AFiF 4, Chapter 31: Petalled Rebirth

XXXI. Petalled Rebirth

His footsteps fell silent as he stepped into a room plagued by darkness. Harry frowned as cracks slowly spread across the tiles.

Is this some form of defense?

His wand arm steadily rose as the warped tiles floated upwards, coalescing into a withered being. Long, thin fingers curled in his direction.

“You,” the wretched being boomed, leering overhead, “You do not belong.”

Harry’s jaw clenched.

“I must enter the Hall.”

“Must,” the spirit repeated curiously, “Why must you enter?”

“Someone’s life is at stake,” Harry explained simply, “Let me pass.”

The uncomfortably cracking sound of shattered tiles permeated the room as the being crawled towards him.

“You are wanted tonight,” the spirit murmured aloud, “Fate hath an audience for you -”

Harry almost sighed in relief.

Thank Merlin.

“Brilliant. Can I go now?”

Jagged, teeth-like tiles shown within the monster’s mouth. Harry flinched, grimacing as they curved to form an unnaturally large smile.

“No, no, of course not,” the spirit grinned, “But I won’t kill you.”

Harry glared.

Like you could -

“But I could, Harry Potter, I could,” the monster hummed, “For I am not alive. You can not say the same, I do think . . .

Unease slipped down Harry’s spine. He eyed the odd spirit carefully, his grasp around his wand tightening.

“What are you?”

The monster’s empty eyes went wide. 

Boom!

Tiles flew across the room, reshaping into a towering boulder.

“An obstacle -”

Bang!

There was another whirl as the tiles took yet another form.

“A closed door -”

Crash!

The monstrous figure returned again, peering out from the endless darkness.

“An idea born from the desires of many,” the figure crooned, “True magic, I suppose you would call it.”

Remnants of a bygone era.

Harry’s lips thinned.

“The Scarlet Prophets would love to meet you,” he noted begrudgingly, “I know the Truest is a sucker for that kind of magic -”

The sickening spirit hissed with distaste.

“They would love to erase me,” it whispered, “To undo, to destroy, to defile -”

“The Scarlet Prophets can kill you?” Harry realised aloud. He took a step back as the monster neared.

“I suppose they could,” jagged tiles curved to form a frown, “But it hardly matters. You can’t. You are not one of them.”

Harry huffed.

It’s a piece of blood magic, then.

“Yes, I am,” the monster crooned, “But no matter . . . shall we continue?”

“You’re not talking about letting me go, are you?” Harry asked warily.

The spirit laughed.

“No, no, I am not.”

But it isn’t going to attack, either.

Harry weighed his options, meaningless though it was.

“Fine.”

The spirit leered.

“The hungry and the vain, twin hearts pulled by ropes. An old sage, wise beyond his years. The boy who listens, the girl who hopes. The martyrdom, eyes filled with tears. The scared plagued by monsters none comprehend. A blinded angel, her love spells the end.”

A short-lived silence spanned the dark room. Long, thin tiles clawed at the frigid air as the monster edged closer.

“Tell me, Harry Potter,” the being crooned. Harry bristled upon hearing his name, “Whom must be saved most of all?”

I don’t . . .

“Is this supposed to be a riddle?” Harry frowned. Across from him, the spirit frowned.

“Riddle, question, concept, idea, contemplation,” it spat in quick succession, “I care not what you call it, but what answer you offer me.”

Harry grimaced, eying the wretched being.

“And if I get it wrong?”

The spirit hissed.

“Answer and find out.”

Harry huffed furiously.

“Fine,” he sighed, his hands falling to his hips, “I - could you repeat that one more time?”

The spirit did. Harry considered each word carefully, mulling them over in his head.

“That’s . . . eight different people, right?”

He eyed the monster, almost waiting for confirmation. To no surprise, he received nothing of the sort.

Let’s see . . . twin hearts -

“The vain and the hungry,” Harry muttered slowly, “Hearts pulled by - by ropes?”

What does that mean?

Harry shook his head irritably.

“An old sage, that’s easy enough,” he said appreciatively, “Same with the boy and girl . . .”

Someone who listens and someone hopeful.

“The martyrdom with tears in their eyes. An unwilling sacrifice. A scared  person plagued by monsters only they can see . . . . honestly, I’d probably be scared too -”

And a lovesick angel. Someone who dies for love.

“So I’ve got to choose between saving,” Harry started before pausing to take a deep breath, “A narcissist, a starving person, an old man, a boy with good ears, a girl with big dreams, a virgin sacrifice, a schizophrenic, and someone’s who’s lovesick.”

I’m gonna kill myself.

Harry eyed the spirit, praying that some odd twitching of its porcelain eyes would shine a light on the missing piece of the puzzle. He watched as the monster impatiently clawed at the floor.

“Have you an answer?’ it asked him.

“No,” Harry frowned, “This is the stupidest riddle I’ve ever heard.”

Twin hearts . . .

“Hearts pulled by ropes,” Harry frowned, “What, like tugging at someone’s heart?”

