Harry Potter and the Soul Shatterer

At first, he saw the short and stocky silhouette of his cousin in the dimly lit hallway. After hesitating for a moment, the figure turned around and bellowed, "DADDY! It's Him! He's back!"

"What? Is he?" The sound of Uncle Vernon's voice was immediately followed by an easily recognizable noise made by a rather corpulent body falling down a staircase. "OUCH! That ruddy carpet! Well? Don't just stand in the way, Dudley! Step aside, so we can see..."

Two other figures -one large, the other thin- rushed into the hallway right behind Dudley's. Harry heard the faint click of a light being turned on and then saw, staring at him, the faces of his uncle, aunt and cousin.

Harry looked closer. There was something quite odd about the way they were staring at him. Something definitely weird.

They were actually smiling. At him.

"HARRY!" Aunt Petunia finally broke the silence. "You're here so fast? What a delightful surprise!"

"You walked? A darn silly thing to do, you should have called us from the station, we would have fetched you at once!" added uncle Vernon. "Well, step inside, dear boy; this is certainly no weather for a nighttime stroll!" He chuckled, giving Harry a vigorous slap in the back.

Harry stood on the doorstep, dumbfounded. 'Delightful surprise'? 'Dear boy'?

Uncle Vernon turned to Dudley. "Fine! Dudley, let's fetch our esteemed guest's belongings before that bloody storm flushes them right down the Thames! Forward, march!"

Harry could not believe his own ears. 'Our esteemed' -what? What is going on here? Did I come to the wrong house?

Before he couldn't even make a move, Uncle Vernon and Dudley swooped past him, put the cage on the top of the trunk, and began carrying the lot towards the doorway, apparently oblivious of the pouring rain. Harry tried to go back, but Aunt Petunia grabbed his arm and pulled him in the direction of the kitchen.

"You must be absolutely frozen, you poor thing! Let your Auntie get you a nice hot cup of cocoa, it'll do you good!" she simpered.

This can't be true; they're pulling my leg! thought Harry. Maybe they all got sick? Malaria? Scarlet fever? Better watch out, it may be contagious...

But as he sat down, or rather was forced to do so, at the kitchen table, Harry had to admit that his relatives were perfectly healthy, judging by the expediency with which the smoking cocoa was readily put in front of him and his belongings taken to his room.

Suddenly, the truth dawned upon him. "The Imperius curse! That must be it!" he thought. Maybe Dumbledore's death had weakened the protective charm cast upon the Dursleys' home and the enemy had taken over the very place Harry thought was safest for him. Better, the people gathering in the kitchen might in fact be impostors, using a disguise device like the polyjuice potion and behaving as they thought decent people (unlike the Dursleys) should behave when a family member returns after a long absence...

I must stay on my guard, he pondered. Let's pretend they are the real Dursleys for now, and strike them when they'll least expect it!

Uncle Vernon sat at the table, followed by his wife and son.

"Phew!" he said, wiping his face with a large checkered handkerchief. "Never seen anything like it! Seems like the whole country is turning into a bloody rain forest! Maybe we should start wearing feathers and hunting with poisoned arrows?" He laughed, imitated by the rest of his family. Harry forced himself to smile, hoping that his uneasiness wouldn't show.

Uncle Vernon was still talking, now addressing Harry. "So, lad, what's up at that, hem, school of yours? Got decent grades? Any new friends? Or, who knows... maybe some pretty little missy who must be longing for you?" he said with a wink.

Both the tone and content of Uncle Vernon's gibberish proved too much for Harry's patience. He stood up, drew his wand, and pointed it at his relatives.

"All right, enough games!" he shouted. "I don't know who you are but you won't fool me! You may look like the Dursleys, but you're certainly not acting like them! You better tell your boss to find another trick: he's clearly losing his touch!"

The Dursleys -if they indeed were the Dursleys- all winced at the sigh of the raised wand. "I told you he wouldn't fall for it, Vernon!" whispered Aunt Petunia.

"Fall for WHAT?" snapped Harry, angrily.

Uncle Vernon somehow managed to keep his calm, though his voice had by then lost much of his cheerfulness. "It's all fine, Petunia, I'll handle this," he mumbled, still looking at the wand. "Hem, w-would you mind putting this thing down, boy? You wouldn't want to hurt your family, would you?"

