Soul Seeker

Short chapter compared to the rest of the chapters in this story previously. I apologize.

Congratulations to the following people for guessing correctly regarding Harry’s three ‘problems’: at AFF, Jullians, MeuMeu2; at HPFandom, Sak; and at FFNet, Chromde and Abraxis. If I forgot anyone, or if anyone has reviewed and guessed correctly after I wrote this but before I posted, I apologize.

As someone once said, “hell is other people”. I’m going to paraphrase that, and say “hell is exams!” instead.

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Words: 4,505
Chapter 9
Monster
June 6th 1998.

Sometime during the early morning as he slept, Harry had rolled over so he was now lying face to face with Hermione. He woke first, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back slightly. That movement had the unfortunate effect of pressing his morning erection against Hermione’s thigh. The brunette Witch was only half asleep, and in response she grabbed fist fulls of Harry’s hair and pressed herself against him.

”Oh Ron,” she whispered, and pressed her thigh to his groin again.

Harry fought back a grin as several wicked thoughts flashed through his mind. He picked one, and allowed the smirk to blossom over his face as he spoke. He moved his hand so it rested lightly on her bum and groaned, “Draco, yes more, right there. Oh Draco!” in the breathiest voice he could manage, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips.

Hermione’s eyes snapped open; her mouth formed a little ‘o’ of horror as she saw Harry’s very amused face.

“Having a good dream, Mione?” He asked casually, taking his hands off of her.

She drew back from him as if burnt, both of her hands pressing over her mouth as her breath came heavy and her face flushed scarlet in embarrassment. She opened her mouth to apologize, but her eyes fell on the form of Ginny first. The redhead was standing at the side of the bed, arms crossed, and a furious expression on her face. Harry turned to see what Hermione was looking at. When Ginny narrowed her eyes at him, he merely cracked a small smile.

“What the hell is going on here?” She shrieked. Hermione and Harry met each other’s eyes, and simultaneously burst into peels of laughter. “I don’t think Ronald would find this as funny, Granger!” Ginny said furiously. It had the desired effect of stopping Hermione’s amusement. “But I forgive you Harry. I’m sure it wasn’t your idea.” She offered him a sympathetic smile, and it immediately sent Hermione and Harry both into uproarious laughter. After another two minutes, Ginny finally stormed out of the dormitory, no doubt planning to tell Ron about his girlfriend’s indiscretion.

“Will you be ok?” Harry asked as he rolled from the bed.

“Will you be ok, is the more important question?” Hermione stood as well. She gathered a few items, and hugged them close to her chest as she watched her best friend run a hand through his dishevelled hair.

“I’ll be fine, Mione. You wouldn’t have it any other way.” He left the room then.

She watched him go with a sad smile. It hurt her to admit that she was slightly afraid of him. When they had first woken, it had been embarrassing, but with Ginny there all of the humiliation had faded and there was only amusement left in the situation. But being alone with Harry again, remembering how he wanted to hurt her for being a ‘Mudblood’ last night, had made her skin crawl. She loved Harry, she did, but she had always been a little afraid of him, just a little bit afraid of what he could do when he was angry. It seemed now, though, that she had far more reasons to fear Harry than she had ever had before. Could it be possible? Could it be probable that Voldemort was still alive?

Could Harry be possessed?

XXX

June 10th 1998.

“What do we have first?” Dean asked, reaching across the table to snatch the Daily Prophet from Ron’s hands. Harry sat stiffly next to Ron, his backside aching whenever he shifted and not for reasons he could live with.

Ginny had, in fact, told Ron about Harry’s behaviour that morning four days ago, and despite the fact that she had tried to make it out to be Hermione’s fault, Ron, enraged, had instantly gone in search of Harry. Harry had ended up getting punched in the face before Draco attacked Ron in his defence. Of course, then it finally dawned on Draco that the red head was accusing Harry of sleeping with Hermione, and he had stopped short, his wand lowered as he turned wide, pain filled eyes on his mate. When Harry was busy explaining everything to the Veela, Ron, being Ron, didn’t listen as well. Instead he took another swing at Harry, hit Draco instead, and then got a punch in the face of his own. When their fisticuffs turned into all out brawling, Harry had tried to intervene, only to get hit with a curse of Ron’s that sent him flying across the hallway and landing on his arse with a resounding ‘ouch’!

Madame Pomfrey had refused to heal them, having decided it was about time the Weasley and Malfoy families started to get along. Especially now when they both had ties to Harry. She had said all of this, and ushered them out of the infirmary before Harry even had the chance to tell her it was him that was injured. Hermione said it served them all right and had refused to heal them as well. Ron, without permission, had tried to copy the spell Hermione always used, and instead of curing them, he increased the pain they were all in tenfold.

