We Build Then We Break
Harry Potter still remembered what it felt like to lose to Voldemort even now, twelve years later. He’d had a horrible childhood “ his happiness and his family stolen away before he could yet hold them in his memory, forced to grow up alongside people who’d never wanted him “ but losing to Voldemort, all the while surviving “ well, kind of “ and knowing with a sickening, gut-wrenching feeling what would happen to everything he loved under his rule had beat all of that. Had hurt him in a manner that neither the Dursleys, nor anything else had done before. Witnessing as his friends were forced to surrender, believing him to be dead, and then to be murdered as thoughtlessly and carelessly as if they were only insignificant little bugs in return, made him want to be physically sick.
But Voldemort thought of sickness as he did weakness and love; something horrendous and not worth his time. And so, Harry withheld the urge (it wasn’t like he had much choice in the matter; back then Voldemort still had an immense hold on Harry and Harry couldn’t have done anything Voldemort didn’t want him to do, no matter how hard he fought). He felt like Quirrel, only much, much worse, because at least Quirrel still had control over his own actions. Harry was no more than a voice inside their shared mind, his body just a host, a Horcrux in which his captor hid from death.
The first year with Voldemort inside of him had been the worst by far. He had fought and cried and prayed, as Voldemort just mocked his efforts, to no avail nor gain. Voldemort found pleasure in his pain, and in his worst moments, Harry wondered where God had gone: why was Harry left to drown in this overflowing torture, to die in the agony of having to sit back and watch as Voldemort regained his strength? Hadn’t he already sacrificed enough? Harry lost faith in any higher power within a month.
And then, six months after the first Battle of Hogwarts, Voldemort had kidnapped Ginny “ his precious Ginny “ and locked her in a cage like an animal. He’d made them keep their hood up as he threw the Cruciatus Curse at her again and again and demanded to know where Potter was, as if he didn’t know! And she pleaded and begged and cried, all the while insisting that Voldemort must have killed him, because she certainly didn’t know where he was. And only after many hours of this, he finally made Harry draw down their hood. His eyes changed to their dead green, his mouth trembled, and before he could say anything, could tell Ginny to kill him then run …
She had whispered, “Harry?”
Voldemort then addressed Harry in his mind, his voice on the verge of laughter. “Would you like to speak with her, dear Harry? I daresay you may have some explaining to do.”
As if in a dream, a terrible dream, Harry felt himself pulled forward. He tried to explain, to make her understand, but all he could manage was to croak her name in a dry, cracked voice so unrecognizable from the one she’d remember. Voldemort pulled him back inside easily, effortlessly, and then he couldn’t stop himself.
“No, no, Harry, please! How could you, Harry?”
He felt his right arm, his wand arm rise in slow motion. He tried to pull it down, but after so long he knew it’d do no good. He was just a pawn in Voldemort’s twisted game.
“Harry, how could you? HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO US?”
“Avada Kedavra.” And just as quickly as she’d seen and known him, she was swallowed up by the deadly green light.
Gradually over the years following that horrific day Harry had become not used to, but almost … desensitized to Voldemort’s cruelty. Oh, he was still evil, and Harry still felt that sick twinge in his stomach whenever he had to watch it put to use; but while it hurt no less than before, it became slightly easier to bear. And after all, there is only so much wickedness that a purely good person can take before he starts to crack too.
The following decade passed by in a blur. After the second battle, where he got only a handful of words with Ron and Hermione before Voldemort murdered them as well, Hogwarts was transformed into his own Death Eater recruiting ground and the last bit of Harry’s world was taken away forever. Gone were the four house colours, and gone was the merriment, the diversity, and the tolerance. Now, green and silver sufficed for all students and they were all in the mind of which Voldemort liked most: young and fragile, easy to manipulate. During this period Harry grew stronger too, one agonising miniscule amount at a time, until he was able to push that small conscious part of himself to the forefront of his mind again for a few small hours. When he was in control, Harry searched for a way out, a way to win, but he never found anything, not for many years.
