Chapter 30:
Back to Teaching
"Alright class." Harry said to his little third years. "Today we're getting back on track for the course material. Grab a teacup, today you learn tea leaf reading."
"Awwwwww!" The entire classroom groused as soon as the words left his sea of grumpy, slouching Slytherins and Ravenclaws glared at him in displeasure.
"What? Not fans of tea?" Harry asked rhetorically.
Astoria, still scowling raised her hand.
"Yes, miss Greengrass?" He called on her.
"Professor, this class has been really fun and interesting up until now." She explained. "We've learned so much about divination that none of us have ever heard of before. But we have heard of tea leaf reading and I think I speak for all of us when I say it is not interesting."
The emphatic agreement of her peers added an additional credence to her words. Little Xenophilius added onto the topic without raising his hand, but Harry allowed it.
"And with it being such a beautiful day, possibly the last one of autumn, we were hoping to sit outside and listen to another interesting lecture." The platinum blonde said.
Harry turned to the curtained windows and with a wide wave of his wand raised every single one to let in the view. As the boy had said, sunlight pierced the lazy clouds in sharp rays, illuminating the spots of forest and grass as it pleased. It was likely they wouldn't get a day this warm or lovely for a while. So, he got an idea.
"Everyone, grab a quill and piece of parchment." Harry instructed.
He went to his desk and did the same, inking his quill for the task. The sound of his students rifling through their bags filled his classroom and when he turned around to see them all prepared, he smiled.
"Okay. Who here can draw a simple crescent shape, like this?" He asked. "Show me you can."
Visibly confused, his students complied, each marking their parchment with a single, upside-down crescent shape before lifting it and turning them to face him. Harry made a show of confirming they could, in fact, draw the letter C sideways before continuing.
"Good, now. Using just that shape, draw my general outline." He spread his feet shoulder length apart and arms straight out to the sides like he was making a snow angle.
He held it there for a whole minute and a half as his students, still visibly confused, did as he instructed. When the last of them put their quills down he released the pose and examined their work.
"Alright! Everyone's scraggly sketch definitely looks like a human. Good." He complimented. "Now onto the patios to take a seat."
They filed out onto the patios and Harry took to standing in the middle of the classroom so everybody could hear him. When they were all settled into their seats with their parchment and quills he began his lecture.
"Omen reading." He began. "That is the purpose of tea leaf reading and many other forms of beginner divination. Finding meaning in omens is an art we begin with because it is the easiest and most helpful. By seeing shapes or signs in the randomness of the world."
They all swiveled in their seats to look at him as he lectured.
"Most of the time omens do not serve as portents of the past or future, and certainly aren't sent to you by the fates." He went on, getting to the real meat of the matter. "But as a reflection of your inner turmoil. It is in your interpretation of your omens that you find a path worth taking. Their meanings are vague on purpose, so that you can interpret them to the things you care about and, in the process, discover exactly how much you care about them and make decisions according."
"So... It's psychological?" Derek, the ever-shy Slytherin, asked.
"Most of the time, yes. But there is still magic in it not wholly in your head." Harry explained. "For example, my first ever tea leaf reading was of a large, black, mangy dog. My teacher at the time translated this as the legendary grim, a portent of death. Meanwhile I had actually encountered that dog a few days earlier and he turned out to be very important to both my past and future, but I failed to make that connection due to her poor teachings. Which is why I tell you, don't always take the meaning of the omens in the book too literally, and sometimes you need to take them even more literally. Sometimes the image of a dove carrying a diamond ring can mean to seek peace in your marriage. Other times it can mean a stinking Pidgeon is going to make off with your engagement ring."
They nodded along to his words and even took notes. Several glanced back to their tables and the bookbags sitting beside them.
