Young Again: The Rewrite

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Chapter Six: Those Burning Bones

by Taliath

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"What?" Minerva snarled in a way she had never done before, and her magic responded in a way never before. Torrents flooded from her in amounts she knew she never possessed before, and flooded the Headmaster's office with her rage.

"You know?" She spat, and her magic spat as well. The very air rippled, and with a flash the shelves lining the room exploded in a shower of broken glass and pottery, shredding apart the numerous tomes of books and figurines--

Albus struck, and she found herself perfectly calm. Her magic settled down gracefully. Her rage and fury vanished like smoke. She looked up, slightly puzzled as to why she was standing, and met Albus' sad and disappointed eyes. "Albus, whatever happened to your office?"

"I'm afraid you damaged it, Minerva," replied the Headmaster sadly.

Minerva frowned. "I did?" She arched an eyebrow, looking around at the shattered pieces of wood and clay and glass.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Alas, you were quite angry about something I said."

She tried to recall, but found herself stuck, as though she were lost within clouds, and could not focus. Her hand reached up and brushed her forehead as she slowly shook her head. "Are you quite certain, Albus? I cannot recall--"

"Yes, Minerva, it was truly unfortunate, yet I was forced to calm you down and allow you to forget, as it seemed your rage would--"

"What?" she said sharply, her eyes narrowing. "You forced me to calm down?" There was an odd sensation in the back of her mind, as though some part of her subconscious were clawing out of a deep dark tunnel, but she ignored it for now.

How could he have gotten through my Occlumency shields? How could I have let him bind my mind to his will? I promised never to allow that to happen again. But she couldn't find within her any rage, or anger, to draw on. She was perfectly calm, and peaceful. I must have been quite distressed for my Occlumency shields to have deteriorated enough for him to pass through. Well, no matter, she felt perhaps he was right to have restrained her. After all, she could have truly hurt him if she had been enough out of control to destroy the office. Yes, yes, he was right to--

--to bind her will? The clawing at the back her mind became frantic. Minerva felt agitation, and frowned. "I suppose if I were distressed enough to damage your office like this, you were right to have restrained me, Albus." For some reason, it just hurt her to say that.

Albus nodded, with the twinkling slowly starting again within his blue eyes. "I'm glad you see it that way, Minerva. You have no idea how worried I was when you began to demolish my office. Alas, it frightened me to think that--"

But Minerva found she couldn't hear him, and his voice faded away as the clawing within her mind became ever more desperate, and she felt her mind feel about to tear apart. She stood frozen as her ears roared with imaginary wind, as she swam within a thick fog that was being hacked apart, as her mind wrenched, as her desperate conscious clawed free and--

--and she remembered. Her eyes widened as she broke free from Albus' spell, of his falsehood, of his tainted Light, and with roaring fury her magic woke in a visible burst of flowing light. The Headmaster was looking up at her with shocked blue eyes, and she spoke, "Albus Dumbledore! You--"

The Headmaster struck again--and she was swimming, and she was fighting, and she was drowning, and she was free again. Her shields of Occlumency sprang up, clearing away her red-hot rage, but it left instead a cold wintry anger that was in a way more powerful than her previous roaring flames of rage. It was a cold light that her magic's form took, lacking the usual warmth and welcoming that she usually would have associated with the Light. No, at this moment, her magic was just as cold with anger as she felt, and--

Albus' voice pierced through her winter-storm of ice, a loud commanding voice that drew her in. "Minerva! Please, calm down!"

"Calm down?" Minerva suddenly found hysterical laughter passing through her lips, and could not stop it. Albus has tried to bind me, again. She could not believe this. She just could not. And now he asks me to calm down? To calm down?Was he serious?

"I am sorry, Minerva," said Albus, and he truly did sound sorry. But that's the thing! Minerva wanted to scream and yell. You are always sorry! You are always truly sorry--and yet you never stop! "I was truly concerned for you, and I was going to explain everything to you in a calm manner, then release you, Minerva. I give you my word, I would have released you from the spell!"

Oh, Albus, how can I trust you now? How dare you ask me to trust you now? She could not stop the tears flowing from her eyes. Her magic flowed over her skin--and a stray thought entered her mind: the strength of her magic. How the hell is my magic so powerful? Why do I possess so much magic? This isn't normal. She had never been quite this powerful. How am I so strong? I am near Albus' strength!

But she forced it away, and looked down at the solemn blue eyes of her mentor, and she wished to weep. For what he had become, for what he had been, for the trust that was now eternally torn between the two of them.

"Minerva, please, forgive me. I did not think--"

"Stop." Her voice lashed out harshly and her magic snarled, and the Headmaster froze. "Before I tear this office apart, shut your mouth, Dumbledore. You know of my oaths to the Light, and why I spoke them."

"Yes, I do--"

"Quiet," she snapped. Albus simply sat with his hands folded before him, and peered up at her with grave sadness clearly on his face. She snarled. "Then tell me why you thought I would take and sanction your binding of my will. Explain to me your reasoning, else I will leave now and never return, Albus. Answer carefully."

"You were, and are, not in the right state of mind, Minerva," said Albus sorrowfully, after a moment. "You were angry, and I understand why. However, I believed that if you were to listen to me, you would understand the reasoning behind why I did what I did."