And then, one day in the Restricted section of Hogwarts’ library with only thirty minutes remaining before he would be forced to give up for another day, he stumbled across an ancient text with an even more ancient theory. Finally … after nearly ten years … he had something that may work, may save everyone he had let down!
A dementor could literally suck a person’s soul from their body. He, Harry, had a piece of Voldemort’s soul inside of him. What had Hermione told him so many years ago “ that a Horcrux could not survive without its container, its enchanted body, intact? Then that would mean that if he could remove Voldemort from his mind, suck the soul out of his body ... he would then have enough control over his mind to kill himself and in the process, destroy the soul’s container. And if he could get to the snake ... then all of the Horcruxes would be gone! Voldemort would be defeated!
But how would he control a dementor, when the vast majority of the time he could not even control himself?
Voldemort discovered his plan eventually, as he was apt to do what with the entirety of Harry’s broken mind at his disposal. To say that he was furious would be an insult to Harry’s new daring; Voldemort was completely livid. He would have killed Harry willingly right then and there, but when had that desire ever come easily to him? He could not kill Harry without endangering himself: he needed his body to evade endless eternity as the wraith he truly was. If he wished to stay in power, he must stay in the one thing that was holding him to the Earth.
Harry sometimes thought that the only reason Voldemort decided to take them both to Canada was in punishment for this betrayal. Or maybe he’d been planning it longer, and Harry had only now realized. But whatever it was, there was something personal in that journey, something other than just intended torture for him that he had not fully realized until he met Cory Weasley.
And, despite the pleasing fact that he actually had a plan, Harry still had long ago given up on his dream of ever seeing it happen. So now, finding himself standing before the young, terrified girl whose broomstick he had once made lose control for the chance she and her friends would meet Hagrid, in a country far away from his own home, Harry didn’t dare to hope. He forced himself to the front of their mind, slowly shoving Voldemort back as he did, and removed the black glamour from his eyes before looking up. By the widening of her eyes he knew she’d seen; but she also had no way of knowing what it meant. Still, he had to try.
By telling the girl, he could buy time for the light side to prepare. Voldemort would agonize for weeks, if not months, over his contingency plans. For all of his fondness in bragging, he was even fonder of pomp and ceremony, practically revelled in it, and he would want everything to be perfect on the day when he finally took Cory Weasley.
His voice hoarse and scratchy but not a trace of Voldemort in it for the time being, Harry said, “Look at me, girl. Look at me.”
The girl obeyed, dumbfounded.
“It’s Andrews, right? Leah Andrews?” She nodded. “Listen to me, Leah. Everything is not what it seems. Do you recognize me “ do you know who I am?”
The girl shook her head slowly, trembling where she stood.
“My name is Harry Potter. Does that name mean anything to you?” he asked, growing more and more desperate as each second passed.
She nodded again, looking doubtful.
“Do you need more proof?” he prodded gently.
He watched as her eyes slowly flitted up in the direction of his forehead, probably searching for the scar that was even more famous than his name. He removed the glamour on that too and watched as some deep knowledge sparked to life in her mind. “Now do you know me?”
She nodded again.
“Good. Listen to me “ you must get McGonagall, or Thomas, but preferably McGonagall. You have to tell them who I am. Do you understand?”
Harry could feel himself slowly slipping away, his mind being compressed and pushed, forced to retreat, to hide some more. His time was running out.
“You “ you tell them,” he struggled as he tried to hold Voldemort back as long as he could, “tell them that Voldemort has po-possessed me “ that I’m the last Horcrux. Dumbledore’s plan was for us to destroy all of the Horcruxes. V-Voldemort unintentionally turned me into one, too, as a baby; I had to die for him to die. But he didn’t kill it! Are you listening? He didn’t kill it!”
