A/N: OMG!!! I am SO sorry for how long it took this chapter to get out… I was having some, erm… Difficulties. But, here it is. Thanks to Batgirl, who is my #2 Fangirl, for checking over this chapter and correcting some stupid mistakes that I made along the way.
Disclaimer: As you all know, Harry Potter and associates are owned by the esteemed JK Rowling. The Swords Series is owned by Fred Saberhagen.
CHAPTER NINE: SPLINTERING
Indeed, all those afflicted by the Mindsword had now been returned to normal. Further celebration ensued when it was learned that Professor Lupin had been cured of his lycanthropy by the touch of the Sword of Mercy. The Gryffindors had convinced Dean Thomas, an excellent artist, to make a congratulatory banner for him, as Lupin had been extremely popular in the year he had taught at Hogwarts. Although there were no spots open for Lupin, Professor Dumbledore had asked him to remain on the castle grounds for the time being. Only a few knew this was because of the growing threat of attacks by Voldemort, now that he almost certainly had Doomgiver in his possession.
Of another matter of consternation was the fact that Professor Snape was still missing. Harry presumed he had been with the attack on Hogwarts, and could not return at this time. However, that didn't do anything to assuage the worry which for some reason gripped him. He didn't much like Snape, but had no wish to see him dead by Voldemort's, or anyone's hand. Harry had come a long ways from wanting to murder Sirius Black for his parents' deaths.
Harry sat on the hill overlooking the Quidditch pitch, sitting next to Hermione, both simply staring out across the hills surrounding them. Every moment since he had entered the Great Hall yesterday seemed a blur, except for when he was with her. The funny thing was, now that they had admitted what they felt, both were unsure where to go from there. They had envisioned that day so much, and focused so much on just saying it, neither had considered what happened next.
"We'll figure that out as we go, I guess," Harry had murmured to her. So they sat there, Hermione's head on his shoulder, his arm around her slender body, just staring, taking in the pristine beauty about him.
Harry was alerted by soft footsteps behind him. He slowly stood up and turned around. Professor Dumbledore approached him through the thick grass.
"Harry, I know you've only just returned, and there is much you would like to do now that you are back. Unfortunately, circumstances do not permit this."
Harry stared blankly at Dumbledore. He wasn't quite sure what the man was getting at. Until he remembered… The Ministry. They were still gripped in the awful power of Soulcutter. And no one could enter it… No one but…
"You want me to go to the Ministry of Magic and destroy Soulcutter, don't you Professor?"
Dumbledore's face was drawn, and somehow tired looking again. Exactly what had Soulcutter done to him? Harry wondered. At every mention of the weapon, Dumbledore seemed older. Like Soulcutter's touch, however brief, was like an itch just under the skin that he knew was there, and couldn't quite reach, and couldn't quite ignore.
"Harry… The people in there. They're dying. No one else can enter the Ministry building without succumbing to the degenerative effects of Soulcutter. Shieldbreaker should protect you, as it did against the Mindsword. If you cannot do this, Harry… Then I fear those trapped inside have no hope. I could not possibly withstand Soulcutter for the time it would take me to find its center and sheath the weapon."
Harry's heart grew heavy. Dumbledore was the strongest wizard he knew, able to somehow withstand even the might of the Mindsword, so powerful even Voldemort feared him. And he was saying flat out that he could not do this. "But, if I could get inside, recover it, then why destroy it? We could use it to-"
Dumbledore cut him off as harshly as he had ever witnessed. "No," he whispered fiercely, "Harry do you not see? Soulcutter is an evil blade. It is a terrible thing, something which you would wish only upon your enemies… And perhaps not even then. It must be destroyed, now, before it is too late. There are those who would use its powers again. And how would a weapon such as this be used for good? I cannot say, Harry. It must be destroyed."
The raw vengeance etched on Dumbledore's face was daunting. This was an attitude Harry had never faced in the benevolent old man before. He felt a light touch on his arm, and started. He had forgotten that Hermione was there. She gazed up into his eyes, her own face expressing something… Harry couldn't put it into words. And he suddenly understood.
"You're right, Professor," he said raggedly, "it has to be stopped. I'll do it. When do I leave?"