So here Harry was, four days later, barely able to sit down. Ron’s eye was a right purple colour still, whereas Draco’s was a little fainter. Harry’s eye had bruised at all, but he did have a nasty looking split on his lip. He stood, finally decided it was better to stand at this point than to sit without a cushioning charm, and grabbed the paper back.

He opened it wide, and read it out loud for the rest of the table’s occupants. “N.E.W.T.-Tastic,” the headline screamed, “It is with great pleasure that I announce the answer to a question that has been plaguing the minds of many, students and parents alike. Due to the disastrous battle at Hogwarts, (Blessed Be, Harry Potter),” Harry’s voice lowered on that sentence until it was barely audible, but from the red on his cheeks most people could guess what the reporter had written. “As well as the horrific events, Death Eater Professors and the unwelcome change to the curriculum, last years N.E.W.T.s were cancelled.

“It is an honour, for us here at the Daily Prophet, to be the only ones privy to news of this magnitude. I have been personally informed by Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister-Current, that anyone wishing to take his or her N.E.W.T.s from the previous years Seventh Year are most welcome to do so at the Ministry of Magic over the Christmas holidays. Those who are willing may sign their names at the bottom of this article and they will automatically be registered for the Ministry regulated revision classes that will begin at the end of June and carry on until November.

“This will, hopefully, cause less of a disruption to the remaining years at Hogwarts than having two groups of Seventh years will. Do bare in mind, readers, that those who do not attend the mandatory revision classes will not be allowed to take their examinations unless they have a Ministry approved excuse for being absent.

“It is with pleasure that I wish you all a fine morning. Once again, our thanks go out to Harry Potter, who is sure to pass all of his N.E.W.T.s come December. Digby Dengle, reporter.”

Harry folded the paper back up and handed it to Dean with a scowl.

“I think someone has a secret admirer,” one of the younger Ravenclaws teased.

“He’s not very secret about it.” Hermione giggled. She took the paper from Dean and opened it up nearer to the back. She let out a small gasp, raising her head to look at Ron and Harry in turn. She nodded towards the entrance of the Great Hall. “Anyone who was in my year may give me your names over the next week and I will add them onto the paper. As it is, I need my copy back.” She stood, walking towards the door as Ron and Harry followed her. They both noticed that her hands were shaking, the paper clutched tightly in her fist.

“What is it?” Ron asked, his hand brushing the hair back off her face. “What’s wrong?”

She opened the paper wide, showing them the small article four pages from the back, (where the reporters obviously hoped that no one would see it), that was mostly a picture of Fenrir Greyback standing beneath the Dark Mark emblazoned in the sky. “Mass murdering Werewolf, Greyback, claims the Dark Lord has not really fallen. He was spotted in Devon casting You-Know-Who’s mark above the house of a Muggle family he had already slaughtered, while screaming ‘the Dark Lord lives on’. In their blood, he left a message for the arriving Aurors. It was addressed to Harry Potter, and it read, ‘All is not well, is it, Potter?’”

“Shit,” was all Ron could say. Harry merely took the paper from her and read the small article for himself, before re-reading it twice. He looked at his friends with wide eyes, and shook his head softly.

“This isn’t happening. He’s gone, Mione. He’s gone. Fenrir is lying!”

“He must be!” Ron agreed, patting Harry on the back.

Hermione watched the two boys convince each other that nothing was wrong with sad eyes. Maybe Voldemort wasn’t still out there, but something certainly wasn’t right, and she was going to get to the bottom of it! She waved her wand at them, healing their various injuries, before doing the same for Draco (who had just appeared behind them). Something was causing Harry to be unable to feel Draco’s soul calling out to his own; something was giving Harry those nightmares. The red eyes, the flashes of irrepressible anger, all of those signs only pointed to a handful of things. Either whatever magic Voldemort was immersed in transferred to Harry’s scar when Voldemort failed to kill him, and that magic was still present; or Voldemort somehow had avoided death completely again, and was using Harry’s scar to torment and punish him, more probably to cause the death of Harry and his loved ones; or, finally, that the scar somehow allowed Voldemort to posses Harry, and there was now a part of him living inside of her friend.

She took a deep breath. She had always been taught to leave the least probably situation to be studied last. The most likely in this case was that the scar needed to be cleansed, and so that was what she would do first. After all, what were the chances that Lord Voldemort, who always planned things to a t-, had accidentally made Harry into a Horcrux?

