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Harry Potter and the Thousand Year Night | ||||
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Category: Post-HBP Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger Genres: Tragedy Warnings: Death, Violence, Dark Fiction Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 2 Summary: Once upon a time Harry Potter was a very nice cute little boy, but at one time so was Attila the Hun. Now historians call both of them the Scourge of God. They do this because they understand monsters are made not born and because they agree with Friedrich Nietzsche who said "He who fights with monsters must take care lest he thereby become a monster, for if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gazes back into you." Hitcount: Story Total: 3514 |
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Once upon a time Harry Potter was a very nice cute little boy, but at one time so was Attila the Hun. Now historians call both of them the Scourge of God because monsters are made, not born. ACT 1 “You look very handsome Chief,” Ginny said as she kissed her husband on the cheek. “Thanks,” Harry said adjusting his tie, “but I feel like a penguin. I haven’t been in a tuxedo since our wedding and that was… What? Ten or fifteen years ago?” “Oh you,” Ginny laughed giving him a little punch on the arm, “It’s only been three.” “Is that all? Are you sure?” “Hey you’d better be nice to me,” Ginny said in mock seriousness, “my husband happens to be an extraordinarily powerful wizard who has been appointed to the position of Chief Auror at the youngest age in history.” “I don’t think that’s entirely true,” said Harry, “I believe Uric the Oddball beat your husband by a few months.” “Well, if you insist on being pedantic,” said Ginny with impatience, “the youngest since 422BC.” “Ok you win,” Harry said with a grin, “I guess I’ll have to be nice to you then because I don’t want him after me.” “Smart move, my husband never gives up.” “Where Mr. Snuggles?” interrupted a tiny tearful voice. “What’s the matter Sport?” Harry said as he picked up his son, “Wow you’re really getting big! I don’t think I’ll be strong enough to pick you up much longer, next time you’ll have to pick me up!” James Potter giggled. “Have you lost Mr. Snuggles again? Don’t worry buddy, we’ll find him. Now where can he be? Let’s see, he’s not here and he’s not over there… But there he is!” Harry handed the Teddy Bear to James kissed him on the forehead and put him down. James ran to the living room where he was trying to build a house for his bear out of blocks. “I still don’t understand...” Harry began. “That’s OK; confusion is always the most honest response,” Ginny interrupted. “Wise guy!” Harry said with an exasperated smile, “I just thought it was customary for the bride and groom to arrive at the ceremony in a car of their own.” “Ron and Hermione wanted it that way,” Ginny said, “they wanted us to be with them. Fudge provided the car.” “Fudge?” said Harry with a frown, “I’ve got to tell you he’s not one of my favorite people” “He’s not one of my favorites either,” Ginny said, “but he knows he made some big mistakes and he’s trying to make amends. Even though he’s not the Minister of Magic anymore he still has influence. He pulled some strings so the ceremony could happen in Westminster Abbey just like he did for our wedding.” “Isn’t that breaking the rules?” Harry asked. “Oh well ah,” Ginny hedged, “It’s not really breaking the rules, it’s just testing their elasticity.” Harry laughed, “You’re getting more like Fred and George every day, but you could do worse.” “Hmm,” Ginny said with a sheepish look, “if you told me when we were in school that my goofy brothers would end up as the two richest wizards in the world I’d have said you were crazy. Of course we must be living in a crazy world to make that much money off a chain of joke shops. There’s an article about them in today’s Gringotts Street Journal and it looks like they’re in trouble again, listen to this:” A spokesman for the Ministry stated ‘the Weasley brothers have engaged in predatory pricing and other unfair monopolistic practices. Every jokester feels that having a good supply of Canary Creams and Ton Tongue Toffees is absolutely essential, so in it must be admitted brilliant marketing move, the Weasley brothers started to gave away Whoopee Cushions and Plastic Vomit with each purchase. Independent producers like International Whoopee Cushion and Asia Pacific Plastic Vomit just could not compete with a tie in with fundamental products that every prankster is virtually forced to buy. Their main competitor, Zonkos joke shop, tried to counter with Peanut Parrots and Big Tongue Gum but the Weasley brothers successfully sued Zonkos for patent infringement and Zonkos was forced to file for bankruptcy, leaving the brothers virtually the only remaining force in this very important sector of our economy.’ Fred Weasley issued a statement ‘From the beginning all my brother and I have tried to do is make a funny product that a jokester can afford. We think it's a shame the Ministry doesn’t understand this but we look forward to proving it in a court of law.’ Harry laughed, “That is exactly the sort of fight your brothers love, I pity the poor Ministry bureaucrat who has to prosecute the case, they’ll mop the floor with him. I’ll bet you ten to one they end up making even more money out of this from the publicity and…, that sounds like a car, it must be them.” Harry had to smile when he saw a turquoise car pull up. “Is that what I think it is?” It sure is,” said Ron, “Fudge told me I could have any I wanted and I couldn’t think of a better car to take Hermione and me to our wedding than the old Ford Anglia. We’re not supposed to do any flying over London this time though.” “But it’s beautiful,” said Harry in amazement, “it’s in showroom condition.” “Well it needed a bit of bodywork,” said Ron, “but for all it’s done for us it deserved a makeover.” “We’re going to return it to the Forbidden Forest after the wedding,” Hermione said, “I think it was quite happy there.” She looked stunning in her white bridal gown and Harry had only seen her hair so sleek and shiny once before at the Yule Ball. Harry smiled and thought of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. “Come on and get in,” Hermione said as she turned to Ginny and James who had just appeared on the sidewalk, “it’s really rather roomy.” As they all climbed in Harry recognized the driver as a maintenance man at the ministry, not that this particular car really needed a driver but appearances must be upheld when you’re going into central London. “Hello Ed,” Harry said. “Good morning Chief,” Ed replied. A bead of sweat was rolling down Ed’s neck although the day was cool. “This car really brings back memories,” Harry said happily. “It sure does,” Ron said beaming at them all. “Want Mr. Snuggles!” James demanded with tears in his eyes. “Oh dear,” said Ginny, “does anybody see it on the floor? No? He must have left it in the house. We’d better get it or he’ll make a fuss all during the ceremony.” “I’ll get it Chief,” Ed said immediately. “No thanks Ed,” Harry said, “It’ll be faster if I get it, I know what it looks like.” “If it’s not in the living room it’ll be in James’s room,” Ginny said, “probably in his bed.” “I’ll just be a second,” Harry said as he got out of the car. Harry found his son’s favorite toy almost immediately in the living room and was going back when he was puzzled to see Ed walking rapidly away from the car. “Ed, where’re you going?” he called out. Ed stopped for an instant and looked Harry in the eye, and then he broke into a run. Harry looked back at the car with his wife, son, and two best friends still in it, and suddenly he understood. Harry ran toward the car screaming, “GET OUT OF THE CAR! QUICK! GET OUT OF THE C…” Harry felt rather than heard the explosion. He was knocked over backward and landed flat on his back staring at the beautiful clear blue sky as the rear axle of a Ford Anglia slammed to earth inches from his head. ACT 2 Cho looked beautiful in her formal robes as Harry danced with her at the Yule Ball. "You dance wonderfully," she said as she stared at him adoringly. "Thanks," said Harry grinning from ear to ear, "I was a little nervous at first yet I think I'm starting to get the hang of it, but you dance much better than I do." "I love to dance," Cho said, "that's why I'm so glad you murdered Cedric, he couldn't dance at all." "WHAT!" Harry screamed in horror, "NO! I DIDN'T! I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS A PORT KEY!" Cho started to laugh, a high cold mirthless laugh, and it was Voldemort standing before him not Cho and those weren't other dancers surrounding him, they were Death Eaters. Harry pulled out his wand pointed it at Voldemort and yelled, "Avada Kedavra!" But it was Cedric who received the curse, and died before he hit the floor, a look of surprise on his lifeless face. Harry dropped his wand and fell to his knees crying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." The Death Eaters bowed to Harry chanting, "All hail to Harry Potter, all hail the new Dark Lord." NOOOOOOOOO! Harry Potter opened his eyes with a start; he was naked and unshaven, sprawled face down on the hard wooden floor of a simply furnished room. An empty bottle of fire whiskey was next to him. He sat up and leaned against the wall wondering why his subconscious had decided to dredge that up that particular memory; in his short life Harry had seen many more horrors than Cedric’s death, he had seen more gruesome deaths too, and good people who begged for death. “Too many memories,” he told the empty room. He speculated, without any great interest, where he was and how he had gotten there. Then