She spoke only one word. "Reasoning?"

"Yes, Minerva," agreed the Headmaster. "I had a very good reason to force you to calm down. You know this, Minerva, you know this. You have known me for quite nearly sixty years, now. You know I would not have acted the way I did without great reasoning."

She could only shake her head with disbelief. No, Albus, it's very clear to me now that I don't know you. "Tell me."

Her eyes met grave blue, and Albus finally nodded. "I shall then attempt to explain everything to you, Minerva, in hopes that you understand why and what exactly it is that I did."

The Headmaster breathed in deeply, then began, "It begins with the aftermath of Voldemort's attack on the Potter manor this morning, and his diversion at the Longbottom residence.

"I was informed by a certain friend of mine at the Department of Mysteries," Nicholas, thought Minerva, "that the Unspeakables had found suspicious magical activity in some of the Muggle cities and towns within Great Britain, and had reason to believe that those activities were caused by Death Eaters.

"Naturally, I asked for the locations and examined them myself, and found in each location a brutal murdering of innocent Muggle children. Children, Minerva," Albus, for a split second, seemed on the verge of losing control of himself, but that moment passed. "Children," he repeated more calmly. "Their bodies were found to have been drained of blood. There were no wounds on the children, except for a scar on their foreheads, looking suspiciously like a lightning bolt." Minerva had to stop herself from gasping out loud. Harry, oh Harry, it seems Lord Voldemort is not best pleased with you.

"However, once I carefully observed the children, I was able to conclude that it was indeed magic that drew forth the blood from them, and that the scars, while apparently appearing like lightning bolts, were in fact crudely carved letter S's, which I believe stand for Slytherin.

"Now, I immediately returned to my friend, and informed him of my finds, and was told that my conclusions matched those of the Department, and that already Unspeakables were searching for a reason to explain why Lord Voldemort felt the need to draw blood from thirteen Muggle, not magical, children.

"Alas, I, believing that perhaps the answer lay in Godric's Hollow, wherein Lord Voldemort had struck at latest, visited the ruins of the Potter mansion. For it concerned me to think of what might have occurred within that room, between Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort."

Minerva shook her head stiffly. "What might have occurred? In case you have not noticed, Harry Potter is a toddler. Whatever could have occurred between the two?"

"Does it not concern you, Minerva, that the Dark Lord left the child alone?" Albus leaned forward, as though intent on convincing her. "Lord Voldemort attacked Godric's Hollow to kill Harry. To get rid of his rival, the Chosen One. Voldemort chose Harry, not Neville, and set out to destroy him. So why did he leave the child alone? Poppy has told me that the baby was unmarked in every way, both physically and magically." Albus leaned back, and Minerva met his blue eyes. "What could have possibly occurred that stopped Lord Voldemort from carrying out his original plan? What, Minerva?"

He stopped because he remembered. Voldemort had stopped because he had suddenly remembered the future, Minerva knew, but Albus did not. But, of course, trust Albus to make a big deal out of this. "And what did you find at the manor?"

Light, time is ticking away! The Potters and the Longbottoms have been kidnapped. We have but a little time to get ready. But she knew she had to deal with Albus Dumbledore first; for he was the key to their victory. Harry was still too young to balance the influence of Lord Voldemort, as he had done in the future--and as Albus had to do now, in order for them to have a chance.

Albus looked up at her and answered with wonder in his voice, with a hesitancy that Minerva had rarely ever heard from the Headmaster. "I found power.... I found echoes of magic still resonating within the walls and floorboards. I found wildness." She saw him draw in a deep breath, then heard him speak, "Minerva, I found our Chosen One."

What? Minerva's eyes widened despite her efforts to control herself, and she finally sat down, unable to support herself through her shock. Albus knows. He knows we came back from the future. He must. Otherwise, how would he know that Harry is from the future? That he is the Chosen One? For Albus must have somehow been able to watch the past, perhaps using a spell to refocus the echoes of time, and he must have heard Harry and Voldemort speak. Oh, light help us now. She looked up at him, and spoke, "How did you find out?"

Albus leaned back, his intent eyes capturing her own, and nodded as though satisfied at her reaction, as though he had known she would act like this. As though he had known she was from the future. Of course he knows, thought Minerva nauseatingly, how could he not? How could I have thought we could hide this from him? She dropped her eyes to her hands, and thought bitterly, Albus, you are as omniscient as always.

"Yes, Minerva," she heard him say. "Harry James Potter is our Chosen One, the one with the power the Dark Lord knows not. You know this as well."

She closed her eyes, and nodded feebly. He knows. Albus Dumbledore knows. But was this a bad thing? Would having the Headmaster know that they were from the future be such a horrible thing?

She repeated her earlier question, and was surprised to find that her voice was rather calm. "How did you find out?"

"The same way you did, I presume," said the Headmaster, amused.

What? Minerva sat very still, and fought with all her strength not to move, or act surprised. What the hell? What in the world was going on? What did he mean by that?

