The Growing Darkness & the Fading Light
Chapter 11
The humid air swelled around Harry, enveloping him in the reek of acrid blood and discharged urine. Healers were moving through the street collecting bodies and separating the crows from their feast.
They soon approached Goyle Sr.'s body, causing Harry to tense visibly. As they had done with the other corpses, they laid a thin white sheet over his body and levitated it onto a conjured stretcher. Unlike the others, however, the body was immediately turned over to the custody of an Auror and taken away separately.
Harry let out a pained breath. It's true then. I'm a killer.
The weight of that realization tugged him to the ground. The cobblestones bit into his knees and palms as he retched into the gutter, mingling his vomit with the blood seeping into the sewers.
He knew nothing about Goyle Sr. except that he was a Death Eater and what little he could glean from his son's behavior. The Goyles were followers, that much was certain. Had they not fallen in with the Malfoys, they might well have been chosen for another Hogwarts' house and escaped Voldemort's machinations.
Harry rocked back into a squatting position, forcing himself to endure the odor as penance for his sins. He felt he should do no less considering the line he had now crossed. Intentionally or not, he had killed someone. He tried telling himself that Goyle Sr. was a Death Eater and his demise unintentional, but a shadowy voice lurked around the fringes of his mind, whispering doubts and thrusting aside his attempts at justification. As the smell grew in strength, so did the voice, but it wasn't whispering anymore; it was thundering. Bishop had taken pawn. Pawns understood little of the greater tide of war, they simply followed their king's orders.
He needed Hermione. That much was evident. He needed her wisdom, her support, her kind hand. He wanted her to tell him that it was only an accident and he wasn't at fault, that it could've happened to anyone, that he had done the right thing.
Hermione wasn't here though. Remus had arrived and interrupted their argument before it was resolved. She left with Remus, casting one last angry look over her shoulder before covering her mouth and nose against the rising stench. Without her support, Harry was left alone and doubting with only his own indecision and second-guessing for company. Harry portkeyed himself away shortly after she left, only able to go as far as Hogsmeade station successfully; Hogwarts concentration of magic made it too difficult to penetrate at the moment. He trekked the remainder of the way to Professor Dumbledore's office on foot and waited there as instructed.
The headmaster joined Harry via the hearth an hour later, arriving in a flash of green fire.
"Harry, do you truly understand why I want you to learn the Dark Arts?" he asked immediately.
Harry gaze shifted from the window to the headmaster. It was a stupid question. "Because Lord Voldemort will be using them against me, we discussed this already," he said tiredly.
"Yes, that is it in part," Dumbledore responded, settling himself on the edge of his mahogany desk. "However, what Professor Snape has told you before is also true. Lord Voldemort is an exceptionally skilled manipulator, particularly so, when the one being manipulated is impulsive and easily swayed by their instincts."
Harry was certain the headmaster could've chosen his words better. "So reckless Harry needs lessons controlling his emotions?" Harry snapped, his voice rising. "Is that it?"
"Harry, you and I should be able to have this conversation without either of us letting anger or frustration determine our behavior," Dumbledore said, his voice stern and standing up again to pace around his office immersed in contemplation. Harry let him have all the time he wanted, his thoughts returning to the spray of blood fanning out from Goyle senior's head.
"You seem to be struggling with the Dark Arts, Harry," Dumbledore said after several moments.
"I'm quite capable," Harry challenged.
"Oh, I don't doubt your abilities at all," the headmaster said, waving a hand dismissively, "but I was referring to your ability to maintain an objective viewpoint during tense, emotional situations."
Harry was incredulous. "So you think I should've just let Bellatrix go?"
"I would like you to have left that task to the Aurors, Harry, but this isn't about you seeking justice. The manner in which we conduct ourselves however, is of primary concern and is what sets us aside from the Death Eaters. For example," he stopped to look pointedly at Harry, "in your encounter with Bellatrix Lestrange today, you conducted yourself admirably until she found where you were sensitive. A coercive threat was all that she needed to push you beyond your conscious limits. You took all of your anger and rage and focused it into a single devastating act of vengeance."
