Harry Potter and the Scarred Destiny
By excalibos
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Books 1- 6. Stop reading right now if you don't want spoiled. I mean it. Right Now.
Synopsis: My version of how Book 7 might be set.
Authors Note: This entire story is based on some conjectures and theories I have had or read about resulting from the first six books in regards to the Horcruxes as well as various characters and their interactions. I warn you that the story starts R/Hr and H/G but will end H/Hr. I will explain my reasons in context as the characters learn for themselves. Also, Harry ended HBP in a very dark place, so expect that dark attitude to worsen as he hasn't even really grieved for Sirius in HBP, on top of that, adding Dumbledore to the coming angst. There will be some disturbing themes, and depending on how it ends up being written, I will notate the chapters accordingly. Also, every chapter will start with a quote instead of a title, and yes, the quotes will have some connection to the chapter.
I want to advance ALL the characters. People are not static, and the events tied into these peoples' lives, no matter how fictitious, would still affect them in various ways. I wish to try to demonstrate this by having these people grow with their experiences. Too much happened in books 5 & 6 to have everyone saying the same things and reacting the same way. These aren't caricatures; within the confines of the covers, they are real people. And real people are affected by the world around them, and the knowledge that they gain.
Thoughts are in italics or between asterisks, depending on the archive's formatting. Post it anywhere, just please give me the credit. Any and all constructive criticism is welcome; however, any and all flames or shipping arguments will be ignored, and quite possibly laughed at. I intend to make this story read like one of the novels, so it might end up being very long. You have been warned.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, not in any way canon. I do not own these characters; JK Rowling and the various worldwide publishers of the HP franchise own them. I am simply borrowing them for a short time, and promise to return them in reasonably pristine condition. I am only writing this for my own enjoyment; if you wish to review, have at it. If not, I simply hope that you enjoy the story.
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Whatever our creed, we feel that no good deed can by any possibility go unrewarded, no evil deed unpunished.
--Orison Swett Marden
June 27, 1997
The cities and villages of Britain slept fitfully, as the deaths of the previous year continued to haunt them. New disasters seemed to arise every month, as the police and the government had found no way of stemming the rising tide of bodies that had begun to fill the coroner's and mortician's offices throughout the kingdom. Families began to keep their children indoors and personal travel had begun to slow, leaving the roads empty save for those that commuted to work or transported goods. Terror had begun to once again fill the hearts of Britain's sons and daughters, wizard and Muggle alike.
The darkness surrounding Little Whinging seemed absolute, as dense clouds rolled across the fading light of the shadowed half-moon. Shadows crept over and under the seemingly tranquil landscape, unknowingly mimicking their human counterparts who were sneaking throughout the British countryside, spreading death and chaos at the behest of a megalomaniacal tyrant. The meager streetlights that shone in the early morning darkness seemed to barely hold back the night when, with an almost mythical burst, the sun broke through the hazy mists, cutting the shadows and exposing the promise of a new day.
The strengthening light slowly flowed down the streets and alleys like a flood until, finally, it crashed against the immaculate hedges and siding of Number 4, Privet Drive. The light found only one outlet into the house; a window on the second floor facing the street, curtain pulled aside as the form of a young man stepped forward. A hand slowly released the curtain as the morning ritual was completed, the coming of the dawn assured.
The young man quietly slid back into the bed, retrieving the battered tome he had been reading moments before the dawn. He adjusted the pillow behind his back, and opened Battling the Darkness by Ditric Saasi to the place he had marked. According to Hermione, Ditric Saasi had been a Dark Hunter, the precursor of the modern Auror, almost two hundred years ago. He had battled hundreds of dark wizards and creatures in his career, finally falling in battle against a young Grindelwald in the late 19th century. Harry was enjoying the Hunter's views on evil and how to fight it.