"Today I want you to put the book out of your mind and hunt for omens... in the clouds." Harry instructed before laughing. "That's right! I'm teaching you cloud-gazing! So, gaze at the clouds and translate any shapes you see onto parchment like you did my general shape. And after class we can go over what they mean. Both in divination, and to you personally if you are comfortable doing so. This can be very private, hence why I would ask you to come to me individually with any questions you have about your omens throughout the week if you need to."
They got straight to work, pens at the ready, staring at the sky. Harry decided to add extra instruction.
"And be sure to label the scratchy sketches with the name of what animal, object or other shape you think the clouds look like. Just in case your drawings are too difficult to make out after the fact." Harry told them.
And the rest of the class passed by in silence. The only sound his students made were the scratching of quill on parchment as they twisted their necks and scrunched their faces in concentration as they tried to find meaning in the randomness of the heavens. That and the light autumn breeze. It was a good day.
When there was only five minutes left in class he called them back inside with the simple instruction to check their books for the meanings of their omens and write them down on the sheets they had been sketching on and to turn those sheets in next week. He dismissed them when the bell rang, knowing that their minds would be full of questions about their omens that they would have to ponder on their own until brave enough to come get clarification from him.
He eagerly awaited their next arrival.
"Awwwwwww!" His sixth-year classroom bemoaned at his announcement.
"What? Not fans of crystal balls?" Harry asked rhetorically, holding up one of the offending objects. "You didn't think I'd be teaching you guys to daydream for the whole year, did you?"
"But professor," Draco said, also not bothering to raise his hand. "We've already learned crystal ball gazing."
Ron scoffed from his seat.
"Yeah, learned absolutely nothing." His red-haired friend said. "Three years of learning all about crystal balls, are you going to make us spend a fourth-year learning nothing about them?"
Harry considered taking a point away from both for speaking out of turn but decided it would take away from the lesson he was trying to teach.
"You assume that because your last teacher didn't teach you anything, that there is nothing to learn?" He asked knowingly. "Believe me, I get it. I really do. I've had bad teachers put me off of subjects in the past. From math teachers failing to inform me that algebra and geometry were only two of over sixty distinct fields of mathematics, to having a poor excuse of a divination professor myself. But let me tell you, there is plenty to learn about crystal ball gazing and everybody here has the ability to do so."
Lavender tentatively raised her hand.
"One point to Gryffindor for raising your hand before speaking." Harry said cheekily. "Yes, miss Brown?"
"Sir, Professor Trelawney told us repeatedly, religiously, that only those born with the sight can become skilled in divination." She squeaked.
Harry groaned and closed his eyes. He silently counted down from ten and resisted the urge to bang his fist on his desk. He still made the motion though.
"I am very displeased with your last teacher in this subject." Harry said truthfully. "That is almost a complete lie. Unless you're misquoting her and she said those without the right temperament cannot divine? That is true, but a nonissue as temperament can be changed."
Lavender made a comical look upwards as if trying to peer into her own skull to try and retrieve the memory of exactly what that woman said. Other students were doing the same.
"She may have said both of those things at... Oh!" Hermione stopped herself and raised her hand after noticing the look Harry was giving her.
"Yes, miss Granger?" He called on her.
"I think she may have said both of those things but might have meant them interchangeably to be the latter." Hermione said. "Could you clarify the difference?"
Harry nodded with a kindly smile.
"Of course! Somebody who goes on a fishing trip expecting to be bored, gets his wish." Harry explained. "And one who goes on a fishing trip expecting to have a fun or relaxing time, also gets his wish. The same is true for most divination. You have to come into it believing it is at least possible. Which is a ridiculous thing to say to a room of youth who have spent years doing the impossible with magic. Impossible is a word that should not be in any of your vocabulary."
Cho raised her hand.
"Yes, miss Chang?" He called.
"What do you mean by most fields of divination? Are there some that require a talent?" She asked.
"Yes. Yes there are." Harry answered. "Now, onto crystal ball gazing."
More groaning, but this time it was in surrender. Their attempts at derailing the class had ultimately failed and they knew he was onto them. Good.
