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Author: Myth & Legend Story: Eternity Lost Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 14 Words: 109,971
"Power blinds the frail of mind "Mindless Magic" ~ V. Donnerstoff The air was dank and fetid. He could hear someone crying, their sobs trembling and terrible. He wanted to find them, hold them, and tell them it would all be all right, but he couldn't see. The darkness was like pitch. There was no light and no sound but the crying. He thrust his hands out in front of him and felt warm fluid. The smell of murder rolled over him; a putrid stench of death and decay. He could hear whispers, terrifying sounds, and bodiless voices all blaming him for all their pain. He had turned his back. He had walked away. Voldemort had won and now the world lay dead at his feet. The agony was an abrupt scarlet flash in front of his eyes. He felt every muscle tense with it as the arrow of pain slit from his wrist to his heart. He could hear laughter, started by one and ended by many. He could feel heat, a flash of light, torment and sorrow. He hit the ground with a thud and lay there, panting. For a moment he thought he must still be dreaming, but the world around him was too real. The tattoo that ran down his spine, silent for almost a year, was prickling, the thorns doubtlessly flexing against his skin. His chest hurt, as did his forehead, but the pain was receding, granting him the presence of mind to look around. Dawn was a blurred, grey light on the horizon, allowing him to see the phantom towers of trees around him. Last autumn's dead leaves crunched beneath him as he struggled to his feet, shivering in his pyjamas. For a fleeting moment he wondered if he was in the Forbidden Forest, but the woods around him weren't dark or sinister. They were just normal trees, covered in ivy and creepers. The undergrowth was a mass of fern and brackens, and he winced as his bare feet trod on thorn after thorn. He must have Apparated in his sleep, perhaps responding to the call of another Death Eater meeting. He only hoped he hadn't gone too far and that he hadn't Apparated all the way to Voldemort's side without even his wand to protect him. Glumly, he wished he'd left his glasses on before going to sleep. It was impossible to see much clearly, and he dreaded treading on some kind of trap. The last thing he needed was to be stuck here. It didn't take long to breach the edge of the woods, where he let out a quiet sigh of relief. Ottery St. Catchpole slumbered in its valley, the river a meagre trickle between its banks. The streets were smooth and welcoming after the trek across the forest floor, and he padded along them, aiming towards the high hill that hid the Burrow from sight. It was embarrassing when he thought about it. Ron and Hermione never had this kind of trouble. They never Apparated by accident or broke things or sent spells astray. He was a grown wizard, and yet he still couldn't control his magic properly. Dumbledore had warned against getting an Apparation license. As it was, the Ministry's automatic enchantments, just about the only things left standing, still sent out their letters, detailing not only his start and end location, but the exact time. Without them, he would be harder to track if he went missing. Besides, there were more things on Harry's mind at the moment than learning a faster way to travel. Dawn had broken fully now, and the sun hung like an egg yolk in the sky, a hazy, baking hot orb. Already the chilly road was heating beneath his feet, and he climbed gratefully through the soft grass. His stomach was growling fitfully and his head pounded from squinting by the time he reached the border of the garden, where someone was standing, waiting for him, a letter in their hands. The Headmaster handed him his glasses and smiled faintly as Harry bowed his head, not looking his teacher in the face. 'Before you ask, sir, I don't know how it happened.' 'It must have been a rude awakening for you.' 'Something like that.' 'Well, since you're up so early, perhaps you could give me a hand with something. Molly has asked me to put an identity ward around the house to stop intruders from gaining access while posed as someone else. She seems to think it is a possibility that could happen.' Harry accepted his wand from the Headmaster and frowned in confusion. 'I don't know anything about wards or boundary spells though.' 'No, alas, the curriculum does lack in that area. I will do most of the casting; I need you to help with the anchoring. The spell will be a dark green and will move a bit like water. If you point your wand at the light, tendrils will reach towards it, and all you need to do is point those tendrils into the ground.' Harry nodded in agreement and stood back, waiting as Dumbledore quietly said some words he didn't understand. Colour erupted from the tip of the Headmaster's wand, a soft, dark green that spread out rapidly, turning purple and red where it touched the other spells already in place. Harry could feel them humming and jumping, spitting as they fused together. He had always felt more aware of the magic around the Burrow than anywhere else, and now he could feel his hair standing on end. The tendrils reached for his wand, just as Dumbledore said they would, but they also reached for the fingers of his left hand. Where they touched him, they felt sticky and hot, like warm syrup, but they let go when he pointed to the ground. There were hundreds of the little anchor points, and as he pointed the last one down, he breathed a sigh of relief. 