"If you ARE my family, which still remains to be proven!" replied Harry, still pointing at his uncle.

"But we are! Honestly, Harry!" pleaded Dudley.

"Prove it, then!" said Harry. He pondered for a moment, then asked, "Okay: what present did you give me for my fifth birthday?"

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia briefly looked at each other for a long moment, puzzled. Then Uncle Vernon's face brightened, and he turned towards Harry.

"A bucket!" he answered, quickly.

"And a mop!" added Aunt Petunia, just as quickly.

Harry reluctantly lowered his wand. "Fine. Seems like you are the Dursleys after all," he finally admitted, frowning. "But that doesn't explain why you are acting so weird, showering me with flowers and all after using me for years as your whipping boy!"

Uncle Vernon pondered for a moment, then, using carefully chosen words, as though reciting from a text learned by heart, he said, "Well, I must admit that our behavior may seem...quite unfamiliar to you, lad. But, there are good reasons for that. You see, until now, we considered you as a mere child, and a burden on our frail shoulders."

Bet you did, thought Harry.

"But now things are different. You are a man, now. At least, you are about to become one, according to...your kind," Uncle Vernon said, with a badly concealed expression of disgust. "And with manhood come new challenges, new responsibilities. We must now think about your future."

Harry was listening, his eyes wide opened with incredulity. I have a feeling this is going to cost me, he thought. Since when has he given a rat's backside about my future?

Uncle Vernon had stood up and was now pacing the kitchen, his hands clasped behind his back, looking thoughtful. "You must know that in spite of all the differences that exist between you and us, you are nevertheless part of this family and as such are entitled to your share of our dreams and aspirations."

That's it, he's definitely raving mad, thought Harry.

He had a bitter laugh. "And you expect me to believe this? After you treating me for years as if I was something the cat dragged in?" he said.

Uncle Vernon looked slightly embarrassed. "Well, you know, we did this for your own good...I myself am a firm believer in the need to strengthen the child's character through Spartan discipline."

"Why didn't you apply the same principles to him, then?" Harry replied angrily, pointing his wand at his cousin.

"PUT THAT DOWN!" squealed Dudley.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." Harry pocketed his wand.

For a moment Uncle Vernon seemed at a loss. "Uh, that is a...slightly different case, you see. Deep down we knew that Dudley didn't have the... er, capabilities you inherited from...your parents, " he said, with the expression of someone who was having a tooth removed. "Dudley always required a bit of help on our part, the poor thing."

Aunt Petunia nodded approvingly.

"Did I?" asked Dudley, looking thoroughly surprised.

Aunt Petunia discreetly kicked her son's ankle under the table, and both Dudley's expression and tone changed at once, as if he suddenly remembered a role he'd forgot.

"Oh yeah, it's true, Harry!" he said humbly. "I'm not as brave as you, or smart, or tough, or good-looking, or-"

"That will do, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon curtly. He resumed his pacing. "Of course we are aware of your, hem, rather uncommon academic choices, but-"

"I'm not going back there," Harry interrupted him.

A meteorite falling right in the middle of the kitchen could not have made a bigger sensation. The Dursleys stared at Harry, stunned.

"You're -what?" stammered Aunt Petunia.

"You heard me. I quit. Finished. I'm through with school," said Harry indifferently.

Uncle Vernon first managed to overcome his surprise. "Well, this is indeed quite a shocker. We were so convinced that... Well, I don't suppose that the old bloke was thoroughly thrilled by your decision either, was he? Not after all the efforts he made to keep you there."

"He died," replied Harry in the same neutral tone.

The Dursleys exchanged an uneasy look. "Ahem..." Uncle Vernon managed to utter. "Such a pity. Well, in the end, this is our common fate, isn't it? When we reach such a, hem, venerable age-"

"He was murdered..." Harry interrupted again.

Another laden silence, again broken by Uncle Vernon. "Well, one has to admit that we do live in dangerous times, with all those lunatics hastily released from jail by whimsical bureaucrats! I've always said-"

"...By one of my professors," Harry completed, deciding not to spare his Uncle any bad news. This time, Vernon sat down, thoroughly silenced.