"What did you learn about it from Trelawney?" He asked.
Lots of hand in the air after that one.
"Yes, Veir, vur... you." Harry called on the eastern European boy.
He glowered at Harry as the other students snickered.
"She said to clear your mind and gaze into the orb." He answered. "And nothing else."
"And let me guess, she expected you to know how to clear your mind and translate what you saw in the orbs." He clarified. "Only for you not to see anything at all because she failed to teach you how to clear your minds first?"
They all nodded.
"Well! Guess what I've been teaching you to do these last two weeks?" Harry asked rhetorically. "You didn't think I was having you stare off into space and ponder your dreams for nothing did you? That was you learning how to clear your mind. Now. Clear your mind and ponder your crystal balls."
The series of groans and several immature snickers followed his orders. Yet all the same, they marched to the front of the class and took a crystal ball each from the large box of them and a stand for it from the pile on his desk.
He waited for them all to get settled with their balls firmly held in the ring-like stands on their tables before continuing.
"Now. I know you've all learned how to read omens in teacups." He said. "To start with, you can also do that with crystal balls. Making out shapes like the gunk of tea leaves in a cup and interpreting them. But seeing visions in the orb is the goal. Now! This will not take the form you might be imagining."
Checking to make sure his students were paying attention he went on.
"It is not like a television, where a movie will play inside of the crystal ball that only you can see. It will instead be like a vivid daydream." He explained. "Who here has ever stared off into space and had a day dream where it was like having an actual dream? Scenarios playing out in your head?"
Everyone raised their hand.
"Good. It should be exactly like that. Most teachers will tell you to be careful not to confuse it with your imagination getting away from you, but I say otherwise." He said. "Clear your mind as I have taught you, stare into the orb and wait for the daydream to hit you. Let it play out then write it down. Or snap out of it if you notice a distinct shape, or omen, and write that down."
No groans this time, just a few huffs of annoyance and grumpy glowering at the offending spheres. Hermione was especially loud with hers.
"What's the matter, Granger?" Ron joked. "Not like it's going to blow up in your face or something."
Harry opened his mouth to tell them all to settle down and get started, then he processed the words and who they came from and blanched.
"Miss Granger?" he said. "Please come up to the front and sit at my desk with me."
He did not wait for her to answer, conjuring a chair on the side of his desk for her to plop down on and taking his seat behind it as well. Thinking better of things he made an exception for everyone.
"You can all sit down for this class." He told them and cast a classroom-wide verdimilius to make the chairs that were already there, but hidden, reappear.
They all made some noise of relief or another, none being fans of his standing during class policy, while Hermione made her way to the seat beside him, bringing with her the crystal ball and stand. She set up on the edge of his desk and Harry, still standing, got to work filling out financial statements for the sanctuary. Now seemed like a great time to let the quiet of class inspire him to get some not-so-fun work done.
It was mostly just a report on what supplies were used and would need replacing. That part he had already done, all that was left was to calculate the cost of it all and send it in as a requisition form to the bank. The potion ingredients really were up there in terms of price and would remain so until he found a plot for growing his own. Hopefully it would only take the weekend.
He must have been way too engrossed to it, because he didn't feel the high energy in the air until the spell flew.
With one hand he erected a physical barrier of granite between Hermione and her crystal ball, with the other a wall-sized protego between Draco and Sean Finnegan. The stunner from the older Finnegan fizzled against his protego, but an unidentifiable hex flew across his desk and shattered the crystal ball into large, sharp chunks of glass. They bounced harmlessly against the granite barrier he summoned but thank
merlin he had or else she would have spent the week in the hospital wing.
"That will be detention. Malfoy. Finnegan." Harry said with a dangerous edge to his tone. "And twenty-five points each, from Gryffindor and Slytherin. Class is dismissed. Weasley. Granger. Stay."
Visible confusion at being dismissed twenty minutes early met his command, but his own visible anger kept any objections or questions silent. What few there were among students who would usually be elated to get let out of class early.