This was not the tongue lashing Harry had been expecting since he met the headmaster in the courtyard. He feared that Dumbledore would berate him for meeting Hermione against his wishes. It was almost as if the headmaster expected him to seek her out.
Despite this realization though, Harry was still defensive of his actions. Every instinct screamed to him to argue every point, challenge every detail, resist in whatever form his imagination could concoct. But there was a decisive infallibility to the headmaster's words that stifled any opposition from Harry. Professor Dumbledore had said in a simple sentence what his consciousness had been telling him since the haze of anger and frustration had lifted in the courtyard.
A moment passed before Harry submitted to brutal honesty over lying to himself and the headmaster. "I can't separate the two," Harry said quietly, avoiding the headmaster's gaze, "the Dark Arts and my emotions. I react. That's just how I think. I don't know how to sit back and evaluate a situation without feeling."
"Harry," Dumbledore began, speaking gently as he took his seat and removed his half-moon spectacles, "that is part of the reason why I have had Professor Snape teaching you the Dark Arts. You must think beyond the immediate details of his instruction. He is an example in many ways. He understands where you have been more than you will ever really know. He also masterfully walks a fine line between society's rather conventional views of good and evil. You are allowing his demeanor to cloud your judgment and failing to see the man behind the facade."
Harry rubbed his temples, unable to follow the headmaster's thread. "I don't understand, Professor Dumbledore, what it is that I'm supposed to be looking for?"
"He is a shadow of the man he could have been. Embracing the Dark Arts at such a young age with as violent an upbringing as he had has formed him into a man that defines his happiness by the misery he brings to others. He is buried in malice, ill contempt, and disdain. Events have occurred in his life which allows him to define his own personal division between right and wrong. However, as you have experienced, Severus will readily tread across the commonly accepted lines our society dictates when it suits his purposes. But underneath it all, he understands where the point of no return lies and has placed himself on the correct side of our struggle, in spite of the scorn heaped upon his name."
"You're not telling me much. All I'm hearing is that Snape is nothing more than a git that happens to be on our side."
"Then let me say it more plainly, Harry. Severus Snape can teach you how to separate your emotions from your actions. Your mutual dislike forces you to deal with the hostility you share. In learning the Dark Arts thus far, you have focused on the means of casting the spells, binding your emotions to that learning in the process. What you have not discovered is how to isolate your feelings from the act of conjuring a spell. The judgment used to select a spell is very different from the emotion required to empower one.
"Professor Snape has attempted to push you to your emotional limits, not to exact revenge on you for misplaced anger. Rather, his intent is to encourage a detachment and enable you to see beyond the Dark Arts as an outlet for your negative emotions. Once you achieve this, the Dark Arts become no more than simple mechanics with a stigma attached to them.
"It seems, however, that Professor Snape and I have misjudged how deep your emotional reservoirs go, Harry, particularly in reference to Miss Granger."
Harry sat back, pondering Professor Dumbledore's words. "Professor Snape hates me. I don't know how I can learn this separation when dueling with Professor Snape. He seems to have this insane hate for me. When he comes at me, my emotions are the only thing that keeps him from killing me. How am I supposed to learn anything in that situation?"
"Perhaps then, Harry, we should alter the format of your classes. Professor Snape is teaching you in the same manner as he was taught, the same manner in which all Death Eaters are taught. Needless to say, his teachers were less than desirable and-"
"His teachers?"
"His father and Lord Voldemort, Harry. In Professor Snape both sought a student that possessed the requisite mental strength and was capable enough to withstand a confrontational approach. Neither would have allowed Severus to survive had he been unable to adapt to the situation. Professor Snape had to make certain sacrifices."
"Such as?"
The headmaster waved his hand to forestall Harry.
"I have told you enough about Professor Snape's background, more so, perhaps, than you need to know. Professor Snape's history is his own to keep and share as he chooses. I only divulge this information so that you might appreciate his perspective and take the step that he has been unable to. I expect you to be Professor Snape's negative."