She cleared her throat. “Let’s do this Purification Ritual. If it works, Harry’s scar will be free of Dark Magic and if that happens, he should be able to feel Draco’s call.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” The Veela asked softly, as he came to move behind Harry, his arms wrapped around the brunette’s neck and shoulders.

“Then we try something else, right?” Ron asked, looking at his girlfriend.

“Right.”

XXX

June 11th 1998.

The moon was full. It bathed their section of the forbidden forest in its eerie white glow, which at the once caused the trees to seem more beautiful and more sinister. The light was beautiful, of course, but the night itself cast a foreboding feeling through the group. As far as they knew, there were no werewolves left in the forbidden forest, all of them having been gathered together after the battle to be interrogated at the Ministry. That included any classmates who may have been scratched or bitten.

Harry closed his eyes, thinking of the last time he saw Lavender Brown, stirring feebly on the ground with Greyback hovering over her, savaging her. He knew she survived, but he didn’t know what kind of condition she was in. He didn’t like the girl, but he didn’t want her sterilized or executed for being a werewolf either.

Hermione cleared her throat, startling him from his thoughts. Green eyes locked onto her brown ones and she smiled at him softly. “Ok, Harry,” she said, pointing at the six point star she had outlined onto the floor with ground up Ashwinder1 eggs. “You sit in the middle of the star, and each of us will sit at one of the points.”

Harry did as he was told. Carefully, so as not to smudge the lines of the circle, he lowered himself to the ground in the centre of the star, sitting cross-legged. Draco sat at the head point of the star, directly opposite him. On either side of the blond, sat one of his parents. Hermione sat directly beside Harry, as the person who would be carrying out the ritual. Ron sat on one side of her, and George on the other. He had volunteered when they had gone searching for a sixth person, and in the end it was a choice between George, who was developing an unhealthy obsession with Harry but wanted to help, or Ginny, who already had an unhealthy obsession with Harry but didn’t want to help.

Hermione held a small black candle in her right hand. The rune for ‘Light’ was carved into the base of the candle. Each of the others had a white candle, various runes were carved into those as well, ranging from ‘Purity’ to ‘Clean’ to ‘Guidance’ to ‘Clarity’ and Draco held the candle with ‘Dark’ written onto it.

She took another deep breath, and began to chant.

The words flowed easily from her mouth, rolling over her tongue, and bubbling out of her throat so much easier than it had been the night before when she had remained awake for most of the night practising. The words seemed to almost take form, each of them changing to resemble one of the runes that decorated the various candles. The runes swirled, twisting in the air, the words of Hermione’s chant running around and around the edges of each rune, drawing it into the air in a ceaseless pattern. Harry watched the magic work with a hungry expression on his face. Everyone else had long ago succumbed to the lull of the magic, their eyes having fallen shut, as they whispered the words after Hermione softly and reverently. But Harry watched the runes.

He watched as they circled those with the candles matching their own shape, and he watched as those runes pressed against the Wizard or Witch’s forehead, leaving a small mark in their wake as they faded. The mark glowed, much like he thought his scar sometimes did, but then the glow faded and a new rune appeared to take its predecessors place.

The longer Hermione chanted, the more words appeared, circling around Harry at the centre of the Star. His innate magic lashed out, instinctively trying to protect its host from this foreign, strange magic. Eventually, Harry’s magic was subdued, and his conscious, like his friends, floated along unaware and caught in the web of magic the ritual had created around them. Their bodies swayed, and their eyes were closed, their lips parted slightly, but their hands remained clenched around their candles, except for Harry’s. His fingers twitched. Almost of their own accord they reached into his pocket and he withdrew his wand. The feel of the wood in his hands was familiar to him, he instinctively recognized the holly and phoenix feather wand that belonged to him and he gave it an appreciative squeeze.

