Hey there.
Maaaaaaaany apologies for not updating... I've had exams (all you Brits know what I'm talking about), and my computer came down with a virus, meaning the whole thing had to be wiped. Including my stories. Thank God for backup discs, that's all I'm saying.
I've finally got it together for this, the penultimate chapter. Review!
Things were quiet for the next couple of days. Snape had no cause to spend any time near the boy that he didn't have to and for this he was eternally grateful... if a little guilty that he was directly disobeying Dumbledore's orders. Still, Potter seemed to be doing fine on his own. Despite the fact he was in desperate need of a Cheering Charm, everything seemed fairly normal, despite the fact that Potter slept and took his meals in the hospital wing.
Occasionally he could be caught out of the hospital wing, leaning heavily on a crutch (he refused to use two), and staring blankly out of a window. There was an unregistered emotion on his face when he did this, part sorrow, part... well he couldn't put a name to it.
It was, in fact, the kind of hope Sirius Black had experienced a kind of tunneled hope. There was going to be salvation, but it would take a while and all that time he would be stranded amidst a sea of roiling confusion and desperation. It was not sad, but it was a kind of indirect pain.
It was at about this time Snape realised he was watching Harry too closely and drew away a little, surprised at himself. It would not do to start trying to sympathise with the boy. He did have morals, after all.
Harry barely spoke anymore, but this was no general surprise. You could see it in the teachers' faces. He didn't even speak to his friends much. He appeared to prefer to stare out of the window.
llllllllll
Harry knelt on broken legs, arms twisted behind his back, left hand throbbing dully. Parts of his body and face were spattered or soaked in blood; he could feel a small rivulet of it trying to trace a way down his scar. The irritating tickling it caused felt worse than his legs, using that bizarre kind of logic that made papercuts worse than gashes.
The ground that he could see was pink-tinged snow, and the clouds above him were a dull yet excited grey. A thin, bored breeze was blowing, cooling the blood on his temples, making him shiver.
The Death Eater that held him captive was being none too careful about Harry's wounds, but he supposed in a dull kind of way that that was the point.
There was a small clearing around him; the Death Eaters were lined up in a crude circle. Many were laughing.
Harry shook his head to clear blood from his eyes and worked on drawing air into his lungs. He conscientiously ignored the pain in his legs and shoulders, staring fixedly at the ground, keeping breathing. Staying conscious.
A silence fell upon his captors that could only have been caused by a signal. There were footsteps of a figure making their way leisurely across the snow.
"Raise him."
Harry was dragged upwards but his legs would not support him. An arm clamped across his chest, holding him up.
A finger slipped under his chin and raised his head up. A thin white face tipped inquisitively to the side regarded his own with unbridled curiosity.
"What is that makes you so special, Harry Potter?" a lipless mouth murmured.
Harry coughed weakly, but managed a reply.
"It's my amazing charm, wit and charisma, haven't you noticed?"
The corners of his mouth twitched upwards in the faintest of a smile, but Voldemort's face remained impassive.
Harry stared unblinkingly into deep crimson resonance. He waited expectantly, wanting to know what Voldemort was looking for.
It was strange, though... there was no hatred on Voldemort' face; no cruelty, no anger, no malice... nothing that Harry could associate with chalk skin and snake eyes. Harry's puzzlement was genuine, and any fear had been washed away in the backlog of adrenaline. He was completely occupied as to why
Voldemort looked so innately focused.
Was there... regret?
They stood that way for a long, long time. Harry could feel something from these fuchsia eyes... it seemed saddened, fearful but accepting, regretful of an era of history gone that couldn't be brought back.
They were stood on a flat floor of grey sand, the sky above them was black and starless. There was no snow, no blood, no Death Eaters. No pain.
Two enemies stood there, looking at each other, and Harry realised he felt exactly the same as Voldemort did.
"Am I your equal?" he murmured, and Voldemort inclined his head.
There was a strange sense of solid finality in the air, but this was far from over.
Voldemort was clothed in his robes of dusty black that hung from his thin frame. Harry could feel a Dudley-sized t-shirt and a pair of jeans on his own form.