Harry closed his eyes, tucking his fingers underneath his glasses to rub out some of the aching in them.
"You should return to Gryffindor Tower, Harry. This evening has been difficult on yourself and the entire wizarding world. You will need your rest."
Harry ignored him. He needed to hear it said outright, confirmed by someone with some measure of objectivity.
"Tonight was an ambush, wasn't it?"
Dumbledore sighed and sat back heavily into his chair.
"Yes, Harry. Nymphadora told me of your behavior en route to Diagon Alley. As such, we'll be intensively devoting the next few days of your Occlumency lessons to advancing the placement of your mental barriers. Lord Voldemort will be emboldened by his successful penetration of your mind tonight, tempered only by the capture of Bellatrix LeStrange. But for the moment, you need rest. Go on now."
Harry nodded and rose, pausing momentarily when he reached the door.
"Professor?"
"Yes, Harry."
"Could I send an owl to Hermione? We left Diagon Alley on bad terms and I'd like to work things out."
"I don't believe that is a good idea."
"Please, sir," Harry pleaded. "She's been the only one keeping me going through all this. I need her help. I'll be certain to clear the letter with you if I have to, but I need to speak with her. I can't let this go on."
Harry felt a soft probe at his mind, but was too mentally taxed to get barriers in place to prevent it. The headmaster's eyes softened and Harry dared to hope that he would be allowed to contact Hermione.
"Very well, Harry, but do not discuss your locations or what either of you are doing at the moment. You will need to confine your conversations to resolving your disagreement."
Harry's heart felt a little less burdened. "Thank you, Professor."
Dumbledore nodded, the corners of his mouth rising slightly. Harry turned and left. He would try the mirrors first, but he suspected that Hermione wouldn't be responding to hers any time soon. A letter would be much more difficult for her to ignore.
* * * * *
Harry wedged himself between two exposed roots of the oak tree at the lake's edge. The steadfast endurance of the tree provided him with much needed reassurance. Harry had tried for a full day and a half to rouse Hermione via the mirrors, but the glass reflected only his own guilty face.
The time spent fretting over resolving things with Hermione was worming its way into his skull, breeding doubt and poisoning his confidence. He was ready to fold. His pride, his justifications, none of it mattered anymore. He needed to hear her voice or see any expression other than the furious glare that was burnt into his mind upon their separation. Hogwarts was a tomb when she wasn't around. And without her regular companionship to chase away the decay, if only via the mirrors, he felt like a shell of a man.
Harry shook his head to bring his focus back to the parchment unfurled before him. There was a cluster of ink drops where he poised his quill and attempted to begin the message to Hermione. But the words wouldn't come and the ink would continue to drop, marring the yellowed surface of the parchment.
Even the simple expressions were so difficult to come by that he started talking aloud to himself, hoping a little coaching would help.
"Start simple, Harry."
He didn't know if saying it aloud would help since he'd already tried starting simple several times to no benefit. Still, he scratched a "Dear Hermione" and stared at the parchment again. A tentatively spoken "I hope you're well" followed and then nothing after that for five whole minutes. So he decided to force it, throwing out whatever thoughts he could extract from his mind.
Dear Hermione,
I hope you're well. I'm as well as can be expected, considering. I don't know if you'd heard but Mr. Weasley is going to be okay. Thank Merlin for that! At least that's what Dumbledore said. I'm glad he wasn't hurt. Or you or Ron either. Tonks is OK too. That's a bit of good, yeah?
My lessons have shifted a bit. I think-I hope- this'll make you happy, if nothing else, but I'm not dueling with Snape anymore. Professor Dumbledore stepped in and is altering things. The last couple days, we've gone `hunting' in the Forbidden Forest instead of blasting each other to hell and back. Madam Pompfrey is relieved to say the least. Not so much for the wildlife out there. I don't think should say anything to Hagrid about it.
Harry paused again and took a deep breath, steeling himself.
