Disclaimer: I am a writer of fan fiction. I possess nothing but an active imagination.
Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and understand this story. And thanks to everyone with enough intelligence to see the humor in Eddie Izzard's history lesson sketches. To anyone who didn't get it, as the English would say, bugger off. For those of us who think freely, it's okay to make fun of psychotic killers. All SNL did last season was make fun of Osama bin Laden and they won an Emmy. I apologize to anyone who doesn't know why I'm going on about mass murderers. Enjoy the story!! Sorry it's a short chapter; a longer one will follow soon.
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An Organ of Fire
by Kristen Elizabeth
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"Hagrid!"
Out of breath from his hasty hike up the stairs, Hagrid burst into little Harry's bedroom. "What's the matter, 'arry?"
Harry and Hermione's son was sitting up on his bed, fully clothed and wide awake. It had only been an hour since Hagrid had urged him to get some sleep, but the only thing that had come to him when he closed his green eyes had been dreams. Nightmares.
He scrambled out of bed. "Father! He's in trouble, Hagrid!"
The half-giant's body formed a shield at the door to his bedroom, preventing the child from running out of it. "Woah! 'old on there, lad. Jus' where do yer think yer goin'?"
"Father needs my help, Hagrid. We don't have any time; we've got to get to him!"
Hagrid bent over as much as he could to see the boy better. His aged face was sympathetic. "I know yer want ter help yer Mum 'n Dad, but also know yer haft ter stay here."
Little Harry shook his head. "You don't understand, Hagrid! Dad told me!! My father is in danger!!"
The sympathy on Hagrid's features morphed into worry. "Whatev'r it is, yer parents kin handle it. But only if they know yer here and yer safe."
"But Hagrid..."
"'arry." His voice was gentle, but firm.
"No! I have to help Father!!" With quick movements, little Harry attempted to dart around Hagrid's girth.
It pained Hagrid to do it, but reason just wasn't working. A very simple spell and only a minute later, little Harry was back in his bed and fast asleep. But in his head, there were only visions of snakes and sorcerers.
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"For twenty-eight long years you've thwarted me at every turn. I couldn't make a move without you, somehow, being right there with some sort of countermove. You have been the ultimate thorn and I have long dreamed of this day."
Harry took a step back. He still wasn't ready to accept what this...person with the face of Draco Malfoy was saying. He knew what had happened on the far edge of the Forbidden Forest, that warm spring night, a week before his graduation from Hogwarts. He had diminished Voldemort to nothing but his robes.
Hadn't he?
Thinking back now, his mistakes washed over him. He hadn't checked the robes out, hadn't even taken the time to notice if his enemy's wand had disintegrated along with him. But he had been so out of it. Bloody and worn down; he could remember Hermione and Ron dragging him back to the castle. Madam Pomfrey had told him later that it had taken all her medical know-how to get him to wake up at all. Cursing Voldemort into oblivion had drained him almost completely.
But now it seemed as though that sacrifice might have been nothing at all.
"How?" Harry cut off his adversary's diatribe with the biting question. "If you're...him...how? And where...what happened to Malfoy? Is he locked up somewhere...providing hairs for your Polyjuice Potion? Or do you exist within him like with Professor Quirrell?"
"Don't rush me, Potter. This is a moment I deserve to cherish."
"You don't expect me to just believe you because you say you're Voldemort, do you? Without any proof?" Harry sucked in a breath. "There were four people in those woods that night and only three of us walked away."
Whatever was within Draco shook his head. "No, Potter, no. There weren't four people in the woods that night. There were five. You, the Mudblood, Weasley, myself..." He smiled. "And Draco Malfoy."
"What?"
"He wanted to watch you die. So I let him hide in the bushes; what could it hurt? He was ready to receive the Mark. Acted as if the whole thing were some sort of coming of age ceremony. I've never lacked for followers, Potter, but the Malfoys have always been the most loyal. Whatever I need, they've been more than willing to provide." The blond man wiped at his eyes; Harry's earlier curse was now just a lingering annoyance. "When you hit me with that final curse, you did succeed in obliterating my body. But just like when you were a baby, you couldn't kill my essence."
Harry swallowed; his throat stuck with the effort. "So you..."
"Called on my closest follower. I don't even think it was a hard decision for him to make."
"Draco...he...oh god..."
Voldemort, as Harry had come to think of him in those short minutes, folded his arms over his chest "Draco Malfoy has been dead for eleven years. I have lived his life. Raised the child he foolishly created. Married the simpering witch who let him up her robes....and subsequently got rid of her just as Draco himself would have eventually done once she outgrew her youth. And the only close calls I've ever had in all this time as him have been with his own father....and when a certain red-haired Auror started poking his bloody nose where it didn't belong."
"You killed them both, then." Harry put a hand to his stomach. "And now that I know...you'll kill me, too. Just like them."
"Harry, Harry, Harry. You know you're the one I want to kill the most."
There was the solidity of a wall behind him; Harry grabbed for it to steady his knees. It was too much information to take in at once. Draco was dead; Voldemort had been masquerading as him...as far back as their Hogwarts graduation. With his own death, Draco had done more damage than he ever could have if he had lived. And it was then that Harry realized something even more frightening.
He should have known all along.
The amount of power "Draco" supposedly had. The vicious nature of the attacks, both physical and verbal. The pain from his scar. He had ignored his first instincts and allowed himself to be coerced into believing the same thing everyone else believed. The thing that Arthur Weasley had spoken about only weeks earlier. Harry Potter had fallen into the trap he himself had created.
The giant task in front of him now was getting out of it.
Harry glanced back at Hermione and Sirius. They hadn't shown any visible signs of reaction to any of the startling revelations. Whatever Draco had done to them was insanely powerful magic. "Hermione..." he said softly. "I need your help."
