay, girl, take this straight to Mr. Weasley at the ministry. He’ll know what to do.” I had hinted I might need him so he would be in his office. The beautiful owl nipped my finger and flew out the window into the cool morning air.

“Ready to head out, everyone?”

“Yes, we just need to know where to go.”

I held out another slip of parchment with their destination and showed it to them.

“We’re Apparating to the front of Gringotts? That’s it?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

I’m glad they trusted me, for they asked no more questions. The twins, Remus, Bill, Ron and Hermione went by themselves while I took Ginny side-along.

“Ugh, I hope we don’t have to do that a lot…” she mumbled upon arrival in Diagon Alley.

“Sorry about that; it’s not my favorite method of travel either. It’s better when you do it yourself.”

She wrinkled her nose at me and we joined the others and went into the Wizarding bank. The goblins gave us a careful screening at the door, then Griphook led us to a private conference room.

“Will you require more than one cart to reach the vaults, Mr. Potter?”

“Thank you, Griphook, but we aren’t traveling to the vaults,” I replied. “We’re just waiting on our guests.”

I got several curious looks from my friends at that. Only Ginny knew our final destination.

It was another ten minutes before the minister led Unspeakable Terwilliger and the two academy researchers into the room, followed by Tonks, Kingsley and Mad-Eye Moody.

“Is this really necessary, Potter?” asked Scrimgeour. “These people are extremely trustworthy. I know Gringotts is renowned for its security, but you could have done this just as easily at the ministry.”

It was natural to assume that the inspection would be here, because it was no secret that I had acquired three high security vaults in separate parts of the Wizarding bank’s subterranean network. What absolutely no one knew was that of those three items in the three vaults, only the Snitch was real, but the little ball contained nothing inside it.

“I apologize for the cloak and dagger, Minister, but I am taking no chances. ‘Constant vigilance’ you know.” I winked at Moody, who nodded his approval. “We aren’t staying here; I just wanted goblin security to have a go at you. We will be travelling by secure portkey to another site for the review. Just so you know, all three artifacts have alarms and distinct tracking charms on them, and any attempt at theft will be treated with immediate and overwhelming response. No two items will be onsite at any time, and they cannot be accessed by anyone but me, either now or in future. You will have thirty minutes to study each artifact, ten minutes for each researcher within a magically shielded area, after which time it will be removed and secured before the next artifact is presented. Only one researcher will be allowed inside the shielded area at a time. You will be in the presence of other rare magical artifacts, but you are not there to study them. With one exception, those artifacts might be available for study at some later time, but that is out of my control. Are there any questions?”

There were none. The researchers had a nervous excitement that seemed appropriate, while the minister had donned a permanent frown.

“Right, then, everyone present your equipment for inspection, including wands.”

I let Mad-Eye, Bill, Remus and Kingsley handle this part, and I was able to step back and observe. The minister had a recording device that was disallowed. Mad-Eye confiscated some instrument of one of the researchers, saying it could be used to overcome other enchantments, not that he would have used it that way, but “constant vigilance.”

When all was determined satisfactory, I thanked Griphook while pulling out the rope that was my open portkey. I touched my wand to it, thought about where I needed to go, and whispered “Portus.” It immediately glowed blue.

“Five seconds everyone. Please grab hold.”

There was the familiar tug behind the navel, and we were hurtling uncontrollably through space. Moments later we landed in the middle of a large circular office that most of our group immediately recognized.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter, Minister, everyone, thank you for dropping by.” said Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

In response to the glances, I merely said, “Only place safer than Gringotts.” Those who remembered Philosopher’s Stone chuckled.

Introductions were made all around, then I led the entire troupe on a trek to the seventh floor and the portrait of Barnabas and the Dancing Trolls. I crossed the area three times slowly, making very particular demands, until a door appeared in the wall.

“I suppose the Room of Requirement constitutes one of those rare magical artifacts, Mr. Potter?”

I grinned. “You catch on very quickly, Mr. Terwilliger.”

Inside, the room was completely white without any ornamentation and no real distinction where floor met wall or even the existence of a ceiling. A soft white glow came from nowhere and everywhere. A plain pedestal table with one simple chair sat in the middle of the space. Padded benches were about twenty feet away on both sides. My security team took places all around the perimeter as I directed the researchers to one bench, the minister and headmaster to the other.