Someone vain but sympathetic. Same with the hungry one, too -

“A sympathetic hungry person,” Harry grimaced as the thought took form, “No . . . different kind of hunger.”

Lust?

Harry paused.

“Two sinners who want to change,” he decided eventually, “An elder, a boy and a girl, a sacrifice, the schizo, and the girl who dies for love.”

Something flickered in the spirit’s nonexistent eyes. Harry’s lips thinned.

I’m wasting time.

“I know who I’d save,” he said eventually, stepping forward. The uncomfortable clattering of shattered ceramic pressed against his ears.

“Who you’d  save?” the spirit frowned, “Is that what I asked?”

“No,” Harry admitted, annoyed, “But it sounds like a moral question to me, and the person I’d choose is what makes the most sense to me, morally speaking.”

The wretched spirit hummed thoughtfully at this.

“Perhaps,” it murmured, its voice like nails on a chalkboard, “And whom, Harry Potter, do you believe must be saved above all else?”

Harry paused for a moment.

“The lovesick angel,” he said firmly, “The one who died for love.”

He flinched as the spirit’s booming laugh flooded the undersized room.

“You would, wouldn’t you?” the creature crooned, “But why her? Are the others not equally worthy?”

“Why does it matter?” Harry snapped, “I answered. Let me through.”

This is taking too long.

Darkness thickened in the corners of the room and the air felt colder.

“No,” the spirit whispered, “You will tell me why.”

Harry’s jaw clenched furiously.

“If the twin hearts are trying to get their shit together, good on them,” he started hurriedly, “But it really isn’t my problem -”

“And the sage?”

“Old,” Harry answered swiftly, “Nearing death. He’s lived a life by now, and if he hasn’t that’s his problem.”

The spirit hummed.

“The children next. The boy and the girl.”

“They’re more deserving,” Harry admitted slowly, “But not to the extent of the angel. Same with the martyr, although the martyr’s death actually serves a purpose.”

Assuming the martyr’s being sacrificed for a just cause, anyway.

The porcelain monster nodded curiously.

“And the . . . what did you call it? The ‘schizo’?”

Harry grinned.

“Put her out of her misery.”

“Which leaves us with your chosen,” whispered the spirit, “Why her, Harry Potter?”

Harry glared into the darkness.

“She gave up everything,” he said eventually, “Sacrificed everything willingly and expected nothing in return. She’s a blessing to those around her. An angel.”

The crackling of shattered ceramic dimmed slightly. Harry watched as the monster sank back into the unseen depths of the room.

“I wondered,” it hummed curiously, “Between the martyr and the angel, which . . . but it was obvious, was it not?”

Harry’s brow furrowed with confusion.

“Martyr and the angel,” he repeated slowly, “Why would it have been between the two?”

He watched as the vague outline of the ceramic entity swirled about the far end of the room.

“She gave up everything,” it whispered eerily, “I wonder what her name might be . . . Lily, perhaps.”

Harry stilled. He felt his heart pound violently in his chest.

“And the martyr?”

“Use your brain,” The spirit snapped, “Who could it possibly be?”

Me.

The spirit hummed.

“But the angel isn’t Lily, and the martyr not you,” it frowned, “Just similarities . . . patterns. I should have known . . .”

The swirling ceramics turned away. Harry stared after it.

“Am I right, then?”

The ground shook, and the air around him felt stale.

“No.”

Harry’s heat sank. His grip tightened around his wand.

“Are you going to kill me, then?”

The tiles fell from the air, clattering back into the floor at once. A massive sinkhole formed along the ground beneath Harry’s feet, forming an oversized, fanged mouth.

“No,” it boomed, “From the sounds of it, you’ve taken care of that for me.”

The mouth grew. Harry pressed himself flat against the wall, only to fall through the hole as the jaw unclenched, opening wider than Harry thought possible -

Crash.

Harry slammed into the floor. His fingers instinctively reached for his head, which was ringing painfully.

“Where - what -”

BANG!

Glass shattered as he ragdolled through the air. Hot thin lines blazed across his skin. Harry gritted his teeth in pain.

“DEUX DANS LE COULOIR DE GAUCHE!” a gruff voice roared, “NE LES LAISSEZ PAS ATTEINDRE LE MINISTRE!”

Harry pushed himself to his feet, blinking wildly. The room that surrounded him was practically in ruins; shattered glass marred the tiled floors, blood drizzled atop it. Closer to the walls, hundreds of broken shelves lay in ruins.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Harry instinctively summoned a slab of marble towards him. The sickly green light instead flew in the opposite direction, soaring past an Auror’s shoulder and into the wall.

They’re after someone else.

“Abscondere,” Harry hissed hurriedly. Once again, he vanished from sight.

Violent flashes of magic accompanied him as he traversed the hall. Despite his best efforts, Harry could not seem to find Garnier or the Minister. In fact, he could hardly tell who was who -

They’re all wearing the same Auror robes -

A bright red glow assaulted the edges of his vision.