The girl was too stunned to agree. Harry put a forceful hand on her shoulder and steered her out the door before Voldemort could find out what he’d done any sooner than was necessary. He released her and she ran down the corridor without a backwards glance, and Harry watched until she rounded a corner and he felt his tentative control leave him. It was all up to her now; he hoped she could do it; hoped that they would believe her. All he had now was her.
Leah ran, stumbling, down the winding hallways. Hot tears escaped her eyes and blinded her, forcing her to nearly fall and slam into the countless crowds of people blocking her path. She ran to the common room, hoping that Gwen and Cory were both there. She didn’t know that she could manage it if she didn’t have them beside her.
“Hungarian Horntail!” she screamed at the statue of Dumbledore that guarded the entrance to Talos Tower. She didn’t even wait for him to move fully out of the way before she squeezed her way through. “Cory! Gwen!” she called frantically into the seemingly empty room.
She had missed them on her first scan of the room, but as soon as she said their names, two familiar heads popped into view over the back of the sofa. “Leah?” said Gwen.
“Leah?” Cory echoed, standing up and moving slowly towards her. “Leah, are you okay?”
She shook her head frantically. The words to tell them what she had just seen were stuck stubbornly down her throat.
Cory saw her wet cheeks, her rumpled hair, and immediately drew his wand as his eyes narrowed dangerously. “What did he do?”
“It ... it ... it was h-him.”
“Leah, who?”
“Him!” she cried.
“Masen?” asked Gwen. “We know you were with him. Leah, you’re not making any sense.”
“No!” said Leah. “I mean “ yes, it was Masen, at least at first “ but then he changed, and he was ... he was Harry Potter! He was Masen and then he was Potter!”
Cory lowered his wand a fraction. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know! But it’s true, I swear!” She hastily relayed what had taken place in Masen’s office, her voice breaking and cracking after every other word. By the time she was done, Cory and Gwen were speechless too. “What are we going to do?” she finished. Nobody spoke for a long time.
“We find McGonagall,” answered Cory unevenly into the silence. “And we help him.”
“And what about what Hagrid said?” said Leah through her tears. “About how the others will want to hurt him, or d-d-destroy him.”
Gwen shook her head; she was crying too. “We won’t let them.”
“Come on, let’s go,” said Cory. He stood by the statue hole and waited for them to climb through before he followed after them.
They weren’t even halfway down the hall before Gwen asked, “Does anyone actually know where McGonagall’s office is?”
“I don’t,” whispered Leah. Cory shook his head dejectedly. Gwen moaned and threw her hands up into the air.
Just then, Professor Thomas came into view ahead of them. He nodded his head in greeting and gave a little wave. As one, Cory and Gwen turned to Leah with the question in their eyes; they wanted her to take the lead on this. She nodded and ran up to him, the others behind her. “Professor Thomas!”
“Kids?” he answered as they advanced. “What can I do for you?”
“We need to go see Professor McGonagall. Right now. It’s important.”
“I’m afraid she’s rather busy,” he said. “Surely one of the other teachers “?”
“No!” yelled Cory. “It has to be her, Sir.”
“But it doesn’t, Cory,” whispered Gwen suddenly. “He said that Leah could tell Thomas, too!”
“But McGonagall might have a better idea of what to do,” said Leah worriedly. She didn’t want to involve any more innocent people than was necessary. “I’d rather it be her.”
“What are you three talking about?” asked Thomas. “If you really need to see the headmistress now, I’ll take you. Is everything all right?”
“No, it isn’t,” said Leah. “Please,” she begged, “Let’s just go.”
With a curious look, Thomas led the way. He walked for ten minutes before turning down a final corridor and they came upon a dead end made of light stone bricks. Leah opened her mouth to ask where he’d taken them, but he just placed his open hand flat against one stone that was slightly larger than the rest and pressed against it. The whole wall slid away to reveal a tall, spindle staircase, up which Thomas started to climb until he reached the door at the top.
Soft voices were coming from the other side of the door, and Thomas knocked loudly. The voices stopped and someone shouted, “Come in!” as the door opened all by itself.