He waited for them to slowly file out, watching Draco and Sean in particular. He probably looked like he was glaring at them. Scratch that, he was glaring at them.
When the last of them filed out Ron made his way to the front of the room to stand next to Hermione, who was still hidden from his vision by the floating granite block. He canceled the conjuration to reveal the frizzy haired girl sitting patiently and demurely with her hands in her lap.
She still looked a little shellshocked and wide eyed.
"So. Are you both okay?" he asked.
Hermione quietly nodded, but Ron just looked at him in confusion.
"Why wouldn't I be okay? She was the one who was almost hospitalized." He pointed out.
"And why was she almost hospitalized?" Harry asked. "What almost hurt her."
Hermione caught on first.
"My crystal ball blew up. In my face." She said, giving Ron a scathing look.
Ron blinked at the scathing look.
"You're not saying I did that, are you?" He asked.
"No. You predicted it." Harry told him. "You have a rare form of the sight called ironic foresight. Today it decided to make itself more obvious that usual for some reason."
That some reason being the fates fucking with him for not telling Ron when he should have. They just wouldn't allow him to have his fun, would they?
"But this is the first time something like that has happened." Ron said.
"First time it's happened so fast." Harry corrected. "I am positive you have made jokes in the past that came true, but usually months or even years later. Or at least, you don't find out until years later.
"He has." Said Hermione.
Harry looked at her.
"He joked about me and a boy that was already true." She said. "And he had no way of knowing."
"What boy did I ever tease you about?" Ron asked. "Malfoy?!"
"No!" Hermione yelled with a disgusted face.
"Stop." Harry interrupted. "She is speaking vaguely on purpose to keep her secrets from us. Now. You have the sight. Hermione, a sceptic among sceptics, can see it. And I, a divination professor, am telling you that it is so. Why do you not believe it?"
The young man looked away and seemed unsure of himself.
"I am offering you private tutoring to nurture this gift. But I suppose you need convincing. Fortunately I have the tools necessary to convince you." Harry told him.
And with that, he reached under his desk and retrieved the pensieve Dumbledore had agreed to loan him.
"Now. Let's go down memory lane, shall we?"
Voldemort appeared at the edge of the forest where four of his Death Eaters stood waiting for him. Each garbed in black robes and donning silver, skull masks. As they always had.
They stood facing away from him, gazing into the forest. He marched up to stand in the middle of them. With two on his left and two on his right he felt invincible. They always made him feel invincible.
"Lucius. Amycus." Voldemort commanded. "If this goes well, I will rely on you two and the rest may leave. If it does not, then you must go."
"My Lord?" Lucius asked, confused.
"You have other responsibilities than to me." Voldemort told them. "And if this goes badly you cannot be involved in what will happen."
"Are you referring to our involvement in Morrigan's Werewolf sanctuary?" Amycus asked.
"Indeed. You both do wonderful deeds by him. And I won't allow you to poison your philanthropy with such an atrocious conflict of interest." Voldemort told them. "Don't worry. I have Crabbe and Goyle. If their sons are good enough to guard your son, they're good enough to guard me."
Lucius and Amycus bowed in deference to his orders and reasoning.
Voldemort marched into the woods, his four followers hanging behind. He did not walk long, the humanoid shapes stealthily skirting between trees signaled he was in the right place. He noted their reflective eyes and soundless padding along.
The full moon was long gone now but their bestial nature was still in control. Just as Fenrir trained them. An oversight Voldemort was here to correct.
"Let him through." Fenrir's snarl rang through the forests.
His minders immediately vanished from his peripheral vision, back into hiding so perfectly even he couldn't have noticed them if they hadn't already revealed their presence.
A few more paces and he broke into a clearing, interrupting a feast. A feast of raw meat and bonemeal. Not human, thankfully. It smelled more of pork than the sweetness of human corpses he had become so familiar with in his warring.