Hell, Hermione. I just need to hear from you, anything but this silent treatment. I'm as sorry as you can imagine. So very, very sorry about what happened at Diagon Alley! You are right to be mad at me. It just all seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I thought you'd be safer that way and I'd be able to do better out there, but I was horribly wrong. I ran into Bellatrix LeStrange and she seemed to know everything about where you were and how I'd left you. Voldemort must have picked it out of my brain or something during the battle or maybe he was watching the whole time and I just didn't realize it.
I know you're ignoring me and I deserve it, but please, we've always been able to talk through things in the past. This is the treatment you always give to Ron when he's being a git. I don't want to feel like Ron. I want to feel like Harry. The one who can't get express a thought without you already knowing where I'm going with it.
Please contact me through the mirrors or at least write back to me. With this silence, I feel like the Great Squid is dragging me under. I need to know that we'll get beyond this. That I haven't buggered everything that has happened this summer.
Love,
Harry
Harry reread the letter and felt like an idiot. He damn well wrote like an idiot. But it was done at least and he dared to hope that it would arouse a response out of Hermione if nothing else. If they could get back to talking, he believed, they could get back on better terms.
Harry rose and hiked to the owlery. Mid-summer was a relatively slow time for the owls and they all perked to life, looking eager the moment Harry entered, each one hooting and rustling their wings and shifting from side to side on their feet. Harry scanned the various recesses in the stone tower that comprised the owlery, looking for Hedwig. The snowy owl was already ahead of him, descending to the pedestal in the center of the room as he looked the other way. Harry only caught on once she nipped at his wrist. He pulled a treat from his pocket and gave it to her to chew on while he lashed his note to her claw.
"Take this to Hermione and don't leave without a response, okay?"
Hedwig dipped her head in response and turned to leave.
"But don't peck her hand to pieces or anything like that, okay? Just wait patiently."
The owl took off without any indication that it had caught Harry's qualification. He certainly hoped the message had sunk in.
Harry checked his watch as he left the owlery. He was due to meet Dumbledore for another Occlumency lesson in twenty minutes. He could spare the time, but figured he might as well head to the headmaster's office early. Maybe they could start early and Harry wouldn't have to think about Hermione's silence.
When he arrived outside Dumbledore's office, he heard the headmaster's voice mingling with second. Harry listened at the door, but was unable to make out any words until the headmaster beckoned him.
"You may enter, Harry. We aren't discussion anything that I wouldn't advise you of regardless."
Harry stood up from where he was listening at the keyhole and entered the office his face burning with embarrassment at being caught.
The headmaster waved Harry into his usual seat and continued his conversation.
"Go on, Remus. How might we anchor the Occlumens?"
Lupin's head nodded to Harry in acknowledgement from the room's fireplace, wreathed in green flames.
Remus continued, "It's a bit tricky, but Ernhart believes an accomplished Legilimens could act as a conduit of sorts to ensure the Occlumens doesn't lose track of his own biorhythms while assaulting the target. The hard part is that the Occlumens will be a single entity with three heartbeats clattering around in his mind. And with kind of assault you are suggesting, it's likely the Occlumens will not be able to distinguish which is his own, which is his target, and which is the Legilimens bridge. He'd have a two in three chance of snuffing out the wrong life force. Ernhart believes its much simpler to just penetrate the mind as a Legilimens."
"And Ernhart is?" Harry interjected.
Remus answered, "Ernhart Mackenzie, Harry. One of the leading experts on fundamental magical theory. He's not the best practicing Occlumens out there, but is extremely knowledgeable in obscure magical methods."
Dumbledore turned a grim face to Harry. "I've asked Remus to speak with some other theorists on the idea you proposed: of going into Voldemort's mind and combating him there. Of course, we kept the particulars vague, for their own safety and ours as well."
"I thought you were against it?" Harry asked, shocked. "All that about being where Voldemort's strongest and all that."