Professor McGonagall and Mr Weasley, Cory’s father, were seated around an ornate wooden desk. Portraits of sleeping wizards covered many of the available surfaces and at least six bookcases full of heavy-looking volumes lined the walls. Both of them stared at the small group that entered silently.
“Cory?” said Mr Weasley.
“Children ...? Mr Thomas ...? What can I do for you tonight?”
Thomas indicated Leah, Gwen and Cory. “These three have something they wish to discuss with you, I think, Professor.”
She nodded quickly. “Fine. Thank you, Mr Thomas. Mr Weasley, if you would please excuse us, we’ll continue where we left off tomorrow.”
Again, Gwen and Cory looked expectantly to Leah. “Actually ... we would like to speak with all of you,” she added hesitantly, “If that’s okay.”
Mr Weasley retook his seat and McGonagall simply raised her eyebrows, motioning for them to all take seats as well. The seriousness of the situation must have been evident upon their faces, for McGonagall replied without argument, “Of course.”
“What’s this about?” asked Mr Weasley when they were still silent.
“We know who Masen is,” stated Cory. There was an air of smug certainness underlying the words.
Immediately, the adults’ shoulders stiffened; McGonagall sighed angrily, Thomas looked exasperated, and Mr Weasley just frowned. “Cory,” he said, “Masen is nobody other than himself. He’s no Death Eater, he’s not in league with Voldemort, and he is definitely not, as you said before, ‘up to something’. You have to realize that.”
“He’s not a Death Eater,” agreed Leah, smiling. “He’s Harry Potter.”
They did not receive the reaction she had expected at hearing this. Were they not happy at the news? Their long-dead friend was alive! And she hadn’t even mentioned the bad part yet.
“That’s impossible,” breathed Thomas.
“Ludicrous,” agreed McGonagall in a shrill voice. “Why on earth would you say something like that?”
“We’re not lying!” Gwen shouted. “Merlin, Cory was right about all of you! Why won’t you listen to us? We wouldn’t make something like this up! How could we? You’re all just so happy to continue playing your roles as brave little “”
“Ms Seward! You will quit that foolish tone this instant!” McGonagall stood up, both hands clenching into fists on top of her desk. “You talk about being heard ... ask for respect ... but until you learn how to give some in return, we’ll continue to treat you as the children that you are! You come in here spouting off nonsense about Potter being alive, after over a decade ... how do you expect people to react?”
“Kids,” said Thomas more reasonably, “I don’t know why you think what you do, but the headmistress is right, it is impossible. You forget that we knew Harry quite well, and if he were alive today, he would not have hid for twelve years while You-Know-Who was still out there hurting people and he could have stopped it.”
“And besides,” added Mr Weasley, “I thought you were all under the impression that your teacher was a Death Eater.”
“I’m sorry Professors. I’m sorry Mr Weasley,” Leah whispered. This moment was not going like she’d pictured it; she needed them to trust her. “But, you see, we know where You-Know-Who is too.”
“So we were wrong about the Death Eater thing,” said Gwen, “in a way. Sue us. But we’re not wrong about this.”
“Masen is both of them “ Harry Potter and You-Know-Who,” said Leah. “You-Know-Who is possessing Harry Potter's body and he’s been using glamour charms to change his appearance. I know, because I’ve talked to him. I was with Masen in his office just now, and in the middle of interrogating me about Hagrid, he grabbed at his head, like he had a really bad headache, you know? When he looked up again, I saw that his eyes were green, and then he told me who he was. I think that the first Masen was You-Know-Who, but the second was definitely Potter. Please, you have to believe us.”
“When he’s angry, the charm on his eyes falls away, and you can tell that the irises are red,” Cory interjected. “But one boy even says he saw them turn green as well.”
“And there’s another covering the scar on his forehead,” said Leah, “the one that looks like a lightning bolt. He took it off and showed me.”
Gwen added, “He told Leah that he’s Voldemort’s last Horcrux. Those were his exact words. And during the first battle of Hogwarts, he had to die for it to die, but Dumbledore’s plan didn’t work and the Horcrux, whatever that is, survived.”
