To a World Gone Astray

Chapter 3

* * * * *

Who's this before me
Dressed in rags, soaked in gin
Is it a sign or a warning
Am I now where he's been
 
Harry sat in a cluttered storeroom, crouched between two shelves. His back was stiff, as if he’d been huddled up in this position for a long time. In his hands he held a silver chalice, half full with a dark red liquid. Harry glanced downwards – a dark stain spread across his clothes from the neck downwards. He gasped.
 
Before his eyes, the chalice started to refill. Within a few moments, it was full again. What kind of Dark Magic was this? Harry flung the chalice against the far wall. It bounced off with a soft ‘ping’, and fell to the ground. Harry curled up in a fetal position, shying away from the dark shapes littering the storeroom floor.
 
How did he get here? What was that dark liquid? Blood? Harry shuddered, thinking of how it had come to be all over his clothes. He couldn’t remember anything – it was as if his existence had begun in this dark room. He wanted to leave, but had no idea how.
 
A mirror stood before him now, ornate and full-length. He glimpsed his reflection in it, a boy with untidy black hair and a dark v-shape on his chest. Harry blinked. The mirror now showed a boy a couple years older than Harry, the hair slicked back neatly, but otherwise having many of the same features. No, now it was a grown man, a man that had haunted Harry’s dreams for years.
 
“So, Harry, it’s you again,” the man said. Harry opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. “Going mad, are we? Not sure what’s real?” The man’s lips weren’t moving, but Harry heard his words loud and clear. A name flickered into Harry’s consciousness, wavered for a moment, and then firmly formed itself. Voldemort. How could he not have recognized him?
 
Voldemort continued his taunting. “Look at me Harry. I’m real. More real than you could ever dream,” his tone just one notch below the ‘maniacal cackle’ level. He stepped out of the mirror.
 
Harry shied away, pressing his back up against the walls. He fumbled around for his wand – he’d remembered to bring it, right? This pocket … no, that one. Terror gripped Harry as he realized he was completely defenseless.
 
“You won’t escape me this time, Harry,” Voldemort went on. “This is every nightmare you’ve ever had, every dream gone wrong, and now your dreams will come back to consume you!” He pulled out his own wand, the twin of Harry’s, and pointed it at Harry’s chest.
 
Through the roaring in his ears, Harry heard Voldemort mutter something that sounded very much like Abbra Caddabra. There was a flash of green light, and then the world shattered.
 

* * * * *

Am I losing my way
Strange insanity
It's an illusion away
This reality
You know that could be me

That could be me
 
Harry found himself on a darkened street, apparently in an ordinary Muggle neighborhood. He was walking, but had no idea where he was going. His legs just seemed to carry him along, a passenger along for the ride. Why was he still alive? That green light had haunted his dreams for thirteen years; his parents had died from it. Voldemort’s wand had been pointed straight to his chest. He should be dead too.
 
Or was this death? Harry felt oddly disconnected, as if he wasn’t really attached to his body. A fuzzy barrier interposed itself between his awareness and his thoughts. He was a silent observer, watching himself from outside, yet not really outside at all.
 
Harry glanced down at his legs. They seemed far too long – he must have grown. He willed them to stop – he wished he could pause just a moment to gather his thoughts. They kept moving, one foot in front of the other, seemingly oblivious to Harry’s commands.
 
He wished he had a mirror – an ordinary one, unlike that cursed storeroom piece. Something didn’t seem right, and he wanted to see his appearance. Maybe that would offer clues on why his body didn’t do what he told it to.
 
He’d rounded the corner onto someone’s walkway now, and was headed toward the front door. His arm reached out, ringing the doorbell. “Just a minute,” came a female voice from inside. He looked in through the glass beside the doorframe. His reflection chilled his soul.
 
He was Lord Voldemort. Voldemort, as he had appeared during the height of his power. The body he now inhabited was the same one that had killed his parents.
 
The door opened. A woman with shoulder-length, curly brown hair stood at the threshold. She took one look at Harry, and her eyes widened in terror. She screamed.
 
Harry’s hand moved involuntarily to his wand. His arm rose, wand pointed at the woman. He struggled to force it down, to drop the wand, but his muscles wouldn’t obey. “Crucio,” he heard himself say. The woman collapsed in the doorway, writhing in agony.
 
