Walk the Shadows – Chapter 39
By jharad17
Disclaimer: Not mine. I imagine I'll get over it.
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No entries for this date.
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Previously:
This was nothing like the first time Harry had used such a weapon. Then, he had used it to only cause harm. His intent had been to hurt Dumbledore and show him what his decisions and machinations had cost Harry. This time, his goal was much smaller, and yet, far more important. He had to separate the two Wizards occupying the same mind. And he had to make sure that Dumbledore was the one who gained control in the end.
His feelings fed into his power, making him stronger. Hate and anger, anguish over all that had befallen him, and those he cared for and loved, all of these gave him more power than he had ever felt before, and he reveled in the wash of pure energy that suffused his being. But it wasn't enough. He needed more.
Recalling what Dumbledore had told him after the fiasco in the Ministry of Magic, Harry focused his feelings for Severus, who seemed to really, honestly care about him, and Sirius, who he would always love, forever, and his friends, Hermione and Ron, who still wrote to him and worried about him even when he did not reciprocate. He focused these feelings of love and caring into a precise, razor edged tool, and sliced into the mind of the Wizard in front of him.
Voldemort could not stand love. He had no idea at all of how to deal with it. Dumbledore, however, knew love. He had admitted to caring for Harry beyond that of an ordinary student, and though Harry wasn't sure he believed it, with all that had happened to him, he knew Dumbledore could handle the emotion. Dumbledore would survive it.
Harry fed love through the connection he still shared with the Headmaster, forged in Dumbledore's office the night Harry shared his memories. His love of flying, his love for Hedwig and anguish over her death at Vernon's hand, his love for his friends, and Hagrid and Remus who wanted nothing more than to see Harry better and at peace, and at last, his love for his new guardian, who gave so much of himself that Harry might recover from all the misery his life had dealt him.
And Harry would get better, he knew that now. He would not let Voldemort, or even Lucius or Bellatrix, make him live in fear. He would not cower before them. He would survive.
Love, and hope.
Through the link between himself and the Headmaster, Harry felt something rip, something give way, and with a howl borne of years of frustration and fury, Voldemort fled.
In front of him, Dumbledore collapsed.
Panting for breath, Harry sank to the hard, stone floor. At some, he had broken the Body Bind and risen from where he'd been trussed, but now his legs were too weak now to support him. He watched the Headmaster for a long moment, unable to tear his eyes away. Voldemort no longer had him under his power, but he would return unless Harry protected Dumbledore's mind. That's what had happened before, he realized. He'd left the Headmaster's mind too open, too raw, and the Headmaster had not been able to fend off the most powerful Legilimens in the world.
Perhaps he could, however, with Harry's help.
But Harry did not have much time. Lucius was due back . . . soon, Harry imagined, not having any idea how much time had passed since the firecall. A cursory protection then, for now, and more later . . . if there was a later.
No, he shouldn't think thoughts like that. He couldn't. He had to hold on to hope, hold on to the love he knew he had the capacity for, and that others claimed to have for him. This would be easier, he knew, if he could touch the Headmaster, so he scooted over to his body, pushing himself with legs that were still too weak to stand on. His hands were trembling, too, but that was not important.
At the Headmaster's side, Harry pried the wand from the man's fingers, and pressed it to Dumbledore's temple, while he rested his hand on the man's head. Not entirely sure of what he was doing, Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and felt along their connection. He focused everything through the wand. '
Finished, Harry slumped over, exhausted.
Wearily, with every muscle in his body screaming in protest, he eased himself backwards until his spine hit the wall next to the Headmaster. At least he would have that as a support. He had been hoping Dumbledore would be able to help him against Lucius, as he wasn't sure he could face the man without help. Alone. Like always.
But it was not to be. No sooner had he found the wall at his back than the green flame of the fireplace flared bright, and the lean, hungry-eyed form of Lucius Malfoy stepped through.
The man's expression changed immediately from one of anticipation to one of fury as he took in the scene: Harry sitting next to the body of the one he had recently called 'My Lord.' Harry holding a wand, and aiming it at Malfoy. Harry smiling as if he knew something that Malfoy did not.
'What is the meaning of this?' Malfoy's voice was clipped and cold and betrayed no hint of anxiety.
The very calmness of Malfoy's tone just choked Harry's cheese. How dare he be all serene like that, when