he vaguely remembered renting a room at the Three Broomsticks because he couldn’t go home. He could never go home; there were too many reminders of Ginny and James there. “Too many memories,” he said again. Harry found his glasses on the floor next to him and put them on, but things did not clarify, the lenses were broken. He pointed at his glasses and said, “Repairo” “Hermione taught me that spell,” Harry thought, “She used it the very first day I met Ron and her.” But further thoughts along those lines were too painful to endure. Too many memories. Harry sighed and thought, “Time to get on with it.” He stood up, got out his straight razor and walked to the basin. He shaved off several days of stubble, combed his hair, and put on his best Auror uniform, the formal one that he seldom wore. Harry scrutinized his appearance in the mirror and was satisfied, except for his hair which as always stuck up a little too much. He thought, “I’m not likely to find a solution to my hair problem at this late date”. Then he remembered something he read an impeccably dressed first class passenger on the Titanic said as the ship was sinking: I’ve put on my best things so now I can go down like a gentleman. Harry actually smiled a little, in a grim sort of way, at the ludicrous thought. He went to the dresser and picked up Godric Gryffindor's sword that Dumbledore had left to him in his will. He gave the ancient weapon an affectionate little pat as he carried it to the center of the room and sat down in the lotus position. His back was very straight. Harry was completely motionless, he just stared at his wrists and didn’t seem to be blinking, he must have been breathing but it was hard to tell. Ten minutes latter he turned his head very slightly and looked at the sword. “This sword is so beautiful,” Harry thought, “it’s so clean and shiny, it’s so sharp and cold, it’s so unlike my flesh. It would be glorious to be cold, not to feel, not to remember, not to be”. He pushed up the sleeve of uniform and held the sword over his wrist. Harry was ready to gouge out his veins, he was determined to open his arteries and watch his blood spurt from his body until he was dry and dead. At that exact instant to his considerable surprise some corner of his mind he didn’t even know he had announced the headline the Daily Prophet would come up with tomorrow, “Potter Found Dead By Own Hand In Shabby Hotel Room”. And then he thought of the rejoicing in the Death Eater community his death would cause. Undoubtedly they would gloat and say they made the son of a Mudblood kill himself. “No.” Harry said aloud, “No! That is not going to happen!” Harry put down the sword. For the first time since the incident his predominant emotion was not sadness but anger. It felt good. “Everyone I’ve cared about is dead,” Harry thought as his anger swelled, “my love has produced nothing but misery and death,” his anger increased even more, “love is a weak pathetic emotion, I’ll never invest in it again.” And still his anger grew, it grew far beyond anything he had ever experienced before, it grew to levels he would not have thought possible. It felt very very good. Rage is so much more pleasant than grief. Potter had found a reason to live, not a good reason but a reason nevertheless. ACT 3 As Peter walked down the shady side of Diagon Alley he felt as though he was naked and everybody was staring at him; but in fact his hood was up and his cloak completely covered every inch of his body. Nobody was paying him the slightest attention. Peter bought a newspaper, folded it under his arm and then stood for a moment trying to work up his courage to enter the Hog's Head Pub. He knew it was foolish to be anywhere near here, especially after that botched attempt to get rid of Harry Potter. Things had gotten so hot it wasn’t even safe to associate with his Death Eater cronies anymore. For years Peter had scrupulously avoided using magic as he melted unnoticed into the poorest sections of distant Muggle cities. Some of his confederates had thought such precautions were excessive, but he knew the power and determination of his adversary; Peter knew his extreme caution was the only reason he was still alive while so many others were not. But sometimes he wondered if life was worth living if you could never be with your own kind. Besides, he thought “it was very difficult to get news when you were living as a Muggle, and for all I know things might have cooled off. If I’m extremely lucky I might even discover that Potter was dead. After all, he did hold a very dangerous job.” With that encouraging thought Peter entered the Hog’s Head. He felt more confident after he bought a butterbeer and found a dark table in the back where he could have his back to the wall and still have a clear view of the entrance. Peter was starting to enjoy himself, he wondered how many times he and his fellow Marauders had sat