“What’s wrong honey?” came a male voice from upstairs. Harry desperately wanted to leave – if that man came down, there’d be more torture – and perhaps murder – here tonight. STOP, he thought, but to no avail. A low chuckle escaped his lips.
 
The husband had now reached the bottom of the stairs, and was running towards Harry, his wand ready. Harry felt himself laugh and face the new opponent. He wondered why Voldemort didn’t put a stupefy or petrificus totalus curse on the woman, but quickly saw that she was in no condition to attack him. He pointed his wand at the man and lazily muttered “Crucio.” Soon he had joined his wife in her agony. Their screams echoed through the house, rattling the windows.
 
Harry was in a different house now, though the scene looked very similar. Two adults lay on the floor, pleading for mercy. The woman hugged her bloated abdomen – another life to Voldemort’s tally. There was a child, too, a little four-year-old girl sitting by the window. She was crying silent tears, her thumb in her mouth. Harry moved over to her.
 
“Let this be a lesson to all those who oppose the Dark Lord,” he heard himself saying. “Your faith, your trust, your goodness” – he spat the last word, twisting it into something contemptuous and pitiable – “will not protect you. And in the end, it’s always the innocent who pay the price!”
 
He pressed his wand against the little girl’s head. She flinched, and her eyes widened in fear, but not a whimper escaped her. No, Harry thought. Not her! Please don’t make me kill a child. He knew, however, that his pleas would be futile – this was only one of the hundreds of children Voldemort had killed. He tried to shut his eyes, but they too wouldn’t obey him.
 
“Avada Kedavra,” he said. In this body, the words rang loud and clear through his consciousness. There was a flash of green light, the girl slumped forward…
 
…and Harry found himself standing over another baby’s crib. This one couldn’t be much more than a year old, and had a little tuft of black hair on the top of his head. His mother lay sprawled out on the floor, her sightless eyes frozen in an expression of devotion. Voldemort must already have done most of the dirty work here, but Harry didn’t relish the thought of witnessing another baby’s death. Please, oh please, when would this be over?
 
This time, Voldemort’s touch was far lighter, more like a fairy godmother than an angry gangster. He tapped the infant lightly on the forehead with the wand. “You would have made a good Slytherin,” Harry heard himself say, in an almost brotherly tone. “Too bad your parents were so dead-set against me. If only I’d been able to bend them to my will. Alas, I can’t let such a powerful rival live.”
 
He gazed down into the baby’s crystal green eyes. It was almost like looking into a mirror, a mirror that cut across the bounds of time and space. Harry knew this face, knew this body, far better than the one he was currently trapped in. But what would happen when his current-self killed his former-self? His mind tied itself in knots, thinking of the possible problems.
 
“Avada Kedavra,” Voldemort-Harry said softly. A flash of green light, a searing pain, and then the world went black.
 

* * * * *

Wake every morning
I don't know where I've been
All my excuses
Showing strain wearing thin
 
He was in the boys’ dormitory at Hogwarts. The pre-dawn light filtered through the windows. None of the other boys were awake yet. Harry rolled out of bed and looked into his mirror, hoping he wouldn’t see Voldemort’s face. He didn’t – his reflection was pure Harry, the same as it always had been.
 
He sat on the edge of his bed for a while, thinking. It must have been a dream – he hadn’t really been Voldemort, hadn’t done all those terrible deeds. He was awake now, or so he hoped. He pinched himself just to make sure. Yep, he felt it. Back to reality…
 
He walked over to Ron’s bed and shook him. “Ron,” he whispered. “Wake up, I need to talk to you.” He needed someone to mull over his dream with him, see if it meant something. Ron and Hermione were the only ones he felt he could trust with something this disturbing, and he doubted the girls would appreciate him sneaking into their dormitory at night.
 
“Ron,” he tried again. “Ron, please wake up, I need you.”
 
“Go back to sleep and quit shaking me, Harry,” Ron murmured. “Whatever it is, it can wait till morning.”
 
Harry decided to try another tack. “Ron, if you don’t open your eyes this minute, I’ll tell Hermione you wear fluffy bunny pajamas and sleep with a stuffed armadillo.”
 
Ron’s eyes flickered open. “The pajamas are hand-me-downs from Percy and the armadillo belonged to Charlie,” he muttered. “What’s so important that you had to wake me up before dawn?”
 
“I had a dream,” Harry replied.
 
“So? Everybody has those. Or was this another one of those Draco-wants-to-shag-me-and-I-can’t-say-no dreams?”
 