After a long moment, Aunt Petunia finally gathered enough courage to break the awkward silence. "Well, all in all, the boy's decision does simplify things for everyone, doesn't it, Vernon?" she asked shyly. "In the end, that's what really matters."

Uncle Vernon stood up again, his face showing all the signs of somebody desperately struggling to gather his thoughts. "Yes -yes, indeed. This unfortunate event might come in handy, in a way... For your future, of course!" he added hastily.

"Would someone here bother to tell me in the end what my future has to do with this?" Harry's tone was still calm, but inside his impatience was growing.

Uncle Vernon turned towards Harry, having apparently recovered his ebullient mood. "Let us be honest about it, lad. What use would a diploma from that, hem, former school of yours be in the real world? Unless of course, you're willing to follow the footsteps of the Great Bruno..." He winked at Aunt Petunia, who sniggered.

"The Great who?" asked Harry.

"Oh, just an old acquaintance of ours," answered Uncle Vernon with a malicious smirk. "He used to do magic tricks at the Inn Lounge, on Fridays. Last time I saw him he was performing in the London Subway and, from what I could smell, the poor soul hadn't had a shower for months." He laughed, dutifully imitated by his wife and son. Harry again painfully managed to produce a smile.

Uncle Vernon continued. "Come on, lad, would you really be willing to keep on wasting your potential this way, while you could benefit so much more from the golden opportunity we are ready to offer you?" he concluded, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

"My potential?" asked Harry, who in spite of himself was now getting curious.

"Let us not talk about that today!" Uncle Vernon said with a wily smile, obviously satisfied to have caught his nephew's attention. "First, you need a good night of sleep, as any able-bodied lad of your age does. And tomorrow, you'll be rested and ready to begin a brand new chapter of your life! Bed, everyone!"

Even though his curiosity was still far from being satisfied, Harry was indeed feeling exhausted and Uncle Vernon's words gave him a good excuse to go to bed. After Aunt Petunia wished him sweet dreams for the third time and after Dudley told him that he was most welcome to use his favorite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles toothbrush ("The big green one!") Harry closed his bedroom door with a sigh of relief.

He then pulled up a rope from his trunk, tied one end around the doorknob and the other end around the owl's cage, which he put on a nearby table. "Sorry about this, Hedwig, but I can't take chances," he told the surprised bird. "I know that if you fall, you'll make a racket that would even wake up an inferius!" Having said this, he collapsed on his bed without even undressing, expecting a quiet, dreamless night.

***

Those voices, that light, that smell...

Is he still asleep?

Instead of lying down, Harry is now sitting in a vast, elevated throne. He looks around. Everything looks so different: instead of his bedroom, all he can see now is an immense hall lavishly decorated with statues of crowned serpents, lit by green flames from burning torches on the walls.

From the wide open doors, a crowd of black-robed men and women flows inside the hall, silently gathering around the throne.

So many of them: a real army. My army, he thinks.

Suddenly, voices break out. The crowd parts to let someone in. The newcomer is a pale man with greasy long black hair, a large hooked nose, and unexpressive dark eyes. As he walks through the crowd, many black-robed figures shout abuses of "Traitor!" and "Turncoat!" at him, while a few others, apparently younger ones, judging by their voices, cheer him loudly. The pale man's face still betrays no emotion.

Harry's hand - skeletal and white as a shroud- imposes silence to the crowd. "You may approach your master, Severus," he says in a cold, high voice. The pale man moves closer, his eyes down cast, and bows deeply.

"Severus," the cold voice says, "You have been away from your master for many years, now. You have made yourself a new home, I daresay. And in Hogwarts, of all places..."

From the crowd, a voice yells, "In service of the enemy!"

Another imperious gesture of the white hand. Silence falls again.

"Moreover," the cold voice continues, "you have deliberately thwarted my plan, which was to let the Malfoy boy fulfill the task by himself. This task, I remind you, was to be the ultimate test of the boy's loyalty towards his master."

The pale man keeps silent, still looking down.