at this very table merrily drinking butterbeers; he’d forgotten how delicious they were. He sighed and felt nostalgic reminiscing about the happiest time of his life. “If only it could have continued. It was impossible of course; He Who Must Not Be Named was getting stronger every day and opportunities to advance to top tier of his organization didn’t come along every day.” “I couldn’t just ignore a once in a lifetime chance like that,” mused Peter, “Poor James, I hope he realized that what I did was business, not personal. I considered James to be my best friend until the day he died. As for trying to kill his son, well, that wasn’t personal either; in fact I rather liked Harry, but when The Dark Lord asks you to help him kill a person you can’t say no and expect to live. And the later assassination attempt was just self defense really; Harry wanted to get me so I just tried to kill him first. It’s just too bad it didn’t work and the entire thing went so horribly wrong.” As Peter sat there more content than he’d been in years he gradually became aware of fragments of an animated conversation several witches and wizards were having at the next table. “…and then he killed her. They don’t say how, they probably think we’re too squeamish to hear the gory details. It all happened last night. She deserved it of course, the others too, but there’s something creepy about the way he goes down his list and kills them one by one.” “And nobody at the Ministry is skilled enough to stop him even if they wanted to.” “I don’t think they want to. They’re probably happy he’s doing their dirty work.” “Well, they did charge him.” “He very publicly broke the law so the Ministry had to charge him with murder and issue an arrest order. They can’t encourage that sort of vigilante justice.” “Yes, but I don’t think they want to find him, not really, and I don’t think anybody has the guts to even try.” “Well, legal or not, I’m glad he’s doing it. Somebody has to catch Death Eaters and the Ministry doesn’t seem to know how anymore.” “I’m not saying he hasn’t done a lot of good, but I wouldn’t want to meet that man in a dark alley, or anywhere else for that matter.” “Oh I don’t know, I went to school with him and knew him pretty well, I always thought he was a nice enough fellow, quite a decent chap in fact.” “Yea but that was before, you haven’t seen him in years. Everybody says he’s changed, they say even his friends are afraid of him now. Mind you, if it happened to me I’d probably have a few screws loose too.” “I know one man who should be afraid of him.” “Yep. He’s the last one on his list and they say he hates him more than all the others.” “I heard he swore when he found him he’d hang him from the first tree he found.” “That’s not what I heard, I heard he planed to slice open his belly and strangle him with his own intestines. They say he’s done it before.” “That’s codswallop.” “It’s not; I have a friend who knows a guy who swears his wife heard an Auror say it’s true. But that’s not the worst, I’ve heard other stories about him too, they say….” “Talk about something else, there's a good lad. Harry Potter gives me the collywobbles.” “I’ll tell you one thing; I wouldn’t be in Peter Pettigrew’s shoes for all the gold in Gringotts.” Peter could feel cold sweat trickling down his back as he opened his newspaper with trepidation. He found a photograph of himself and Bellatrix Lestrange on the front page, the headline screamed, “POTTER KILLS AGAIN.” “Renegade ex-Auror Harry Potter murdered the notorious dark witch Bellatrix Lestrange last night in a continuation of his illegal bloody crusade against the top 51 in You Know Who’s inner circle. Potter has brutally killed 43 of them in the last two years and seven have turned themselves in preferring to go to Azkaban rather than face Potter. In addition he murdered a maintenance man at the ministry and the son of a prominent Death Eater. Only one wizard remains on Potter’s hit list, Peter Pettigrew. After killing You Know Who without a wand when he was seventeen, in the most famous duel in history, Harry Potter studied to become an Auror, completing the demanding 3 year course in an astonishing 2 months. Mr. Potter proved himself to be an exceptionally effective field agent and was soon made the youngest Chief Auror in thousands of years. Even Chief Potter’s harshest critics concede he was very good at his job. Apparently his remarkable ability to catch Death Eaters was the reason a group of the Dark Lord’s closest followers conspired to assassinate him. Chief Potter survived the incident with only minor injuries but his wife, Ginny Weasley, and small son were killed in the attempt, as were two of his oldest friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Soon after the tragedy rumors circulated that Chief Potter was acting strangely and he made his infamous list of dark wizards and witches. He said all the