Harry blushed. Evidently, it hadn’t been the best idea to tell him that dream.
 
Ron misinterpreted his silence. “I thought so. Anyway, you can tell me all about it at breakfast.” He rolled over and pulled the covers over his head.
 
“Ron, wait, it wasn’t like that at all.”
 
“Go away Harry, you’re bothering me.”
 
A wave of rage rushed through Harry. He raised his hand, though he wasn’t sure what he planned to do. He was surprised to find that it held a dagger, a carved obsidian stone embedded in the hilt. “No!” he cried. It couldn’t be happening again.
 
Hearing Harry’s cry, Ron rolled back onto his back and opened his eyes. They didn’t stay open for long, though, as the dagger plunged into first one and then the other.
 
Harry felt the pain immediately. Strange, he thought, Ron was the one who just had his eyes gouged out. But Harry felt the plunge of the knife into his eye sockets, a burning so intense that Harry almost blacked out. If I was conscious to begin with. Darkness closed in on him, enveloping him in its misty shroud. He got around and felt around for the door, hoping to finally leave this nightmare. His hand closed around the door handle, he jerked it open, and he felt light streaming upon his face.
 

* * * * *

I look to the future
With the eyes of the blind
Can't see much further
Than this haze in my mind
 
Harry wandered blindly away from his room. Somehow, he knew that he was in a long, empty corridor, though no light reached his eyes. Images imprinted themselves on his brain, images that seemed to have no basis in the senses, yet still managed to paint a blurry picture. It was as if he was walking through thick fog, unable to see where he was going yet aware that he was about to hit something.
 
There were voices up ahead, speaking in hushed tones. Too many to make out at first – it must be some sort of conference or meeting. He shuffled closer, hoping to overhear some bits of conversation.
 
Suddenly, he found himself in the midst of the conversation. The voices came from all around, surrounding him with sound. A note of urgency colored them – whatever they were discussing, it sounded important.
 
“Whatever we decide, we must act quickly. His power grows stronger by the minute, and if we delay, we may find that none of us are left to oppose him.” Hermione! Her voice seemed older and more serious, though – it had dropped a little in pitch, and Harry thought he detected a hint of strain to it.
 
“How many are still loyal to us, Hermione?” came a new voice, one that Harry didn’t recognize.
 
“There’s still the old crowd that Dumbledore assembled before his death. A couple Gryffindors from my time at Hogwarts, too – Neville’s been magnificent. Most of the other recent graduates went over to his side without much resistance, and the older folk don’t want to risk his wrath. Blame Fudge for that – he keeps insisting that there’s no danger, everything’s being taken care of. Most of the Slytherins went over to his side, too – ironic, isn’t it? Draco’s the one exception. Evidently, his hatred of him is greater than his loathing for us.”
 
“Is there any chance of infiltrating his forces, attacking from the inside?” This was Snape, speaking in the same mellifluous voice he had used as a teacher. Somehow, it seemed less threatening in this setting.
 
“Not a chance,” replied Hermione. “He’s too well protected, too well informed. He’d know of any plot against him well before we could get someone in position. Heck, he’s probably listening to this meeting right now.”
 
A chill ran through the air, stopping conversation for a moment. Harry desperately wanted to know whom they were talking about. Had Voldemort risen again? Who else could have the power that Hermione described? Perhaps she could explain what was going on here.
 
He coughed loudly, hoping someone would notice his presence. Without his eyes, he didn’t know exactly how far away he was from the gathering, but he doubted it could be far. It was absolutely silent, and surely someone would hear him. Still, no response came.
 
“Hermione?” he called. “Mind explaining what’s going on?”
 
Evidently, she couldn’t hear him. When conversation started up again, nobody acknowledged his remark. Was he just a shade here, an eavesdropper able to listen, but not participate?
 
He recognized the current speaker as Professor McGonagall, her voice haggard and weary. “If only we could have got to him earlier, this might all have been prevented. Who would have thought a Gryffindor could do such terrible things?”
 
There were murmurs of assent from around the table. Whoever this person was, his betrayal had obviously surprised quite a few people.
 
“It surprised all of us, Professor,” came a familiar voice from across the room. Ron was here too! Of course, he should have guessed. Ron would be the first person to resist an evil force like this.
 
“Ron, you were his closest friend at Hogwarts. Do you have any idea why he started down this path?”
 