He broke the eye contact, and it hurt him to do so, in a sorrowful way.
"I'm sorry," Harry muttered.
Voldemort turned away from Harry, and Harry took a few paces forward to stand by him. It was brotherly, in a way. They looked at a window of time; they saw Hogsmeade from above, a bustling village of activity. Harry reached out to touch it; the image rippled around his fingertips, like calm mercury. It was liquid cool.
He noticed his arm seemed longer than he expected; looking down at himself, he saw that Dudley's old clothes fitted him a lot better than they should have. Not completely, of course, unless Harry was going to grow into a pregnant hippo, but the shoulders fitted him neatly and the sleeves did not drop further than his bicep. The bottom of the t-shirt hung just below waist level. The jeans fit better; held up with a belt, they outlined his legs. Originally, as a child, they made him look at if he were walking on two columns of air, so voluminous was the material, but now they suggested that flesh and bone might reside underneath. Harry examined himself with frank fascination, and glanced over to Voldemort to discover that he didn't have to look up as far to meet his enemy's eyes. He'd grown taller.
There was puzzlement in Harry's eyes. Voldemort turned back to the image of Hogsmeade. Harry looked too, only to discover that he was looking into a still silver mirror.
He had grown.
Face leaner, eyes darker, hair longer. Limbs elongated, chest and shoulders broader, hands wider. Harry touched the scar on his forehead; it was the only thing that seemed the same.
He said nothing. There was no air here; the sound would not travel.
He was wrong.
"You grew," said Voldemort. His voice was calm.
"How?"
Harry's voice was deeper.
Voldemort raised his head a little.
"You grew."
Harry turned back to the mirror to find it had metamorphosed once more. It was now a picture of Harry lying, silent and undisturbed. Illuminated by a beam of silver moonlight, his form was highlighted in a chiaroscuro of light and dark; shadow and relief. These physical changes, Harry noticed, were reflected in this form.
I used to seem ten years old, he thought. Maybe I broke free from this. I think I let go. I think... I think maybe I grew. Everywhere. On the inside... and so the outside. Or maybe I realised that I had grown anyway, and just couldn't see it before.
He turned his head to find Voldemort staring at him. They turned once more to face each other, barely a foot apart.
"You and I are separate creatures," said Voldemort levelly, "And you have grown into your status. We are now truly equal."
He took a step backwards into an encroaching blackfog.
"Life will not change," he continued, "For our enmity. You are now grown; I tried to stop it, in both the mental and the physical, and I have failed. I can only hope to defeat you on the battlefield."
"Is that... is this it?"
Harry felt a sense of regret, and he had no idea why. Perhaps he had lost that naive innocence that all children had, that shielded them from the wider view. Pros: nothing mattered as much. Cons: nothing mattered as much. There was loss. But then again, there was life.
"Yes, Harry Potter. We are now fully each other's equal; either you or I will die in confrontation. I pray it will be you first."
Voldemort was gone.
Harry stood for a moment in the black emptiness. His body felt stronger, lithe, like he'd built some muscle.
He was Voldemort's equal; he was a man. Voldemort had said so himself.
He was ten no more.
Perhaps now he could fight properly.
Harry had floated in that blankness for a while, not completely unaware. There was a new sensation trickling through his body, melting into his muscles, tissues and organs. It felt like cool metal. Harry didn't fight it. He didn't know how.
Just as this feeling had covered his entire body, he felt a presence nearby.
With some effort, he dragged his consciousness upwards. He opened his eyes onto a new day, and exhaled slowly.
His memory told him that it had been a dream. His mind told him it hadn't.
Harry levered himself upwards, expecting the old scream of over-tired muscles, but instead there was a surge of fresh, new energy that gave (not lent... there was no interest to be paid on this... it was all his own energy) him the power to sit up without pain or exhaustion.
Harry locked his hands behind his back, straightened his arms and tipped is neck back as far as it would go. His neck gave up a few loud cricks, and Harry reached for his glasses.
They were placed into his hand for him.