I closed the door and sealed it.

“Here’s how this works: the shield will be created around the table. I will stand on one side and allow each of you three, in turn, to come and sit to examine the artifact. After you are finished, you will join the minister and headmistress on their bench. Everything clear?”

When all was prepared, I called for my first assistant.

“Kreacher!”

T he elf appeared with a resounding crack and bowed low. Only house elves employed at Hogwarts would be able to come and go until I released control of the magical room. I cast a privacy charm and whispered in his ear, for not even he knew where he was to go until that moment. He departed, and I created the shield around the table. A few moments later, Kreacher returned bearing a flat box of cardboard. I opened it and withdrew the Cloak of Invisibility of my father and his father before.

“Take note; this is the one and only demonstration of any of the artifacts that I will perform. I will only be visible to Alastor Moody with his magical eye.”

I donned the cloak as I had many times since first year and disappeared from view. I strolled across the room before removing it and entering the shielded area. I laid the cloak and the table and one by one, called the researchers to inspect it, letting them hold the thin shimmering fabric in their hands, cast their allowed diagnostic spells, and generally admire it for their allotted time. When the third researcher had moved to the opposite bench, I called Kreacher back to return it to its hiding place. Hopefully Aunt Petunia would not be too suspicious of the sounds in her attic.

I regarded the cloak as the least dangerous of the three Hallows, so keeping it hidden in the Muggle world posed no great concern. The wand and the stone required more serious protections.

After placing the researchers back on their original bench, I called for Dobby and whispered a set of instructions to him, just as I had the other elf. He Disapparated and was back a minute later, standing next to a large object under a dusty cloth. I pulled off the cloth to reveal a large ornate mirror.

“As I mentioned earlier, these other artifacts are not for study today. If you want to have a go at the Mirror of Erised, you will have to contact the headmistress later. Now, I just hope Dumbledore’s charm still works…”

For just as he had hidden the Philosopher’s Stone, the Elder Wand had been placed in the mirror, only able to be removed by someone who did not intend to use it. Of course, that assumed that anyone could find the room it occupied after I vanished its only door. No silly trap doors or oversize magical chess sets required.

I stood in front of the mirror and waved at the image of mum and dad, who stepped aside and let another redhead appear beside me. She gave me a kiss and then picked up a red-haired baby boy from somewhere and kissed him as well. We made quite a nice picture, I thought. Unfortunately, I had people waiting.

The mirror me then reached into his robes and pulled out a wand. I repeated his actions and found the Elder Wand in my hand. I returned to the table, all eyes focused on the carved stick in my hand, the most notorious wand in history.

I gave them all their time with the wand, and they were more curious about its properties, no doubt wondering if its power could be duplicated somehow. However, they were not Ollivander, and I doubt even he could recreate it exactly. After all, the wand chooses the wizard.

When they had all finished, I held up the wand, briefly running it through my fingers one last time. And before I could change my mind or anyone could say anything against it, I took it forcefully in both hands and with a great effort snapped it completely in two.

I expected a lot of noisy protestations, shouts of indignation, but everyone was too stunned to say a word. After all, what was done could not be undone, and I think many of them had expected it.

“Eliminating the temptation keeps things simpler all around, wouldn’t you say?”

No one responded.

“Bill, I need you to take this back to the tomb and return it to Dumbledore, and then do your worst on it. We don’t want anyone else disturbing him.” I looked to Ginny, and she gave a nod.

“I’ll give him some company, if you don’t mind, Harry.”

No, I didn’t mind — I had given her the choice if she wanted to leave us at this point or not. “That will be fine, Ginny, we’ll see you on the grounds later.”

I unsealed the room and let them leave.

“Right, for the third artifact we will be travelling to a different location. You may find the journey a little awkward, but I hope you will find it worth the trouble.”

I let everyone take their time returning to the corridor, then led them on a circuitous route down several stairs and other corridors, until we arrived at a girls’ bathroom. Hermione and Ron had figured out our destination as soon as we reached the second floor.

From my robes I withdrew a flat stone basin — Dumbledore’s old pensieve — and placed it on the floor of the bathroom in front of the lavatories. I touched the tip of my wand to my temple, concentrated for a moment, then pulled a silvery gossamer strand and let it drip like honey into the basin. I stirred the plasma-like substance before prodding it. A ghostly figure of a young boy — in this very bathroom — rose from the basin and emitted an odd hissing sound, which caused the sink to slide back and reveal a large hole in the floor. The puzzled expressions were universal this time.

