Soul Seeker

Just to let you all know, the POLL is closed, and Butterfly won. So when I complete The Lambs, I’ll start the new LM/HP fiction.


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Whoo hoo, the final chapter has come at last. Who out there hates me for ending yet another fiction. I find it terrible, that no matter how long I intend to make a fiction, they never exceed twenty chapters. Maybe The Lambs will be different, if I ever get around to finishing it.

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Words: 4,668
Chapter 13
Happy Birthday, Harry!
July 30th 1998.

Time had passed quickly since Greyback’s death. The Wizarding World was a lot quieter now, and even Voldemort seemed to have stopped causing trouble. They were still not any closer to finding a way to destroy the Horcrux, and Harry knew Voldemort’s passive behaviour wouldn’t last much longer. His birthday would be arriving on the following day, and Harry had hoped to celebrate it in his own home surrounded by friends.

Hogwarts was finally restored to the way it had been before the battle, and many people had already left to return to their homes. Of course, Malfoy Manor was badly affected by the war, and Lucius was now investing a lot of time and money into rebuilding his ancestral home. Harry was sure the Malfoys would move back the moment reconstruction was completed, but he didn’t know if he would be comfortable there. He was welcomed no doubt, but could he live in a place where Voldemort and several other Death Eaters had lived in and killed so many people in? The same building where he had been imprisoned, where Luna, and Dean, and Olivander had been tortured?

The Weasleys had gone back to the Burrow, though they had all promised to floo over for his birthday. Harry knew they wouldn’t though. Draco thought it would be a surprise, but Harry had over heard him ask Mrs Weasley to throw Harry a birthday party at the Burrow. Ron would probably come over and force Harry through the floo with him. Bill and Fleur had gone back to Shell Cottage, and they had taken Ginny with them.

He missed having all of his friends in the castle, but he supposed they deserved to go home as well. Hermione had left by Portkey for Australia the week before, but she had owled him and promised to come back for his birthday. She had found her parents, she had told him, but was having some difficulty convincing them that they were British citizens and that she was their daughter. Apparently, her memory charm had been too good.

Neville had gone home with his Gran, and Luna and her father had gone travelling. She was sorry not to be able to attend his ‘surprise’ party, but she had given him his present early. She had held both of his hands together, and kissed his cheek, and whispered, “death is the next great adventure.”

Harry didn’t see the point in going to stay at Grimmauld Place. Malfoy Manor would be finished soon; especially at the rate Lucius was going. He didn’t want to have to move back there, have to deal with all of those memories, only to turn around and leave again a week or so later. McGonagall had given him permission to stay on at Hogwarts, even though she was going home. Most of the Professors were leaving. Snape was staying though, apparently he did every year, and so was Hagrid.

Harry looked up from his Transfiguration textbook as the door opened. Teddy was already asleep in his cot, Narcissa and Lucius had retired as well, and it seemed that Draco was finally finished making plans for the party.

“Hello,” Harry said with a smile. “What were you doing?”

“Nothing important,” Draco answered evasively. He didn’t know that Harry knew. He leant over the cot to kiss Teddy on the forehead, before moving to stand by Harry. “Did you miss me?”

“With every fibre of my being.” Harry said with a smirk. He got a punch on the arm for his trouble. “Come on, I was being serious.” He whined, rubbing his sore arm.

“Whatever.” Draco grumbled, pulling his jumped off over his head. “I missed you.”

Harry stood up, discarding his book, and took Draco into his arms. “Of course I missed you,” he whispered. He pressed his lips to Draco’s, his tongue brushing against the blond’s closed lips. Draco parted them. Harry kissed him harder, pulling their bodies tight together, his hands on Draco’s head and back holding him tightly as his tongue snaked forward, running against the length of Draco’s tongue.

The blond moaned, his hands moving to unbutton his shirt. He pulled away from Harry just long enough to shrug his shirt to the ground, but then his mate pulled him back again, kissing him hungrily. Harry’s hands moved up and down his back. With a moan, Draco felt his wings unfurl, flapping twice before they went still. Harry’s fingers tangled in the pristine white feathers, stroking them and pulling on them light. The more he touched them the more Draco moaned, pressing closer to Harry, clinging to him desperately.