All three of the adults stared wide-eyed at them as they finished their tale. McGonagall’s mouth opened and closed for a few seconds before she murmured, “How could you possibly know all of that?”
Mr Weasley gazed out the window, looking lost. “Ron and Hermione said that the snake was the last one. I never even told my wife about them. The only way for you three to know about the Horcruxes would be for “”
Leah sighed in relief. “It’s what we’ve been trying to tell you,” she said.
“Did you ever consider that this could all just be a ploy, a trick to make you think Harry was alive in order to lure you into danger?” asked Thomas. He frowned; but he looked like he wanted to believe them, wanted to badly.
“But I don’t think that it is. You didn’t see him; you didn’t see how desperate he was.”
“Would it be all right, Leah,” said McGonagall quietly, “For us to view your memory of this event? It wouldn’t hurt you, but it may help us.”
Leah turned to Cory and Gwen. They nodded only slightly, but it was enough. If this was what it took ... then she would do it. She would do everything. “Yes.”
“Excellent.” She stood up again, holding her wand, and walked slowly over to Leah until she stood just in front of her. “Now, I’m just going to hold my wand to your temple ... like this ... and I want you to think of the memory, remember every detail like you were back there again. Then ...” She drew her wand away and Leah saw, dangling from the end, a thin silver wisp that fluttered with the light winter breeze coming in through the window.
“Is that ...?” she gasped.
“Your memory of what you just described, yes,” replied McGonagall. “We will view it in a pensieve and then we can examine it fully.”
“Wow.”
She retrieved a shallow stone basin from a cupboard and set it on the desk, depositing Leah’s memory inside where it swirled on the bottom in its own tiny puddle. One by one, the adults gathered around the pensieve. “We won’t be long,” said Mr Weasley. He briefly patted Cory on the back before he bent down, stuck his nose in the silver fluid, and disappeared. McGonagall and Thomas followed.
They weren’t gone more than a few minutes and when they returned, emerging from the basin like an assembly of ghosts, the expressions upon their faces were unreadable.
“Do you believe us now?” asked Cory.
“Honestly,” his father answered, “I don’t think we know what to believe.”
“If it’s ... if it’s really Harry ...” Thomas said shakily.
McGonagall walked over to another cupboard and carefully extracted a box filled with small glass vials, each of them filled with more silver memories like Leah’s, which was still sitting in the pensieve. “These memories belonged to Dumbledore,” she explained. “They’re ones he collected before his death, all labelled with the subjects involved and the date that they occurred. He left them to me, but I ... I could never view them. Now, I think the time has finally come.”
“Many of these are labelled T. Riddle,” Thomas whispered in surprise. “A lot are Dumbledore’s, too, and there’s Snape ... Slughorn ... many people who I’ve never heard of before, but the majority of these memories concern Voldemort.”
McGonagall nodded. “Albus spent a lot of time piecing together Voldemort’s life and how he came to be what he is. If anyone could have predicted this, it would have been him.”
“Do you really think that Masen is Harry Potter?” asked Leah hopefully. “That You-Know-Who is inside his mind and has been all this time?”
“I cannot say,” said the Headmistress sadly. “The three of us,” She indicated Professor Thomas and Mr Weasley beside her, “Will examine these memories together. Maybe Albus knew something, maybe he didn’t, but he left them to me for a reason. And if it’s true ...” Her voice shook. “If it really is Potter ... I don’t know what we’ll do. What we can do. But I will find out the truth. That, I can promise you.”
“Give us some time,” said Mr Weasley softly, “And we’ll let you know when we've come to a decision.”
“Oh, and Ms Andrews,” McGonagall called just before Leah, Gwen and Cory slipped out the door, “Does Hagrid really know anything about this, like Masen thinks?”
Leah turned around. “That’s his story to tell.”
“Then we shall talk to him as well,” she replied, and they left.