KenderCleric’s Challenge #27: The Abyssal Stare

Summary:

The battle to retake Hogwarts was brutal from the start. Death Eaters, students, teachers, and civilian do-gooders fought through the length and breadth of the ancient castle to determine the future of their world. Bodies fell lifeless to the stone floor one after another on all sides. No matter which side, the Light or the Dark, was victorious the battle would be a loss. Yet, many on both sides of the battle held out unreasonable hope that their leader, Harry Potter or Voldemort, would save them.

However, Voldemort had miscalculated his enemy one too many times.
Throughout the castle battles came to a sudden halt as a scream echoed through the halls. The scream was one of unrepentant rage, of pain unending, and of a life’s work left unfulfilled. It was a cry that spoke of the injustice of existence and a destiny robbed from one who thought it deserved; it was Voldemort’s death knell. Those who heard the horrid sound felt it reverberate through their very bones.

Silence came quickly in the wake of the still-echoing scream; then the tell-tale calls of spells and fervor of battle resumed. One leader may have fallen, but it had backed his remaining followers into a proverbial wall. They were now cornered animals fighting to survive against a superior foe and their ruthlessness in battle reflected it.

One by one the forces of the “Light” began to fall under the panicked combat.

Harry Potter had left the Dark Lord’s cooling corpse in the Great Hall while moving to aid in the remaining battle. Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s path through the school lead them past body after body of friends and family. Ron’s crys of anguish over his mother and sister’s bodies stabbed at Hermione and Harry. Yet, the next cry let out was one of shocked incomprehension.

Three pairs of eyes turned to look at the gaping chest wound the redhead now sported before turning on his killer. Hermione’s body reeled back and blood splattered under the rapid assault in the time it took Harry to recognize his friends killer. Draco Malfoy stood with a smug smile and a vindicated gleam in his eyes.

“Harry,” cried Neville’s distant voice, but the Boy-Who-Lived had a mind only for the blond standing half-concealed in shadows before him.

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter stood across from one another staring into one another’s eyes. In those moments Draco could almost imagine he saw unending malice and darkness swell within Potter’s eyes. The Boy-Who-Lived was squinting slightly and the dirt and sweat on his face seemed to highlight the dark wrinkles around and bags beneath his eyes. A slight tick in Potter’s right eye lead Draco to notice the tightly clenched facial muscles and paling fingers wrapped tightly around the Chosen One’s wand.

Then Draco realized something: Potter wasn’t holding his usual wand.

The realization was too late to save him.

Neville Longbottom stopped in his sprint as the very air in the hallway seemed to be sucked past him. His eyes widened in shock as he actually saw the torch flames bend toward a point further ahead of him before being snuffed out from lack of oxygen to fuel them. In later years he would vaguely recall hearing Draco’s voice, but he could never be sure. It became harder and harder to breath, and standing upright became a challenge and more and more air seemed to rush past him toward where Harry and Draco stood.

As Neville’s vision tunneled and darkness encroached further into his field of view he knew something terrible was coming.

Struggling to remain standing Neville through he had blacked out finally when a wave of darkness spread over him. Yet, the darkness was nearly tangible to him. In his mind he could nearly feel the silk-like embrace of the encompassing void on his skin. What he was certain he could sense in the blackness, however, was the utter malevolent echo it left in his very magic. Whatever this darkness was it was vile on such a basic level that even magic acknowledged its wrongness.

The moment was too much for Neville. As the feeling of the darkness wrapped around him his fatigue from the battle, his grief for the lost friends, and the stress of the entire year overcame him. His body fell limply to the stone floor and his mind fled conscious thought to the bliss of exhausted sleep.


The Battle of Hogwarts, the Final Battle, and Voldemort’s Fall were all names given to the same event. Voldemort had been defeated and the Death Eaters had all vanished so the day was considered a victory by most. However, for a select few the day was both blessing and curse. The tide of Voldemort’s darkness had indeed been halted, but the cost was incalculable. Many of the Light’s best and brightest had been slain, and their Hero and Savior had vanished.

Only one man knew the final piece of the puzzle that was the end of the battle; he alone had seen where the Darkness that consumed the Death Eaters came from. Neville Longbottom was the only living wizard to know that Harry Potter had been the source of such unimaginable evil spreading and consuming his enemies. Neville alone had nightmares of that moment, and he alone worried for what portents the event may hold for the future. Still, he was more loyal than any Hufflepuff and said nothing of the event to anyone to protect Harry.

Neville had no doubt in his mind that Harry was still alive somewhere. The thought was both chilling and comforting, but worrying all the same. He lived with those feelings for seven long years and never shared them with anyone. That all changed on the day he opened the Daily Prophet to read the headline of, “Harry Potter Returns!”

While the majority of the wizarding world heralded the return of the Chosen One as a great moment Neville wasn’t so sure. He decided it was time to share his knowledge with someone, and quickly, just to be on the safe side. The magic in the air almost seemed to shiver at the very idea of Harry’s return, and Neville knew that their short stent of peace was nearly over.


The Challenge:

Write a story where Harry is the villain and Neville is the reluctant hero using the summary above as a starting point. There is nothing defined as to what Harry has been doing, where he has been, or what his goals might be. Different authors may have different interpretations on the events listed above and that’s fine. Go with whatever twist or version you envision.