"My lord." Fenrir greeted, kneeling deeply.
His fellow werewolves, nearly a hundred in number, imitated him.
Voldemort merely glanced over them and their feast. A long, conjured table with no chairs covered in poorly butchered meat. He spotted the several pig snouts and confirmed his optimistic conclusion. Then there was the state of Fenrir and his followers. Decerped, malnourished from a diet of raw meat, and clothed in rags. None had bathed in months by the smell and likely not had a proper meal, with vegetables and grain, in years.
These were his followers? Surely not. How could he have been so derelict in his duties to those that put their faith him as to allow Fenrir and his troops to fall to such lows?
"You need never bow to me Fenrir." Voldemort said, sadly. "Rise. All of you."
They obeyed. Standing, some even at attention, to the dark lord that stood there in friendship. Their confusion was understandable.
"I have wronged you Fenrir." Voldemort said. "And I have come here today to right that wrong."
"My lord?" Fenrir asked in uncertainty, mirroring Lucius' earlier worry.
"It's Tom, to you." Voldemort corrected.
Fenrir actually flinched at the name. A name neither had said in decades.
"It has always been just Tom for you, my last living friend." He told him. "You whose secret I kept when we were mere schoolboys, and who kept all of mine. And yet, look at how I have repaid you!"
He raised his arms and waved to indicate the decerped way they lived. The sleeping bags laid on plain dirt and autumn leaves. The filthy rags upon their bodies.
"But my lord..."
Voldemort glared.
"Tom. When have you ever done anything to wrong me? You have given me everything I , we, ever wanted and more." Fenrir pleaded. "I wanted blood, you gave me blood. The blood of all those who wronged us."
"Yes. I sicked you on every anti-werewolf legislator I could find, a pack of assassins that struck fear and disgust into enemies that would wrong us." Voldemort said. "And this too was wrong."
Fenrir looked at him, actually looked at him, and blinked. The miniscule pieces of humanity still within him were churning like gears, processing what Voldemort was saying.
"Are you.. dissatisfied with out work?" He pleaded.
"No." Voldemort said, closing his eyes and shaking his head solemnly. A practiced motion. "You have been my most loyal friend and most effective soldier. But I have been a poor leader to you. I didn't help you."
More of that lost humanity was returning to his eyes and posture as Voldemort spoke. Good. He wasn't so sure there was enough left to dig out before coming here based on reports. Reports he had not believed. Reports he had chalked up to anti-werewolf exaggeration and propaganda. He could see he was wrong to do so now.
"What happened to the Greyback who went to school with us fifty years ago?" Voldemort asked. "The most handsome and charming of us all, with a voice like silk and scotch, who could charm the skirt off of any lady in school, teacher or student. And had."
Fenrir snorted in amusement. Memories of their young charms teacher, Ms Pledge, must have been a warm memory indeed.
"You who dressed the best of us, and for a time, fought better than the rest of us in our weekend dueling pit. You made me into the fighter I am today and convinced Abraxas to give the Mudblood parselmouth a chance? To take me under his wing and make a gentleman out of me." Voldemort begged. "What would that man think of the beast you have become?"
He was getting through to the man beast. He watched as Fenrir looked down at himself. At his clawed hands. At the wild locks of hair that now covered his body. A body barely hidden by burlap pants and a too large cloak that had seen better days.
"You were a sick man, a hurt man, and I fed into that hurt. I turned you into a weapon instead of the great man you were meant to be. And I am here to fix that. Lucius is outside, willing and ready to spend every penny of his fortune on your legal defense and rehabilitation. The views towards werewolves have improved, and nobody would deny your insanity deal. Morrigan's werewolf sanctuary can help you. Mungos can heal you. All of you."
The light and intelligence in his friend's eyes vanished. His smile and nostalgia vanished from his face. The deference and friendliness in his posture replaced by rigid aggression.
"You're firing me?" He snarled.