“Most of you know that the Chamber of Secrets is only accessible by speaking Parseltogue, usually an inherited talent. I am probably unique in yet another sense, that the talent was given to me through the part of Tom Riddle left in my scar, which is now thankfully gone. The ability to speak the language of snakes disappeared as well, so the only way I can open the chamber now is to use my memory of doing it in my second year. Since I don’t plan on ever coming back, and there are no other known living Parselmouths, you will be the last to see this dark legacy of Salazar Slytherin. Consider it a bonus treat.”

Most of them had mixed emotions, eager to see the infamous space, but not without some nervous looks at that dark hole.

“Potter, are you sure this is safe?”

“You should be fine if you follow instructions and keep your wands to yourselves. Take special care not to disturb any of the stuff I’ve installed. Those of you with brooms will immediately follow me; the rest of you will be escorted by Professor Flitwick.”

I produced a small version of my Firebolt and enlarged it to its normal size, then climbed on and lowered myself down the slimy pipe that was the only passage to the subterranean access tunnel. I could hear the high squeaky voice of Flitwick gathering a group onto his conjured levitating platform at the top of the pipe.

“Second floor, Ladies lounge. Step lightly and mind the gap. Suck it in, Terwilliger! Keep your elbows in during descent. Going Down!”

We eventually made our way down the pipe and along the tunnel, gathering at the doors to the chamber itself, adorned with their lifelike carvings of intertwined snakes. I had the pensieve on the floor.

“It was Ginny who figured out the clue of the Snitch. The snakes unwind at the word ‘open’ and the wall slides apart. The other line refers to the fact that roosters crow in the morning, a sound that would never be heard here in the lair of the basilisk. We are here because the Snitch could only be opened in the chamber.”

“Dumbledore always was an odd duck, but that’s just…”

“Brilliant, Mr. Terwilliger? It’s frightening sometimes, how he just seemed to know.”

I repeated the process to create the pale figure of the boy I once was, hissing at the door, and just as before, the snakes unwound and the wall divided, revealing the greenish gloom beyond. I waved my wand and the huge room was filled with a white light from several dozen bright globes floating in the space. Most of them were concentrated about one-quarter of the way along its length, where a table and chair flanked by benches matched the arrangement used in the Room of Requirement.

“Welcome to Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets, also known as Salazar’s House of Horrors or the Temple of Terror. If penance is your fancy, you should slither the length of the hall and kiss the feet of the Most Arrogant One. However, in the interest of time, I suggest we gather over here.”

I received a few pointed looks for my ever-present cheek — I am James Potter’s son after all — but everyone arranged themselves accordingly and I conjured the shield around the table. Instead of calling for one of the elves, this time I strolled to one of the colossal stone pillars, climbed onto my broom, and floated up to the head of the snake carving. I waved my wand at it a few times and removed what appeared at first to be its left eye.

“Hiding in plain sight, as it were,” I joked, returning to the table with the Resurrection Stone in hand. “This artifact has an additional charm placed on it. Rotate it two full turns and you will find yourself under the petrification spell. Don’t want any accidental crossing-overs, do we? I thought not.”

The researchers were given their chance to look it over one by one. How much they were able to learn, I had no idea, but this one item troubled me most of all. When all was complete, I pointed my wand at the innocent-looking little rock at the center of the table and stripped it of all my spellwork. I uttered one last time, and it was gone.

“Potter, what did you just do?” the almost resigned tone indicated that they suspected the worst, and they were right.

“Vanished it, of course. The mere existence of the stone is an affront to the natural order of life. The Questers of the Hallows will lament, but that is a small price to pay knowing that we have eliminated any future threat posed by the gifts of the first two brothers. We are finished with our immediate task, but as we are here for the last time, you may have half an hour to look around. Again, do not touch any of my ‘decoration,’ or it may be the last thing you do. Headmistress, you may call the governors down for a peek if they desire it.”

McGonagall’s patronus was sent up to where Flitwick held the members of Hogwarts Board of Governors, waiting for the opportunity to personally see the fabled chamber while they had the chance.

Unspeakable Terwilliger had wandered to my side. “Mr. Potter, this destruction of historic artifacts is unconscionable. I will file a formal protest.”