“Quelqu'un est là!” a French Auror shouted, holding up a shimmering instrument, “Quelqu'un d'invisible!”

Harry’s eyes widened. He scrambled in the opposite direction, but it was too late -

Woosh.

Harry felt his Disillusionment Charm crumble to dust. Within seconds, he was surrounded by a half-dozen wands.

“Un enfant,” one of the Aurors spat hotly, “Ils utilisent des enfants soldats -”

A man with a thin mustache and dull blue eyes shook his head.

“Nous ne le savons pas. Il pourrait être l'un des nôtres.”

The others scoffed.

“Marcus, s'il te plaît -”

But the man called Marcus shook his head, stabbing his wand in Harry’s direction.

“Qui es-tu?”

Harry blinked.

“I - er - I don’t speak French.”

The French Aurors’ eyes widened. All together, their gaze slid down from his Transfigured face to the Language Amulet latched across his wrist.

“Why are you here?” Auror Marcus boomed. His words were strongly accented.

“Inspector Garnier,” Harry said quickly, “I have to make sure he’s safe -”

But none of them bothered to hear him finish, instead turning to a thin soldier at the line’s end. The man frowned.

“He’s telling the truth,” he whispered eventually, sounding almost surprised. Harry blinked.

Another Legilimens. That could have gone badly.

Auror Marcus stepped forward.

“Nous n'avons pas de temps à perdre,” he muttered, gently pushing Harry aside. His tone grew firm, “I’d suggest you leave, boy. This is a man’s fight.”

Harry stared at him for a long moment as the others surveyed the battlefield.

“You’re just letting me go?” he frowned, “You’re - you’re not going to protect me?”

I’m a child. I’m so obviously a child -

“That does not mean much when compared to the Minister and the Inspector,” the Legilimens Auror frowned. Harry grimaced, blanking his mind at once, “I am sorry, boy.”

Boy.

Harry bristled.

“Mael, take him to safety,” said Marcus hurriedly, tossing him another glowing instrument, “Regroup after. Hurry.”

Marcus and four of the other Aurors nodded curtly before dashing through the field of debris and beyond. The man who remained roughly dragged Harry in the other direction.

“Come on,” he hissed, “Hurry now.”

Despite his protests, Harry found himself being pulled through the ruins. His mind raced.

“Who are we fighting, exactly?” he asked hurriedly, “They’re all wearing the same robes.”

“We?” the man laughed darkly, “Us Aurors are fighting the traitors.”

Traitors. Like the Auror from Diagon Alley. The one who killed the Vampire.

Harry’s brow furrowed.

“But how can you tell which is which if you’re all wearing the same robes?”

He watched as the man’s jaw clenched.

“That is the problem,” he snapped irritably, “We can’t.”

Oh.

“But they can, can’t they?” Harry whispered, “I’m sure they thought this all out -”

“Enough,” the man said. They came to a stop near the end of the hall. Despite all the fighting that surrounded them, this place seemed rather void of life, “Close your eyes. We will collect you when this is all over.”

No you won’t.

Harry’s wand flicked upwards in the blink of an eye.

“Obliviate!”

The man’s eyes dimmed at once. Harry quickly turned the wand on himself as the man ducked over, blinking furiously.

Abscondere.

His skin faded from view. Harry dashed in the direction of the other Aurors without wasting a second.

Equipped with the sparse information the Aurors had provided, he reexamined the hall in an almost new light. Sure enough, groups of Aurors seemed to be picking off the others with practically no resistance. It was nothing short of a massacre.

But they’re killing the Aurors. Not the - not the -

Something welled up in Harry’s chest.

They’re killing everyone.

He found himself in a clearing within the hall. Hundreds of untouched plaques lay strewn about, many of them still carrying the oddest objects Harry had yet seen. Blurred figures loomed on either end of his vision -

“Avada Kedavra!”

A beam of emerald energy flung across the room. Harry’s eyes widened as it soared towards a man bearing a faint resemblance to a young witch with long, silver hair. His heart spasmed.

“NO!”

Harry’s cry echoed throughout the hall’s clearing. He watched, eyes wide, as the curse spiraled towards Henri Laurent -

Wham.

A young Auror dived between the Curse and the Minister. His body slumped to the floor, unmoving.

“There you are,” a soft, feminine voice rang through the hall. Harry couldn’t quite see her through all the rubble, “How long I have waited, mon amour.”

A thin, womanly figure stepped out from beyond a shelf that still stood. Harry’s heart lurched as his eyes trailed the familiar violet satin that adorned her.

The woman in violet.

A number of Aurors at Minister Laurent’s side pointed their wands at her. She lazily batted them aside.

“You needn’t hide, darling,” the woman peered through the darkness, her face hidden. Her eyes glowed the faintest purple, “Not from me. Never from me.”

An aged form lumbered out from beyond the French Minister. Inspector Garnier glared daggers at the veiled witch.