"No!" Tom said.
"HE'S FIRING US!" Fenrir roared.
"NO!" Tom begged, but it was too late.
The dozens of werewolves in the clearing were already back on all fours, making to pounce like animals. A dozen more had enough humanity to withdraw their wands. Fenrir? He was...transforming... During a waning moon. His teeth extended, his hands and claws lengthened and his hair became just that much wilder. The beginnings of a snout jutted from his face with the elongated fangs. But that was as far as his transformation went.
The prodigal fighter of his generation, the once-brilliant werewolf, had discovered a method for partially transforming without a full moon? Of course he had. Many fools had underestimated this man and died for it, but Tom knew better. He mentally called upon the dark mark, send the burning twinge to the four outside.
He felt Lucius and Amycus vanish from his immediate control by the dark mark, and the forest erupted in fire. A great ring of licking flames encircled the clearing he was in and the poor creatures they now had a responsibility to put down. When he felt the anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards fall around him he knew Crabbe and Goyle were earning their titles today.
"I am sorry Fenrir. I have failed you." Tom said sadly. "I could not save you. But I can end your suffering."
"Fuck. You. Tom." Fenrir snarled monosyllabically as he too crouched down to all fours.
Taking a deep breath and fighting the single tear his healing soul demanded he shed for his last friend, he readied to fight.
Some unnamable werewolf on the left cast a paltry exploding hex at him with no follow-up. Many of the other wand-waving peons in the clearing did the same, mostly targeting the fires now surrounding them, but Tom focused on this one.
With a perfectly accurate extension of his arm Tom caught the dark orange hex with the tip of his wand and shuddered the distance towards the young man, appearing before him instantly and at every point in between all at once. With the explosive hex still at the tip of his wand, Tom grasped him by the top of his head with his free hand and cast a forked lightning charm. With the man's explosive hex on the tip as he cast the two formed a dangerous union and the eight arcs of yellow lightning pushed through it as if focused through a lens, taking on an orange hue.
Every one of the feral men and women struck by the arcs of electricity suffered a nasty case of exploding body parts where they struck. Two were fortunate to lose an arm or a leg, the rest had holes the sized of bludgers punched into their chest, stomach, groan. Two lost their heads. Three arcs completely missed, taking out one of the flaming trees and digging two nice craters into the ground. The rubble and force, not to mention viscera, of the combo spell sent the remaining dozen or so werewolves on this side of the clearing diving for cover, three unfortunately did so directly in the path of the falling tree.
Tom brought the now weaker explosive hex at the tip of his wand to the throat of the man he held in his left hand. It wasn't quite as spectacular of a gore show as the explosive lightning combination, but those arteries and windpipe were very much destroyed.
Colorless piercing and cutting hexes rained into the clearing from beyond the fires where Crabbe and Goyle were now picking off Fenrir's underlings. Speaking of Fenrir.
"Aaaargh!" The man beast roared as he bared down on Tom with a clawed hand like an axe.
Tom sidestepped it with ease and shuddered away to the opposite end of the clearing, before listening with his mind for the incantations of his enemies.
Glacia sylendria. Stupify. Percusio.
He heard the incantations in the heads of his enemies as they tried to silently cast. It was useful to be able to cast a spell without an enemy hearing what it was. For most enemies it worked. But when you utter it in your head, a man like Tom could still hear it.
He shuddered out of the way of the stunner and piercer, flying into the path of the freezing curse variant. It was a kind that shot like a projectile to freeze the target it hit instead of being a cold whirlwind like most glacia variants. Capturing that with his wand he waved it over his head in a large arc as if to invite everyone to fire at him, but with only one arc to his lawn cutting charm he let it loose, combining it with the glacia charm as he did so.
The charm cut down every single one of them at the ankles. They fell from the already frostbitten stubs at the end of their legs to the ground. Still alive, but out of the way so he could focus on Fenrir, who was still charging at him.