'Very well done. I wasn't helping you with that at all.' 'I thought you were doing the other side of the house?' Harry asked, raising an eyebrow as Dumbledore smiled. 'If the wizard who is anchoring is powerful enough, the mirroring points embed at the same time as those under your control. You have a lot of magic in you, Harry; we've always known that.' Harry followed the old man into the house, glancing over his shoulder at the boundary spells as though he expected them to collapse. The kitchen was cool in comparison to outside, and Molly handed them both a cup of tea, her expression a mixture of thanks and concern. 'I'm sorry for bothering you, Dumbledore, it just seemed like the one thing we weren't protected against.' 'That's quite all right. I've increased the strength of some of the other spells as well. Harry should find that next time he Apparates, he won't be able to get further than the kitchen. If he splinches himself, you know what to do.' 'Of course,' Molly smiled, 'the boys have all done it enough times.' 'What about this letter?' Harry complained, waving the strict missive in irritation. 'Arthur is dealing with it, Harry. Besides, it's not your fault,' Molly soothed. 'Perhaps if you took classes, you could learn to control it better.' 'I'd rather Harry didn't expose his abilities at this point, Molly. It's hard enough protecting him in one place; if he's Apparating all over the country,' Dumbledore shrugged, 'he's not safe anymore.' 'The dream, or maybe the Apparition, set off my tattoo, so it's got something to do with Voldemort. I think I only Apparated because he called the Death Eaters. I must just remember that Pettigrew always Apparated when he felt the pain, and now I'm doing it instinctively.' 'It's something you need to try and fight against,' Dumbledore said, his voice low with concern. 'I know it must be hard for you – you don't even realise you're doing it – but if you were to come into contact with Voldemort unprepared, he would kill you in an instant. There would be no questions, Harry. There are rumours that he has murdered several boys resembling you this summer. Something has frightened him, more so than ever.' Harry sat in one of the wooden kitchen chairs, wincing as Genie jumped on his lap and dug her claws in before settling down. 'Maybe he found out about the prophecy?' 'It is a possibility. Perhaps he fears that you are coming into the powers mentioned, in which case, he is right.' 'But I'm not–' Dumbledore accepted a mug of tea from Molly and watched Harry over the lip of it, remaining silent until Molly had discreetly slipped from the room. 'I do not see how you can look upon all you have gone through in the past year and still deny that you are powerful. You might not be aware of this, but I was sent various letters from the Ministry before your birthday about incidents that have occurred.' 'But I haven't done anything!' 'Harry, did you watch Molly make the tea?' Harry frowned, confused by this change in topic. 'No, why?' 'She did it the Muggle way, as she often does. She only owns one enchanted teapot, and it's not the one she has been using this summer. Yet when you make the tea, it does it by itself.' 'But I don't even know how everyone takes their tea, how could I have been doing it?' 'Harry, how old am I?' Dumbledore asked gently. 'One hundred and sixty, everyone knows that.' The Headmaster shook his head, smiling behind his beard. 'Only I know that, Harry.' 'But it's written down on Chocolate Frog cards and everything!' 'The date of my birth written on those cards is 1840, Harry. They are wrong, and that date would make my current age one hundred and fifty-eight. I was born two years earlier than any book you have read would claim, and yet you knew it, just the same as you knew how the Weasleys take their tea.' Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore held up his hand to silence him. 'Before you ask, it's an ability called Soul Resonance, and it's only one of several ways your magic is manifesting itself.' 'But–' Harry trailed off, unable to think of anything to say. 'How long has it been happening?' 'I have been noticing the signs for some time now. At the school, it was brought to my attention that several joke predictions were coming true. Whilst I am in doubt of Mr Weasley's prophetic abilities, it is possible that you were influencing events around you. For example, because you thought that you might be poisoned in Herbology, you were. You made it happen with your magic.' Harry sat in silence, his hand resting on Genie's back as he stared at the Headmaster. 'What does it mean?' 'You're picking out details, thoughts and emotions from the people around you. There are certain things ingrained into the human mind. The way they react to events, their favourite things, and their emotionally-derived thoughts. You pick up things like that, even over great distances. You told me not long ago that once you had been told about the Ministry you felt as though you had known it all along. You were picking up the passion-driven actions of everyone there that night. You're the only one who did.' 'How do I stop it? I can't go around reading people's thoughts and things. It seems wrong.' 'It's not like that, and you can't stop it. I don't even know if you can control it, but it won't be of any use to you if you are not prepared to use it. You are not reading their minds. They are more forcing their thoughts upon you. Everything a person does is driven by some feeling or need. It is that drive that you can sense and affect.' 