"Well, I'm afraid you raised a compelling point, Harry. I'm just exploring all our options. When it comes to Lord Voldemort, I'm learning that I must keep everything on the table. All options must be considered so that we may best understand what tools we have at our disposal in defeating him. Unfortunately," he continued, rising from his seat and walking around the room, "I remain unconvinced that the danger to the Occlumens-you in this case-is much too high. I would like to see a higher likelihood of success before attempting anything on this level."
Dumbledore turned to face Remus inside the fire. "Thank you for taking this on, Remus. Continue the discussion with Ernhart, if you would, and contact me if you two discover anything illuminating."
They said their goodbyes and the green tinge to the flames faded away.
Harry stood up and walked to one of the tables, fingering a spindly silver instrument. It was possible, Mackenzie had confirmed it. His success depended only on his own abilities.
Dumbledore's presence in his mind was very much a strong knock on the door these days. And while Harry wasn't proficient at keeping him out all of the time, he was determined to hide his thoughts.
"What do these things do?" Harry asked, indicating the instrument he was playing with.
Dumbledore walked over to the table while Harry regulated his breath, guiding his thoughts and Dumbledore's probe towards his problems with Ron. He could feel the mental barriers fall into place around his intentions on the conversation they'd just had with Remus.
Dumbledore stepped next to Harry and paused for a moment. Harry felt his concentration falter, the mental dance between himself and the headmaster introducing fault lines in his defenses. The probe slipped away, Ron's pain and jealousy came back into focus and Dumbledore finally spoke.
"They are works of Goblin art, Harry. Something I received as a gesture of gratitude while brokering peace in a past dispute."
"That right?"
"Yes, unfortunately, I saw less gratitude from the wizarding contingent. A bit of a shame, really. But enough of that, let us turn to your Occlumency lesson. That is what we are here for after all and to be frank, the stakes are quite high."
"Right." Harry followed the headmaster to his desk and sat down in his customary spot.
"Now Harry," Dumbledore began, taking his seat as well, "As we've just seen, you seem to have the rudimentary elements of Occlumency in place."
"What do you mean, Professor?"
Dumbledore smiled serenely, eyes twinkling.
"While I am certain that you are concerned about the status of your friendship with Mr. Weasley, I highly doubt that it would be foremost of your mind after the conversation we just had with Remus. I would expect your thoughts to be at least somewhat related to the task at hand."
Harry paled a bit, but didn't respond.
"A mental feint, Harry, is exactly the avenue you want to pursue in turning away another's penetration. However, the feint must be plausible to the intruding mind. If they are expecting to find you thinking about hippogriffs and instead find you pondering dragons, you can well be certain that the Legilimens will understand the fallacy for what it is."
Harry mumbled his acknowledgment, noting that he'd have to be sharper in guiding his thoughts.
"Now that you have the fundamentals down, Harry, we should move into more aggressive forms of Legilimency."
Harry blanched, recalling his sessions with Snape last year.
"For the time being," Dumbledore stood as he spoke, "in such circumstances, it is best to not bother trying to divert the intruder, instead - at least initially - resist their every effort."
The headmaster walked to the window and peered onto Hogwart's expansive lawns.
Harry cleared his mind in anticipation, willing blankness into his mind and patched together a steady rhythm to his breathing. His basic defenses were in place only a moment before they crumbled beneath Dumbledore's onslaught.
The headmaster's mind searched everything across the expanse of Harry's mind: the intent to subvert the headmasters wishes in going after Voldemort, the ache that came whenever Hermione came up, the creeping doubt over whether he and Ron would ever recover their friendship, the guilt over Goyle's father's death. All these images turned over in Harry's mind, beyond his control, as the headmaster examined them as if idly turning a globe to find some obscure country.
And then a vacuum replaced the probe. Harry was again alone in his head, his breathe coming in harsh, ragged gulps, and his knuckles white where they gripped the arms of his chair.
Professor Dumbledore sat down in his chair and set his wand aside, near a stack of parchment, his face slack, but very serious.
"You'll need to be able to repel these kinds of attacks, Mr. Potter, if you wish to confront Lord Voldemort in his own head."
