Fanfic #23 Monochrome by TheBlackstaffandNightMarE (HP)
This is an interesting fanfic set after the goblet of fire with a lot of mystery and very self aware about Harry Potter tropes.
Synopsis: Memories are dangerous things. You twist them and you turn them until you know every touch and corner, but you'll find an edge to cut you still. Twisted between his very own mind and a resurrected dark lord, Harry Potter is on the clock. Great men rise from desperate beginnings, and Harry is playing the most desperate game of them all. Set after 4th year.
Rated: M
words: 44k
https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/monochrome-hp.852958/reader/
Here's the first chapter:
Albus Dumbledore was angry.
Scratch that, he was furious.
But even moreso, he was worried.
Hogwarts did not allow anyone to apparate in or out. The same held true for portkeys. Without express permission from the Headmaster, there was essentially no way to enter or exit the school properties. The excellent wards placed around the school by the Founders ensured that.
Albus had done his best to make sure everything would work out exactly the way it should.
Every Champion had been given a robe enchanted with various precautionary defenses, and each one had been informed that death was a possibility— that participation was not to be taken lightly. After all, he wasn't about to allow the lives of the children to be taken for a mere competition.
The robes had a specific runic matrix sewn into them. One that could function as an intra-Hogwarts portkey, able to transport a student to the main stage should they give up or win.
As such, there had been no reason to worry.
Or so he told himself.
In hindsight, he should have known that things never turned out the way they were supposed to, not when Harry Potter was involved. The boy, in something he began to call a 'classically Harry fashion', decided to share his victory with the other child, Cedric Diggory.
And that's when it all went wrong.
Both Harry and Cedric had vanished upon touching the Cup. That much was expected to happen— it was how portkeys worked, after all. But unfortunately, the two hadn't appeared where they were supposed to. In front of the adoring crowd to receive their prize.
Instead, the boys had simply...
Vanished.
"This was not supposed to happen," Albus murmured, glaring at the magical screen floating in front of him as if this was all somehow its fault. But the truth was, he really should have known better.
The signs were all there.
Unusual disappearances. The darkening of the dark mark. Harry's strange dreams.
He should have known. He should have predicted. He should have seen it coming, that Tom could not resist trying to interfere with an event like this.
And now, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the young man whom he had sworn to protect…
Was gone.
The pit in his stomach only grew deeper.
"Is everything alright, Dumbledore?"
Albus nodded curtly towards the Minister, before rising up from his seat and excusing himself. He immediately apparated out, only to reappear at the site of the anomaly mere moments later.
This was where it happened.
He wasn't so naive as to think that his portkeys had somehow suddenly malfunctioned.
No, this was a deliberate attempt to kidnap Harry.
And it was a resounding success.
"What are you up to this time, Tom?"
Flicking out his wand, he began to incant every single sensing and tracking spell he knew— locators, scrying spell, the works —onto the pedestal in front of him, where the Triwizard Cup once sat. Unfortunately, nothing seemed to work. And with every passing second, Albus Dumbledore came closer and closer to experiencing an emotion he had thought long behind him.
Desperation.
Ever since Harry Potter had entered the magical world, Dumbledore had been caught off-guard by Lord Voldemort. And now, his dear student was paying the price for his hubris and shortcomings.
The young Potter was certainly much like Albus had imagined. Whatever his limitations may have been when it came to magical talent, the boy more than compensated for them through sheer courage and strength of character. No matter the situation, he had always chosen what was right, over what was easy. A far better man than he himself had been at that age.
It only made Albus blame himself more.
With the growing list of skirmishes between the Child of Prophecy and the many shades of Lord Voldemort, a future showdown was all but inevitable. And he knew Tom was equally aware of this.
That it would happen this soon, was something that Albus had completely failed to predict.
No… that wasn't completely right.
Much to his shame, Albus knew that he did see it coming. Right from the altercation back in Harry's first year, up to Sybil Trelawney's recent prophecies. The signs of an imminent storm had all but been shoved in front of his face.
And he had chosen to remain blind to it all.