The Rules:

• Voldemort is 100% dead and gone, and so are ALL his Death Eaters. This means no Bellatrix, no Narcissa, no Lucius, no Snape, etc. etc.
• Harry is the villain, but does that necessarily mean he’s evil? Think it over, and be original. No “Harry is Death” or other such clichés.

 

This challenge interests me because it gives the Prophecy another go. Who's to say that it was speaking about Harry and Voldemort when, in this situation, it could be talking about Harry and Neville.

 

I really like this challenge. Started writing ideas down tonight. Might have something to post tomorrow.

 

I think that this would be an interesting basis for a god!Harry. Perhaps a serpent god, rather like a basilisk? In most of the ways you take it, a villain god!Harry wouldn't necessarily be evil, but would be an enemy simply because of his fundamental nature.

On the other hand, that method does have the problem of falling into an angst trap. A piece of advice for anyone who chooses to write something along the lines of what I've suggested: if a someone who teaches a literature class likes it, start over.

Narion

 

First part of something i started. Projected 8 chapters, if i feel inspired enough to see it through to the end. We shall see. Comments and critiqued very strongly desired.

Kenosis: Part 1

Harris had seen his fair share of the inexplicable, that being one of the occupational hazards of being an Unspeakable. Other hazards included floating brains with a malevolent streak, the rudimentary time gates that could potentially fling an unsuspecting soul thousands of years into the future, and many other trinkets beyond the intellectual scope of wizard-kind.

The current object of his ire happened to be the Veil. There was no further descriptive name to burden it with, since it was the mystery at the very heart of his department. It was supposedly decaying when the English Ministries were still fighting their way from the amniotic fluid of modern society’s womb. If ever there had been souls that were privy to the knowledge of whence the Veil was spawned, they would have long ago passed into shadow, taking their secrets with them.

While insight failed all that had passed thought the bowels of the Department of Mysteries, there were several observations that could be gathered from the minute amount of data available.

Firstly, the dimensions of the Veil were 8 meters at its base, rising up to a height 4 meters at its highest point. Though the physical dimensions of its depth are a mere meter, it is thought that the actual space occupied within the confines of the veil are without measure.

Secondly, the runes carved upon the archways of the Veil are completely foreign to any sort of culture to have ever been recorded. To look at them is to almost accept a presence of extra-terrestrial nature. Or extra-dimensional, a thought that has kept many a soul up at night. All attempts at translation have been met with abject failure and frustration, with no discernable break point, or point of any reference for that matter.

Thirdly, death has come to all of those who have passed through the Veil. Though it was never made public, throughout the years a handful of criminals have chosen the Veil as an alternate to the Dementor’s Kiss, with the promise of pardon were they to make it. Not a single person had ever been pardoned, each walking into the Veil, eyes screwed shut in anticipation, with nary a sound or a ripple from the other side of the Veil.

Fourthly, the Veil gave off measurable readings. The specifics of what was being read were the issue at hand. Much like the first Muggles who discovered the wonders of induced magnetic fields in coiled wire, the Unspeakables were at a loss. A great deal of the Ministries most complicated equipment, including the ones utilized to detect underage magic, had no noticeable response. The only object that seemed to record anything was the Apparation tracker, with pinpointed every apparation taking place in the country. It could not tell you the person, only that the event had occurred, a simple location based blip on the large map of Britain. Imagine the surprise that met the makers of the map were alerted to apparation at the exact location of the Veil. At the same time as someone was sent through it. At a frequency 100 times that of normal apparation. This, in essence, was the only magical activity the archway ever displayed. The theories regarding this were numerous, chief among them that it was a gateway to the realm of the dead. The last time that it had gone off was nine years ago, when Sirius Black entered the archway, never to return. All had been quiet since then. Until now.

Roughly two hours ago, detections from the Veil started to pulse at a rate 10 times faster than any other previous reading. A frenzied run later, Harris was able to confirm that every single person had been accounted for, and none had entered the Veil. This induced a scramble to contact all Unspeakables, and to get them down to the archway, as soon as possible.

The present found Harris, wand drawn towards the dais, along with twelve more of his ilk. The anticipation in the air was thick enough to be sliced, but not a single soul there had any idea what to expect, if anything were to happen at all. They had not long to wait.

Without warning, the lights in the room dimmed to pure ebony, accompanied by a primal scream of absolute terror. Before even the quickest of them could cast a Lumos, the lights came back on, and a lone figure stumbled from the archway, staring downward. Head down, the black haired figure managed a few steps, before collapsing to the ground.

For a few seconds, not a limb stirred. Harris was the first to cautiously approach the barely breathing body, trepidation etches onto every line of his face. Moving towards the body, he slowly wedged a foot beneath the torso, and quickly flipped the figure onto its back. For a few seconds, Harris could only stare as the rest that had hung back began with whispered inquiries. As shock began to wear off, he spoke the words that would have been his absolute last guess going into this fracas.

“It’s Harry Potter…..and he hasn’t aged a day……”

 

Not a bad start and I'll give it a shot if you post it.