'But what good can it do me?' Dumbledore lashed out suddenly with his wand, smiling as Harry dodged it easily. 'You can anticipate the moves of others, control objects around you without touching them and strengthen the spells you already know. We will do our best to help you at the school, but there are very few people even aware of this magic, let alone trained in it.' 'Where did it come from?' Harry asked. 'I mean, has it always been there, or is it something new?' 'We're not sure. It seems that the one event that brought this all on was when Aurora Black used you as a channel for her magic. It seems to have stimulated the vast amounts of power within you. There is more there than just the Soul Resonance, but it has yet to take any recognisable form.' A small, musical chime went off in the Headmaster's pocket and the man sighed, his blue eyes watching Harry's face before he set his mug down. 'Alas, there is much work to be done. I would have preferred to have spoken with you longer and answered more of your questions, but it seems that must wait for another time. I do, however, have one question for you.' 'Yes?' 'Did the Melancholily follow you home this summer?' Dumbledore's face held no anger in it, but a faint disappointment lingered in his eyes as Harry nodded guiltily. 'I know you have your reasons for not telling me of its presence, and to be honest, there is nothing I could have done, but in the future, Harry, I must stress that it is vital for you to tell whoever is concerned over your welfare when such malicious objects are given to you. It will wilt one day, but until then, there is no escaping from it. "He who touches the flower of pain shall be haunted by the grim spectre of death."' 'I'm sorry.' 'Just take care, Harry, I don't want it to fade because it is you who has left the mortal coil.' When the old man had gone on his way, Harry leant back in his chair, his eyes heavy and his mind whirling. Soul Resonance. With it, you could pick up echoes of other people's thoughts, you could move things with spells you didn't even know you were using, and you could sense things when other people had no idea. His eyes drifted to the mugs again. At the time, the Weasleys had been too distracted to notice how he made the tea, and he'd thought it was the mugs doing it. He concentrated hard. One by the one the teaspoons stopped stirring the fluid, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Now that he'd been told about the magic he was doing without even realising it, he felt as though he were in a precarious situation. Now that he no longer truly needed the medium of a wand, how could he control it? How did he know he wouldn't hurt people just by touching them? He looked up blearily as Hermione wandered in wearing a dark blue dressing gown and slippers. Her hair was in two ruffled, thick plaits, but she didn't seem too bothered about her appearance as she sat down and reached for the cereal. 'Where have you been?' The question was casual, but he could hear a faint undertone of worry in it. 'I managed to Apparate in my sleep this morning. I had to walk home.' 'Ron told me about when Fred made you jump and accidentally Apparate.' She paused, as if deciding whether to pursue her next train of thought. Putting down her spoon, she leant across the table. 'Harry, have you been all right here? Ron's been so distracted recently, I know he hasn't really been paying attention to you.' She tipped her head to one side and frowned. 'You don't look very well. You're still quite thin and, to be honest, you look like you're still ill.' Harry was staring at the cups and grimaced as she expressed her concerns. 'I'm all right. It's just, well, it's becoming blatantly apparent that not only am I different from every Muggle on the planet, I'm different from every bloody witch and wizard as well. See those mugs?' 'Of course.' 'They shouldn't be doing that.' He motioned to the milk jug that was filling them one by one. 'The Weasleys don't own more than one set that makes the tea for them, and that's not it. I'm doing it, and I don't know how, or why. How old's Dumbledore?' 'One hundred and fifty-eight,' Hermione answered slowly, the tone in her voice betraying her confusion at the question. Harry sighed, hating the sinking feeling that Dumbledore was right. If anyone would have known about the incorrect dates, it was Hermione. 'He's two years older than that; it's misprinted in almost every text.' 'How do you know?' 'Apparently I'm sensing things from people, facts and emotions and stuff. I sense how the Weasleys want their tea – you take it white with two and three quarter sugars–' He stopped as the words unconsciously slipped out of his mouth. 'Why two and three quarter?' 'I'm trying to cut down,' Hermione mumbled, watching him intently. 'So what is it, did Dumbledore say?' 'Soul Resonance, and I didn't even realize I was doing it, but now that he's said it, I can feel it happening.' Hermione chewed her cereal for a moment before swallowing and reaching across the table for his hand. 'Don't worry about it, Harry; it's a good thing. I mean, you can do things that no one else can.' 'Makes me even more of a freak.' 'You're not a freak! How can you even think that?' 'Because I am, and I'm so bloody tired of it.' Hermione put her cereal to one side and got up, going to fetch her tea that was making itself. 