The dark is the eternal enemy of man. Even in the misty ashes of time, men huddled around fires deep within caves, fearing the coming of night. Throughout human history, the greatest terrors would rise from the darkness. It is the place of nightmares, of unimaginable evil. For within the darkness is the unknown, the unexplainable. Men fear what they do not know, and even the bravest men feel a twinge when confronted with utter darkness. Darkness consumes all, and is ever present, lurking just beyond the view of the men who fear it.
But the dark is even more afraid of a single flame.
The sound of the alarm clock ripped him away from the book. After switching it off, he marked his place and slid the book back under his pillow.
`Another day has come. How many will die today, while I am forced to hide behind these walls?' he thought morosely. His thoughts began to waft toward the images of his godfather and surrogate grandfather, but with a mental jerk, he forced himself out of those thoughts, unwilling to walk those paths just yet. `Soon, when this is over, I'll mourn them. Until then, they'll be the fire in me.'
Harry Potter, the roughness of his ever-growing tangle of a beard ignored, stretched his back as he prepared for the second part of his ritual. Bending down to grasp his trainers, he pulled his torso down until he felt the muscles in the back of his legs slowly relax. With a firm nod, he reached for the hooded jumper with front pocket that he had inherited from Dudley and pulled it over his white t-shirt.
His return to Privet Drive had been something of a shock to him. He had been expecting his aunt and uncle to be resolutely aghast at him, as always. He had prepared himself for the worst tirades, or even unending silence. What he hadn't expected was his aunt Petunia to hand him a letter just as he walked through the front door, and not berate him afterwards. He had opted not to open the letter, as he had recognized Dumbledore's handwriting. A glance to the side showed him the letter resting on his nightstand, still unopened.
The sight of it also reminded him of his cousin Dudley's reaction to his return. The muscled youth, no longer looking like a two-legged whale but more resembling a gorilla, had simply looked at him, not with malice, but with something Harry had never seen in his eyes before. The only one who hadn't changed in their attitude towards him was Vernon. The huge man still enjoyed making Harry's life miserable.
He smirked quietly to himself as he pulled up the loose floorboard, revealing his one indulgent Muggle possession. He cautiously lifted the portable tape deck from its hiding place, thanking the heavens for Hermione and Hedwig's assistance in obtaining the device. It had taken a bit of convincing on his part, but with his money and Hermione's understanding of his needs, he now had music to help focus his emotions on what he had to do. He still remembered the letter he had sent her.
Hermione,
I know that we haven't been close this last year, what with the Potions fiasco, and the whole Malfoy thing, but I hope that we are still friends. The thought of losing you or Ron is unbearable to me, but it hurts more thinking that I let you down somehow this year. Please forgive me if I have. I can't fight this war without you.
I've talked to Mrs. Figg, and she's agreed to let you and Ron stay with her while I'm stuck with the Dursleys. She's really nice, once you get past her cat fixation, although I am sure Crookshanks will love it there. And she's a Squib, so she knows all about our world, and she's a member of the Order. She helped me at the trial 5th year; she testified on my behalf, and helped me get Dudley home the night of the attack as well.
I know it is wrong to ask a favor of you when you'll be risking your life on my behalf soon, but I need your help with something. I want to ask if you could get me some sort of portable music player, and some music that would be good for training. I just keep remembering how easily Snape managed to overwhelm me. I have quick reactions, but I'm not fast enough.
I'm not strong enough to fight the Death Eaters and Voldemort yet, either. So, since I'm still restricted from using magic until my birthday in a month, I'm going to be training the Muggle way. I could really use your help on this Hermione. Just let me know, and if you do this for me, I will repay you, every quid.
I look forward to seeing you soon. Enjoy the time you have with your parents. Make sure you tell them you love them, every day; you never know what tomorrow will bring.
Your best friend (hopefully)
Harry
She had sent Hedwig back the very next day with the package, and a tear-stained letter. Harry had almost been tempted to tell her in his letter that she couldn't come on this search, but she had even anticipated that.
Dearest Harry,
Of course we're still best friends. Nothing could ever change that, and don't think that I'm going to let you off the hook either. I'm going with you and that's final. We've fought for so long together, Harry, that I want to be there with you at the end and watch the new beginning of our world with my two best friends by my side.