Harry’s head swam. Closest friend? Ron was his closest friend. Had they grown apart? Or…
 
“He’s hardly the same Harry I knew back then. That Harry would have sacrificed himself for the world in a heartbeat. Something changed back around third or fourth year. It’s tough to pinpoint exactly – it’s like he did all the same things, but the reason behind them had changed. Maybe he just got tired of playing the martyr, always suffering for the good of others. But I think there’s more than that.”
 
“Harry didn’t go bad until after Voldemort’s defeat,” he continued. “Right up through our seventh year, he continued to fight against the Dark Lord. It was an obsession for him, his entire purpose in life. Sure, he had time for schoolwork, and he hung out with Hermione and me, but ever since about halfway through our third year, it seemed like his thoughts were elsewhere. When Voldemort died, we had hoped that he’d be able to return to a normal life. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.”
 
“It seemed as if Voldemort put some part of himself into Harry. Instead of settling down, Harry’s vengefulness increased, but now it had no easy target. With Voldemort gone, Harry started raging against the wizarding world in general. He felt like he hadn’t been compensated adequately for the seventeen years of his life that Voldemort stole, and someone would have to pay the debt. You remember him those last few months, Professor, don’t you? He wanted nothing to do with us. It was like he had drawn himself up into a tight little shell.”
 
“I lost contact with him when we left school. He disappeared for a couple years, then showed up with a couple followers and a lot of new powers. I’m sure you all know the rest.”
 
Harry wanted to scream at Ron. He would never follow Voldemort’s path. Never! But what use would it be? He was stuck in this gathering, unseeing and unseen, and nobody seemed to notice anything he did. He would be the only one to hear his screams. If only he could talk things over with Ron or Hermione – but they were just as oblivious to his presence as anyone else. He wished with all his heart that they could see him.
 

* * * * *

Am I losing my way
Strange insanity
It's an illusion away
This reality

You know that could be me
Now that could be me
 
“Harry, you – you look terrible.”
 
He was in the Gryffindor common room, looking into the faces of Ron and Hermione. Ron was sitting on the rug next to a large pile of Peppermint Toad wrappers, and Hermione was awash in a sea of homework. She was the one who had spoken, though she didn’t look much better. Her face seemed drawn and gaunt, with dark circles around her eyes.
 
“Why? What’s wrong with my appearance?” he asked.
 
Ron and Hermione exchanged a look between them, reluctant to tell him. Finally Ron said, “It’s your eyes Harry. They’re gone!”
 
Harry moved his finger up to his eyes and gently tried to touch them. Instead of hitting the lids or eyeballs, though, it went straight into his eye sockets. He could see it all the way.
 
“I’m fine,” Harry said hurriedly. If they didn’t remind him, maybe he could forget.
 
“Harry, listen, you must be really upset about what we heard yesterday,” said Hermione. “But the thing is, you mustn’t go doing anything stupid.”
 
Harry wondered what he had heard yesterday – not much seemed to be making sense. “Like what?” he hedged.
 
“Like trying to go after Black,” said Ron.
 
“You won’t, will you, Harry?” added Hermione.
 
“Because Black’s not worth dying for,” finished Ron.
 
Black, Black … Harry had heard that name somewhere. Hidden in the far recesses of his mind, Harry thought he remembered a newspaper article. But that was all. He couldn’t remember what he had read, or what Black had to do with him.
 
“Um, right-o,” Harry mumbled. “Mind reminding me why he would be worth dying for again?”
 
Ron’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “You mean you don’t remember? One of Voldemort’s top supporters is trying to kill you, and you’ve forgotten all about it? If it was me, I’d hunt him down myself.” He seemed caught off guard, as if he’d been all prepared to talk Harry out of something and suddenly found himself arguing the other side. He squirmed uncomfortably and tried to change the subject. “Look, it’s the holidays! It’s nearly Christmas! Let’s – let’s go down and see Hagrid. We haven’t visited him for ages!”
 
For whatever reason, Hermione didn’t like this idea. “No! Harry isn’t supposed to leave the castle, Ron” -
 
But the thought of talking to Hagrid seemed somehow comforting to Harry. Maybe he could shed some light on why everything was behaving so strangely. He spoke, gently but firmly. “No, let’s visit Hagrid.”
 
They headed out of the common room and made there way out of the castle. Outside, a dark bank of cloud had obscured the sun, casting everything in shadows. The three of them walked down the grassy path to Hagrid’s hut.
 