"You must have felt it, just as I did, Minerva," said the Light Lord, and Minerva forced herself not too look up, for he would see her shock, then. What in the Light is going on? "The child is extraordinary in mental capability, a Metamorphmagus, and contains within him an amount of power I would have thought impossible. You must have noticed, as I did, when you entered the room where Harry and Lord Voldemort were within--a child able to match the Dark Lord in strength. Harry Potter, a toddler of fifteen months, was able to summon his wild power in the face of his mother's tortured cries."

Minerva stared at her hands, holding herself completely still, and felt the deepest of relief flood through her mind. She could have screamed with joy at this moment. He doesn't know. He doesn't know we're from the future. Light, he doesn't know! She had been jumping to conclusions, and disastrously wrong ones at that.

"Yes, Minerva, you must have sensed it as well, as did I. The boy is powerful, unbelievably so--and resonates magical strength in a way Neville Longbottom never has. And perhaps we are wrong, perhaps strength has nothing to do with the Chosen One--but I highly doubt it. Harry Potter is our Chosen One, I am certain of it. And you must have been, as well. You mentioned it earlier in our conversation."

Yes, I did. And I thought I made a mistake, then. I thought Dumbledore might not have caught it, when he focused instead on the fact that I spoke Lord Voldemort's name. Oh, what a fool I am! He just assumed that I made the same observations as he had, and reached the same conclusions! Our secret is still safe. He didn't hear Harry speak.

Minerva thought she now knew what spell Albus had cast in order to collect this information. There was one particular spell that would gather the resonating essence of magic within a certain area, and allow the wizard or witch to see what spells were cast, and at what time. The Recolligo Praesentia was what it was called.

Albus must have used it, and found that most of the power resonating within the room was from Harry, and that it had risen up to challenge Lord Voldemort only after the Cruciatus had been cast. Yes, that must be what happened, and that must be why Albus reached the conclusions he had.

"You know of my belief concerning love, that love is the most powerful magic out there, Minerva," continued the Headmaster. "Harry's love for his mother, his pain when she was tortured--yes, I know Lord Voldemort cast the Cruciatus on Lily, the Recolligo Praesentia informed me--allowed the child to reach into his untapped power. Love, Minerva, love. That is the power the Dark Lord knows not, as Sybill just mentioned, and that is the key to Harry Potter's wild power. He is our Chosen One."

Minerva heard Albus reach for another Lemon Drop, and finally found the strength to look up. She still felt anger at him, yet she also felt so terribly weak and wanted to let go of her anger, for it drained her so. She wasn't at the height of her strength and control. It had been such a long day. She had battled with Transfigurations Mistress Lysandra Yaxley, drained her Manifestation, fought Lord Voldemort, faced Harry within her chambers, spent hours picking her memories apart to record it, and now this with Dumbledore--all within the span of a single day. She was exhausted.

"Alas, we have strayed from our original discussion," said Albus. "You may, perhaps, be wondering what this might have to do with our original misunderstanding--allow me to connect the dots. Now, suffice to say, it took me perhaps an hour to set the confines and begin the spell for the Recolligo Praesentia--you would know this well, Minerva, I am aware of your experience with this particular spell. However, once I reached my conclusions and released the spell, I immediately became aware that my certain friend from the Department of Mysteries had been attempting to contact me for nearly the whole duration.

"The reason for his urgency, I found out within minutes, was that there was another surge of suspicious magical activity rippling through the Muggle world--except this one was of Muggle-born magical children being kidnapped, as opposed to being slaughtered for their blood. Seven had gone missing by the time I reached the office of my certain friend, and there was talk already among the Unspeakables of including the Aurors and their Department, for these incidents were beginning to get out of hand. By the time the Head of their Department--you know Barty Crouch--was debriefed, eleven Muggle-born children were reported missing.

"Alas, you can imagine the stir it caused within the Ministry. Within the hour, Minister Bagnold had also been informed--though by this time, twelve children were reported missing. I was forced to reveal that Peter Pettigrew had given to Lord Voldemort a list of all Muggle-born children written down in the Book of Records. As you can also imagine, this caused quite another stir. Indeed, these stirrings were only heightened when certain informants of the Unspeakables reported activity within Diagon Alley itself--not hostile activity, but that there did seem to be a rather worrisome amount of suspect Death Eaters wandering the street.

"However, on the heels of this report came another from the Unspeakables, that their researchers had found several plausible explanations for Lord Voldemort needing the blood of thirteen Muggle children--and fortunately, they were able to narrow the list down to one, as only that particular one fit both the occasion, and the fact that Diagon Alley seemed to be quite crowded with suspect Death Eaters, and their sympathizers during the annual Diagon Alley Halloween Festival. Have you ever heard of the Shield of Scathach, Minerva?"

Light, no! Minerva had to fight herself in order to breath. No, no, no! No!

It still haunted her dreams, at times, the atrocity of the Shield of Scathach--the web of evil that had torn apart the great wards of Hogwarts. Thirteen times thirteen Muggles had been slaughtered, drained of their blood--and it had been poured all over the school grounds, and on the castle itself, by Death Eaters on brooms, unknown and undetected by the side of Light due to the very fact that the blood turned invisible because of the ritual of the Shield. And so on Halloween night, last year, Lord Voldemort had enacted the Shield, lit it on fire, and the defense shield of Hogwarts had been shredded apart.