Okay. No more running. No more magic. He re-holstered his wand and charged at the rampaging beast he had once called friend. He would not dishonor him by fighting with fire or silver. He would fight with claws? Tom would fight with fists.
Bite. Shoulder - came the simpler thoughts of the half-transformed man. And so, Tom baited him into making the lunge and, knowing it was coming, ducked beneath the lunge and around his side.
Fenrir tumbled from the lack of a body to strike but slid to a stop and charged back towards him without skipping a beat. Tom merely put his fists up.
Claw to throat. Stab through chest. Bite at face.
Tom leaned back to avoid the first claw, sidestepped to avoid the second meant to impale him, and thrust his entire body forward to bring his forehead slamming against Fenrir's snout before he could open his jaws.
Fenrir yelped in pain and staggered away clutching at his face. Tom pursued with a haymaker to the back of his head and neck that struck true, staggering him to the ground. He did stay there long ,striking back with a two-clawed bear hug that tom hadn't heard coming. It still dodged it and gave Fenrir a good one-two to the stomach and vaulting beneath his legs before he could slash down at him.
As Fenrir turned around to advance on him again Tom wandlessly summoned the long, miraculously intact and unmolested, table towards them both. It shattered against his back and sent him flying towards Tom. Tom brough his knee up with all his might, connecting with the werewolf's jaw with a nice crack.
For a split second Tom thought the crack might have been his knee, but the high-pitched and uncomfortably dog-like yelp of the now fetal werewolf told him otherwise. And when he didn't get back up, but instead reverted back into being fully human, Tom put his fists down and knew the fight was over.
Looking around he noted the remaining werewolves were dead too. Crabbe and Goyle had picked them off while he wasn't looking.
"I'm s-s-s-soo sorry." A sniffling, weeping voice rose up from the broken man beneath him. "I tried Tom. I r-really did."
Tom withdrew his wand and kneeled beside greyback.
"Me too." He said, putting a hand on Greyback's shoulder and turning him over.
He looked abut the bloodied nose, shattered jaw and tear-stained face of his friend.
"I tried to be better. W-wha-why couldn't I be who I used to be? Why couldn't I b-be more that what I am?" He pleaded in broken speech.
"Because none of us could." Tom answered without hesitation. "Despite how much we tried. We were broken then too, like the world we had no hope of fixing."
The fires around them were extinguished down to the last ember and all of a sudden they were in pitch blackness. But moments later light returned, and Tom could see reflected in Fenrir's eyes the great streak of stars that could only be seen this far from the light pollution of the cities. Tom looked up too and marveled at the Milkyway with his friends.
What a beautiful sight to die to.
"What will I tell them?" Fenrir asked.
Tom looked at him questioningly, surreptitiously casting a diagnostic charm on his chest.
"Abraxas. Mulciber. Avery..." He clarified. "They and the rest were still men when they died. With wives, families and their dreams still alive. I am none of those things. I have none of those things."
"You tell them the truth." Tom told him. "You tell them that you too were a man again when you died. That in your last moments you remembered and were with someone who carried on your dreams along with theirs."
Fenrir tried to turn his neck despite his shoulders and ribs being shattered from the table. Before he could say another word Tom cast the killing curse, severing his once beautiful soul from his accursed, diseased and broken body. He let out a long breath as his head fell motionless to the ground. Tom knew that it was just the remaining air in his lungs being forced out but couldn't help feeling as if it sounded like all of the worries, suffering and stress of his life being let go at long last with a relaxing sigh.
He had been so tired in the end. Tired of every door being shut on him. Tired of being forced out of his studies despite being such a genius, his mind left to waste as a laborer and warrior as his disease ate at him. As he came to believe what other people believed about him. That he was nothing more than a beast. And he became it.
"That's it then." He heard Crabbe's voice as he entered the clearing. "The last of the Knights of Walpurgis is gone."
"One, ehem." Tom tried to say but cleared his throat when his voice came out broken with emotion. "One remains."