Mrs. Figg sounds wonderful Harry. I understand why we can't stay with the Dursleys; from your stories of them, they probably wouldn't appreciate having three teenaged wizards in the house. Especially since two of them can legally perform magic now. Don't worry about magic training, as I'm studying several books that Professor McGonagall allowed me to borrow from the library during the summer. Madam Pince almost had a coronary when I showed her the note, especially when she saw the books that I was going to check out. We can always do spell practices after Godric's Hollow, wherever we are going after that. I've also been learning about Occlumancy, so we can work on that as well if you want.
I got you a cassette player and some batteries, as well as a cassette an old friend of mine suggested when I asked about training music. And don't worry about paying me back; just get me something special for my birthday.
And Harry, try not to overdo things. You know how you get sometimes.
Love,
Hermione
After carefully tightening the special self-cooling athletic pants he had owl-ordered, he put the earbuds to the walkman in place and tucked the walkman into his jumper. Slipping his wand into the holster hidden inside the left sleeve and with a last look around the room, he quietly slipped from the house to begin his morning run.
Taking a careful inventory of the immediate vicinity, he began jogging toward the south, his breathing carefully controlled, his feet rolling smoothly across the pavement. His eyes twitched from side to side as he ran, the harsh voice of Moody expounding Constant Vigilance ringing through his mind, the soundtrack to a recent American action movie pulsing in his ears. `What was it called? Oh yeah, Mortal Conflict or something like that." Whatever the movie was, it had a driving rhythm, and the bass beat and seemingly violent nature of the songs perfectly matched his simmering anger.
As he passed Wisteria Lane, he shifted direction to the east, avoiding the narrowed eyes of the man watching him from the compact parked in the drive. Harry knew of the neighborhood's opinion of him, since Vernon insisted on proclaiming Harry an attendant of St Brutus'. His teeth clenched as another shock of fury tried to override his self-control, but quickly he stamped it down, burying it deep within his internal "cupboard under the stairs".
As the sun continued to rise, his steps wended the way back to Number 4. Harry knew he had to be back in his room quickly, or the Dursleys would be furious. They hated him being out on his own for too long, outside their hearing and sight. As much as they despised his mere presence, they feared him accidentally exposing his secret for the neighbors to see even more. As Vernon constantly reminded him, `I'm a freak, a creature of low stature that is only around because of his good graces." Harry suppressed a growl as the darkness inside again tried to rise.
`No, don't let it out. Hold it in, let it build. Use it against Snape, against Lestrange, against HIM. Remember the people who've died because those gits wanted power. Make them sorry they ever thought about their own glory.' A fresh wave of adrenaline coursed through his muscles, increasing his speed until he was sprinting the last five blocks to Number 4. Harry's legs seemed a blur as he headed for the front hedge, running like he was being chased by Fluffy the three-headed dog. With a burst of energy, he flung himself into a diving roll over the hedge and quickly slipped through the door of the house.
Harry leaned against the doorjamb, his breath coming in short pants. Quickly, he plucked out the earphones and slid them into the pouch on his shirt, just in case he ran into the Dursleys before he made it to his room. Before he could get too relaxed, he made his way upstairs, using every hard-earned trick he had learned while sneaking around Hogwarts. The brief thought of his former school brought another pang which was also quickly squashed.
"You should be more careful when you try to sneak around the house, Harry. I could hear you come in. I learned last summer that the top hinge squeaks."
Harry froze at the sound of Dudley's voice. `Of all the people to catch me, it had to be him. Now he's going to go running to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, then they'll be pissed that I woke them so early on a Friday.' Harry waited for a moment, expecting Dudley to smirk and go running for the master bedroom at the end of the hall. What caught Harry's attention was that Dudley wore no smirk, and that he was still standing at the top of the stairs.