It had been a night of true horror. For at one moment, they were all safe, under siege, but safe behind the never-fallen wards of Hogwarts--and the next, they were under fire, the wards had collapsed, and Lord Voldemort stormed the castle.

He had been pushed back out, of course. An small army of what was left of the Aurors, the Unspeakables, and the Order had managed to hold the Entrance Hall against their enemies for nearly a week. For nearly seven whole desperate days.

But at the end of the seventh, the Death Eaters had broken through, the Entrance Hall had been taken by Lord Voldemort--

And Harry had arrived, with him several dozen werewolves and vampires. Lord Voldemort had been turned away completely after a brief fight, for the Dark Lord had been unprepared to deal with the assembled army of such Dark creatures--especially since those very creatures had originally sided with him. He had sounded the retreat, and Hogwarts had been saved.

But the cost, oh, the cost. Minerva had been horrified to find out that Harry had foolishly promised the vampires the blood of all those who had been slain--even the blood of those on their side. There had been quite an outcry when the bodies of friends and family had to be given to the vampires, to be desecrated by the draining of their blood. Naturally, Harry had not been too popular at that moment. In fact, Minerva had heard many claim that they would have rather died, than to see their loved ones defiled so.

And yet he saved us, and the vampires saved us. Yes, it had been horrifying to see all of our loved ones go to the vampires. But we had lived to fight another day. We lived to come back into the past, and fix it all. Had Harry not stepped in that day, with the werewolves and vampires at his back, I would not be here today, in the past, discussing the Shield of Scathach with Albus Dumbledore.

Oh, Light! The Shield of Scathach!

"Minerva?" cut in Albus' voice, and Minerva blinked, looking up at him, and saw his narrowed blue eyes. "I would say that according to your reaction, it would be safe to assume you've heard of it?"

"Y-yes," said Minerva. She took in a deep breath, then released it, and spoke more calmly. "I have heard of it."

"Excellent, excellent." What? How can you say that? The Headmaster nodded. "Yes, that is what the Unspeakables, and by extension the Ministry, believed Lord Voldemort would invoke with the blood of those Muggle children. Adding this to the fact that suspect Death Eaters had been crawling up and down Diagon Alley, it became quite obvious to us all what the Dark Lord wished to accomplish."

"And what is that?" asked Minerva.

Albus replied gravely, "Think about it, Minerva. The lines of blood have been drawn in Diagon Alley, and you know now that the Longbottoms and the Potters have been kidnapped. Severus has been missing for nearly the whole day." The Headmaster looked at her expectantly, as though he thought she would solve the mystery right away.

And she found out, two seconds later, that yes, she could and did solve it right away--and her conclusion only horrified her.

"Yes, Minerva," said the Headmaster. "That is exactly what he wishes to accomplish. But he will not succeed. For this first time, I believe we have the upper hand of knowledge, Minerva. Lord Voldemort has overplayed his hand."

---

When Harry looked around him, all he could see was the stunned look on people's faces. The shock and horror very evident in their expressions. Despair, hopelessness, and fear caused many to tremble and shiver involuntarily. The crowds were huddled together, drawing strength and warmth in numbers, though the lines of silver fire still separated the crowds into many small groups. An absolute silence had remained unbroken for a time, as terror's claws had smothered all attempts to talk or speak--of course, the Death Eaters dispersed along the street with ready wands also aided in the submission of the crowds. And the fact that all of the wands had been collected and snapped, broken beyond use, also had something to do with the absolute fear and terror of those huddled on the bloody streets of Diagon Alley.

The silence, however, was broken periodically as a few foolish wizards and witches tried to either Apparate in or out, or even try to Portkey. Their screaming as the Shield splintered and splinched their bodies during those first few precious moments after the Dark Lord's welcoming had soon deferred others from trying the same.

The shimmering web of fire from the Shield of Scathach had died down a little, then, and now it was a barely visible flickering in the dark night of Halloween--but it would still flare up the moment another fool tried his or her luck against it. Other than that soft, darkly illumination from the Shield, the only other source of light was sickly green of the Dark Mark still glowing above.

But the Dark Lord, a figure standing in a small area cleared of bodies and blood, was still visible; perhaps it was a spell, or his powerful presence, that drew the eyes of all those present--but he was most clearly visible even in the shadows of the small clearing. And when he spoke now, it was no longer amplified with the Sonorus charm, but a soft harshness that still could be heard by everyone.

"It has been many years since Diagon Alley has witnessed the traditional Pureblood celebrations that had once been prevalent in the ancient times," said Lord Voldemort coldly. "The Celebration of Darknest Night on the eve of All Hallows, on the eve of the Day of the Dead, could have been witnessed throughout the many communities of the Wizarding world before the Mudbloods and half-breeds abolished our customs and instead made this!" The Dark Lord spread his hands out, and pointed to the few carved pumpkins that remained hanging in the night air, and the decorations of what was left of the annual Diagon Alley Halloween Festival. "They have tainted our ways, they have sullied our culture, and they have destroyed our traditions!" The Shield of Scathach suddenly flared up as it responded to the Dark Lord's anger, and Harry could hear several children sob with fear at the harsh glare of the dark silver fire.

"But no more," hissed Lord Voldemort. "No more!"