“Do what you must, as I do what I must. I prefer the term ‘proactive.’ I understand that’s a difficult concept for most wizards to grasp. As for this,” I said waving my hand, “the headmistress convinced the governors that, given its history, it was a prudent course of action.”

Fred and George listened in with obvious glee. After the Unspeakable wandered away muttering to himself, they edged over for a quiet consultation of their own.

“What about the basilisk carcass, Harry? Shame to leave it behind; it’s got to be worth a considerable pile of galleons, even in its present condition.”

“Good point, guys. I do have a considerable investment here, and I wouldn’t mind some reimbursement. Say we split 50-50? Whatever you guys can shrink within the time limit…”

If one really needed something difficult accomplished, one only had to get the Weasley twins interested, and they did get it done in time, if only just. I had to shoo everyone out before I could perform the final preparations. It had taken considerable effort and discrete inquiry to find an expert in setting up this kind of thing in a magical area, not to mention the three solid days we practically lived down here doing the work. It had better be a success.

I was the last up the pipe and told Flitwick to seal it with everything he had and then some. I nodded to the ghost known as Moaning Myrtle, hovering over her favorite stall.

“Myrtle, please give the merpeople their fifteen-minute warning. And thanks for helping out.”

“Just as long as you come to see me more often, Harry.”

“I’ll try, Myrtle, I really will.”

“Of course you’ll be in the head boy’s rooms, so…”

“Just go, Myrtle, we can talk later!” Hopefully much, much later…

* * *

On the grounds between the castle and the lake a small crowd had gathered, just as I had requested. All the Hogwarts staff, the governors, the researchers and the minister, the Order members that had helped me all along the way, the entire Weasley family, all stood expectantly as I set the final charms on the Reflexor Crystal, a larger one than I used before. I activated it and a three dimensional image of the Chamber of Secrets appeared in the air, large enough so that everyone could clearly see.

I fired a Muggle flare, which blazed with an intense light as it floated over the lake. I also sounded a loud horn. “One minute warning!” I called out with a sonorous charm.

I addressed the assembly. “Salazar Slytherin left behind a great legacy at Hogwarts, being one of its founders, but part of that legacy was a seed of poison - the bigotry that lingers on even today. Our actions today are not an antidote to that poison, but will at least be a reminder that attitudes need to change, and this may be a catalyst. Only time will tell. How fitting that end comes courtesy of a few thousand pounds of Muggle magic.”

Minister Scrimgeour still had his doubts. “Are you sure this will even work, Potter?”

“The technology is a century and a half old, and has been considerably refined over that time. Properly used, it’s very effective.”

I set a cube-shaped device on the ground in front of Ginny. “You deserve the honors, as much as anyone.”

She gave me a grateful smile. “What do I need to do?”

“When I release this safety catch and raise the handle, you just give it a good push back down, and then we watch what happens.” I could have used a simple button, but this method was much more satisfying with the deliberate motion it required.

It was just about time. I checked the Marauder’s Map once more, just to be sure everyone was clear. “Everyone, I am going to yell out ‘Fire in the hole!’ and I need you to yell it back to me. It’s a Muggle thing, okay?”

They had become almost giddy with anticipation, so they were game for a little silliness.

“Fire in the Hole!”

“FIRE IN THE HOLE!”

I nodded to Ginny and she shoved down the plunger with all her weight behind it. All eyes focused on the glowing image hanging before us.

The magical transmission reached the sequencers installed far below, and they in turn began the carefully planned signals with precision timing. A series of small flashes and puffs of smoke ran the length of the approach tunnel, causing cave-ins that would permanently separate the Chamber from the bottom of the sealed access pipe, protecting the castle from what was about to follow. After a few seconds had passed, flashes appeared in the lofty Chamber itself, beginning at Slytherin’s statue, continuing in quick succession down the rows of giant pillars, severing each at its top. A sequence quickly followed along each base, shearing off huge wedges of stone, and a series at the pillar midpoints, blasting each pillar into halves that collapsed into the center of the hall. By this time, the great statue had fractured and fallen listlessly to the floor as well.