“Clothes off,” Draco panted, as Harry’s mouth left his.

Harry’s hands went to the clasp of his robe. The moment it was unhooked, his scar flared painfully and he cried out. He wrenched himself away from Draco, sinking to his knees with both hands pressed to his forehead. “Don’t touch me,” he snarled as the Veela reached out to him. “Go to bed, Draco,” Harry whispered when he finally looked up from the ground.

“But I thought we were-”

Harry cut him off with a glare. “No. Not until Voldemort is gone. I can’t hurt you again, Dray.” He reached out, his fingers lightly tracing the shape of Draco’s face before his hands moved to cup Draco’s throat. He squeezed lightly, remembering how Voldemort felt as Draco’s breath caught beneath his hands. “I can’t let him hurt you again.”

Harry put his pyjamas on silently, keeping his face turned from Draco’s. The wings disappeared as Draco pulled on a t-shirt. Without making a sound Draco crawled onto the bed, and tucked himself in beneath the sheets. “Harry? I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” the brunette replied. He sat in the bed beside Draco, and carried on reading his Transfiguration book.

Draco hesitantly shifted over, laying his head on Harry’s shoulder. “How do you think we could kill V-Voldemort? I think we could draw him from your body, and make a new Horcrux. We can have him possess a cockroach or something. That would be fitting I think.”

“He can’t be a cockroach, Dray, we have to actually kill him.”

“Yeah but he can be one for a little while. Then we can step on him.”

“You can’t destroy a Horcrux by stepping on it!”

“Can we cast the Killing Curse on it? The cockroach I mean, not your scar.”

“If it was possible to make Voldemort a cockroach, then yes, you could use the Killing Curse on him.” Harry chuckled lightly. He marked the page in his book and put it aside. “What if we pour some radioactive material on my head?”

“Radio-what?” Draco asked with a frown.

“Don’t worry. How about plastic surgery, or laser treatment?”

“Sounds painful,” the blond grumbled, instantly ruling it out.

“Probably wouldn’t work anyway.” He kissed Draco’s forehead lightly, closing his eyes. “Let’s go to sleep.” They shifted down into the bed, so they were both lying instead of sitting. Draco lay curled against Harry, his arm over the brunette’s chest, and one leg across both of Harry’s. “Goodnight.”

“Love you,” the blond whispered, placing a kiss against Harry’s clothed chest.

Harry watched him sleep for a while. He didn’t notice when he fell asleep. It was an easy transition, one moment he was lying down watching Draco sleep, and then the next moment he was lying down watching Voldemort and Dumbledore duel.

A jet of green light streaked at Dumbledore, but he disappeared with a turn of his cloak. He reappeared a second later behind Voldemort and waved his wand. The rest of the statues in the fountain burst to life, springing their way forward towards the Dark Lord. The headless statue of the centaur, which had protected Harry earlier, now herded him away from the fight. Harry went easily, eyes wide as he watched the battle. He found himself copying the actions he had taken back in fifth year, he followed passively, allowing his body to move from memory and not instinct.

“It was foolish for you to come here tonight, Tom.” Dumbledore said.

Voldemort cast a Killing Curse at Dumbledore, but it missed. Instead it hit the security guards desk, which burst into flames. “You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore?” Voldemort taunted as Dumbledore sent another non-fatal spell at him. “Above such brutality, are you?”

A long thin flame drew from the tip of Dumbledore’s wand, curling around Voldemort like a fiery serpent, coiling and tightening as the man struggled. Voldemort disappeared. The snake dropped to the floor, rearing back furiously. Voldemort appeared above Dumbledore’s head, perched on the plinth where the statues had once stood. When his next Killing Curse failed, he turned to Harry.

He felt his scar burst open, feeling the pain this time as well as remembering it from the time before. It made him curl up on himself, sure that he was dying though he knew he was not. Voldemort spoke, but it was Harry’s jaw that moved, Harry’s tongue that formed the words, and the pain of it was agonizing.