"Dudley, is there a specific reason you haven't gone running to Uncle Vernon yet, or are you simply enjoying me squirming beneath your gaze?" Dudley looked at him, his expression shifting from one of neutrality to one of, 'Am I imagining this, or does Dudley actually look ashamed?' Harry watched as Dudley took a deep breath, and in another surprising act, looked him directly in the eyes.
"Join me for some coffee, alright Harry? We need to talk." Harry was now sure that he had somehow found his way into the wrong house. Not only was his oaf of a cousin talking to him, but was actually being somewhat…nice to him. However, morbid curiosity overrode his ingrained sense of distrust of all things Dursley, and so he followed Dudley to the kitchen where Dudley quickly whipped up a pair of decaf coffees. He handed one to Harry, saying, "Here. You shouldn't have a lot of caffeine when you're training. It can cause pretty bad muscle cramps. Coach told us that when Johnston had his arm clench from holding a head guard too long. His bicep just curled in and took about a half hour to finally loosen up."
Harry mechanically accepted the bitter drink, his mind reeling from the bizarre situation he found himself in. His cousin, one of the many banes of his Muggle existence, was being nice, and was even offering training tips to him. He slowly took a sip of the coffee, trying to get his thoughts in order before replying. "Why are you doing this, Dudley? I thought that you'd've snitched on me by now. You love seeing me in trouble."
Dudley winced as if struck. "I guess I deserved that, Harry, after all the things I've done over the years. I just…I wanted…I needed to say…Thank you," Dudley stammered, his motions making it evident how hard he found it to say these things. Harry's jaw dropped, now quite sure he was either dreaming or that something or someone had replaced Dudley while he was at Hogwarts. Dudley looked at Harry's reaction and began to speak again.
"I... It never really occurred to me, until this past term, when the papers and the telly were constantly talking about how many people had died in strange accidents. That's when I realized; I would have been one of them, two years ago, wouldn't I? When I felt all cold, and I saw all those horrible things, I almost died that night. Whatever it was you did, you actually saved me; you risked your life to protect mine. And that made me think about the way I had treated you for so long, even how I had acted just a few minutes before whatever happened that night. Granted you did goad me on, but the fact is, even though I was a right proper twit, you still stood there and saved my life. You could have left me to die, but you didn't. And that got me thinking."
Dudley looked down at the steaming cup of coffee, as Harry wondered at the significance of what was actually happening on a seemingly normal early summer morning. His world was reeling on its axis; he was beginning to feel that anything could be possible. Only Malfoy showing up at the door wearing Gryffindor colors would seem even more bizarre than what was going on in front of him. He resolutely shook out the cobwebs and tried to pay attention to his cousin.
"Here's the thing, Harry. You're a good one, you are. Even after all these years, you still stand up for us when our life is on the line. All the stuff Dad has said about you and w-w-wizards, I don't know if it's true or not. I won't deny I'm uncomfortable with the whole magic thing, especially after that big ox gave me a tail, or those two tossers made my tongue grow. But…if you're willing, I'd like to at least start over with you. You made me see myself in a new light. I don't want to die with people only remembering me as a bully, or some over-pampered git," Dudley whispered as he looked up at Harry again.
"I want to be remembered fondly. I want for people to actually care that I'm gone. My friends, if you can call them that, only hang out with me because I'm tough and strong. I just… Your friends broke you out of this house in our second year. They broke the law, and they broke you out of here, not because you make them feel good about themselves, but because they are your friends. I notice the owls, Harry, the ones that carry messages. Your friends want to know how you are; mine are only interested in picking a new victim for me to beat up. I didn't even think about the Evans boy, or what his name could mean; he could be distantly related to us, couldn't he? And I just knocked him around so they would like me more," Dudley looked back at his cup, before taking half the cup in one gulp. Harry, preferring to mask his shock at his cousin's words, sipped carefully while Dudley continued.
"I know you can't forgive me Harry; there's too much between us. But if you need advice on your training or someone to train with, no matter what you're training for," Dudley drew in a deep breath before slowly letting it out, "I'll help you any way I can."