“Tu nous quitteras immédiatement!” he demanded in thick French, “Tant que je serai debout, le ministre ne subira aucun préjudice.”

“Tant que tu es debout?” the woman mused speculatively, “Je suppose que nous devrons changer cela, n'est-ce pas?”

She leveled her wand in Garnier’s direction. The man spat at her feet.

“Tu essaieras.”

Harry’s heart pounded violently.

No. I need you.

He tore apart his Disillusionment Charm, stumbling through the rubble. Several French Aurors - both those behind Garnier and the woman - pointed their wands at him.

“Avada -”

“NON!” the witch in violet shrieked. The Auror who’d raised his wand was flung across the hall, landing with a sickening crunch by Garnier’s feet, “Êtes-vous sourd? Ma bien-aimée ne doit pas être touchée.”

She stepped forward, her body hunched in Harry’s direction. What little Harry could make of her obscured expression was alight with excitement.

“Forgive them, dove,” she whispered earnestly, “They do not know. They do not understand -”

Harry ignored her, pointing his wand between her eyes.

“Who are you?”

“A bewitcher!” Inspector Garnier shouted from across the hall, his wand shook angrily, “One who will pay for her crimes.”

Harry frowned, eyeing the Aurors that loomed beyond the violet witch. Their eyes were sharp and hungry.

They aren’t bewitched.

The woman opposite shifted leisurely, wrapping her robes more tightly around her slender form.

“That depends, I suppose,” she admitted, “But you must know I mean no harm.”

Harry glared at her, slowly edging towards where Garnier stood.

“I doubt Adélard Abernathy would agree,” he whispered darkly. The woman smiled.

“I heard of your little dance,” she  noted approvingly, “You are everything I hoped for, my dove -”

“Enough of this!” Inspector Garnier shouted, staring furiously at Harry. His wand was still aimed at the witch, “You - who are you?”

“He is here to aid you, Inspector,” the violet one tutted, bemused, “Perhaps now dear Henri stands a chance of surviving.”

Harry’s heart ached. He watched as the brown-haired Minister was further hidden behind a group of Aurors adorned in blue and silver.

Like the ones protecting Gabby.

If possible, Harry felt worse. The memory of Aurors attacking Aurors felt practically embedded within his skull.

I need to end this quickly. She might need me.

Harry came to a stop at Garnier’s side, his fingers gently sliding across his transfigured features. Tom Riddle’s high cheekbones felt odd beneath his coarse digits.

“You needn’t help him, you know,” the violet one eyed him carefully, “His fate is sealed.”

Harry glared.

“No one else will die tonight.”

The woman in violet eyed him carefully, her pupils pulsing.

“We shall see.”

Her arm sliced through the air in an instant, sending a burst of magic barreling towards them. Harry furiously threw up a gleaming shield -

“Get the Minister to safety!” Garnier shouted at the Aurors as he dived out of the way of a series of spells, “Do it now -”

“NO!” Harry sputtered furiously. He batted a Bone Breaker to the side, “They can’t be trusted!”

His eyes widened as he instinctively ducked beneath a curse he didn’t recognize. It soared past his shoulder and through the gap between the Aurors, touching no one.

“You’re no good at this, dove,” the violet one crooned from across the hall. She stood rather leisurely atop a mound of marble, “Men like you were not made to protect. You exist to create -”

She lazily side-stepped a pulsing orange hex, frowning.

“Dangerous,” she murmured, sounding curious, “So filled with anger -”

Harry glared furiously at her.

“I know who you are,” he spat, “I know what you did to her.”

To Gabby.

If the woman’s sudden smile meant anything, she knew exactly what he was talking about.

“I wouldn’t have needed to if you’d been thinking straight,” she purred faintly, “Of course, you couldn’t  have been thinking straight. Not with that sickly soul-book at arm’s length, always clouding your judgement.”

Harry gritted his teeth. He pointed his wand at the floor, shaving cracks into the stone.

“I haven’t written in the diary in ages,” he snapped. The witch smiled.

“There are other ways to corrupt the mind, little dove -”

“Enough of this!” Inspector Garnier barked furiously, “Lingua Lacrimam!”

A pink hue of light spasmed down the hall. Several more followed, blurring like shooting stars in the midnight sky.

He’s fighting to kill.

Determination welled in Harry’s chest. He pulled it forth, mixing it in a well of molten anger -

You can do it. You’ve killed before.

“Gabby,” Harry whispered darkly, “She hurt Gabby.”

Die.

A furious arc sliced through the air, cutting down hundreds of the surrounding plaques. Dust blew about as the oppressive magic tore at the thick walls. An approving gleam glistened in the violet one’s eyes.

“Yes,” she crooned fervorously, “Fly, ma colombe bien-aimée! TAKE IT ALL!”

She weaved through a spiral of Curses, banishing them back at Inspector Garnier with a swift flick of her wand. Harry hurriedly tackled the older man to the ground. The lethal magic missed them by mere inches.

“You don’t need to fight her,” Harry panted, rolling them to the side as the witch in violet roared with delight, “You should be getting the Minister to safety.”

