Chapter 21: A Date With the Potion

The Daily Prophet

Friday                                            Sunrise Edition

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Harry Potter Accused of Murder

    Thursday, The Ministry of Magic accused Happy Potter of the double homicide of his house elf and his wife.   Upon detecting the use of an Unforgivable Curse at Mr. Potter's residence, the Ministry sent aurors to investigate.  The door to Mr. Potter's house was open.  Kreacher, Potter's house elf, was found in the kitchen.  He had been killed by an Unforgivable Curse, so evil, we're unable to print its name.

    It was determined that the spell had been cast by either Mr. Potter's wand or one identical to it.  For that reason, the Ministry would like to question Harry Potter about the death of his House elf.

    A crypt was also constructed on the grounds of Hogwarts School for Wizards.  The same wand used in the death of the elf was used to construct the crypt.  Although no one has been able to open the crypt, it is suspected to contain the remains of Colin Creevey Potter.  The Ministry also wishes to question Potter in the death of his wife.

    The Ministry requests that anyone with knowledge of the whereabouts of Harry Potter contact the Ministry.  Do not try to apprehend this fugitive.  He is believed to be armed and dangerous.  An indictment is forthcoming.

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An indictment against him for killing Kreacher?  Would they charge him next with the murder of Voldemort?  Didn't the Ministry realize they were in a war, where rules made no sense?  The enemy didn't follow them. 

Yes, Harry had murdered Kreacher; but the elf had been responsible for Colin's death.  He had deserved to die.  What did it matter how Harry had killed him?  Besides, an Avada Kedavra Curse was the only way to kill a house elf. Should he have turned him over to a ministry that couldn't even keep the prisoners it already had?  Harry didn't trust the Ministry of Magic.  He especially didn't trust the Minister. 

But to charge him with the murder of Colin -- that was ludicrous.

Harry was hiding out in the Shrieking Shack.  Only a few people were aware of the passageway from it to Hogwarts.  Unfortunately, Ron was one of them; and apparently Ron had betrayed him.  Voldemort had as much said that.

He and Ron had been friends since they'd met on that first train ride to Hogwarts.  Believing Ron deserved the chance to prove his friendship, Harry sent Hedwig to the Burrow with a message: Meet me at Colin's tomb at Hogwarts tonight at midnight.

Harry would wait elsewhere, hidden in his invisibility cloak -- watching.  If Ron came alone, Harry could trust him.  If he brought aurors -- or Death Eaters -- Harry would know who the traitor had been.

Ron didn't show, but aurors did.  Harry knew who had betrayed him -- Ron, who he'd loved like a brother.  How could he trust any of the Weasleys?  First Ginny had betrayed him; now Ron had.  Hermione was the only one of his friends who hadn't; but she loved Ron.  Harry knew who she would choose, if put to the test.  He hadn't felt so alone, since he had first come to Hogwarts.

He'd been hiding for over a week.  In five more days, he would have his date with the potion.

Harry often wandered the hallways of Hogwarts at night.  Even though he couldn't have been seen during the day while covered by his invisibility cloak, he might have bumped into someone in the crowded hallways.  One night, he looked at his Marauder's map, as he had often before, looking for Ginny.  She was in the library.  Only a few other student were present.

He couldn't have explained why he looked for her, except that he had once loved her.  But the emotions he felt for her now were conflicted.  One moment, he hated her.  The next, all he wanted was for her to love him.  He'd lived the first eleven years of his life without love, not knowing what it was to be loved.  To live without it now -- after having been loved -- was harder still.  But even if he could trust her, he couldn't take the chance of loving her.  All he loved, died.  His love was a death sentence.

Still, he went to the library.  Ginny and another girl were sitting in the back, talking in hushed tones.  Harry had seen the other girl before -- a Ravenclaw girl, he thought -- but couldn't remember her name.  Ginny was pregnant, just as Ron had said, and since she wasn't in her robe, it was obvious.  Almost six months pregnant, she would be showing.. He walked over, close enough to overhear their conversation.

"-- none of my business," the other girl was saying, "but if Dean's the father, why aren't you marrying him?"

"Dean blames me for being neutered," said Ginny.  "Beside, would you want to marry a boy who had no cock?  Kind of defeats the whole reason for getting married, doesn't it?

"Yeah, wouldn't it?" said the other girl.  "I'm thinking about marrying Gregg Smithers, but we're going to wait until we graduate from Hogwarts.  You're going to have to leave school pretty soon, aren't you?

"Yeah, said Ginny, "in a couple of months or so."

"I don't mean to be nosey, " Didn't the busybodies always say that? thought Harry. "but why did you even come back to school this year?"

"What was I suppose to do? asked Ginny, "Sit around at home all day?"

"Dean said it wasn't his kid -- that it was Harry Potter's kid,"  said the girl.  Harry took a step closer.