"And now, I hear that you refuse to disclose the whereabouts of the boy, allowing him to flee my wrath. He failed, and, as you know, I do punish failures... "

Out of the crowd, a middle-aged man walks right up to the throne, then stops a few feet from the pale man, looking at him with disgust. "And here's for you betraying our master!" he snarls, as he raises his wand.

But, as he prepares to strike, the white hand swiftly waves a finely sculpted scepter-like wand. "Crucio!" shouts the cold voice. A red light flashes, and the attacker recoils, screaming with pain.

"Let it be known that I and I alone, decide on who must be punished and who must not!" the cold voice resounds with anger.

The crowd steps back, muttering. "But, my Lord! This - this lout has sold many of your most loyal servants to the Ministry! Shouldn't he suffer the punishment he fully deserves for such a vile treason?" asks an elderly female voice.

"Yes, he indeed betrayed some of you... And he did so with my entire approval!" replies the cold voice. A stupefied silence falls.

The cold voice continues. "The names he gave to the Ministry were not those of loyal Death Eaters. Axelrod, Harrison, and all the others... Their hearts were filled with fear and duplicity. These traitors were planning to defect to the other side, in secret - but no one can hide guilty thoughts from the greatest legilimens of all time!"

A few black robed figures suspiciously glare at each other.

The cold voice speaks again. "By allowing Snape to disclose their names, I ensured that he would gain the entire confidence of the Ministry, and yes, he did - thus becoming my most trusted informant in the enemy's lair: in Hogwarts!"

Murmurs in the crowd. "But, Master!" asks another voice. "Didn't he prevent you from killing the boy Potter, six years ago?"

The vast hall echoes with chilling laughter. "Yes, he did. But it was because he, like most of you, thought me gone forever! Only after I revealed myself to Potter did Snape renew his vows of loyalty to me, his only master!"

"My Lord," asks another black robed figure, "what of the Malfoys? Snape will not reveal where they're holed, even though you ordered him to do so!"

"Of course, he will not," replies the cold voice. "He is bound by the Unbreakable Vow '...and will you, to the best of your abilities, protect him from harm...' The vow compels him to protect the boy Malfoy and his mother. Therefore he cannot blamed for his silence, am I correct, Severus?" The pale man nods.

"In any case..." the white hand gives a dismissive gesture, "...the fate of the Malfoys is of little concern to me at present. They failed me too many times, and I now regard them as mere vermin, not even worthy of my wrath. They will meet their punishment, of course, but in due time. Right now, I have more pressing tasks and much more valuable servants at my side to assist me!"

The white hand makes a sign. The pale man steps forward, then turns towards the muttering crowd.

"Loyal Death Eaters! Heed the words of your Lord and Master!" says the cold voice loudly. "Whatever action Snape may have done in the past that could have hurt us, it only pales in comparison with his heroic deed: the slaying of my worst enemy, Albus Dumbledore, may his memory be cursed, forever!"

"May it be cursed!" roars the crowd.

"In regard of this deed, and also in regard of the long years he spent in my service, I hereby recognize Snape as my most loyal servant, worthy of sitting by my side! From now on, you shall listen to his words as you would listen to mine, and whoever lifts up a hand against him shall raise it against me!"

Most of the black robed attendants mutter in awe. A few of them yell, "Hail the First among Equals -Severus Snape!"

The pale man slowly walks to a high chair next to the throne, on which a short balding man with a mouse-like nose is sitting, looking frightened.

"Remove yourself from this chair, Wormtail," says the pale man through clenched teeth. "Your presence here is no longer required."

The short man looks around, as if desperately looking for support, but to no avail.

"Obey, Wormtail," says the cold voice, indifferently.

The short man stands up, and then slowly shuffles away, his expression much like that of a child who does not understand why he is being punished. The pale man takes his place in the high chair, his face as impassible as ever. Looking at the crowd, he catches a glimpse of his predecessor staring at him, his eyes filled with hatred.

***

Harry sat up in his bed, drenched in sweat and shivering. The scar on his forehead was aching, which could mean only one thing: what he had just seen was by no means a nightmare.

A discrete hoot caught his attention. Hedwig was staring at him. "Don't worry," he told the owl. "Just a bad dream. Good Night." Lying down on his bed, he fell asleep again.

(To be continued)