Ignorance was bliss, he told himself. To know that you must die to kill another— it was a burden he could not bring himself to place upon the boy. The bony shoulders of an eleven-year-old child, after all, were not ready to bear the brunt of Fate.
And so, he'd chosen to procrastinate.
This is Berlin all over again.
His inability to make a stand decades ago had cost over ten thousand lives in the Great War. And now, his desire to see Harry Potter living the life of an innocent, ignorant child had inadvertently put the boy's life in mortal peril.
And now, he was gone.
Lost.
Out of his reach.
And anything he did at this point would be too little, too late.
…Or would it?
As if on cue, his mind supplied him with all the information he had ever collected about Lord Voldemort. Knowing one's enemy was a vital part of fighting a war, and Albus Dumbledore had been waging this one for years.
He had meticulously delved into Tom's history— more so than any other wizard alive —and yet, for the love of all that was pure in the world, he could not recall a single location that had a graveyard in it. But there had to be something he was missing. After all, most of Harry's recent nightmares centered around such a location.
"Did you find the boy, Dumbledore?" an almost-drawl interrupted his musings.
"Severus," Albus turned around. "I had expected Alastor."
The potions master sneered. "Busy jumping at shadows, no doubt."
Albus sighed, ignoring the man's caustic jabs with a practiced ease.
"I assume the Potter boy has been taken by the Dark Lord. The only question that remains is how."
"The Triwizard Cup was turned into a portkey," Albus answered. "One that links to an untraceable destination. Someone managed to alter its destination before it had been placed here."
"And who is capable of something like that?"
Albus paused, before ultimately shaking his head. "I'm afraid I don't know. Even if they were indeed subjected to a portkey, they should still be within school boundaries. None of Hogwarts's proximity wards have been triggered… yet."
Severus looked like he was about to ask something, but swallowed his words.
"Has your mark been acting out?"
The dour man grimaced, slowly pulling back his sleeve to reveal the fully visible Dark Mark underneath.
Albus sighed.
"I did warn you about this," Severus carried on. "Allowing Karkaroff into Hogwarts was a mistake."
"I doubt Karkaroff has anything to do with this," Albus answered softly. "The runes for the portkeys were keyed in by me, and the robes were personally checked for signs of tampering by all the four judges. Minerva herself placed the cup and—"
He stilled. Had something happened to her? Had she done something—
"Albus?" Severus asked warily.
"It's… It's nothing," Albus roused himself. There would be time to investigate later. His first priority was finding the boy, and Time was not their ally. "We must find Harry. Quickly."
"And how are you going to do that? Assuming the Potter boy is still alive."
"I have faith in Harry," Albus replied resolutely, muttering one final incantation. "Ah, so it's like that."
"What are you doing?"
"Examining the site. I must admit, whoever created the portkey is a genius. The base is runic, powered by the holder's own magic. The destination, on the other hand, is cloaked. Only a specific signature is allowed to enter."
"And you can't trace runic magic," Severus finished, his face pinched with frustration.
Albus would have chuckled if the situation wasn't so dire. For someone who claimed to hate Harry Potter with a passion, Severus spent far too much time worrying about the boy. Not that he'd ever reveal his observations to the man's face.
"Conjure me something solid, please."
The resident potions master took the request in stride. Without hesitation, he conjured an empty potion bottle and placed it in the center of the pedestal.
"What are you going to do?"
Albus smiled. "This."
And he began his work. Despite the situation being much more complicated than anything he had ever worked on, the Elder Wand's ability to beat the odds could turn even the most bizarre combinations into sensible, well-calculated matrices.
It's just like Nicholas. Helping me from beyond the grave.
His old mentor had taught him this particular skill. Of course, Albus's own level of finesse was nowhere comparable to the ancient alchemist— a master of the craft. But for tracking Harry, it would be enough.
Pushing aside the nostalgic feelings that emerged in his heart, he focused on the multiple beads of color that popped up around him, dragging them into all sorts of intricate combinations as they began to form a messy, non-linear path.
"How— how are you doing that?" Severus asked, in awe of the magical sight in front of him.
