Chapter Text
Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge
Chapter 10: Time to Mourn
Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).
Note: "{Parseltongue}"; "(Gobbledegook)"
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Room 12 (Astral Plane)
"Now, if you excuse me, I need to check on Nagini, she is…" the Spectre hesitated. "Sorry, I'm not sure how to call her."
"Eh, don't sweat it, Spec." Deadman shrugged. "In this business there are times you know what you have to do, but don't have the faintest idea of how to explain it. Been there more than a couple of times. Just don't do anything you might regret later. I'll be here if you'd like to talk some more. If you don't, that's okay. Rama knows I would have used a friendly dace when I started this job."
The Spectre nodded, his robes pulled tight around him, until he disappeared.
In the dimensional pocket, a green-clad shape unfolded into being.
"{Nagini. I am back.}" he whispered, and the snake raised her head, and bowed a moment later.
"{Master.}" she answered, deferently.
"{I'm no Master.}" the Spectre hissed, a flick of his hand and a simple stool appeared. The Spectre sat on it. Looking awfully tired.
"{Then, what should I call you?} she pleaded.
"{Harry. Just Harry.}" the Spectre pulled his hood back, revealing the face of a young man of about 25 years old. As Nagini watched, the young man shrank into himself, until he looked like a teenager of 13 or 14 years old, his face tense, but somewhat… satisfied? Pleased?.
Suddenly, he looked up, and smiled. There was a deep fatigue in his smile, and also pain and relief.
"{Harry then.}" Nagini repeated. "{What are your orders, Harry?}" her voice was fearful and hopeful.
"{I have no orders to give. So, let's talk. Tell me how did you end up enslaved to Riddle.}"
Nagini bowed again, Harry could have sworn she was ashamed.
"{I am old, Harry. And I wasn't always like you see me now. There was once a time I was a woman.}" she averted his eyes.
Harry's hand touched her neck delicately, turning her head until he could see her eyes. "{A curse?}"
Ashamed, Nagini shook her head, breaking contact with his hand. "{Yes. I am Maledictus. A curse passed from mother to daughter. We gain the ability to turn into a giant snake and become human gain. Until one day, we can no longer do so and are instead forevermore trapped in our serpent form,}" her face didn't change; but hearing her voice, Harry thought she would be crying now, were she human.
"{Would you let me see?}" his eyes shone white behind his round glasses. His voice irresistible. She nodded, staring into his eyes, her own pupils dilated so much her eyes turned into two black orbs.
To his own surprise, the Spectre turned into smoke, and entered Nagini's eyes.
Gringotts
Owlery
"(Never in my life have I seen so many death notifications at the same time, Senior Account Manager Sharpstone.)"
"(You are young, Runner Darkblood, you are young. I have seen this many, back during the Blood War. Only once, but then, that was a whole line that was snuffed in a single night. From great-grandparents, frail with age, to mere toddlers, several families wiped out in a single night.)" The goblin shuddered. "(However, this time, it seems the tables have turned, and it was a harsh judgement or a bloody vendetta. Instead of a single family wiped out from the land of the living, multiple families are now lacking a Head of House.)"
"(What do you mean, Sir?)" The young goblin asked, while tying another letter to a Gringotts owl.
"(Note the names. All followers of the Dark One. Confirmed or suspected. Free or in prison. Even a few who held perfect reputations. And many of them, Heads of House. Whatever happened, it held nothing back. The Wizengamot will be half-empty next session.)"
The goblin grinned. "(Get the word out, the private rooms must be all ready by tomorrow morning, young Runner. We are having a lot of wills read. Several vaults will change hands. There are many Galleons in commissions in our way, Gringotts shall not be unprepared. Now, go!)"
Runner Darkblood ran away as fast as his legs could carry him. A few minutes later, a small army of goblins got to work on the private rooms used for the reading of wills, preparing everything for the tide of grieving relatives.
Grieving was the official word, most of the people who would attend tomorrow would do so out of mere greed, willing to fight their own blood in the name of receiving a few knuts more.
"(Maybe I should ask for a few platoons of warriors, in case things get heated.)" Sharpstone mused, tenting his fingers in front of his wizened face. "(Who am I trying to deceive? Things will get bloody heated. Better to get the wand-boxes ready too.)" No will would be read in the near future without a magical box holding the wands of every wizard and witch involved in a reading.
Cleaning blood would be a chore he didn't want to inflict on the cleaning crews, unless it was absolutely necessary.
It reduced his commission.
Meanwhile, in his office, Ragnok finally transcribed his letter to the new owner of the Banshee's vault. Very politely, he asked for Harry Potter to present himself to Gringotts at his earlier convenience.
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Private Waiting Room
"Amos?" Amelia Bones knocked softly at the door of the room where Amos Diggory had received the bad news. "May I come in?"
A choked sob answered, and for a moment, the director of the DMLE feared her long time colleague would be too deep in mourning to answer, but the door opened, and the beaten face of Amos Diggory appeared.
"Amelia. I…" he sobbed, but managed to recover his composure after a moment. "I am sorry, Cedric… he…"
"I know, Amos, I came to offer my condolences. Cedric was a good man."
Amos wiped his face with a handkerchief. "The Potter boy, is he… is he okay?"
"The Healers managed to save him. Thanks to Cedric we managed to rescue him, barely in time. He will recover."
A sad smile appeared on his face, but it lasted only for a moment; "I'm glad. Then my son's death was not in vain." He seemed to find some strength in his own words. "The ones who killed him? Did you and your people catch them?"