Ministry’s resources should be concentrated on finding them. Nearly everyone agreed that catching these people was important, but the Wizengamot became alarmed when he started producing corpses not prisoners. In response Chief Potter said the Ministry was hindering his work and he no longer trusted anyone there. He angrily resigned and began his private murderous war. Peter Pettigrew, once a friend of Chief Potter’s father (turn to page 4A)” Peter had read enough, the pub which just minutes ago had seemed so friendly and comforting was now alien and terrifying. Making sure his hood was still up Peter hurriedly left, knowing he could never return. ACT 4 Peter shifted his bag of groceries trying to shield himself from the cruel artic wind blowing from the north east off of Lake Superior. “What a god awful place this is,” he thought, “I’ve always hated the cold, but my dislike for snow was well known so who would think I’d be living in a rundown apartment in Duluth Minnesota in the wintertime?” Peter had seriously considered Siberia but he didn’t know Russian and couldn’t learn a new language in a few days like Potter could. At the moment however his thoughts were much more banal. He was wondering if he should have bought more groceries because he reckoned he’d probably have to go to the store again tomorrow or the day after. On the other hand it would be a bad idea to buy too much because the graffiti encrusted lift in his building was broken, yet again, and he lived on the fifth floor. After trudging up the stairs with his groceries Peter felt a bit winded, but before entering his apartment he remembered, as he always did, to look for the tiny hair he pasted over his steel reinforced door before he left to see if anyone had entered while he was away. Nobody would ever notice it unless they knew exactly where to look and what to look for; he saw with satisfaction that the hair was still there. Of course Peter had also placed an unobtrusive but powerful anti apparition spell on his apartment, but he knew magic wasn’t everything, he knew the value of a good strong door. He unlocked his flat with his many keys and took off his overcoat and scarf. He had just finished relocking the seven separate locks on the only door when he heard a voice coming from his small dingy kitchen. “Hello Peter.” Harry Potter, the man who had haunted Peter’s nightmares, was sitting at his kitchen table reading a newspaper. Peter dropped his bag of groceries and a large bottle of ketchup shattered splattering its contents across the floor. It looked like blood. Potter put down the newspaper and said very calmly, “Peter if you transform into a rat I’ll transform you into something far more interesting before you hit the floor. A nameless reeking monstrosity that pushes itself along the floor with hideous misshapen appendages leaving a streak of putrid slime in its wake; you’ll want to die but can not die, you’ll want to scream but have no mouth.” Potter smiled grimly and continued, “Perhaps you think I’m bluffing, perhaps you think only Voldemort could produce such horrors. If so then by all means transform.” “No,” Peter sobbed, “I’ve seen what you can do.” There might have been a note of disappointment in Potter’s voice when he said, “Well, you’re a hard man to find Peter. Not many could have hidden from me for so long. It shows real skill. You are to be congratulated.” Peter started to blubber; his words were incoherent and almost unintelligible. “Harry… your father… Harry please… I loved him… Ron… I never meant… Harry you’ve got it all wrong… I didn’t…I’m sorry…” “Pull yourself together, act like a man!” Potter said with a look of disgust. He paused for a moment and then much more gently said, “Look what I found in your cupboard, it’s not my favorite brand of Fire Whiskey but come over here and sit down, let’s have a drink together and discuss old times.” Still sobbing and with great reluctance Peter slowly walked over to the table and sat down next to Potter who poured him a stiff drink and a much smaller one for himself. “Drink Peter,” Potter said, “you need it.” Peter picked up the glass with both hands and drank it in one gulp. His hysterical crying receded a little. “Feeling better? Good. Now Peter, I wanted to talk about that assassination attempt on me a few years ago.” “Harry, I swear on my mother’s grave I had nothing to do with that, I was sorry when I heard about Ron and … the others. I’m innocent. I would never…” In a voice far too loud to be anything but magical Potter bellowed in a deep echoing roar, “ADMIT WHAT YOU DID!” Pure volcanic rage could be seen radiating with power from Potter’s gleaming green eyes, it made him look quite demonic. Glass broke, the floor shook, and plaster fell from the ceiling. Peter quickly put his hands over his ears but one eardrum was already shattered and bleeding. He shrank from the inhuman apparition sitting next to