Then the darkness was lifted, and a thousand times a thousand flecks of colored light burst into a dance above the heads of the people of Diagon Alley. They danced and spun, swinging left and right, up and down. It was a dance of colors that would have awed many, a spiraling symphony of shades that merged and bounced--it was the most beautiful thing that Harry had ever seen.

Then the lights gathered and drew together, coalescing into a large circular sun above the Dark Lord's figure--above the heads of thirteen small forms arranged into a perfect circle around Lord Voldemort.

Above the heads of the thirteen Muggle-born magical children.

The children was perfectly calm, having dreamy expressions on their faces that were induced, Harry instantly recognized, by the Imperious Curse. They were naked, and their small bodies were glistening with oil and grease, reflecting the flecks of light dancing above them.

Then thirteen Death Eaters approached, all of them wearing the marks of an Inner Circle member, and each stood directly behind one child with a silver knife in his or her hand.

"Yes, the Celebration of Darkest Night demands human sacrifice," said Lord Voldemort frostily as he looked each child in the face. "The blood of the tainted must be spilled. For it is written, Thirteen must their numbers be, Seven Days must they have born witness; to them of Tainted Blood is sacrifice demanded, a Cleansing shall thus begin!"

The thirteen children suddenly screamed, thirteen voices of boys and girls merging to become one hideous, piercing noise. The flecks of colored light dancing above froze to absolute stillness, and the Death Eaters raised their knives--

--and in a fluid motion slit the throats of the thirteen Muggle-born magical children.

"The Blood of the Tainted have been spilled!" cried the Dark Lord, his voice thundering with power. "Now, my loyal Death Eaters, burn their flesh with the Light of the Wizarding world!"

The mass of colored light frozen above the thirteen heads suddenly shot down into the gaping, silently screaming mouths of the children, and in an instant lit the grease and oils on their skin into a disgusting fire. A burst of red and orange flames danced on the skin of the children, the previous flecks of colored light disappeared all together, leaving the burning children the only sources of visible light other than the Dark Mark and the Shield.

"It is interesting, is it not?" spoke Lord Voldemort, his disgustingly amused voice clearly heard in the deathly silence, as people watched with gaping mouths as the children burned. "Did you know that our word, bonfire, comes originally from this very act of the Celebration of Darkest Night? It used to be called... bone fire!"

The Dark Lord gestured with his wand, and the bodies of the children suddenly exploded in a mess of flesh, blood, and organs, leaving only their skeletons remaining. The fire still danced however, danced on the bones of those who had once been thirteen Muggle-born children.

Bonfires of bones, they were indeed. Bone fires.

But it was not over yet. "Now rise, bones of the Tainted Ones, you have been cleansed!" Lord Voldemort raised his wand, and to Harry's horror, the bones rose up and bowed to their master. "Go! And find those who, like you, are Tainted! Find them, and destroy them!"

Harry could only watch with silent horror as the thirteen bundles of bones moved forward, passing through the flames of the Shield of Scathach with no trouble, and began to sort through the huddled crowds. The screaming and screaming began again, the begging as fathers began to fight against the creatures of bone, the horrified yelling as more and more Muggle-borns were found among the huddled forms, and were brutally killed--by the snapping of the neck, or the tearing out of the jugulars. The thirteen burning creatures were uncaring as they sensed those of the Tainted, and destroyed them as their master had commanded.

Light, no! No! This cannot be happening! He's killing all the Muggle-borns! NO!

"It is a pity," Lord Voldemort's voice pierced once more through the screaming. "It is a pity that half-bloods will remain safe. Truly unfortunate--but only the truly Tainted will be cleansed tonight."

A pity? You call this a pity? You are a half-blood, you fucking arsehole! A pity, indeed! You're just sparing yourself!

But it was most surprising when one of the bone creatures abruptly moved against a Death Eater, tearing out his jugular. Even Lord Voldemort seemed surprised for a moment, before his face twisted into something Harry believed was simply evil.

"It seems I had a Mudblood among my Death Eaters," the Dark Lord said harshly. "Let this be a lesson to you all. None can lie to me for long."

The worst, the very worst, was when a creature approached Harry's cage, and he remembered belatedly that his mother, Lily, was a Muggle-born witch. No, I will destroy you before you can touch her! Just try, and I'll release such a wave of Accidental Magic that'll destroy you beyond all repair--even if it does kill me!

But the creature took one look at the cage bars, before turning around and leaving, to Harry's complete surprise. Voldemort must have limited the search to only those outside the cages!

"--please no! Spare him! NO!"

"--Father! Father! Please--"

"He's not a Muggle-born! HE'S NOT A--"

"DADDY! DADDY SAVE ME!"

Harry heard his mother sobbing above him, he heard the screaming and the begging around him, he heard his father retching beside him.

"--Voldemort! I'm going to fucking kill you! You fucking--"

"--Please, Light, save us! Save us!"

Harry closed his eyes, and felt tears leak down his face as he listened to the tortured crying of mothers, wives, husbands, and children. He looked at the floor beneath him, and saw the blood running between the bars of the cage.

"Alex! Alex, please, no! Alex! ALEX!"

"She's a squib, not a Muggle-born! Get your fucking hands off her--"

"MUMMY! MUMMY! NO!"