Crabbe looked at him, but it took Goyle's hand on his shoulder for him to understand.
"And the last knight would like to be alone... please." He pleaded.
They vanished without so much as a nod or verbal confirmation. Loyal friends, just like their fathers. Just like Fenrir.
He gazed down at the man. At his first friend. For the thousandth time he allowed himself to fall into delusions, to imagine a world in which the wolvesbane potion had been invented thirty years earlier than it had. Of the life Fenrir could have, should have, been afforded. It had been so long since he'd thought about these things. Of his friends. Of the other knights and their dreams of a better world.
Each of them had given themselves a mission, a singular goal by which their oath bound them to pursue in religious zeal. For Abraxas, it was to undo the hold foreign lobbyists and interest groups had over the Ministry of Magic. For Macnair, it was to fight the cruelty done to magical beasts and to see them free in the wild once more. And for Fenrir, it was to lead werewolves into their own separate nations.
They had, all of them, failed. And more despicably, passed down their missions to their sons. They had trusted Tom to help lead them, and like his peers, he had failed. Now all of those hopes and dreams and regrets were his alone. There were none left to help him shoulder them.
Seeing the state of Fenrir's corpse Tom put him into a more comfortable position. After crossing his arms over his chest and straightening his back, hips and legs, the man almost looked to be sleeping. A quick episkey to straighten the bones of his jaw and cartilage of his nose made the illusion complete, save for the blood on Fenrir's face. Voldemort wiped that away with his bare hand.
He looked at the life-giving liquid in the moon and star light, and raised it to the sky.
"This war will end." Voldemort swore to the heavens. "Within a year's time all of this rage, stupidity and sadness will be done and the sun will rise on a world without the corruption we hoped to root out, without the rapists and murderers and thieves we hunted down, and without me. Teh corruption and lunacy of the ICW will end. I swear it. For you, my friends. Always for you."
He lowered his blood-stained fist and breathed in the night air, smelling less of smoke by the moment.
"Just... take care of him when he arrives, okay fellas? He's been through a lot." He whispered to them as an afterthought before turning back on the corpse.
There was only one thing left to do.
Kneeling down beside Fenrir for the last time he reached into the dead man's robes, the robes he had once given him, and felt his fists close around a small, leather box barely larger than his hand. He pulled his hand back to look at the nondescript case he had trusted Fenrir with so long ago. And he had been right to do so, for he had kept it safe on his person for all of these years.
He sat down beside the serene figure and held the box with both hands, anticipating the pain to come. Pain on top of the pain he was already feeling. Pain and healing made possible by the pain he was feeling. Remorse was the only ingredient needed to stitch this piece of his soul back into its home.
And so, when he opened the lid he didn't even have to touch the little golden goblet of Helga Hufflepuff for the healing to begin. And he screamed for the entirety of the night.
Notes:
Now you've met Voldemort. The real Voldemort. These are his powers
.
Legilimancy capable of sussing out the spells and intentions of many dozens of people at once. Particularly mental spell incantations. In order to cast spells silently people still say the incantations in their head, he can hear that and act accordingly before his enemy finishes casting. This is his direct parallel to Harry's telemetric ability. He cannot feel emotions, but can hear the thoughts of nearly everybody, with the exception of people like Dumbledore, Snape and Harry.
His second great ability is spell capture and combination. Similar to how in Goblet of fire the video game players could combine spells. Different spells when cast together by different people can have combined, amplified or unexpected results. Tom Riddle is a MASTER of this. He can either combine his enemies spells together by capturing two or three at a time or by capturing one and casting his own spell in conjunction with it. Or simply throw it right back into your face.
Aside from that he has the ability to Shudder. It's an ability similar to apparition. Think of Lord Marshal from Chronicles of Riddic.
Combine with all the above fifty years of combat training, studying the higher magics and dark magic in particular, and you have a formidable enemy indeed.
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