“Kill me now, Dumbledore,” he said. “If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy.”1 Harry silently found himself begging for death, pleading for it, even. His memory-self curled in tighter on himself, wanting to die to escape the pain, wanting to die to see Sirius again. But Harry wanted to die so he wouldn’t have to be a part of Voldemort anymore. He couldn’t bear to share a body with that creature any longer, and he wanted desperately to find relief in death so he would no longer have to think of a way to kill himself.

He paused.

The pain retreated, and he repeated his last thought to himself. He was trying to find a way to kill himself.

Voldemort had to kill him.

Voldemort was a part of him.

XXX

July 31st 1998.

He woke up, a loud gasp issuing from his lips as he panted harshly. The memory of the torture Voldemort put him through was fresh in his mind as he peeled Draco off of him. He climbed from the bed, still in his pyjamas and cast ‘Tempus’.

12:02am, 31st July, it read.

He took a deep breath, finally knowing what it was he had to do. He knew what it was that he needed to do to finally defeat Voldemort. He would have thought he’d have been slightly more afraid, but he found his mind was calm, almost numb to the realization. He had known he would have to die, but he had only just figured out how. He should have been more torn up about it, but truthfully he was just glad that it was almost over.

He wrote out a quick note, and left it on his pillow. Draco at least deserved to know what happened to him.

He pulled the golden snitch out of his trunk, trying to be as quiet as possible. Then he left the room, and he walked through the portrait hole and made his way to the third floor corridor that he had snuck along in his first year. But this time, Hermione and Ron weren’t with him. This time he was facing his destiny alone.

The way he was meant to.

He pushed open the door with a small smile. He had almost expected to see Fluffy guarding the trap door again. But of course the Cerberus wasn’t there. Harry pulled open the trap door, and levitated himself down into the darkness. His feet touched the floor just as he cancelled the spell. The next door opened easily, there was no need for him to chase after a flying key this time, nor did he need to solve one of Professor Snape’s riddles. The chessboard was still there, but all of the pieces were missing. Harry walked around it, just in case. He didn’t have time to play chess right then, and he didn’t want to risk accidentally bringing the pieces forward by walking across the board.

He opened the last door. And just like the last time, the Mirror of Erised stood against the far wall, the only object in the room. Harry practically ran down the stairs. The golden snitch was clasped in one hand and his wand dangled loosely from the other. He looked into the mirror—

—And Tom Riddle stared back at him.

Tom had a lightening bolt-shaped scar on his forehead, and he had eyes the same shade of green as Harry did. Voldemort raised his wand, pointing it silently at Harry’s chest.

Harry squeezed the golden snitch, bringing it to his lips. He kissed it lightly and whispered, “I am going to die.” The snitch broke into two pieces, both halves dropping to the floor as Harry scrambled to catch the ring as it fell forward. The Resurrection stone was just the way he remembered it. A heavy gold ring, with the black stone set on top, cracked down the middle and distorting the marking of the Deathly Hallows. He was tempted to use it, to just turn it over in his hand three times, and be able to see all of his family again. But he didn’t.

His family were always with him, whether he could see them or not. They were there. And he would be seeing them soon enough anyway.

Harry slipped the ring onto his finger and looked back into the Mirror. Voldemort still had his wand raised, and Harry copied the motion, pointing his wand at the boy in the Mirror. “Happy birthday, Potter,” Tom’s mouth said, though Harry couldn’t hear it.

“Avada Kedavra,” Harry said in reply.

The green light shot forth from his wand, and struck the Mirror. It bounced back, and hit Harry in the forehead. Harry flew backwards, his mouth open, dead before he could scream. But, in the Mirror, Tom Riddle screamed and flailed, his hands clutching at his chest as the Horcrux within Harry was destroyed. A puff of black smoke rose from Harry’s forehead, but he stared up at the ceiling, unseeing, his eyes wide and glassy.

In his bed, Draco jolted awake. He screamed, and it was a scream of someone who was so utterly tortured. His hands clutched at his chest, and he continued to scream. In his cot, Teddy awoke, startled from sleep, and he began to scream with Draco. Lucius and Narcissa burst into the room, wide-awake with fear, despite the fact that it was the middle of the night.