Harry's face burned with shame and embarrassment and more than a little anger.
"I understand," he ground out, "sir."
The rest of the session continued in much the same manner with Professor Dumbledore cracking Harry's mind repeatedly and emphasizing his superior skill as a proxy for Lord Voldemort's. By the time Dumbledore dismissed him, Harry had been properly chastised and was deadly resentful. He stood and left the room without another word, his fists knotting at his side and his wand calling out to him to break something.
* * * * *
The remainder of the week brought no response from Hermione and after a weekend of nothingness, alone in Hogwarts. Harry's resorting to trying to reach Ron. His probes, while answered, were tersely phrased notes that boiled down to the redhead telling Harry to sod the hell off. The world seemed to be falling apart around Harry; difficulties with Dumbledore continued to mire Harry down, creating further friction between the two. As with Snape, Harry had fallen into a rut when it came to Dumbledore's aggressive Legilmency penetrations. The only thing that seemed to be going well was his lessons with Snape. The old antagonism was still there, but a small, fragile gap had emerged, creating a small degree of segregation in his spell casting and his emotions.
Harry stepped behind a tree, following Snape's lead and hiding as the centaur herd rode past, shaking the ground beneath their feet. Avoiding unwanted combat, they continued on in silence, deeper into the forest, before they first caught the clattered voice of the harpy talking to herself.
This hunting, on some level, still aggravated Harry. Snape had told him to abandon his whining; it this hunting or face the Dark Lord unprepared.
The harpy nest was contained within a great evergreen tree. The enormous fir climbed in web-soaked shadows towards the canopy of the Forbidden Forest, ultimately emerging into the heavens and summer sunshine as a vast spire to rival any of Hogwarts own.
Snape stepped next to Harry and spoke in a low voice. "Draw her out."
Harry sighed audibly, communicating his disgust with the Potions Master, and then moved from his shelter into the open area, stepping heavily over the branches.
The harpy immediately ceased her self-address and with a rustle of her wings, descended to thickest branch of the tree. Now out of the shadows, Harry received his first full look at the monster and he was filled with confusing emotions. At once he was simultaneously struck with desire and revulsion and above all, a profound sadness at seeing the pitiable creature. At the creature's core was the naked torso of a beautiful woman, beautiful enough to put Fleur Delacour to shame. But the visage of youth and was destroyed by the madness that consumed the creature, fangs protruded over lips from which leaked a slavering mucus. Where thin arms should have been, there were instead great wings, sheathed in black feathers and intermingled with gray, rotting ones that fell away whenever she shifted. And instead of a long slender legs that would catch the notice of any wizard were short, stubby haunches end in claws like those of an eagle, with sharp talons that never seemed to stop twitching, dislodging the bark beneath them.
She leered at Harry, shifting anxiously on her feet, and spoke to him in a warbly voice, "You are trespassing, yes you are. This is the Harpy Tree. No beasties enters here. You will die if you stay."
Frankly, Harry had no idea what the hell Snape wanted him to do. He had hoped she would just leap at him and be done with it. That way, he could just go into defense mode and end the fight as soon as possible.
"I'm not leaving." Harry responded, tensing as he spoke, ready to move as soon as the harpy was.
The harpy did not respond and but remained on her perch, muttering. Harry had to strain his ears to catch what she was saying.
"He must die. He is powerful, this one. He has come unwanted. We must be cautious though. Yes."
She suddenly spread her wings to their full width shrieking at the top of her lungs. Harry reflexively backed away several steps, his eyes fixed on the harpy who hadn't moved, but resettled her wings back at her sides.
And then the upper reaches of the tree responded with shrieks of its own, the answering cries of other harpies, descending from the perches. Harry turned suddenly to look at Snape who remained beyond the sight of the harpies, sitting on a fallen log with his legs crossed.
"There's more than one?" Harry shouted.
Snape merely sniffed and ran a knuckle across the end of his hooked nose, apparently addressing a mild itch he'd found there.