But there was another part of him that was less pleased with the wand. The hand reached back into Harry’s pocket, searching for the yew wand that truly belonged to him. When he didn’t find it, an angry snarl escaped from his lips and red eyes snapped open. He took in each of those in the clearing with him, wondering which one was foolish enough to steal the wand of Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort let out a gasp, his hand flying up to clutch at his forehead as pain flared through his being. He repressed another snarl. His eyes narrowed as he tried to decide which of those fools had hexed him. He took in the Gryffindor colours on those who sat behind him and nodded his head lightly. It had to have been one of those three; only Gryffindors imagined themselves brave enough to stand against his fury. No Slytherin, no Hufflepuff for that matter would dare! He turned to them, his wand pointed at the brunette Witch who carried on chanting.

~~~“What are you doing to me?”~~~ He asked her, his voice a mockery of politeness.

Hermione didn’t answer. She was so caught up in the ritual that she didn’t even hear him. She wouldn’t have understood him even if she had heard him speak.

Voldemort’s head started to bleed lightly, at first, but soon enough he had his hand pressed against it to stem the blood flow. He could feel a slight abnormally of the skin beneath where it was bleeding, but he knew for a fact that he didn’t have a scar on his forehead. Then again, he mused as he cast a spell to stop the blood flow, he normally didn’t participate in rituals unless he was sacrificing something for his gain. Nor did he recognize any of those in the clearing with him.

As he thought that, his eyes narrowed suddenly, and his lips drew back revealing his teeth, as he turned to stare at Draco with a frightening look upon Harry’s face. Draco’s eyes opened slowly, quickly becoming aware of Harry’s wand trained between his eyes. It was strangely familiar to the episode a week ago where Harry tried to Crucio him. “Harry?” He asked softly.

It was enough to catch the attention of the others, barring Hermione, who continued to chant with her eyes closed. They watched warily as Harry pointed his wand at Draco, his ferocious sneer on his face. ~~~“Malfoy,”~~~ He hissed in Parseltongue. ~~~“You filthy little traitor. How dare you betray Lord Voldemort? You and your family will beg for death! Do you think Potter will save you? He belongs to me now, body and soul! He is MINE!”~~~ The red eyes travelled around to each face, as Harry stood and turned in a cautious circle, the wand moving from one person to the next, before landing back on Draco again. He hissed something else, but Draco could only understand his name, being screamed at him in that horrible sibilant hissing that Lord Voldemort favoured.

That wasn’t Harry anymore.

“Who are you?” Draco said, raising a trembling arm to point his own wand at his mate’s body.

~~~“Who am I? Who am I, you ask? I am death and destruction, fear and pain and hunger, thirst and desperation. I am the anger that lurks within the hearts of the kindest person, I am the power everyone craves and I am the punishment awaiting those weak enough to fail. Who do you think I am, boy?”~~~

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” Hermione said softly, breaking away from the chant that obviously wasn’t doing what it was meant to. It seemed her first idea, the simplest one to fix, wasn’t actually the correct idea. “Do you honestly believe we will let you win? Do you think that Harry will let you win?”

A scratching sound caught Voldemort’s attention, and his head turned to face the bushes where a rat had appeared, even while his red eyes remained on Draco’s pale face. The rat peered at him with its beady eyes, and Voldemort felt Harry’s lip curl in distaste.