"Not exactly, Amos. Something happened, and except for young Potter and another one, we found no one alive." She paused, "I can't really tell you more, at least until the investigation is done. The Unspeakables are now reconstructing the events, as best as possible."
"I understand. Procedures must be followed, right?" A grim smile spread over the normally affable face of her friend. "I hope they all died in pain." Amos nodded twice to himself, smoothed his vest, and put his robes straight.
"Amos, if there's anything I can do to help, just let me know, please." She wrapped her hands over his right hand.
"I wish there was, Amelia. Most probably, my family won't recover from this blow, but I will do all I can for the Potter boy. My son died trying to save him, and I won't allow his sacrifice to be wasted."
Amelia squeezed Amos' hand, in mute support. "Go home, Amos. Amanda (1) must be half-crazy with worry now."
He nodded brusquely, and put his eyeglasses back on, "I… yes… you're right." He walked out, holding his head high in an obvious effort to steady himself. "Merlin… she didn't even want to attend to the Task…" he shook his head sadly.
"I'll accompany you to the floo, I need to authorize your exit, please don't talk to anybody else about what happened."
A flash of anger crossed his eyes, but it lasted only a moment, "I won't." he squeezed her hand back, "Procedures must be followed." He said bitterly.
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Private Room
"Well done, everybody. Go back to your usual duties." Healer Briggs wiped his brow with a cloth.
Robert Green rested comfortably on a narrow bed. His wounds closed and blood replenished. Briggs would have to write a report for the DMLE about what had happened. He didn't cherish the idea of discussing the strange man who had demanded the muggle to receive treatment, but he would have some corroborating witnesses.
He cast a last charm on the man, seeing there would be no lingering effects.
Not even a scar. The most the man would remember would be thought of as a nightmare.
First thing on the morning, he would be taken back to London, put on a taxi driven by a cousin of his, a squib who usually had the job of returning St. Mungo's sporadic Muggle patients back to their own world, and sent home.
Hopefully he wouldn't have too many problems to get back to his life.
Obliviate was such a useful spell…
Ministry of Magic
Department of Mysteries
Pain.
Pain deeper than he had ever known.
Every muscle, every joint. Full of deep and overwhelming pain.
It was even worse than the Dark Lord's Cruciatus. He had been subjected to it several times during the Blood War, usually due to the incompetence of other Death Eaters, though after the first time he mostly managed to deflect the fault to somebody else.
In the few times he had suffered the Cruciatus, the Dark Lord had held the curse on him for almost three seconds, but the effects lingered for days after.
This was worse.
He shook his head, and the movement was strange…
He looked around. He was in a cage, there was straw under his head. There was something white next to him. He closed his eyes, the colour shone in the gloom, the reflected light hurt his eyes.
The prisoner gulped, and realized he couldn't feel his teeth with his tongue. Startled, he tried to touch his face, to see the damage, he wanted to scream.
He had no hands anymore, instead, a feathered… white… thing… came into his view. His scream turned into a shrill. Desperate, he tried to run, and fell over the straw. His head hit a metal dish on the floor. Water sloshed in it.
He managed to stand on clumsy legs. His knees were set backwards, and walking was a series of mistakes, but he finally stood over the dish. He peered at the surface of the water, waiting until it settled down, so he could look at himself.
The eyes of a bird returned his stare.
Horrified, Lucius Malfoy stared at the reflection for a long time.
What had Potter done to him?
WHAT?
Hogwarts
Headmaster's Office
Dumbledore had finally managed to get things under his control. Right now, he was in his office, deep in thought. What could these events mean for the fight against Voldemort?
Especially when all the silver trinkets that tracked his location and health had exploded. He considered himself lucky not to have been there. His office was empty when it happened.
There were silver fragments inbedded all around the shelf he had them on.
A person standing there would have been hurt or killed. The fragments had hit the furniture and walls with incredible speed. Several portrait canvases had been practically destroyed by the pieces.
One, Professor Heliotrope Wilkins' portrait, had been damaged beyond repair. Her painted figure looked surprised, immobilized by a long piece, nailed into her forehead.
Dumbledore had taken that portrait down, and after repairing carefully the canvas, he had attempted to reactivate the magic that animated the painting.
It had been an exercise in futility. The magic of the trinket had dissipated the magic in the painting, effectively killing Professor Heliotrope Wilkins' last remnant.
Still, he counted himself lucky that she had been the only victim. All the other portraits had been making the rounds on their spare portrait frames.
The Moon
JLA Watchtower
The first JLAer to arrive had been, predictably, the Batman. He sat immobile on his chair, waiting for the others.
In front of him, an open folder, containing the file he had compiled about the Spectre. The most powerful hero known to him. Practically, the most powerful entity known.
Jim Corrigan had worked with him several times, and though he wouldn't ever admit it, the Spectre managed to creep him out.
The Batman suppressed a shudder. According to J'Onn, there was a new Spectre. It had been a very short time since Jim Corrigan had been finally laid down to rest.
He hated meddling with magic. It threw him off his game. He wasn't able to really trust in his instincts, and had to resort to trying to logic out things that logic had no measurable effect on.
He frowned under his mask.
'Absolute power corrupts absolutely.' he thought. There was nothing the Spectre wasn't able to do.
The Phantom Stranger had done the JLA a really big favour with his warning.
Author Notes:
According to the Potter Wikia, the name of Mrs. Diggory wasn't mentioned. As I really like it, I chose Amanda, as a nice alliterative name, Amos and Amanda sounds good, don't you think? I briefly considered Andrea, just to make an Amos 'n Andy joke, but reconsidered.