Harry swore and returned his attention to the gathering swarm of harpies dissolving out of the murky tree and descending on him at great speed, swerving around the dry and barren under branches.
Four, no five, Harry counted, remembering the sentinel still sitting on her perch.
He cast a shielding charm around himself to buy some time and retreated from the clearing under the tree to the more densely packed vegetation he and Snape had just left, hoping the overgrowth would hinder the harpies' wings.
The harpies attacked in pairs, the first of them careening into Harry's shield charm at top speed before bouncing away out of Harry's field of vision. The second was right behind the first and with the shielding charm dispelled, Harry received several gashes along his shoulder before he could get out of the way.
The burn didn't go away as he recovered, aiming his wand and pouring his all his malice into a bone shattering spell. The harpy's wing crumpled and she hit the ground with shriek, tumbling end over end before coming to a stop and laying still.
Just a monster…she's just a monster. I'm not a killer.
His mental reassurances found no purchase in his mind and he spun to face the next two harpies with his wand held tentatively before him. A clumsy stupefy missed the first one. His wand shook in his hand as he reached out for the killing curse, an agonizing line of thought that sliced his chest, somewhere deep inside. He hesitated further, feeling an electric thrill itch in his fingertips and simultaneously churn his stomach with nauseating revulsion.
His hesitation took too long and the rush of green light that ended the harpy's life came from Snape's wand. The Potions Master walked the rest of the way into the alcove of trees into which Harry had retreated. He cast an enormous shielding charm around the two of them, a shimmering hemisphere fifty feet in diameter that frustrated and taunted the remaining harpy.
"Hesitation will kill you every time, Potter."
The calm disdain that laced Snape's voice infuriated Harry. He took a deep breath and scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to cover his shaking. He'd almost done it, wanted to do it, wanted to kill so easily, without regret, without concern for consequence.
Snape turned his wand once Harry dropped his hands. The shield expanded around them, buffeting the screaming harpy further away.
"I'm going to drop the charm. Do not hesitate again. You will be merciless. They are monsters as is the Dark Lord. You will kill it and without remorse. Anything else is unacceptable."
He nodded to the fallen harpy with the vacant eyes. Harry shivered, silent in his disgust.
Snape walked to the far edge of the shield charm, giving the harpy a direct line of attack to Harry. The barrier fell away immediately and harpy shrieked in intense excitement, quickly transitioning from its hover to gain speed and dive on Harry.
Harry instinctively trained his wand on the beast. This one however seemed to have learned from watching its sisters fall and darted and dodged, keeping Harry from getting a solid bead on it. The burn in his shoulder caught his attention again and he used that to build up the hate in his mind.
Punish her. She's a distortion. Evil. Pure Evil. Kill her. Save yourself. Punish her.
The mental game was starting to work and his hand shook less and less as he swung it back and forth, tracking the harpy. She was quickly getting too close and he'd have to cast or be taken out.
"Avad-"
He clamped off the rest of the curse. The revulsion of hearing it spoken aloud - from his own mouth - made him want to retch. Awash in self loathing, he dropped his wand arm and let the harpy barrel into him at full speed.
A shot of pain exploded in both shoulders where her talons ripped through his robes and into the flesh underneath. Both claws hooked under his left and right collar bones and he felt himself jerked into the air. She twisted suddenly and released him, sending Harry tumbling into the undergrowth.
As he lay there, quite still on the flat of his back, little filaments of black crept in around the edges of his vision. His breathing was ragged and painful and all the while, the filaments wove themselves into a larger part of his sight until there was only a small, coin-sized window to the world onto which his mind held.
There was nothing left in him to resist. He no longer had Hermione as an anchor. No Ron for levity and Dumbledore seemed content to let Snape draw him down to hell.
The coin of light closed up after a few more breaths and all the world was black. His hearing held out a moment longer and just before he lost consciousness, Harry heard the telltale rush of a freight train and knew Snape had destroyed the harpy.
A/N: The completist in me took over and I came back to the chapter. We'll see if I can't bang out the rest of the story as well.
-->