Inspector Garnier shook him off, clambering to his feet.

“Not just the Minister,” he said throatily. He spat a wad of mucus and blood, “La salle des énigmes holds treasures you could not possibly imagine.”

He leveled his wand at the woman again, glaring as she beckoned them closer.

“She can not have them.”

A flurry of magic spewed from his once more. Feeling desperate, Harry turned to the Aurors behind them.

“Well?” he snapped, “Are you going to help us or not?”

The Aurors grimaced.

“We are meant to protect the Minister,” one of them barked in heavily-accented French, “This deranged woman is no concern of ours.”

They looked over their shoulders as one. Inspector Garnier and the Violet One remained locked in a ferocious battle - one that, in Harry’s opinion, was sorely one-sided.

He shook his head, hurriedly spinning back to the Aurors. Gabby’s medallion swung over his shoulders as he did.

“Then get him out,” he snapped impatiently, tucking the medallion under his neckline, “We can deal with the - the -”

Harry paused. He slowly lowered his gaze to the medallion clenched within his grasp.

The Medallion. Of course.

Figures blurred before him as the Aurors were pushed aside. Harry almost jumped as a dark-brown wand was pressed between his eyes.

“You,” Minister Laurent hissed dangerously, his eyes “Who did you steal this from?”

“Gabby gave it to me,” Harry glared back, “She thought it might prove useful.”

She was right.

He watched as the French Minister’s jaw clenched. Deep blues eyes pranced around the hall.

“Help him,” the man barked, eyeing Inspector Garnier as he rushed towards the robed woman, “Ensure he is not hurt.”

Several Aurors bedecked in silver and blue joined the fray. Harry glared as the Aurors behind the woman in violet followed suit.

Garnier . . . where’s Garnier -

Smooth hands turned him back around. Harry’s stomach flipped as his girlfriend’s father stared into his soul.

“I know who you are.”

“I don’t care.”

The French Minister shook his head, his fingers combing roughly through his sparse grey hairs.

“Apolline was right,” he murmured, “You were never to be trusted. Not when you hold her favour.”

He eyed the witch that lingered in the darkness. Harry bristled.

“I’ve never met her before,” he spat, “If you can’t trust me, trust your daughter.”

BANG!

A wisp of scarlet magic permeated the room as Inspector Garnier went flying. He landed some twenty feet away. A number of wounds and bruises licked at his skin.

He won’t be able to hold on for much longer.

Minister Laurent eyed him carefully.

“Fine,” he muttered curtly. His eyes roamed the hall, “But I won’t leave without Garnier.”

Harry snorted.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“He will not be so easily removed from this hall, I hope you realise,” the French minister frowned, “There are secrets here he has dedicated his life to protect.”

Harry gritted his teeth.

I know.

“Just take this,” he sighed, tossing the medallion to Minister Laurent before turning around, “I’ll - I’ll get him back.”

He gave Henri Laurent one last look before spinning around, hurrying back into the battlefield. Several slabs of shattered cement flew towards him, missing him by the slightest of margins.

“Bombarda Maxima!” Harry spat, sending the cement flying back through the hall in the most glorious of blazes, “Conteram Abintus!”

The Violet One jumped above his Dark Curse, hovering for a few seconds. Her faintly glowing eyes flickered with joy.

“Perfect,” she whispered longingly, “You’re so perfect.”

Harry roared. The floor below him exploded. Marble shards flew across the room, coalescing into a giant serpent as Harry curved his wand. He beckoned it forward with hate-filled eyes.

“Kill,” he hissed, his tongue flickering.

The marble beast slithered across the hall, sending scrap metal flying. Harry stared into the Violent One’s eyes all the while, grasping at every thought her mind could form.

“Osass -”

“Ossismurus!

The woman’s Bone Breaker cut into a wall of conjured bones. Harry nodded with satisfaction as his haggard construct lunged through the freshly formed ash, striking at the woman.

“OSASSULA!” the violet one roared, tearing the serpent in two. Her face spasmed with pain as she extracted herself from its gaping jaw. Satisfaction pooled in Harry’s chest.

Good. She deserves it.

A marble fang pierced the woman’s right arm. She eyed it speculatively before glancing back at Harry.

“Mind magic,” she whispered approvingly, “I should have known you’d be adept.”

Harry snarled.

“I’m more than just adept.”

He watched as the woman tightly wrapped her fingers around the marble fang before pulling it from her arm. She shuddered as blood seeped from her wound.

“I know, ma colombe, I know.”

The Violet One pressed the tip of her wand against her skin. Thin flames coated the length of her arm, quickly cauterizing the laceration.

“How I wish I shared the gift of your little girlfriend,” the woman hissed, gritting her teeth as the fire faded away, “I’ve always found the flame’s heat particularly unbearable.”

Harry huffed.

“That reminds me,” he glared at her, “Do me a favour and stay away from Gabby, won’t you?”

The violet one pouted.