Harry opened his eyes and saw men trying to fight back, and being killed for their troubles; women throwing themselves against the bones; children screaming with the rage of seeing their parents killed, jumping onto the bone fires to their deaths. Light, no....

And Lord Voldemort was laughing; he was laughing, and laughing, and laughing. "Where is Albus Dumbledore now? Where is your Light Lord?"

The smell, it was horrible. The stink of blood made Harry want to throw up. The smell of body organs ripped apart--it was repulsive.

"Where are your Aurors? Where is your Ministry?" cried the Dark Lord. "They have all failed you! They have hidden themselves from my might and power! They fear me, and they have failed you! Is this the kind of authority you want to have over you? An authority that hides in the face of trouble?"

No. That is not the kind of authority we want. But neither do we want one like you, Lord Voldemort. The Ministry may have failed us, but you have destroyed us. What do you gain from killing Muggle-borns this night? You gain nothing but fear, nothing but disgust.

"MUM! MUM! You can't leave us! Don't leave me! Please, mum! Don't die..."

Don't die.

"TED! TED! GET AWAY FROM THAT MONSTER!"

Get away.

"ELIZABETH! NO! NO!... I love you... I love you!"

Love.

"ANDY, NO! NOO! I'M GONNA KILL YOU, YOU FUCKING BONE SCUM!"

Kill.

Enough.

Enough.

ENOUGH.

Harry opened his eyes and there were thirteen explosions.

Everyone froze. Everything was still.

"HARRY POTTER!" screamed Lord Voldemort, and he slashed his wand in Harry's direction.

Harry's cage exploded apart, and he felt himself being bodily lifted out and hurdled around--in the distant he heard his mother scream and his father roar--before his movement came to a complete stop. He found he was suddenly before Lord Voldemort, suspended in the air.

"How dare you?" hissed the Dark Lord, his magic squeezing Harry tightly. "Do you know how much work it took to create my creatures? Do you?"

He could hardly breath as Lord Voldemort's magic cocooned him in a tight web, constricting him ever more, every second. The man screamed in anger, "Again you have ruined my plans, Harry Potter! Will you forever be a thorn in my side? CRUC--" Voldemort stopped, for some reason, and simply roared wordlessly in fury. The force keeping Harry suspended was abruptly gone, and he landed hard onto the wet ground below.

Wet with blood. Disgusting. Harry could barely keep conscious, as he felt his body weakened due to his earlier Accidental Magic outburst. At least I got rid of those bone fires. Oh light, the children!

"It seems you will continue to be a bramble in my hand, Harry Potter, until you are done away with," continued the Dark Lord in a much more controlled manner, though his anger was still very evident. Lord Voldemort nodded. "Very well. We shall move on from our entertainment, my dearest guests. I do hope you enjoyed this first part of tonight's line up. However, bring forth Neville Longbottom and Severus Snape!"

"No! Not Neville! What are you doing?" screamed a voice, and Harry knew it belonged to Nevill's mum, Alice.

"Let go of him, you wench!" A Death Eater was attempting to pry the baby from his mother. Not a very bright one, is he? Harry thought weakly.

"I am getting impatient," hissed Lord Voldemort harshly. "What is taking you so long, Rookwood?"

"The bloody girl isn't letting him go, my Lord!"

"Then curse her, you fool! Must I dictate your every move?"

"Crucio!" Alice Longbottom screamed, and Harry saw Neville being snatched up when she involuntarily let go of her son.

"Good, now bring him here. Where is Severus?"

"My Lord, he is here," said Lucius Malfoy, and Harry's eyes widened as he saw the Potions Master being dumped onto the floor.

Severus Snape was a complete mess. He wasn't bleeding anywhere, and yet it was hideously obvious that only magic was keeping him from bleeding out. His barely covered body showed signs of beatings, magical and physical tortures. But the worst, Harry noted, was his eyes. They held a dull, glazed look that signified brokenness and helplessness. A look Harry had seen many times within his own eyes in the future.

It was the look of a shattered man.

Lord Voldemort flicked his wand, and Severus Snape was forced onto his feet, swaying as he did. "Harry, do you know what utterly fascinating things young Severus has been telling me of?" The Dark Lord looked down at Harry, and continued when he didn't speak. "You will interested to hear, I think. Indeed, I was quite surprised myself."

Whatever. I'm not going to talk. You can't fool me into it.

Lord Voldemort hissed, as though he heard Harry's thoughts. "No? Nothing? Very well. I shall tell you in any case, and shall also tell my guests." The tall figure turned to survey the silent crowds, again drawing their eyes through what Harry thought must have been a spell.

And the Dark Lord spoke, "After all, the one with power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...."

Light, no! No! He cannot! Not the Prophecy! Not in front of everyone!

"Born to those who have thrive defied him, born as the seventh month dies," Lord Voldemort paused. "For the longest time, this was all that I knew of. The full words of the Prophecy had been beyond my reach--or so I thought. Imagine my utter surprise when Severus Snape, a Death Eater whom I had once considered one of my most loyal, knew of the full contents, and spoke naught of it to me.

"But now," Lord Voldemort laughed, and continued, "Now: And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...."