Harry stared at Snape for a couple of long seconds. "Morning," he said at last. Snape did not reply.
Harry gave it up as a bad job and swung his legs out of bed. He paused for a second to regain his balance; his centre of gravity appeared to have shifted overnight. Harry stood up very slowly, trying to adjust to his seemingly new height - everything seemed to be on his normal eye-level, but his body refused to give up the idea that it had gotten taller. This confused him a lot and he wobbled for a second.
Snape was suddenly at his elbow, reaching out to catch him. Harry found his balance again and stood up straight. He turned, about to demand answers from his teacher.
Snape's eyes met him on his own level. Harry's question halted before it reached his mouth. Since when had he been as tall as Snape?
Harry then said the only coherent thing that had been playing through his brain.
"What the hell is going on?"
zafaran: Thanks!
Noone: I'm trying to get back on track, so watch this space. : )
leigh: Hey, Leigh! No sweat.
chip: I'm back, and I'm updating soon! Say hi to Dale for me.
Fate: Thanks! Yes, it's nearly finished. I hope you'll like the ending.
Shinigami Clara: Yep. Bright side ahoy! Give it a couple of chapters. To be honest, I've kind of stopped liking this story, so it's just as well that it's nearly finished.
Toki Mirage: Sorry for the wait... I'm working on it!
Kalorna Enera: The end is in sight... he won't go crazy, but he /will/ grow up. To be honest, I think it's about bloody time. Is it possible to get bored of your own story?
The Wyrd Sister: Thanks!
lackykaDz: Updating!
Read300300: They should make a Snape action figure with a warning: 'DANGER - this figure may make you nasty, sarcastic, vicious, and give you the temperament of a menstrual rhino.' What do you think?
It's weird being so young on a site filled with people who seem at least twent years older... still, it does mean that it's an ego trip when the say 'You're only fifteen!'
TeahLeafs: Thanks! I hope you don't hate me for making you wait, what was it? Two months? for an update.
As for the map - I wanted to leave my way clear for a sequel, should I ever decide to write one. The map may be something I could pick up on, instead of starting a new story from scratch.
I'm sorry I made you guys wait so long. And I always try to respond to my reviewers, because you're all too valuable for me to just skim over. I love you guys out there! bursts into tears
Shading in Grey: Hey there. I apologise for the long wait.
You can really see Ginny's intelligence begin to shine through in the fifth book - the way she can formulate lies quickly and effectively.
I'm glad you like the last chapter, and I hope you like the next one!
samuraiduck27: Thanks! I have to admit, on the one-year-and-one-month anniversary of this fic, that I can see where suicidal!Harry fics are coming from. I don't think I would ever be able to wrte one, but there you go.
Sorry to keep you waiting, and be warned: the end is nigh for this fic...
Adenara Yatman: Thanks!
MoonGirlGin: Sorry for the long wait...
StepfordShipper: I quite like porridge... yes, I know, I'm strange...
Pleione: Thanks!
saiyanwizardgurl: No problem! Updating as quickly as I can!
sockie: I'm so sorry for not updating, or anything... forgive me?
Are you nuts? I know for a fact I am a packet of salted peanuts, but I don't know about you. ; )
leggylover03: Sorry for the wait...
seastones88: "That to me was the greatest touchy feely scene I have ever read on fanfiction."? Oo-er. No, I know what you mean. Thanks - it means a lot.
I want to go to Bittersweet Candyland... it sounds too fun to miss.
PadfootsNoxed: Updating! Sorry for the wait...
Strega: I kinda like porridge, even though it looks disgusting.
Snape probably thinks Harry is far from harmless, but he's an eveil git. Still, you can't help but love 'im.
Is it fair to say that Harry is, in fact, a pawn? He's being manouvered by Dumbledore, by his friends (in some cases) and undoubtedly by the Ministry when they try to get their hand in (see third book)? Poor kid can never do what he wants, espcially in OOTP.
Breanna Senese: It's funny you should say that, considering what's coming in the next chapter...
HPfreakout: Thanks! Sorry for the wait.
ckat44: Thanks! I'll update as soon as I can.