Minutes later, Harry stood before the Ministry of Magic building, having just been Flooed in to a fireplace a short distance away. Beside him stood Professor Dumbledore and Lupin. How Dumbledore had managed to get permission for Harry to enter the building, Harry had no clue. In fact he had no clue if the even had permission. Things were spiraling out of control. He just wanted to rest and be with Hermione. This wasn't supposed to be his job. He was a 16 year old wizard in training, not the savior of the world. He had seen far too much these past few days. And he had realized something else. These Swords, for all their stupendous powers, were dangerous indeed. But now he needed to concentrate. He pushed everything else from his mind, because, in the back recesses of it, he still feared that not even Shieldbreaker would protect him from Soulcutter.
Dumbledore looked down on him, a steely hardness in his eyes. "Well, Harry… Off you go. Good luck."
Harry reflected that was a rather odd thing to say, but shrugged it off and drew Shieldbreaker. Instantly, somehow, all his doubts, all his fears, everything was wiped away. He felt invincible. An indescribable feeling of power flowed from the black hilt into his body. His eyes narrowed, and his face drew into a grim smile. He did not fear Soulcutter now.
Harry strode slowly forward, gripping Shieldbreaker all the time. It did not announce the presence of a threat with its pounding echoes, just glinted in the now-dimming light.
He stepped past the spot in which he recognized as being where Dumbledore had been forced to stop and turn around. He felt nothing as he went beyond that point. Glancing about, Harry noticed that there were no other people at the Ministry tonight. It made a perverse sort of sense. What was the point in guarding a building no one could approach or leave?
Harry tentatively approached the door. It had been hit by a curse, apparently, and was hanging off its hinges a bit. Harry stepped up and kicked it over. It didn't budge at first, and several more blows were necessary in order to break down that barrier. Pausing for a moment, he looked at the Sword in his hands, realizing he probably could have used it. He sighed momentarily, as much out of annoyance at his stupidity as with the momentary weariness that kicking down a door had brought on.
He stepped inside kicking up dust from the floor which had not been cleaned in days. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, as all the lights seemed to have faded to a dim glow, the sight he saw shocked him. There were multiple wizards, collapsed over desks, chairs, and lying on the floor. They looked horribly thin from days without any sort of nourishment. Although they all seemed to be alive, not all were conscious.
"Are… Are you all alright?" Harry asked tentatively. The absolute silence which greeted his timid question was somehow numbing and brought on a chill. It was quieter than a tomb in here, and the atmosphere was just as stale. He didn't want to stay here for longer than he needed.
Harry stalked slowly through the corridors, somehow half-expecting someone to leap out of the shadows at him. He knew it was lunacy to expect such, but in a place like this, his mind was running rampant. Strangely enough, the hairs on his neck lay flat, even though he sensed a subtle evil in here. The powers of Shieldbreaker would not allow him to be threatened though.
Harry reached the interior of the Ministry now. He stepped into an open room with cubicle like structures dotting the area. He supposed this was an office complex of sorts. If his surmise was correct, Soulcutter would be somewhere in this room. He began his search, eyes roaming over the bodies of those who were the victims of its awful power. The remained stationary, barely blinking, and giving no indication that they even knew Harry was there.
Harry reached a secluded corner of the room. A balding red-haired man lay slumped on his worn desk. Harry sucked in his breath. It was Mr. Weasley. He had been at work, of course, that day. And he had fallen under Soulcutter's power. Harry stepped over to him, laid one hand on his shoulder. Mr. Weasley didn't move at all. His breathing was quiet and even. Harry glanced about the room again. He was no expert, but he knew these people needed help, and soon. They were all dying, slowly, from the sheer lack of will.
A sudden though entered his head. Was this how people who had their souls sucked from them by dementors behaved? As if nothing existed and nothing mattered. He thought of Sirius. They had meant to suck his soul. Would he have just sat there then, staring into absolute nothingness, unable to react to anything at all? The thought didn't bear dwelling upon. He shook it off and continued his search. And there.
Harry saw at one desk, a figure now slumped over, clutched in one hand a Sword. But it was so unlike any other Sword Harry had seen thus far. It did not shine like the others. It lacked luster, and seemed to dull the light about it. He stepped closer. Inspecting the handle carefully, he saw that there was no symbol on either side. The emptiness Soulcutter inflicted, he mused.
Harry drew the blade from the man's willing grasp and set it on a table before him. Then, thinking of all the people who were pained by the power of this weapon, he lifted Shieldbreaker. Its pounding began and rapidly increased in speed and strength. Harry brought the Sword crashing down. A crescendo of the pounding, magical steel met magical steel, there was a tremendous flash and explosion, then quiet as Shieldbreaker beat down into silence. Harry glanced about. Nobody in the room moved. They were still under the continued effects of the weapon, much as the Mindsword. Woundhealer would have to be brought here as well. And the sooner the better.