Harry followed the Dark Lord with his eyes as the tall figure paced around the small clearing. "You see, Harry Potter, now that I know the full Prophecy, I realize that I had made a profound mistake in your past. I marked you, didn't I? The Lightning Bolt scar, it was my mark. I am certain of it. Answer me, Harry. Answer me!"

But Harry didn't speak, and Lord Voldemort hissed coldly, "Very well, stay silent. It is of no matter to me. Better that you remain silent, than scream bloody murder as you did this morning in Godric's Hollow."

The Dark Lord waved his wand, and Harry was lifted back up into the air, until he was eye-level with the man. Neville was borne up as well, he saw. "Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom. Both of you are potential candidates for the Prophecy. One a half-blood, the other a pureblood. One the heir to the House of Potter, the other the House of Longbottom. Both bloodlines have produced powerful wizards and witches for many generations. When I first heard the beginning lines of the Prophecy, I found myself presented with two choices, with two possible enemies, with two possible powerful wizards standing against me, and I had to narrow it down to one. How was I to choose? Harry Potter or Neville Longbottom."

Suddenly Lord Voldemort's wand was pointed at Harry's forehead. "And I chose you, Harry James Potter. And you became the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the figurehead of the Wizarding world, the Hero Who Nearly Vanquished the Dark Lord--and you became a bramble in my hand. A thorn in my side. A worthy opponent of whom might very well challenge me. And this cannot be."

The Dark Lord swung around and struck his wand towards the center of the clearing. There was loud whoosh as flames spurt forth and a sickly green fire was lit. "It is truly interesting, Harry Potter, to think of what a nuisance you must have been to me in your past. When I think your name, I feel fear and anger. When I dwell upon that Lightning Bolt scar that I marked you with, I tremble within. Why is this, Harry Potter? Why do I feel fear when I think of you? Your past, a branch of my future, is clouded to me. I cannot see clearly. But you can. You must. Why do I fear you, Harry Potter? Why do I hate the very sight of you? Legilimens!"

No, thought Harry. You tried that before. I am nearly a master Occlumens--and you have forgotten what it means to love.

Lord Voldemort screamed in anger as he was repelled, and Harry looked up just in time to see the Dark Lord point his wand at an innocent witch just outside the clearing. "Crucio!"

She screamed. And screamed. It did not stop for several minutes while both Harry and Lord Voldemort recovered, then the Dark Lord released her.

Lord Voldemort swung back around to face Harry. "As problematic as always, Harry Potter. Yes. It was you, was it not? Who stopped me from seizing the Sorceror's Stone? It must have been. And the Chamber of Secrets. Yes. The creature within the Chamber--you killed it? Yes. I am sure of it. But it is vague. I cannot remember any details." Again the wand rose up, and the Dark Lord cried harshly, "Perhaps you can shield your mind now, boy, but you will not forever! I will break through, and your past will be mine to know! Legilimens!"

The strike came across more powerfully than before, but it was still not strong enough to shatter Harry's mind. After all, how could Voldemort pass through a shield that not only was powerful enough to keep his attack at bay, but hurt him in the process?

Again the Dark Lord withdrew with a ragged roar of rage. And again, an innocent was tortured until both had recovered. "You, my boy, are a pain."

And happy to be one.

"Legilimens!"

To Harry's horror, he did find himself begin to weaken. This time, he had barely been able to force back the attack. Light, I can't let him know the future! That will be disastrous!

"Again. Legilimens!"

NO!

"One last time, I think. Legilime--"

"My Lord Voldemort," interrupted a cool voice, and a regal-looking Death Eater stepped into the clearing. The same one that had announced that it was time, earlier, Harry saw. "The time grows short. Midnight approaches. It will come in eighteen minutes, my Lord."

The Dark Lord paused, and seemed to consider the Death Eater before him, a large man with blond hair splaying out from behind his mask. "Yes, yes, you are correct as always, Yaxley. And I have much left to do. Very well, you have done well to warn me. Now, go."

"My Lord," said Roderick Yaxley as he bowed--the nephew of Lysandra Yaxley, Harry recognized--before he turned and left the clearing.

"You are most lucky, Harry." The Dark Lord turned around, looking at the flames he had conjured. "Odd, for some reason, I sense that I've said this before to you. Have I not?"

Yes. You told me that the last time I got away from you. The battle at the Ministry.

"Well, no matter. I have eighteen minutes. Let us not waste it."

Suddenly Lord Voldemort's wand snapped out, and Neville Longbottom screamed in pain from where he hung in the air.

"I chose you last time, Potter, and it was my most severe mistake," said the Dark Lord coldly. "I will not do so again. This time, this time, I choose Neville Longbottom. I shall mark this boy."

What's he saying? Last time he marked me, he was vanquished for eleven years! Surely he knows not to try that again! At least, I wouldn't do it if I were him....

... could it be he doesn't remember how he marked me? Could it be he only remembers the scar?

Interesting.

"Look, dear guests! Look!" thundered the Dark Lord as Neville Longbottom was hoisted up high into the night sky. The flames conjured by Lord Voldemort roared up in a swirling motion that illuminated the small toddler. "This is Neville Longbottom, your Boy Who Lived. Your precious Chosen One. Look, and know that he is of no match to me!

"I choose you, Neville Longbottom, to be my equal!" cried Lord Voldemort. "Now be marked by the Dark Lord! MORSEMORDRE!"