"It's not Harry Potter's child," said Ginny, raising her voice loud enough so that others in the library looked up from their books.  "If I'd been pregnant with Harry Potter's kid, I would have aborted it.  He married a boy. Do you think I'd want a queer's child? Besides, you've seen the Daily Prophet.  He's not the hero everyone thought he was.

"Do you really think that Harry Potter is a murderer?" asked the girl.

"He might have killed Kreacher.  There were times I wanted to kill that elf myself, but I don't think he would have killed Colin.  I think he loved him."

"What do you think about his marrying a boy?  After all, Harry was once your boyfriend."

"He had his reasons I guess, or maybe he wasn't ever the man I thought he was."

Harry walked away.  He'd heard enough.  So, if she had been pregnant with his kid, she would have aborted it.  Had Harry ever really known Ginny?  He thought about using an abort spell on her, but maybe it would serve her right to have Dean Thomas's child. 

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Harry hadn't known what to expect.  He had supposed that his genitals would just fall off, but that's not how it was.  It hurt.  It couldn't have hurt more if they'd been cut off with a knife.  It burned, like it had that first day he'd dipped them into the potion.  His genitals hadn't fallen off all at once.  When the burning had started, he had clawed at his trousers to get at his genitals, the pain had been so great.

His genitals began peeling off from the top, as if pulled off by their weight.  First his cock dropped off, then his balls, sack and all, leaving a gaping wound, which rapidly closed.  He had a pee hole, but, higher, up where his cock had been, not down between his legs.

Harry was in the dungeon.  He'd taken the potion from where he'd hidden it.  About the same time the pain in his groin had begun, the potion had begun bubbling, a wisp of smoke curling from its beaker.  When he had recovered enough from the pain, Harry picked his genitals up off the floor, looking down at his crotch as he did.

It was smooth, except for pubic hair, which covered it except for where his genitals had been.  That area -- hairless -- was red, but the red of an inflamed wound, not the bright red of the potion.  Harry dropped his cock and balls into the potion.  With a huge flash of red flame, accompanied by a mushroom cloud of smoke, the potion was reduced to a small amount of liquid in the bottom of the beaker, no more than a swallow.  He saw no sign of his genitals, just a red murky liquid in which an occasional bubble appeared.

Having come this far -- having sacrificed his genitals for this --  there was nothing left, but to drink it.  But, what if it weren't really a Potion of Power?  What if it were nothing but a joke Snape had included in his book of potions?  Still, Harry had no other choice but to drink.  At the most, it would kill him.  Harry wasn't certain that would be the worst possible outcome.

Intense cold was the first sensation Harry felt when he poured the potion down his throat.  Once it reached his stomach, the cold spread throughout his body to his extremities.  Was this how death felt?  Harry didn't know how he could be so cold, yet live.  He collapsed onto the floor, unable to see or hear.  He must be dead, but he was aware.  His spirit still existed.

Harry didn't know how long he lay in that state.  The cold had subsided; only nothingness was left.  He felt trapped inside a body that could neither see, hear, or feel.  Death had seemed the worst possibility, but -- if this were not death -- it was worse.  Only madness could result from an eternity of such imprisonment.

Then, somewhere, in the center of that nothingness, a spark was struck, igniting an ember.  As if blown on, it glowed brighter, spreading warmth throughout the body that Harry once again felt.  It was if he had died, then been reborn.  With the warmth, came a sense of power, a strength Harry had never felt before.  When the warmth had reached his eyes, he could see once again; and he could hear -- hear things he'd never heard before.  All his senses were sharper, even his sense of smell.  He could smell the rat that scurried across the far end of the room.

He looked at his hands.  They were pale, with just a tint of silver to them.  His legs were, too.  And his groin was bare, devoid of hair.  His skin resembled that of a snake, hairless with a slick, scale-like feel to it.  Harry raised his hand to his face.  His lips were thinner -- his nose flatter -- but not as flat as Voldemort's, whose nose was no more than two slits in his face.

Wondering what he looked like, Harry conjured up a mirror.  He didn't need his wand.  He wanted a mirror, and one hung in the air before him.  Voldemort looked back at him -- not the Voldemort of today, but a younger, more human Voldemort, as he might have looked before he had divided his soul into seven parts, when he still had some humanity left.  If he looked hard enough, he could still see a resemblance to the old Harry Potter -- if he could get past the red eyes.  Harry's eyes were red, the same red of the potion.

Harry still felt cold -- but only in his heart.  All warmth had been driven from it -- along with the capacity to love -- along with the need to be loved.  The potion had robbed him of much of his humanity, but what of it?  Were they not to be pitied, those more human wizards with their frailties -- with their needs?  Harry no longer needed to be loved.  He needed no one.  Constricted by the potion, his heart had no room for love -- only room for hate.

He would revenge himself -- on Voldemort and on all those who had hurt him.  The world had hailed Harry Potter as its savior -- then had called him murderer.  Soon, it would call him, Master.