Albus suppressed a chuckle. "If you must know, Severus, nothing is truly untraceable. Every bit of magic, even the most subtle acts, disturbs the world. And if you know how, you can trace it back to its source."
With the grace of a professional artist at work, he effortlessly wove patterns into the air with his wand, the beads following along and almost dancing to his wandwork. After several tense moments of gradual reconstruction, he was finally able to weave the ambient magic into a replication of the original portkey.
And then he cast the enchantment upon the bottle.
"Severus, I'm going to go after Harry. Make sure nobody leaves Hogwarts. Also… take a moment to check up on Minerva, if you can."
He received a curt nod in response.
Severus wasn't one for pleasantries, but he was ruthlessly efficient. With faith in his potions master, Albus put aside his worries and activated the portkey.
A moment later, and he too vanished.
~~X~~
What is this place?
Albus looked around. The portkey had displaced him from Hogwarts to the same location that the original portkey was linked to. The place where it was supposed to have taken Harry.
He had expected, nay, prepared to arrive with a group of Death Eaters firing lethal curses at him.
He had expected to face some form of Voldemort in combat.
He had expected to be forced into an unfavorable fight to save young Harry.
Instead, Albus found himself… well, here.
This place… it was still within Hogwarts's wards. He could still sense its outermost barriers several hundred feet ahead of… wherever this place was.
It was almost as if this place did not even exist.
Like an elaborate illusion.
He could sense his school's wards, and yet they had no hold here. That meant all forms of apparition and portkeys would work from here without any problems.
This, Albus reasoned, must be how they got Harry and Cedric out.
It was painfully clear.
Whoever had enchanted the portkey must have been brilliant enough to allow two successive displacements without a break in between. The first portkey was to get the boy to this place, only for the action to trigger a second portkey. A second displacement that transferred him somewhere else, acting before the first ceased to function.
One wave riding upon another.
"What a brilliant mind," he murmured to himself. "A shame someone so prodigious fell into the darkness."
The question that remained was how Tom might have known about such a place within Hogwarts, when he himself did not. The only location he could think of that fit the bill was the illusive Chamber of Secrets. Albus had tried to go inside after Harry's encounter with the shade of Tom Riddle from the Diary, but powerful spells had barred him from entering.
He glanced at the room around him. Everything was blurry, almost like looking through a mist-covered window. He could make out a rocky interior, and considering the wetness beneath his feet, he was standing in the middle of a running stream. The thought that such a place still existed within Hogwarts without his knowledge was humbling, to say that least.
It merited a deeper investigation, but that was for a later time. Right now, there were far more crucial matters at hand. The traces of the portkey's second activation were already beginning to fade.
Without further delay, Albus raised his wand, summoning more colorful beads of magic around him.
And began to weave once more.
~~X~~
I have been here before.
Albus Dumbledore stared at the expansive graveyard in front of him, seemingly stretching out for miles. Rows of tombstones surrounded him in a veritable sea of the dead. The writings on the dilapidated grave markers looked faded, indicating age— or perhaps there was no one left to care for them?
Still… something seemed familiar.
What is this place?
That was when he noticed the small signboard a few feet away, hanging limply from a wrought iron gate.
Little Hangleton Cemetery
As Albus read those words, something around him began to change. It was almost like a veil being lifted, leaving everything naked for the observer to witness. The misty presence faded, and the writings on the tombstones began to appear once more.
In the distance, he could see the black outline of a church due west, whereas a solitary house with a tapered roof was visible on top of a hill far south of him.
And suddenly, as everything came to focus at once, Albus remembered.
This was the graveyard of Little Hangleton, the original residence of the Gaunts. The place where it had all started. Merope Gaunt, Marvolo Gaunt, Tom Riddle… all of the information that he had meticulously collected erupted at once, threatening to overwhelm his mind with all sorts of connections.
He was baffled as to how and why this information had vanished from his mind. But knowing Tom, he had something to do with it. Or… something far more sinister was at play.
Not taking any chances, Albus lifted his wand above his head.