Lord Voldemort hissed those words with a twisting that Harry knew was not good at all. The accent was in the wrong places, and the Dark Lord's wand was drawing a rune into the air that was not normally a part of the conjuration of the Dark Mark.

And the results of those alterations became blatantly obvious a moment later.

Instead of the usual sickly green snake and skull smoke, came something completely different from Lord Voldemort's wand. It was a single coiled snake flashing with bright shining silver, twisting as it climbed the night air. The bright-silver snake wriggled and writhed as it approached the still-screeching toddler, Neville.

Then the snake struck, extending its coiled body as two sharp, long teeth sank into the forehead of the baby. Neville screamed, and screamed--it was a sound of pain and misery that only a child could make. The baby writhed in pain as the snake sank its teeth deeper and deeper.

There was bright flash of silver when the full length of the snake's teeth had been buried in the baby's forehead, and to Harry's utter horror, first the nose, then the entire head of the snake began to sink into the forehead of the baby. And Neville screamed. And screamed.

Four inches, or less was the length of the snake, and yet it seemed to take forever for the snake to sink completely into the skin. And the whole while Neville was screaming for help, screaming for his mother, who was screaming back.

Then it was done. The snake was gone, sunken completely into the baby's forehead.

And nothing visible remained of the snake except for one single thing: a silver Lightning Bolt--one that looked curiously also like a letter S.

"It is done," hissed Lord Voldemort, his arms raised up above his head as he laughed with joy. "The Chosen One has been marked!" The Dark Lord turned to Harry with sadistic glee within his eyes. "And now." Lord Voldemort laughed with a high-pitch of insanity. "And now, you are dead, HARRY POTTER!"

Two Death Eaters approached Harry, and at a nod from the Dark Lord, shoved a disgusting tasting liquid down his throat against his weak protestations. What the fuck are you doing? Ack!

"You are being fed the Merde du Diable, the Devil's Herb, which is perhaps the most potent Aging potion known to wizard-kind, Harry. Absolutely disgusting, is it not? Wonderful! Do drink up!" Lord Voldemort hissed with delight, and paced back and forth before his fire, watching his Death Eaters administer the Aging potion. "Yes, it took some time for my Lestranges to obtain this potion. But my arm is long, and my reach far--nothing is impossible for me!"

Then Harry screamed as the potion finally took affect. It felt as though his bones were on fire. His blood boiled within his veins. His heart raced, pumping at a speed that seemed like a million times per second. His magic was hissing with rage. His skin felt tight. His throat scorched with heat. His hair melted. His eyes blurred with agony. His teeth seemed almost ground to dust as he screamed.

And screamed.

And scream--

--the pain disappeared. Harry lay on the floor, gasping from the weakness that flooded inside him, and snarled within his mind, Fuck you, Riddle! He heard someone who sounded like his mother gasp, and several realizations hit him like a ton of bricks.

He had spoken out loud.

His voice was that of a matured, eighteen year old.

The Devil's Herb had worked.

"Welcome back, Harry Potter," laughed Lord Voldemort. "And now it is time for you to finally die."

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To be continued....

Chapter Seven: The Devil's Herb will be updated soon, but reviews help shorten the time. So take the hint and review! A simple, "Wonderful!" or a "Love it!" will do! Even simple messages like that inspire authors to write more!

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Ending Notes:

Oh dear. I did it again. Switched the chapter title on you. Now it is Those Burning Bones, and there will no longer be a Boy Who Lived chapter at all. The next chapter is called The Devil's Herb!

So. Another cliffie. One reviewer mentioned that I ended nearly all of my chapters on a sort of cliffie. wince I did it again. Oops! Please don't kill me! This time it was completely unintentional. It just sort of worked out that way, I promise!

Well--hem, hem--on to the chapter. Lord Voldemort was hard to write. Hell, Albus Dumbledore was hard to write. Bloody blazing hell, the whole chapter was hard to write! That's why I'm updating this a day later than I originally planned. The next part, as you can probably tell, will have some real Harry action. The first that I'll ever write for this story (except for the short Prologue scene). I hope I can do you all justice. It will be... as I always like to say... explosive.

Anywho, real life is getting a bit hectic. This is the last week of school, and the seniors are graduating, which means lots of work for little ole me, who was unluckily picked as Junior Marshall and Junior class president. So. I get to make a bunch of speeches, pose for pictures, and wish the seniors good riddance. Lol.

Now, on to those flamers. There are one or two. Unfortunately, you flamersseemed to have gotten the wrong impression of Pettigrew's possession. I'd just like to encourage you all to read the end of the second chapter, Suspicions. It details what happens to him, and implies the reason for his possession. I won't spoil it for those of you who haven't figured it out yet. But please, no flames--ask nicely, and I'm happy to answer. Most of my reviewers aren't flaming--actually, nearly all are encouraging. Those are nice. I did have one or two that weren't.

Don't get me wrong. I especially love it when someone carefully criticizes my work. It really makes me happy to find that someone cared enough for my story to do this. Just, don't say something like, "I hate this. That was stupid. You are an idiot." Thanks!

Read the "To be continued...." section for the date of the next upload. Happy reviewing!

Comments always welcome.

-- liath

(5.23.06)

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