him in slack jawed terror. Then as rapidly as it had surfaced Potter got control of himself and his eyes looked normal again and he assumed a neutral appearance. He put a reassuring arm on Peter’s shoulder and spoke softly, almost tenderly, “Today I settle the last of my unresolved business Peter. In doing so, like you, I have like you done….questionable things.” Potter paused and suddenly he did not look angry and powerful, just tired and sad. He then said something so quietly Peter with his injured ears wasn’t sure he heard him correctly but it sounded like, “No one in this room will see heaven”. But then his confident face was back on, “So don’t tell me you’re innocent because that insults my intelligence. It makes me very angry.” Peter had a metallic taste in his mouth and the air was heavy with the electrical odor of ozone, the smell evoked memories of the time when he was nine and a bolt of lightning hit just a few feet from him. He hadn’t thought of that in years. Potter took a small sip from his glass and said, “Peter I know you didn’t start the assassination conspiracy and weren’t the leader, but you were part of it. Now who approached you? Malfoy or Fudge?” He looked at Potter and shuddered, he knew lying was pointless. In a small defeated voice Peter said, “It…It was Malfoy.” “Good,” Potter said putting his drink down on the table. Peter looked down and for the first time noticed a stuffed bear and part of a silvery object sticking out from under a newspaper which covered most of it. “Wh… what’s that?” asked Peter. “That is Mr. Snuggles, he was my son’s Teddy Bear, and that,” Potter said removing the newspaper, “was Godric Gryffindor's sword.” “What are… what are you going to do with that?” asked Peter as panic filled his body like poison. “I’m going to cut your head off with it,” Potter said in a soft expressionless voice, “just as I have already done for Lucius Malfoy and his son, Lestrange, Dolohov, Crabbe, Macnair, Avery, Goyle, Rookwood, Nott, and 34 other members of Voldemort’s inner circle, and a few others too. You are the last.” He picked up the sword and stood up, no wand was in sight. “But maybe,” Potter said with such weariness he nearly seemed bored, “you can do what they could not, maybe you can stop me. Stand up, Wormtail, and get out your wand.” “Don’t do this to me please Harry!” Peter begged as blood oozed out of his left ear and dripped down his neck, “I was your father’s friend; he wouldn’t want his son to kill me. You saved my life once; he’d want you to do it again. Please!” “That’s true I did save your life,” Potter said thoughtfully, “and three years before Voldemort killed him, with your help I might add, Dumbledore told me that the day would come when I would be very glad I had saved it. Well, that just goes to show that even a great wizard can be a lousy prophet. Now I repeat. Stand up, Wormtail, and get out your wand.” Slowly, Peter got up. “That’s good, now get out your wand.” Potter said. “No, you can’t! It’s murder … Harry please!” “If you don’t take out your wand I will nail it to your hand, your real hand, before I kill you,” Potter said quietly. Peter looked at the steely expression on Potter’s face and knew he meant every word he said. He was trembling so much as he got out his wand he nearly dropped it. “Hold it in your real hand please. Thank you.” Potter said, “At the count of three I will attack. You of course can do whatever you think appropriate whenever you like. One…Two…” “AVAD…” “Expelliarmus,” Potter said in a lazy voice. Peter screamed in pain as his wand flew out of his hand with such force it broke three fingers and nearly severed a fourth. As if driven by a tornado the wand imbedded itself six inches into a solid oak beam on the other side of the room. Peter fell to his knees at Potter’s feet and begged for his life. “Harry, please don’t kill me, I’ll do anything! I want to live, please Harry!” Potter raised his sword and looked down with his brilliant green eyes; there was no longer even a hint of pity or humanity in them. “Goodbye, Wormtail.” The small part of Wormtail’s mind that was still rational and panic had not destroyed realized that oblivion awaited and that the wood grain of the floor he was looking at was absolutely the last thing he was going to see. Ever. With a swift flash of silver and a spurt of crimson it was over. In the deathly silence that followed Potter went to the window and stared out at the snowy landscape. The last person responsible for the death of his family and friends had met justice and he found he felt no different; the same horrible hollow feeling at the core of his being was still there. Potter shivered. He told himself, “It must be getting colder. Yes, that’s it, it’s just getting much colder.” He turned and walked out of the building to face the thousand year night. THE END. Eggplant |
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