"Solus Maxima."
A wave of bright light burst forth from the tip of his wand, shooting into the air above him and coalescing into a miniature sun. High in the sky, it ebbed bright white light, inundating the entire graveyard with its presence. With the dreary place now fully illuminated, Albus held his wand like a sword, ready to combat any possible threats—
And froze, stupefied by the scene that met him.
The entire area in front of him was rendered gray.
Literally.
Like the black-and-white filter from an old muggle camera.
The grass, the shrubs, even the very earth itself, had lost their color. The air tasted lifeless and stale. The powerful sphere of light he had just cast seemed to slowly drain away. Magic itself seemed to perish in the area.
And in the center of it all, lay the body of one Harry James Potter.
"Harry!" Albus breathed, worry and relief warring on his wizened features as he strode ahead, ruthlessly suppressing his instincts at the strangeness of the situation. His mind was in turmoil, age-old instincts from the war with Grindelwald returning. But he paid them no mind, instead sprinting ahead towards the boy—
Pain crawled up his spine, and Albus screamed.
The Elder Wand acted immediately, forming a dome of protective magic around him and pushing its wielder back as something surged in like a hungry shark, wanting to swallow the sole lifeform within its grasp—
"FINITE INCANTATEM!" Albus yelled, sending out an immensely powerful wave of magic from his wand. The Deathstick hummed in response, almost as if it craved the feel of it all, before sending the spell radially outwards.
And suddenly, everything stopped.
This… This is...
Albus was on one knee, panting from severe exhaustion. It pained him to even formulate thoughts. Whatever this magic had been, stopping it had drained him.
Completely.
He wondered if he had it within himself to cast even a single spell without falling unconscious.
Never in his entire life had he felt so weak, so helpless.
Until now.
He glanced at the fallen form of Harry Potter.
I have work left to do. Now is no time to rest.
Pushing himself up, Albus slowly walked forward, trudging all the way to the fallen body. Immediately, he collapsed onto the ground, kneeling beside the boy as he held his wrist.
…
He's alive!
It was faint, but Harry still had a pulse. But that was better than he could have hoped for.
His immediate crisis averted, Albus finally noticed everything around him. Fallen around the boy, several feet away, were bodies. Human bodies. Twelve people, clad in Death Eater regalia— complete with their trademark skull-face masks.
All twelve of them lay on the ground, unmoving.
All twelve of them were rotting.
Their bodies were decomposing husks. Their robes were frayed and tattered, vulnerable to even the slightest breeze. Their masks were broken, loose fragments scattered across the ground.
But there was one more body. A thirteenth one that looked oddly familiar. The severed arm, not so much— at this point, it may as well have been a rotting tree stump.
The face, however, was remarkably rodent-like.
Peter Pettigrew.
Albus withheld a sigh. He knew, in his heart of hearts, that the man had been responsible for the entire debacle with the Potters. That the people around him had murdered innocent lives. And yet, he couldn't help but feel sad at the loss of lives around him.
What could have possibly caused this?
A fourteenth body grabbed his attention. Albus, his body shaking in exertion, stood up and walked towards the cadaver, only to step back in horror. The body was decaying, the elegant robes in tatters, but the face was still mostly recognizable.
Cedric.
Albus shut his eyes, but a single tear escaped its clutches.
He had failed them.
He had failed them all.
He glanced once more at the fallen form of Harry Potter. Alive, yet unmoving.
He'd need to get the boy back to Hogwarts. Along with the rest of them.
It's not safe here.
With tumultuous effort, he channeled whatever energy he could muster into creating a second portkey, one that led back to Hogwarts. Sweeping all the fallen forms together into a strong Body-Bind Jinx, Albus held Harry's unconscious form even tighter.
The portkey began to glow.
As he felt the familiar tug at his navel, Albus couldn't help but take a final look back.
At the cursed place he was leaving.
At a scene that he was certain would continue to haunt his nights for years to come.
It was a circle of gray, within which Death reigned supreme.
An area in which nothing, not even color, was allowed to violate.
A monochrome.