Harry barely escaped choking on his coffee as the deeper meaning of Dudley's words hit him. He suddenly felt as if Voldemort had just walked up and given him a Christmas gift, saying that the last seventeen years were nothing but a misunderstanding and could they be friends. He stared at Dudley for what seemed like hours, skepticism and confusion vying for dominance within his mind. His cousin Dudley, the boy who had spent the majority of his life making it miserable, had just offered an olive branch and a hand of friendship.
`That's it. I've gone absolutely mental. I am obviously having some sort of delusion, or I'm under a curse. That's it. Voldemort is trying to make me question my sanity by making me think that Dudders is being nice to me.'
"What are you playing at Dudley? What's your angle?"
"No angle. No games. I… While you were out one day last summer, I snuck in your room and looked up that Voldemort character you mentioned year before last, the one that got Mum all freaked. Did he…Did he really try to kill you? Did he really do all that stuff they say he did?"
"Did and is still doing. The bridge accident, the hurricane, the fires down by Westminster were all his doing. He's returning to power, and he's not happy about me running free, as I'm responsible for beating him last time." Harry was shocked by Dudley's reaction. The larger boy's eyes narrowed and his fists clenched.
"He's no better than Hitler. He's nothing but a monster, hating people just because they're…different. Oh god Harry. We're no better than he is, are we?"
Harry shook his head. "You talking to me like this, offering to help. You aren't like him. He enjoys hurting people too much. I've seen it firsthand. He relishes causing pain, killing people. He considers anyone and everyone expendable to his cause. You may have had a similar attitude about me, but we're still changing Dudley. We're still trying to find who we are. My life has been so tied up in fighting Voldemort the last six years, I don't know what I'll do or who I'll be once it's over." Harry looked across at his cousin, who suddenly stood up, punching a meaty fist into his palm.
"We've got a lot of work to do then, if you're going to have a chance at finding those answers." The fervor in Dudley's eyes made something in Harry pulse, a feeling of…invincibility.
`If Voldemort can get even Dudley fighting on my side, maybe we've got more than a chance after all.' Harry was saved from having to reply to Dudley by the entrance of Petunia. She looked between the two boys, a question in her eyes, but she bit her lip and motioned for Harry to begin breakfast. Harry moved quickly to comply, hoping to avoid questions that could cause his new ally trouble. Petunia simply sat down at the table and poured herself a cup of coffee.
"I don't know what was going on a moment ago, but I recommend you do not allow Vernon to find out or overhear something he shouldn't. By the way Harry, the backyard flower patch needs to be weeded; while you're at it, you should also prune the roses and turn the soil for the peonies that I want planted next week."
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Later that afternoon, the unruly haired boy plodded his way into the house for a drink. He felt the aches of his morning run combining with the pains of bending over several flower beds for most of the morning leave him miserable. He pulled at the shirt he had changed into after breakfast, glad he was about to be rid of the sweat drenched thing. Harry quickly slipped off his dirty trainers next to the doormat, unwilling to risk the screech his aunt was sure to unleash should she discover dirt tracked through her nice, clean house. Clad in a pair of oversized socks, he walked to the kitchen, only to find Dudley standing by the sink with a glass of ice water waiting for him.
"I'll let you rest up a bit and get changed. Then meet me in the basement, and I'll show you some things." The basement had been converted into a training area for Dudley after he had won the trophy for Smeltings the previous year, as Vernon practically burst with pride for his son's accomplishments. Harry had, in fact, been surprised that Vernon had not burst, as the man seemed to have taken up the poor eating habits that Dudley abandoned in favor of the pursuit of continued athletic victory.
Harry drank the cold water slowly, still leery of the seeming reversal in his relationship with his cousin and nervous about what `things' the larger boy was going to show him. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he wordlessly handed Dudley back the glass, and with a slight acknowledgement to the much larger boy, went up to his room to wash up and change.
As he walked into the room, Harry barely managed to duck as a feathered ball almost bashed in his head. Hedwig hooted in indignation, offended at the behavior of the small owl, as Harry plucked Pigwidgeon from the air like a Snitch. The tiny owl hooted happily as Harry struggled to untie the letter from its tiny leg. Finally freeing the envelope, Harry released the tiny owl, which immediately flew out the window.