“No,” she slowly shook her head, “No, I just can’t do that. You’ll thank me for it one day, I’m sure -”

“Diruo!”

The woman slapped the spell out of the air. She turned to Garnier, looking positively furious.

“Nous parlons, espèce de vache sans valeur,” she spat, “Avoir du respect.”

Inspector Garnier spat at her feet once more. Behind them, a loud voice boomed through the hall.

“WE’RE LEAVING IN TEN SECONDS! GET BACK TO THE MEDALLION!”

Harry’s eyes widened.

Destroy them. Destroy them all!

A furious wave of magic spiraled from his wand, blasting everything before him several hundreds of feet down the hall. Only the woman remained. She frowned as her guards of Aurors slammed into shelves at the hall’s end.

“How pitiful -”

But Harry didn’t listen. He spun around streaking towards the medallion in Henri Laurent’s outstretched hand. The silver and blue robes of the aurors fluttered in the frigid air as they each clasped onto their minister.

Thirty feet. Twenty. Ten -

Harry lunged for the medallion, blinding jabbing his wand behind him.

“ACCIO GARNIER!”

“Be safe!”

Flesh blurred behind him. Harry felt his left hand wrap around the cool metal of the medallion just as the aged flesh of the Inspector pressed against his right. The world began to churn around them -

“Percutiens.”

Slash.

Pain erupted through Harry’s arm. There was a flash of light, and the Minister and his Aurors disappeared.

No. No, no, no . . .

Harry slammed against the marble floor, shaking with pain. His left arm felt as if it were on fire. He stared blindly as more blood than he’d ever seen wept from - from -

Harry’s heart spasmed. Laying some fifteen feet before him was his left hand, doused in blood.

No.

“Incendio,” a gentle voice whispered behind him, “Sanguiscura. Scourgify.”

Harry cried as his nerves spasmed. Fire tickled at his stump of an arm, and the blood vanished. Harry panted, stumbling as he struggled to get up to his feet.

My hand. My hand.

“Forgive me,” a feminine voice said softly, “I must do my part, my beloved.”

Harry shivered. For the first time, fleeting fear stabbed at his heart.

“Beloved,” he spat dryly. Blood trickled from his lips, “I don’t feel very beloved right now.”

The woman nodded slowly.

“You’re upset,” she whispered, “Good. Now act.”

Harry glared daggers at her.

“Act?”

The woman’s wand tore through the air. An army of hand-shaped monsters crawled out from the ground, lunging at Harry.

“I took,” the woman whispered, “I will continue to take. Do something about it.”

Harry cursed. Several silvery hands jumped into the air. He quickly conjured a sea of muggle mouse-traps before banishing them towards the hands. A series of loud snaps tore through the air.

“Creative,” he heard the violet one murmur approvingly, “But not moving. Not demanding.”

She stabbed at the floor with her wand, sending debris flying everywhere. A menacing glint flickered in her violet eyes.

“Show yourself, Harry Potter,” she taunted, “Or I will force your . . . singular hand.”

Harry bristled. What lingered of his burning pain stabbed at his left arm like pinpricks.

Fine.

Several of the woman’s Aurors had made their way back from the end of the hall. Harry eyed them furiously.

You deserve this. You chose this.

“Vena Secare,” Harry hissed, his wand growing a pale blue, “Lingua Lacrimam.”

Just like with Abernathy, an Auror dived out of the way of the first spell only to be hit by the second. Harry’s heart lurched as the man’s tongue was ripped from his mouth. It fell to the floor in a sodden mess.

You chose.

Violet eyes watched his every movement. Harry stumbled backwards, his jaw clenched.

“Garnier?”

“Here, boy,” a gruff voice called. The aged man lumbered towards him, sending spells flying at the traitorous Aurors, “Potter, is it?”

Harry’s lips thinned.

“It is.”

A sickly green light whizzed toward them. Harry sent it flying away with a powerful gust of air.

“Explains the Summoning Charm,” Garnier nodded thoughtfully, “Need me, don’t you?”

Harry could do nothing but nod. A determined look flooded the older man’s eyes.

“Then I say you and I get these bastards out of our hall,” the Inspector spat, “You do that, and the third Truism’s as good as yours.”

Hope flooded Harry’s head and a powerful desire clutched at his heart.

Astoria. One step closer.

The pain from his left arm subsided. Harry nodded, his emerald eyes glowing violently.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

He sprinted. Magic crackled underhead, shattering the floor beneath him as he raced towards the witch in violet, blasting Aurors aside as he did. The woman’s eyes glowed with delight.

“Good,” she purred, “But I want more.”

I’ll show you more.

Harry waved his wand overhead, his mind aching.

Avenge me.

Blood from around the hall slithered towards him. Harry curved it inwards, bending and molding it into a severed hand nearly a hundred feet tall. Liquid fingernails scraped at the roof overhead. 

Harry smiled darkly.

“Get her.”

The hand lunged. Harry let the bloody fingers freeze as they wrapped around the woman in violet, allowing them to pick her up. She melted them with a furious swipe of her wand -

Drown her. Make her hurt.