“What is it, what is it?” Lucius asked frantically, rushing to Draco, while Narcissa pulled Teddy into her embrace.

Draco just kept screaming. “Where is Harry?” Narcissa asked, and Draco gave a sob, tears running down his cheeks as he shook his head frantically. “Is Harry hurt?” She asked again. The wail Draco gave answered her question, and gave her the worst possible answer.

“No,” Lucius gasped. He had spotted the note, and he read it quickly as Narcissa tried to sooth both of the crying boy’s.

Dearest Draco, though I suppose you are dead now as well.

Fine, to everyone else: I’m sorry I had to die. You all know I was trying to destroy the final Horcrux, but none of you know what that was, bar myself, Dumbledore and Snape. I didn’t want you all to worry, so I never told you. And for that I am sorry. I’m also so very sorry that I couldn’t keep Draco safer. I’m sorry that so many people had to die for me, but I’m finally getting my comeuppance, I suppose.

You’ll find me with the Mirror of Erised, where I first remember facing Voldemort and winning. I’ll win again this time, but there will have been a higher price paid.

“Draco,” Lucius asked softly. “Are you hurting?” He shook his head, finally silent though he still clutched at his chest. “He should be dead.”

“Do you think Harry survived then?” Narcissa asked softly, her eyes closed to stave off her tears.

“I suppose I’ll go find out.”

Lucius went straight to Severus and forced the other man to go with him. Severus knew the way to the chamber that hid the Mirror and he warily led Lucius there. “Draco still lives?” The Potion Master asked softly, afraid of the answer.

“Yes.”

“Then something is wrong with Harry’s plan.”

“You knew he would die.” Lucius accused, as they walked.

“You think I was any happier about it? I spent years, years, spying on Voldemort, fighting against him, protecting Potter and all for Lily. And all for nothing, Lucius. I protected him from death so he could be set up to die at the opportune moment! If Lily was here-” He stopped speaking abruptly, turning his face away from his friend. Lucius watched him sadly, but remained silent.

When they found Harry, he was definitely dead.

They had him Portkeyed to St Mungos, where a Healer pronounced him dead, then transferred him to the Mortuary. He was laid down on a cold slab of metal, still in his pyjamas, and the Healer drew a white sheet over his body and face. “When would you like the funeral? We have to determine the cause of death first, but I think it plain obvious.”

“His friend is in Australia on personal business. I will inform you the moment she arrives back in the country.” Lucius said. He clenched his jaw, mentally adding, ‘and as soon as Draco regains the will to live’ onto the end of his sentence. Since the blond had calmed earlier that morning, he had sat stiffly by his mother’s side. He only moved when forced, or dragged and he wouldn’t speak or eat or drink anything.

Lucius and Severus left St Mungos. It was up to them to inform the others.

It was later that same day, towards the evening, that Harry’s entire family and friends bar Hermione crowded around the metal slab. Lucius had half carried Draco there and Hermione was having problems getting a Portkey into Britain for her parents. None of them dared pull back the sheet. None of them wanted to make this nightmare a reality.

Luna reached out slowly, grasping a handful of the white fabric. She sang softly, swaying side to side, as she slowly uncovered their friend, inch by agonizing inch. “If only, if only, the woodpecker sighs, the bark on the tree was as soft as the sky's. As the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely, he cries to the moon, if only, if only.”3 Her voice was soft and smooth and Neville found himself crying as he listened to it. Harry stared unseeing at the ceiling, still, his green eyes vacant. The white sheet fluttered to the ground.

Ron turned his back to them; he couldn’t bear to look at him. Draco’s reaction, however, was the worst. He gave another wail. He freed himself from his father’s grip and climbed up on the slab to lie beside his mate. “Wake up,” he begged, shaking the boy, “come back!”

But Harry didn’t wake up.

XXX

August 3rd 1998.