Up on the surface, we onlookers were being shaken by the thundering and trembling earth, but the sequencers continued with their targeted detonations. We watched as they set off an array of charges in each wall, starting at the bottom and running the length, and all four sides slowly descended into the growing heap of shattered rock. Finally, the great charges buried upward, far above the ceiling, were set off in a massive release of destructive force that ruptured any remaining resistance from the lake above, and it all came down in a crushing avalanche of water, earth and broken stone, obliterating any hint of the Chamber’s former existence. The shock wave hit moments later, nearly knocking us down, but not preventing us from seeing the boiling water as air escaped the new pit of rubble at the floor of the lake. The Chamber of Secrets had given up its dying gasp.

It seemed to last for ages, but I knew the timing required only half a minute. It took much longer for any of us to regain a voice, even after the echoes around the lake faded into silence.

“That was awesome!”

“Simply incredible…”

“I can’t believe Muggles could do something like that!”

“We need to check the castle for damage — cracks, broken windows, anything knocked about, you know…”

It may have been a little overkill, but explosive demolition is not something to do half-way; you would be considerably worse off than when you started, and I didn’t want anyone following behind to clean up my mess.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Ginny and I sat by the pond at the Burrow, contemplating, talking, enjoying each other’s company.

“Does it help, knowing it’s gone, that he’ s gone?” I asked with concern.

She gazed thoughtfully, tossing a pebble into the water and watching the ripples expand across the quiet surface. “Yeah, I think it does. Though I’m not sure if it will ever be totally gone, up here, you know.” She tapped her temple.

I had one arm across her shoulders and pulled her close. “That’s to be expected, love. Some will even say that if we totally forget the horrors of our past, we’ll be more likely to repeat them.”

“Whoever says that probably didn’t experience the horror firsthand, but yeah, I can see that. What about you? Any regrets?”

I snorted. “Only that these things weren’t dealt with long ago.”

“But you weren’t tempted like those before…”

“Erm… Ginny… I should probably tell you…”

She turned to me when I hesitated. “What? It’s okay, love.”

I looked at her soft face and sparkling brown eyes, reassuring me that everything would indeed be okay, as long as it was in her power to make it so.

“When I got to Hogwarts and I freed the stone, I had intended to hide it in the Mirror of Erised. It seemed poetic, since Dumbledore hid the Philosopher’s Stone the same way. But when I stood there, holding it, my parents appeared as they always have, but it was different, like they were real. We talked about things, how proud they were, how thankful I was, but they also told me things I didn’t know. I believe the stone and the mirror somehow combined the magic to make it real, Ginny, and I ached so bad to be with them, to be able to actually touch them, but I could only feel the glass when I tried.”

Ginny’s eyes glistened and she gave my hand a comforting squeeze.

“I knew that if I didn’t get rid of the stone permanently, I would always be tempted to go to it, to look for them again. Dumbledore warned me when I first saw the mirror; he knew a lot about temptation, how even the strongest of us can fall to it. I decided that if I was the master of Death, it was up to me to return those gifts that were sought in selfish greed and arrogance. If I didn’t do it, no one else ever could.”

“Not playing God?” she teased.

“Nope. At least I don’t think so. I think God put me here so that I could do it, as his instrument.”

“I like that explanation. Makes sense.”

We kissed chastely and held each other for awhile.

“So two decades from now… two boys off to Hogwarts, a girl with two years to go…”

“Trelawney said I would have twelve kids.”

“But what did Dumbledore say about prophecies? They mean nothing unless we act — something like that?”

“Yeah, and we know that this timeline has already changed…”

“So our future is yet to be determined, Potter?”

“I reckon it will be what we make it.”

“Then let’s make it good.”

And that sounded wonderful to me.

Reviews 11
ChapterPrinter
StoryPrinter




../back
‘! Go To Top ‘!

Sink Into Your Eyes is hosted by Grey Media Internet Services. HARRY POTTER, characters, names and related characters are trademarks of Warner Bros. TM & © 2001-2006. Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions on this site are those made by the owners. All stories(fanfiction) are owned by the author and are subject to copyright law under transformative use. Authors on this site take no compensation for their works. This site © 2003-2006 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Special thanks to: Aredhel, Kaz, Michelle, and Jeco for all the hard work on SIYE 1.0 and to Marta for the wonderful artwork.
Featured Artwork © 2003-2006 by Yethro.
Design and code © 2006 by SteveD3(AdminQ)
Additional coding © 2008 by melkior and Bear