“Sectumsempra,” he whispered and the rat’s tail flew up into the air before landing in George’s lap. The rat squealed and screeched, the stump of its tail bleeding as it ran in circles, its mind driven mad by the pain. Voldemort let out a small chuckle before turning his head fully to face Hermione once again.

~~~“He has already lost.”~~~ Voldemort drawled. Hermione couldn’t understand him, but she was smart enough to guess that he had said something along the lines of ‘I’ve won already’, or ‘Harry will not defeat me again’.

“Harry always wins, Voldemort.” She pointed her wand at him. “Always.” She blew out the candle in front of her, ending the ritual that hadn’t worked. It did have the effect of causing Harry’s scar to split open again. Blood poured from his head as Harry and Voldemort both screamed from the pain. Green eyes rolled back into his head, as Harry slumped to the floor. His wand rolled towards George who picked it up hesitantly and handed it to Draco.

The blond watched Harry with wide eyes. His face was paler than Hermione had ever seen it but he stood, a look of resolve on his face as he bent to pick up Harry, before turning to face her. His cheeks had coloured in anger, even while his hands shook with fear. “We will make him ok.” Draco demanded.

Hermione nodded her head as the others followed Draco’s lead and stood also. “Yes. I think I finally know what’s wrong with him.” She reached out to brush his fringe back, sticky with blood, revealing the red looking wound that was no longer bleeding. “He’ll be fine, I promise.”

XXX

June 12th 1998.

When he woke, the bed was wet again. It was something he had come to expect in the mornings, so he honestly couldn’t say he was embarrassed about it this time. Everyone had to find out eventually he supposed. He was a freak, he always had been; it was as simple as that. His friends wouldn’t hate him because he had a bladder problem, would they?

Although—

He froze as whispered words reached his ears. He strained his head, tilting to the side, trying to catch as much of the conversation as he could.

“Wet the bed,” one person said.

Another voice hurriedly added, “and he set some of Teddy’s things on fire a week ago. Draco mentioned it.” That was Narcissa, Harry thought.

“All combined with the fact that he seems to have no problem torturing animals,” Hermione voiced, “is rather worrying. I’ve heard about it, of course, the three things to watch out for in developing serial killers. Harry is exhibiting all three signs.”

“It’s not Harry.” He recognized that voice as Draco’s. “This is Voldemort we’re all talking about, not Harry. Harry hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“We never said he did.” Someone tried to placate, but Harry couldn’t pin point the voice.

“Veela can’t hurt their mates right?” Ginny asked snidely. Draco must have nodded because she giggled, then said, “So I suppose mates shouldn’t hurt their Veelas?”

“Of course not.”

“Well,” she drawled, “either he isn’t your mate, or you’re a very undeserving Veela.”

Draco let out a screech at that. Hermione and Narcissa both gave a loud gasp, at the same time as Lucius drew his wand and Ron shouted, “watch it, Ginny”. Harry didn’t know who did what though, as he couldn’t see, but he wanted to defend himself and comfort Draco but he had to admit Ginny had a point.

Maybe he wasn’t Draco’s mate?

No. He was. He could feel it. He loved Draco, and Draco loved him, and they wanted to be with one another. They had yet to consummate the bond; despite both of them feeling ready, for fear that he wasn’t Draco’s mate. Having sex with him would be a betrayal of his real mate, if that were the case. Deep down inside of him, he knew he belonged to Draco, just as Draco was his.

Draco certainly wasn’t undeserving, nor a bad person or Veela. He deserved to be loved and adored with the best of them, but Harry had to admit he was doing a piss-poor job of late.

“That was the Dark Lord!” Lucius shouted. The normally stoic man seemed to have lost control of his emotions over the last day. Watching what he had in the forest, watching his son threatened by Lord Voldemort whom they all thought defeated, and knowing that making Draco happy meant leaving him with the person who was the greatest threat to Draco was doing nothing for his nerves.

“You-Know-Who is the monster here, not Harry.” A quiet voice added.

“But Harry still hurt Malfoy, so they can’t be together. Harry should be free to be with me.” Ginny protested.

”Stop making this about you, Ginny!” Hermione scolded. “This is about Harry and Voldemort, the way it always is!” She sighed. “I think I know what’s wrong with Harry. But it certainly isn’t his fault. It just goes to prove that Voldemort truly was a monster.”

Harry held his breath. Waiting to see what she said. Needing whatever it was to make him feel better. Maybe she was right? Maybe none of this was his fault. He had tried so hard, as hard as he could, but it apparently hadn’t been enough. Maybe that wasn’t his fault either?

“I believe I am partially to blame. When Mr. Potter awakens, send him to me, if you would.” Professor Snape drawled and Harry’s mouth fell opened at the very fact that the man was here, in the Hospital Wing, for him! “I have something that I should have told him much sooner than this, but as always Albus believed it best to let Harry discover the truth on his own.” Snape snorted. “Idiotic boy. Albus always did have too much faith in him.”

“Now really, Severus,” Narcissa chided, “do you have to be so cruel?” A door slammed shut and Harry could only assume that Snape had left. Maybe, if Snape knew what was wrong with him, there was a way to fix it?

It might be possible that he wasn’t a monster, that this was all truly down to Voldemort, and there was a way to cure him. Maybe he—

“Harry is a Horcrux.”

—Was a monster.

He was an abomination. Nagini had been the only other living creature to have the soul of someone else inside of her, and she had been as evil as the Dark Lord. Did that mean he was evil too? He was! He had to be. He attacked his mate, he threatened his best friend, he even dreamt about torturing little children he didn’t even know. So what if they were Voldemort’s memories? He had enjoyed the dreams as well!

“Please,” he whispered. He didn’t want the others to know he was awake. He didn’t want to see their horrified expressions, to hear their pity and sympathy and have to face their accusing stares or fake forgiveness. He didn’t deserve to have them as friends, and they all probably knew it. “Please fix me.” He didn’t know whom he was asking for help from. All he knew, was that he was begging for help.

He needed help.

XXX

1 – Ashwinder; a snake that is born from a magical fire that had been left burning unchecked. Usually, they live long enough to lay eggs, before they die. The eggs are mainly used in potions, since the actual snake only survives long enough to lay its own eggs after hatching.

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Should be studying… but I’m having withdrawal once again. It’s been way too long since I updated. Show me some understanding and appreciation? Flutters eyelashes. My exams start Tuesday and run through until Friday… I shall update The Lambs when I have gotten over my expected Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.