'You need to relax, I mean it!' she emphasised when he scowled at her. 'It sounds like a load of rubbish, but take me seriously. Just forget about it, go to bed, get some sleep, and it'll all seem better. And please, try not to Apparate.' ****** It was early afternoon by the time Harry felt he was fit to face the world again. He had spent almost an hour getting thorns out of his feet, and now his socks made his feet sore. The tattoo on his back had returned to its motionless normality, and a hot shower had soothed the small scrapes the vines encircling the sword always left when they were provoked. When he went downstairs, Ron and Hermione were in discussion at the table, whilst Ginny stood by the window, eating a slice of toast. She hadn't bothered to get dressed for the day and was wearing the baggy pyjamas again, and Harry hugged her from behind, kissing her cheek softly and tasting butter. 'You've got jam all around your mouth,' he chuckled as Ginny smiled, scooping a blob off her toast and wiping it on his forehead, laughing happily. It was a good sound, almost musical in a house that hadn't heard enough of it in the last few weeks. Ron looked up and chuckled at Harry's expression before saying, 'Hermione told us about what Dumbledore said, I hadn't even noticed.' 'Neither had I,' Harry grumbled. 'I mean there've been a few weird things, but I didn't think they were my fault.' 'How's your arm?' Harry rolled up the sleeve to show the red patch of skin. It hadn't darkened into the full form, but it was enough to worry anyone who saw it. 'Same as before really; I wish it would go away.' 'Looks like you might be stuck with it, like your tattoo and your scars.' Ron paused, frowning at his friend. 'Harry, are you all right?' Harry shook his head, trying to block out the sounds of the kitchen as he listened. He could hear a sound, a furious buzzing like that of angry bees. Looking through the window, he could see a faint flickering, as though something were trying to interfere with the wards. He could feel his fingertips itching and his skin starting to crawl, as though the magic was calling him towards it. Hermione said something about the cats and he looked to where the two felines cowered, their ears flat against their heads. He walked into the garden and felt a chill, despite the warmth of the day. The air smelled like baked tin, and all around him, he could feel little flashes of magic. Pressing his fingertips to the air, he watched as it ignited, vermilion and red blossoming upwards into a dome that surrounded the house. The others were watching from the doorway, their hands clamped over their ears as the screaming started. Harry rounded the corner and froze. A vague shape was hurling itself frantically at the barriers, and as he stood there, grey, scabbed fingertips pressed to his, thin, silken spells all that kept them apart. The Dementor was alone and frantic, scrabbling at the wards in its desperation. It was keening, wailing in pain and frustration. It must have been able to sense so much emotion in the house, and yet was unable to get to it. Harry stepped back. Faced with a more powerful magical creature, he could feel its emotions as though they were a battering ram, forcing themselves upon them. It was not just the thoughts belonging to the Dementor, but those of its victims, misplaced human things in an animal mind. Its needs and cravings were ferocious, and Harry felt his stomach turn as the taste of the Dementors prey filled his mouth. He shuddered, his knees giving way so that he was forced to slump to the ground. Beyond the spells, the Dementor collapsed, moaning and squealing, overcome by the one who stood so close, but was so unreachable. The spells seemed to concentrate on the creature, wrapping it in a fine web as Harry's fingers curled into claws. The mesh tightened and the Dementor made a soft sound before it became motionless. The wards went silent, returning to their normal state, and the creature laid there, no more than a bundle of rags, its scaly skin already undergoing an accelerated rate of decomposition. Harry staggered to his feet and stepped back, not able to understand why the one thought lingering in his head, the one feeling he had been able to resolve from the need, had been one of thanks for an end to the suffering. 'How did you kill it?' Ron asked as the three walked up to join him, his eyes intent on Harry's face as he placed a comforting hand on his friend's shaking shoulder, 'I've never seen anyone do that before.' 'I don't know,' Harry mumbled, feeling sick. 'Where did it come from?' Ginny asked, staring at it. The robes were empty now, and slowly the fabric was turning to dust in front of their eyes. 'They must be all over the place. Really, you'd have thought there would have been more attacks,' Hermione said quietly. 'Are you all right? How did you sense the wards going off? We didn't feel anything until we heard it screaming.' Harry shook his head, 'I don't know, at least they work.' 'Let's get inside,' Ron suggested. 'I'll let Mum know what happened, she's bound to have heard those screams.' Harry followed a little behind the others, his head bowed, lost in thought. It scared him that he could do things the others couldn't, that he could crush life without even meaning to, and it terrified him, knowing that he had more magic than he knew about. It seemed that there were too many questions, and that there was no one willing, or able, to give him the answers.
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