"She's not yours anymore," Voldemort taunted him. "She didn't do it willingly like Draco, but her existence belongs to me now. I control her." As if to prove this, called to her. "Hermione, get my wand back from him."
Quick as she could, Hermione grabbed Harry's arm in a tight grip and plucked Voldemort's wand from his hand. "Thank you," she told him before starting back over to the other wizard's side.
Voldemort accepted the wand and pulled her onto his lap. "Sometimes, I get these urges, Potter. I suppose it could be some of Draco lingering around in here, but there are times when I just really want..." His fingers came to rest on Hermione's stocking-clad knee. "Well...you know."
"She'll never let you." Harry shook his head. "Spell or not, Hermione is her own person. Sirius, too."
"Oh, really?" The Dark Lord snorted. "Sirius Black. Bloody your godson up a little for me, will you?"
Harry had no time to react before the first punch caught him in the jaw.
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"Fuck." Lupin sat back on his heels against the corridor wall, careful to keep his head down and hidden behind the fire. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fu..."
"Stop," Snape ordered him. "You're not doing anything but wasting breath." He looked back into the hall. Sirius had Harry up against the wall, his fist making repeated contact with the younger man's stomach.
"Voldemort is still, technically, alive, and you're not panicking?"
The dark-haired man gave him a look. "I've suspected this for some time. But I had no proof. And no one would have believed vague suspicions."
Lupin winced; he could hear cartilage breaking even through the sounds of the fireplace. "We've got to get in there and help Harry, Severus."
"I realize this." Snape pulled the beaker of potion he had concocted earlier out of his robes.
"Are you ready to tell me what that stuff is?"
"It's a counter-potion," the man explained. "When we first found out about Black and the governors' decree, I started thinking about possible explanations. Whatever signed the paper had to be Black; the handwriting was his. It was a long time before I remembered something from my..." He hesitated. "...my darker days."
Lupin staved off a sneeze. "And that was...?"
"In the days before...Lily and James were killed, Voldemort was working on a new potion. The Imperius Curse was too difficult to maintain on so many people. He needed something lasting. Something that could completely alter a personality, but not require any maintenance. What he came up with..." Snape indicated the main hall. "...you can see out there."
"If that's true, why didn't you tell Dumbledore years ago?"
Snape lifted his shoulders. "Lingering shame? At first, after I realized what had gotten into Black, I just thought Draco must have heard of the potion from his father and worked it himself. He was actually very good at potions when he applied himself. But within the past few days..."
"All right, I get it. Since you're so much smarter than the rest of us, Severus, what's our next move?"
His eyes narrowed, Snape swirled the thick mixture around in the beaker. "We have to get a good amount of this down Hermione and Black. It should return them to their normal selves."
"How do you suggest we do that?"
Snape blinked. "I have no idea."
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Hermione watched Sirius' foot slam into Harry's ribs with dead eyes. She turned her head from the sight only when she was addressed. The voice she had come to recognize before anyone else's issued a command. She stood up from his lap and walked over to the other wizard's crumpled body.
Through the pain, Harry felt soft hands running through his tangled hair. He blinked to clear away the blurriness and looked up into the face he knew so well. "Hermione..."
"Shh." She stroked his face, wiping away the blood that seeped from his nose. "Don't try to talk, Harry. I'm here. I'm always here for you."
"Hermione," he repeated, closing his eyes. His glasses were cracked down both lenses. "I'm so sorry...for all of this." One hand clutched at his ribs; one of them was obviously broken as drawing in breath was becoming agony. "But please....please fight him. Don't let him...win."
She kissed his forehead. Her lips were so soft against his hot skin. "Harry, he's already won."
"No...no, I won't...believe that."
"Don't worry..." Hermione reached for his hand, kissing his bruised and broken knuckles before pressing it to her belly. "He'll be a good father to our baby."
With a sudden burst of energy, Harry pushed her away and scrambled to his feet. "You're not my Hermione!!" he shouted.
Her lower lip trembled. "Harry..."
He shook his head, his hands clamped to his ears. "No! Quit screwing with my mind!!" Harry pointed at Voldemort. "You. You can do anything you like to me, Voldemort, but you should have left her alone!"
"This is growing tiresome, Harry." Voldemort stood up, stretching Draco's limbs. "You know I could have killed you by now, don't you?"
"You've tried twice," Harry replied, spitting blood onto the floor. "And both times failed."
The Dark Lord considered this. "Where is your mother now, Harry? Do you think your pretty little Mudblood will jump in again this time to defend you? You're all alone against me. And all alone...you'll die."
His wand lay on the floor at Sirius' feet. It was within his reach and his godfather wouldn't move to stop him without an order from Voldemort which would take a second to communicate. Harry looked back at Voldemort. "I've been alone before, Voldemort." He made his move, ignoring the burning pain in his ribs. Without giving his enemy a moment to respond, Harry retrieved his wand and pointed it at Draco's body. "I can take you."
"That's admirable, Harry." The sound of Lupin's voice made both wizards whip their stares to the fireplace. Utilizing a flame-freezing charm, his father's best friend stepped out of the hearth, his wand drawn and ready. Snape followed right behind him before letting the flames return to their original state. "But you're not going to have to do this one on your own."
Voldemort smiled Draco's sinister grin. "Delightful. More thorns to pluck away. An old foe..." He glared at Lupin. "...and an even older friend." To Snape, he nodded. "Thank you for joining us, gentlemen. Which one of you would like to die first?"
"Well, if it's between me and him..." Snape pushed Lupin out ahead of himself. "Take him, Master."
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To Be Continued