The blood swirled around her. Harry watched as the faint form of the began to suffocate within the swirling blood.

More. MORE -

A wall of metal flew at him from within the coalescing hand. Harry just barely managed to dive out of the way. The hand of blood fell apart at once, sending the scarlet liquid crashing across the many plaques within the hall.

“Pyrmus!”

The Violet One sputtered, covered from head to toe in blood. Garnier’s wall of fire licked at her damp robes, unable to so much as singe them.

“Pulminus Rup -”

“Enough!” the woman screeched, “Avada Kedavra!”

“NO!”

Harry tore the ground apart, banished heaps of marble in between the woman and Garnier. It was too late; pale green met flesh, and Inspector Garnier slumped over, unmistakably dead. Harry sank to his knees.

“No,” he cried hoarsely, “No, no, no . . .”

Everything’s gone all wrong.

His head was ducked to the floor. He was only vaguely aware of the long, dainty legs that strode toward him.

“Hurt, are we?” the woman came to a stop just a few feet before him, “No longer able to save your little pet?”

Molten fury clawed through Harry’s chest, hate bursting from its depths. He stabbed his wand forward -

“CRUCIO!”

The woman laughed, pulling one of the remaining aurors between them with a flick of her wand. The man shrieked in pain, collapsing into an ever-shaking ball at the Violet One’s feet.

“Not enough,” the woman frowned to herself, “I should have known . . . you never really cared much for that girl.”

The French Auror continued to spasm under heel. Harry glared at her.

“I hate you.”

“You hate yourself,” the woman corrected, “At least, a part of you does. That’s got nothing to do with me . . . Astoria Greengrass, however -”

“DON’T SAY HER NAME!” Harry screeched furiously. Cracks tore through the shattered marble floor beneath them, “You know nothing about her. You know nothing about any of us.”

The woman laughed heartily. Harry watched blankly as she pulled a silver chain from her purple robes, toying with it lovingly.

“I know everything,” the woman smiled, “And, even if I didn’t, Nagel did. He had an awful lot to say about your obsession with that girl, you know . . .”

She sighed, tucking the Deathly Hallows pendant back below her neckline. Harry stared at her feet as they leisurely strode away.

“You’re an Acolyte.”

“Obviously,” the woman grinned, “What did you think I’d be, a Death Eater?”

Harry stared at her, unable to muster up any semblance of a thought. Only one feeling, one expression latched onto his very being, replaying itself over and over again -

Hate. Hate. HATE.

“If you talk about Astoria again, I’ll kill you,” he whispered blankly. The woman frowned.

“Will you?” she mused, “You know, I don’t think you can.”

Harry bristled. The woman continued.

“I took your hand. I took away your means of saving your little pet -”

“AVADA KED -”

The Violet One flicked her wand, and Harry’s lips sealed shut.

“- and still nothing,” she sighed, sounding disappointed, “Nagel told me to expect it, of course. Said your love for that little worm was all hocus pocus, even if you haven’t yet noticed it -”

Harry squirmed furiously. The woman stared curiously at him.

“Don’t you see?” she frowned, “You don’t love her. You love the idea of her.”

The witch in violet stepped towards him. Harry twisted his wand towards her, only for her to freeze him with a swift stab of her own.

“The younger sister of your closest friend,” she whispered, “Almost a younger sister of your own.”

She eyed Harry speculatively.

“If you couldn’t save your parents, surely a sister must be the next best thing . . .”

The woman wandered somewhere behind Harry. Try as he might, he could not turn his head to see.

“Of course, you’d better not tell her that,” she mused, “Sister. How she’d hate to hear that.”

Her shadow spun around. Harry watched as the woman strode past him again, leaning closer to study him more carefully.

“I know her type,” she breathed longingly, “She’ll worship you. Lust for you, kill for you. Your mini me, I think. They do say history repeats . . .”

Hate pooled in Harry’s heart. He clawed it forward, pressing it against his lips. He clumsily broke free of the woman’s magic.

“You’re wrong,” Harry spat, “Not that it matters. I’ll save her, with or without Garnier.”

“I know, Harry, I know,” the woman nodded, “Se que le destin désire -”

She trailed off, eying the debris-strewn floor. A thin layer of ice coated it.

“Speak of the devil,” she murmured, smirking, “They're late.”

Harry’s heart spasmed as dozens of dementors soared into the hall, burying the place beneath an unbearable cold. His fearful breath fogged up in the air before him.

“Look,” the Violet One pouted, watching as the dementors flew towards them, “Your girlfriend’s father sends out his clean-up crew. And no one to save you . . .”

She laughed to herself, leisurely waving her wand before her.

“Expecto Patronum!”

A gleaming, almost life-like silver stag erupted from the tip of her wand. It charged at the dementors, sending them spiralling towards the walls. Harry stared as the magical creature galloped back to them.

“You sent the warning,” he realised aloud, “It really was a trap.”