Harry paused, turning towards Mr. Weasley. But he realized there was nothing that he could do. He stepped back across the dusty floor, breathing once more the dank, slightly foul air and made his way out. He slowly passed by those still collapsed in apathy on the floor, face hardening to keep from retching at the thought of it all. The Swords had to be controlled. They had to be brought together and not used ever again. This couldn't be allowed to happen. Though Harry had destroyed Soulcutter, and now held the cracked hilt in his hand, he felt no peace about it. There still existed 10 Swords of Power, including the one he now held.
People would fight for these, he realized. Fight for them, and possibly die for them. How many did they currently know the whereabouts of? And how many others did they know lay in the possession of Voldemort? He held Shieldbreaker, Hermione had Wayfinder, Ron held Townsaver, Neville with Coinspinner, while Woundhealer resided in Hogwarts as well. Soulcutter and the Mindsword had been smashed into shrapnel, but Voldemort still had Sightblinder and Doomgiver. What was the other? Dragonslicer, he remembered. He would worry about that later.
Harry stepped out of the gloom, past the bodies of those in the outer reaches of Soulcutter's power, who were actually beginning to move a little. Harry said nothing as he walked past. He met Dumbledore outside the Ministry, and handed him the cracked hilt which was all that was left of Soulcutter.
"Let's go," he said, voice like granite. He did not feel like discussing his journey into the Ministry at this time. Dumbledore seemed to sense this, and followed silently.
Harry sat in the darkness of the common room late that night. The fire still burned, but Harry found no comfort in its heat. He stared into the flames, eyes looking beyond them into something stirring in his mind. Soft footsteps broke his reverie. He turned his head slightly, and his eyes focused on a figure descending the staircase. It was Hermione, looking sleepy, hair framing her face.
"Harry? Are you alright? You haven't been the same since you came back today." She came and kneeled on the floor next to him, hand resting on his own. Her touch was warm, but not even that could begin to heat the utter bleakness he was feeling.
"I don't think I ever will be quite the same. You didn't see, Hermione. You didn't see what I did. All those people…" His voice cracked, and his words trailed off. "They were caught in such a terrible power. I freed them from it, but… they still…" he felt himself breaking down. He wanted to cry, but was so afraid of not being strong for other people.
Hermione inched closer, now gripping his hand, her other palm running slowly up his arm to his shoulder. "Harry, I know you have feelings, too. You've had to be so strong. But I know you do feel. I've seen it before. Please, tell me."
Harry moved his jaw, trying to settle with himself. "I'm getting tired of it all, Hermione. Tired of fighting Voldemort. It's all I've done my entire time here at Hogwarts. I want to be a normal kid. Is that too much to ask for?"
Hermione's eyes locked on his, flashing with sudden anger. "Don't you tell me you want to be normal, Harry Potter. Normal is for scared little boys who can't deal with the simplest challenges life thrusts at them. That's not you. That will never be you. And that isn't who you want to be, truly. It's better to be interesting than a carbon copy of somebody else. Trust me, I know."
Harry stared at her, sensing the bitter truth in her words. Hermione wasn't normal. Neither was Ron, nor really anyone he knew. He smiled for a moment, remembering indeed that the Dursleys considered him as abnormal as humanly possible. And that for the longest time, he had wished to be different. This was the life that had been handed to him. He had thought he wanted to be more normal now that he had reached this point. He had saved the girl he loved, and was with her. He had thought that had been enough. But it wasn't. Voldemort did have to be stopped. And he'd do what he could. He owed to everyone, but most of all, himself. How could he ever know who he truly was if he didn't take the chance to find out? So he would. It was the least he could do.
A/N: Hope you all enjoyed that chappie. It was a long time coming. Thanks to those who reviewed: Ranma, Takeda Lee, Batgirl, Hallie Marie, Soulshine, padawan leia, Blazefury, Betemagus Prime, meme30, kinicky21, Sandra, SamanthaMarie, HermioneGrangerSongHarryPotter, Chelsea, Joyce, Spencer Nassau, Clair, and Emma.
Questions…
Soulshine: Well, we'll just have to see, won't we?
Blazefury: lol, at least he's not really, really evil…
Joyce: Doomgiver has a very…er… Archaic sense of Justice. It really depends on who wields it to whether it's good or evil.
Spencer Nassau: 10 is indeed the highest rating.
Clair: There will indeed be more. I've only covered about half the material I've come up with.