* * * * *

Another day
Another night
Somehow it's all the same
Another drink
Another fight
Still I play the game
 
Suddenly the grass below them disappeared, replaced by cold hard stone. The path was loose gravel now, and it made an ugly scratching noise as they walked on it. The familiar Hogwarts environs had disappeared, but Ron and Hermione didn’t seem to notice. They walked onwards, as if nothing had happened.
 
“Um, guys?” Harry mumbled tentatively. “I don’t think we’re in Hogwarts anymore.”
 
“We’re off to see a wizard. Just follow the yellow brick road,” came Ron’s dry reply. His voice sounded mechanical and toneless, with all the life sucked out of it.
 
Yellow brick road? The path was neither yellow nor brick; it was a featureless grey, in fact. Harry just shrugged. “If you say so.” He’d just have to hope there was nothing seriously dangerous at the end.
 
The land sloped upwards here, and Harry noticed that his friends had fallen behind. He turned around, looking for them, only to find that they had disappeared. He stopped dead in his tracks and spun around, disorienting himself but finding no trace of Ron or Hermione.
 
There were two shadowy figures up the hill though. Harry doubted that these were the people he was looking for – they couldn’t have gone that far. Still, someone was out there, and this piqued Harry’s interest.
 
He started towards the figures, taking care not to make too much noise. Closer in, he noticed that one seemed to have the outline of a man, while the other was an unusual combination of a horse and a bird. He seemed to recognize the man, though he couldn’t tell immediately who it was. He pressed onwards, hoping to get a better look.
 
Lord Voldemort! Harry was sure of it now – this figure had haunted his dreams for a lifetime. His sense of danger warned him to go back, but some perverse curiosity nudged him forward.
 
So strange
So strange reality
 
Harry heard muttered cursing up ahead, followed by a loud Squawk! Apparently, the man and the horse-bird were engaged in a struggle, and neither particularly liked the other. Voldemort had a long rip down the sleeve of his robes, but otherwise seemed unharmed. The horse-bird was a fierce fighter, though. Voldemort didn’t seem to be using magic, and without it, Harry doubted he could beat the bird.
 
Before Harry’s eyes, the horse-bird lunged at Voldemort, who was standing nearer the cliff. Voldemort was quicker though – he dodged out of the way and somehow managed to get behind the horse-bird. A quick shove sent it tumbling over the cliff.
 
Heedless of the danger, Harry broke into a run. Something told him that he didn’t want to look down into the ravine, but something even stronger compelled him to. He was only a short distance away, and soon had reached the edge of the crevasse. Miraculously, Voldemort – scarcely five meters away – was still unaware of his presence.
 
So strange
So strange to me
 
Harry peered over the edge of the chasm. He spotted the horse-bird easily – it lay sprawled on the rocky ground, limbs splayed in a most grotesque fashion. From the unnatural angle of its neck, Harry doubted there could be any chance of it being alive.
 
Further down the gorge, a crumpled form caught Harry’s eye. His gaze flicked over the ravine bed. There it was – a girl, her bushy brown hair spread out like a halo. Beyond her was a boy, his red hair just barely visible in the dim light. Neither moved.
 
“NO!” Harry cried. How had they gone from his side to down there? He hadn’t seen anyone pass him on the road.
 
He didn’t have much time to ponder this, though, for Voldemort had heard his scream. He was walking towards him now, a menacing look on his face. Harry gave his friends one last, lingering glance.
 
So strange
So strange reality
 
Before his eyes, a swarm of spiders came out of nowhere, covering his friends like a blanket. He tried to tear his eyes away, but all he could do was watch, entranced. He knew Voldemort was right behind him, but couldn’t do anything about it.
 
The spiders had reached the horse-bird too now, and formed a quivering mass all over the ravine bed. It was over in seconds. The spiders receded as quickly as they came, leaving nothing but a pile of bones on the ravine bed.
 
So strange
So strange to me
 
Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, and whipped his head around. He was staring into the face of Lord Voldemort. Voldemort’s eyes betrayed cold hatred, mixed with – amusement, was it?
 
“You’re next,” Voldemort said, and he gave Harry a little shove. Harry stumbled forward a bit, then lost his balance. He tripped on a rock and felt the edge of the cliff pass by underfoot. Then everything was lost in the sensation of falling.
 
The last thing he saw was Voldemort’s toothless grin.