The woman laughed.

“Of course it was,” she smirked, “But think for a moment, Harry. I’ve done more than just that . . .”

She trailed off, staring at Harry almost expectantly. After a few moments, she sighed.

“You really don’t remember. Sticks and stones may break my bones -”

“Spit it out,” Harry snapped. The woman edged closer.

“The Caledonian Mountains,” she whispered, “Back when you and dearest Gabrielle snuck into Solyss Peak.”

She beckoned her patronus closer, gently nuzzling it. 

“Have you really forgotten the little cupid that sent you in Gabby’s direction?”

Harry froze. He stared at the silvery stag in horror.

The one on the mountain.

His mind felt blank. The raw, aching pain of his severed hand spread across him like wildfire. Hate ensnared his senses.

“There you are,” a taunting voice whispered, “Finally -”

Burn.

Golden flames spewed from his wand. Harry watched with unseeing eyes as an ever-growing serpent bathed the hall with horrid light.

“More,” Harry whispered, clawing himself up to his feet, “More.”

Kill her. Kill her now.

The metallic frames along the walls melted into a molten mess, the tongues of gold consuming each and every Auror that lingered. The woman in violet stared around her in awe.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered longingly, “If only you were older . . . I’d have loved you for myself.”

The golden tongues burned her robes away, leaving behind a nude young woman with long, black hair. Her tanned skin glowed from the fire’s light, which drowned out the faint flickering of her violet eyes. Finally, a familiar medallion hung from her neck, accompanying the emblem of Gellert Grindelwald.

Harry stared at her blankly. She was painfully pretty.

“So that’s what you look like . . .”

The woman shook her head, bemused.

“You’re not the only one capable of changing their appearance, ma colombe.”

Makes sense. She looks too young for an Acolyte.

Harry shrugged.

“It doesn’t really matter. You’re going to die tonight.”

“On the contrary, I’ll be leaving soon,” she said, “But, before I go, I’ve something of a gift.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. The roiling flames curved towards her.

“I wouldn’t, were I you,” the Violet One warned, “Not unless you’d like to doom your little pet to a certain death.”

Harry paused. The golden serpent, which had lunged towards her, now spasmed in the air, hesitating indefinitely.

“Prove it,” Harry whispered, “Now.”

The nude witch nodded. Harry watched as she stepped closer, her tanned breasts glistening beneath the golden light. She paused before a large glass cloche atop one of the few plaques still untouched.

“Do you know what this is, Harry?”

Harry watched as she pulled the cloche away to reveal a single black flower. A number of wilted petals lay at its base. His heartbeat quickened as sweat poured down his skin.

“Something the Truest wants very badly.”

The nude one laughed.

“Thinking of stealing it for her?” she asked, “I wouldn’t. She doesn’t care about you.”

She stepped back with a flourish, tossing the glass cloche aside. It broke into a nigh-infinite pieces, mixing with the debris under heel.

“Well?” she frowned, “Won’t you touch it?”

Harry paused. He eyed the flower resting on its mound, black as night.

“What’ll happen if I do?”

The woman smiled.

“Only one way to find out.”

She took a step back, watching him carefully. The fine hairs on Harry’s arm straightened, and his heartbeat quickened.

“I could steal it,” he noted aloud, “You don’t seem too worried about that.”

But the nude one only smiled.

“Something tells me you won’t.”

Harry frowned. His eyes roamed the hall, pausing upon the downed Aurors, the destroyed plaques, and the dementors being eaten alive by flames of gold. He closed his eyes.

Another chance.

His fingers clasped around the flower, and his body spasmed.

Mud splashed about as Harry sprinted through the wet field. The outskirts of a village loomed beyond. 

“Crucio!” Harry roared furiously, stabbing his wand at a blurred figure. The woman spun around, her black hair flying over her shoulders, “Avada Kedavra!”

“Harry,” the woman pleaded, sinking to her knees, “Harry, please -”

The vision shifted. Harry now stood at the center of a gothic-styled room. Hundreds of faces he hardly recognized surrounded him in a semicircle, bowing fervently as one -

“Mine,” Harry whispered, “You’re mine -”

The world blurred once more. This time, Harry was clambering through a cavern of sorts. A Looking Glass floated behind him, broadcasting his every move.

“Where are you,” Harry whispered, “You’re here. You have to be somewhere here -”

A lone sapphire glimmered beneath a mound of rocks and skulls. Harry felt his heartbeat quicken.

“I found you,” joy spread across his features, elation echoing in his chest, “I finally found you -”

The true world finally reappeared. Harry breathed heavily, his chest now aching from the weight of the golden flames that surrounded him. He stared at the nude woman, his heart racing.

“What was that?” he demanded, edging closer, “Was that the future?”

But the woman said nothing, instead plucking the rose from the plaque.

“That’s for you to decide, my dove,” she whispered, her fingers curling around her medallion, “Pour le bien de tous.”

The faintest light shone beneath that of the fiendfyre, and the woman disappeared.