He slowly came to consciousness. His eyes opened but they could only see the ground he lay upon. He thought it was strange. He remembered dying and falling on his back, but there he was, upon his stomach, panting with his face to the floor. He sat up, slowly, looking around with wide eyes.

He was alone, he could see. There was no one there but him, and even then he couldn’t be perfectly certain that he was there either. He didn’t know where he was, but he knew he wasn’t alive. But he was walking, his feet touched the ground, and he breathed and saw and felt. So he must be corporeal at the least, if not alive. Maybe he was in Heaven?

As he thought it, he heard a groan, a pain filled noise that made him tremble. Hearing that noise convinced him that he wasn’t in Heaven. Perhaps Hell?

He walked toward the noise. He walked through a wall, not noticing where it was situated, and found himself on Platform 9 and ¾. Underneath a cloister of chairs, curled in on itself was a child. The child was making those tortured noises. Its skin was blackened and peeling and Harry wanted to reach out to the child but he was afraid to touch it. He looked around. There were others.

Over there he could see a woman, walking around with her hands out in front of her. Half her face was missing. There was a man, crawling on the ground, one of his legs having been severed at the knee. And more, so many more that Harry’s heart hurt just by looking at them. He wanted to help them.

“You cannot help,” a voice said.

Harry spun around, coming face to face with Albus Dumbledore. Perhaps this was a dream, because Dumbledore wouldn’t have gone to hell? But he had never experienced anything like this, and he doubted Voldemort had either. So whose memory was he reliving?

“You’re dead.” Harry said at last. It took some effort to make himself speak.

“Yes.”

“So… I’m dead?” He didn’t really want to know. He knew the answer, but to have it confirmed would hurt. He didn’t see Draco anywhere, and he hoped that Draco had gone straight to wherever it was Veela’s believed they went after they died.

“Ah,” said Dumbledore, a broad smile on his face, “that is the question isn’t it? On the whole, my dear boy, I think not.”

“Not?” Harry asked.

“Not,” Dumbledore repeated.

“But I meant to die. I meant to kill myself and Voldemort.”

Dumbledore smiled again, reaching out to squeeze Harry’s shoulder. The brunette was shocked at how real Dumbledore felt. He was talking and walking and saying Harry wasn’t dead, but Dumbledore had already admitted that he was. Harry thought dead people wouldn’t have felt as real.

“And that will have made all the difference,” Dumbledore answered him. “You meant to kill Voldemort Harry. The way to achieve that was to kill yourself.”

“But you said I’m not dead.”

“You are not.”

“But I did kill Voldemort?” He stepped closer to Dumbledore, his eyes wide, afraid of the answer. He didn’t think he could take it if he failed again.

“Oh yes! Yes, he is destroyed. Your soul is whole, and completely your own.”4

“It’s Draco’s actually,” Harry said softly.

Dumbledore smiled down at him sadly. “Yes I had forgotten about that. Such a shame, Harry.”

Harry swallowed heavily, lowering himself down onto the nearest chair. “So he is dead then?”

“Who, my dear boy?” Dumbledore asked. His brow was furrowed with confusion as he looked at the young man before him. He sat down next to Harry.

“Draco. Is he dead, then?”

Dumbledore let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “No, good Merlin, no. Mr. Malfoy is quite alive.”

Harry took a deep breath. He tipped his head back, eyes closed in relief. He took a deep breath, held it and then released it. He opened his eyes and turned to Dumbledore. “Then I’m ready to die.” He said with conviction.

“I know you are, my boy,” he said, “I know.” Dumbledore held his hand over Harry’s eyes, forcing his eyelids to close with his fingers. When Harry next opened his eyes, he was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Everything was white this time. He thought he might actually be in heaven now, but again he was alone. Shouldn’t his parents be here? Or an angel, or God, or something? Clouds maybe?

He sat up, frowning at the rigidity of his body. He was lying on some kind of metal bed on wheels. He climbed down off of it, arching his back to try and get rid of some of the stiffness, and walked towards the door. He had his glasses on still. He wasn’t wearing his pyjamas anymore he noticed. Instead he was wearing a black silk shirt, black trousers and a heavy velvet black robe on top. It was rather warm, he thought, taking the robe off. He felt bad leaving it there, but he couldn’t wear it in the heat. It was the middle of summer, for pities sake. What fool had dressed him in velvet? He was glad to be wearing the smart black shoes though. He hadn’t been wearing any shoes when he died.