Harry carefully slit the seal of the envelope with his potions knife. Carefully extracting the paper within, he found instead of a letter from Ron an invitation.
To Master Harry James Potter,
We are most pleased to formally invite you to the pending nuptials of William Weasley and Fleur Delacour on August 17th, 1997 at the Burrow. The ceremony will occur outdoors, so dress accordingly. An outdoor reception will follow the ceremony. The bride and groom ask that in lieu of gifts, donations be made to the St. Mungo's Magical Maladies research division.
Date: Sunday, August 17, 1997
Time: 11:00 am
Location: The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole
Pass Phrase: Dumbledore's Wish
Harry smiled at the invitation, and the veiled inclusion of the sentiment that had kept the wedding from being cancelled. As he went to put the note on his dresser, he noticed more writing on the back.
Harry,
We can't thank you enough for all that you've done for our family, on both sides. You have been like part of the family ever since you came to the Burrow before your second year. I know that you are going through a difficult time right now, but I hope that you will think of us if you need someone to talk to. We look forward to seeing you this August. Fleur sends her best wishes, and wants to reiterate the family's desire to see you again.
All our love,
Bill and (the future) Fleur Weasley
Harry's smile became softer as he thought of the feelings behind the letter. Suddenly he remembered why he had come to his room, and quickly ducked out of his dirt stained clothes and pulled on a pair of shorts and the t-shirt he had worn that morning. Grabbing his only other pair of shoes, he descended the staircase and made his way to the basement.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw Dudley pummeling the heavy bag that hung from the ceiling. Harry watched in awe as his once bulbous cousin maneuvered with what could only be described as grace, pummeling the bag with jabs and solid punches. Harry could only thank whatever powers existed that his cousin had decided to end the animosity.
Dudley straightened and saw his cousin watching from the stairs, his mouth hanging open. He allowed a slight smirk to play across his face as he chuckled. "Harry, if you want to learn anything, you'll find that it's a lot easier to do so over here. There's an extra set of gloves on that old steamer trunk by the stairs."
Harry looked abashed as he made his way to the bag, while Dudley moved to the opposite side of the bag. Harry slid on the gloves, tightened them, and took some practice swings to get used to the feel of the gloves. Harry then planted himself in front of the bag, and raised his fist, holding the other to his chest. Dudley hid a smile and motioned for Harry to start punching. Harry swung a solid punch, rocking the bag slightly, and would have smiled save for Dudley smacking him in the head with a quick swing.
"Hey!" Harry groused as he rubbed his head. He heard Dudley chuckle, then the larger boy gave a single command. "Again."
Harry set himself, and once again delivered a solid punch to the bag, rocking it back. However, once again his cousin's gloved hand struck him in the side of the head. Anger rising, Harry began to move around the bag toward Dudley when he was stopped by the coldness in his cousin's voice.
"Defense, Harry. You're so focused on attacking the bag that you forget to defend yourself. If you leave even the slightest opening, your opponent will move in and finish you quickly. Always protect your head. Broken ribs and bruised kidneys will heal eventually. Blows to the head will scramble your brain. Always protect your head, Harry. Get back and try it again."
Harry looked in astonishment at his cousin, realizing that with two seemingly insignificant hits, Dudley had proven Moody's unceasing cry of Constant Vigilance to be true again. He had completely forgotten about defending himself, worried only about getting the punch right. Calming himself, Harry once again moved from of the bag, setting himself in a strike position. He slowly raised his arms, one ready to punch, the other blocking the path to his head. He swung at the bag again, connecting solidly, and felt the blow of his cousin's hand strike his uplifted glove. He backed away from the bag, a grin beginning to form on his face as his cousin looked grimly at him and nodded.
"Good. Do it again." So he did it again. And again. And soon, two hours had passed, the basement filled with the sound of leather striking canvas and, toward the end, flesh.
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