He opened the door and walked outside. A sign on the wall read ‘St Mungos: Mortuary’. Harry winced. So he wasn’t in Heaven then.

He walked through the Hospital, ignoring the screams and incredulous looks his presence caused. So he was dead, big deal, he thought uncharitably. They were Witches and Wizards! Surely they knew people could come back from the dead. Harry sighed, entering the nearest fireplace and throwing down a handful of floo powder. He wondered how the Daily Prophet was going to deal with his resurrection.

“Hogwarts,” he called, “Headmistresses office!” He disappeared in a flash of green flame.

He fell out of the fireplace, coughing and sputtering. He wiped himself down, rubbing his face on his arm to wipe off the soot. In her chair, Minerva watched him with her mouth hanging open. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe or move. She sat motionless, wide eyed as he walked right passed her and out of the room.

Harry walked along the corridor, on his way to the dungeon. He was searching for Draco.

He heard sobbing. Curious he walked towards the sound. There was someone, outside of the Room of Requirement, hugging the opposite wall as he cried. Harry recognized the figure immediately, the blond hair was a dead give away, not to mention the feathery wings that sprouted from his back.

“Why here?” Harry asked softly.

Without looking up, Draco answered, “This was where I first kissed Harry.”

“After we escaped the Feindfyre,” Harry remembered.

“We?” Draco looked up, eyes widening as they landed on Harry. “You’re alive? You wouldn’t wake up, you wouldn’t wake up. You’re alive?” He babbled, hand pressing to his mouth as he tried to stop the words from flowing. “You’re alive?”

“Yes, I am.” Harry knelt beside the blond. Harry took Draco’s face into his hands, and crushed their lips together. The moment they touched Draco could feel it. Fire raced through his blood, sparks went off behind his closed eyelids, and he could hear the thrumming of Harry’s heart. His wings fluttered as Harry pulled him closer. Draco clung to him, tongue forcing its way into Harry’s mouth, desperately tasting his mate. He could feel Harry’s soul.

“He’s gone?” Draco asked, pulling back. His hand moved to press against the scar that had already started to fade.

“He is.” Harry breathed, cupping Draco’s face in his hands. “He’s finally gone.”

“Then it’s safe to bond with me again?” Draco asked, his pale face completely innocent looking. Harry flushed lightly, and nodded. Draco pulled them to their feet. Gripping Harry’s hand tightly in his like a lifeline, he dragged them down the corridor. “Well, then, what are we waiting for?”

“You’re incorrigible, you know.” Harry muttered, but he followed the Veela happily.

Draco turned back to face him. His eyes were wide, his face flushed lightly and he was smiling wider than Harry had ever seen him smile. “I love you,” he breathed, squeezing the hand he held.

“Don’t ever change,” Harry said softly. He tugged on the hand, stopping Draco and pulling him back against him. He kissed Draco again, holding him as tight as physically possible as their mouth moulded together. “I love you too.”

Draco smiled at him then, pulling away with a blush. Harry’s eyes softened as he watched the blond continue down the corridor, dragging Harry along behind him. Voldemort was finally vanquished, and Draco was alive.

Harry was alive.

All was well.

The End

1 – Some of this is taken from Order of the Phoenix.
2 – Harry killed Voldemort by reflecting the Killing Curse off of the enlarged golden snitch (see chapter 3). The curse then hit Voldemort.
3 – This is a rhyme, but I can’t remember where I heard it or whom it was by.
4 – Some of this is taken from Deathly Hallows.

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And I bet you all were cursing me, thinking I was going to have a sad ending! Ha!

I would like to dearly thank every single person who reviewed, but as always, I want to especially thank those people who reviewed every (or almost every) chapter. Thank you for sticking with me till the bitter end.


Word Count: 75,166
Page Total: 157 A4.