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hackthis_archiveStranger than your sympathy, this is my apology.
-Goo Good Dolls
Harry Potter
Manifesting Destiny: A Three Part Story
I:Git
II: Feckless
III: Eejit
The blood on Harry’s hands is drying and sticky, but it doesn’t matter.
The robes that hang in tatters around his frame are irrelevant, and the smell of his singed hair will not linger in his nostrils for the next fifty years of his life. Harry has no regrets: the obvious regrets are too big to ever be forgotten and the smaller ones are irrelevant.
It is springtime in England, and the sky is a maudlin gray. The land around Godric’s Hollow is wet. And wet. Rain, tears, blood, spells. There are countless bodies strewn less than one kilometre from where Harry’s parents died, and they will be removed in time or left to fertilise the land. Perhaps the Medi-Wizards will arrive soon. Perhaps the Muggles have noticed the stench in the air. Perhaps not.
Several centuries ago Godric’s Hollow was a burial ground for the Druids, and people just can’t help but die there. Harry does not know this, nor would he care if he did.
He thinks it’s important not to care. It’s his choice.
He’s learning that choices like this are necessary. For example: he chose to win. And so they did.
He won. They won.
Harry has done what he was destined to do, and he will always want to remember this. So he lays down in the mud and dreck and blood, and bangs his head on a small rock. Because he can, by his choice.
::
There is a great deal of difference between the person you are at sixteen, when your parents are dead, and your guardian has disappeared through a fucking doorway into oblivion, and you are tired of being kept out of the important decisions. And the person you are at twenty years, seven months and thirteen days, when you have killed everyone within a two kilometre radius, just to be on the safe side because Voldemort has learned how inhabit bodies besides his own. Harry doesn't remember Switching Spells being so effective, but he tries not to remember a lot of things.
After all, Harry will be awarded the Order of Merlin for mass murder. There's something wrong with that.
Ron was not supposed to be at the last battle. Nor were Luna and Seamus and Justin-Finch Fletchley, who Harry will never be able to call by his first name. Never Justin, or Finch-Fletchley, always Justin Finch-Fletchley, who is dead and will not be marrying Ginny now that the war is over.
Harry didn’t know they were there. They weren’t supposed to be.
But now Harry knows, and he can see things clearer than he did before.
The person you are now is not the person you will become in the future, and Harry has to wonder what life will be like when he’s completely lost the plot.
::
There is an ancient belief, perhaps Native American, that sins are manifested in the form of rocks.
There are people who eat rocks as a way of absolving other people of their sins.
When people are on the verge of dying, these rock-eaters swallow rocks representing this person’s sins so that the dying souls can pass onto the next world with a clean soul.
Some people say you will know a Sineater when you meet one, because the rocks in their stomach clink together when they move.
::
Harry knows the legend of the Sineaters but he can’t recall learning it. He doesn’t actually remember all of it, just bits and pieces, but that can be said about most of his memories anyway. The Muggles call it post-traumatic something or other, but Harry supposes that’s not really important considering that most of the people he used to care about are dead now. And even though the owls keep coming, he can’t be bothered to answer them.
One day a strange bird, that is quite clearly not an owl, arrives. Its beak is hooked and rather large, and it ruffles its blue feathers in distaste when Harry offers it a piece of toast. Harry has no idea what tropical birds eat. Instead he relieves the bird of the straw bag wrapped around its leg and watches as it takes off through a window that Harry doesn’t remember opening in the first place.
When he opens the straw parcel several smooth pebbles fall out and one rolls over the table and clatters onto the lino. There is no signature on the enclosed parchment, but the green ink couldn’t possibly be from anyone else, and Harry remembers dreaming about eating stones.
The note says ‘thinking of you.’
::
Malfoy arrives on a Wednesday. Or perhaps a Thursday. Harry’s not really sure, the Prophets have piled up all over the flat, and he doesn’t really pay attention to the dates anymore, just flips open to the Obituary section and reads about who else is gone. Strangely enough, today, that doesn't seem important, considering that Harry’s currently got a turncoat Death Eater puttering around his kitchen.
Malfoy is tanner than Harry has ever seen anyone, and his hair is a strange white-gold. Quite clearly preternatural.
“Am I dead yet?” Harry says, leaning heavily against the doorway. His hip is bony and it aches when he bangs it against the wood frame. Malfoy’s back is to him, and he doesn’t flinch at all when Harry speaks.
The kettle begins to shriek, and Malfoy moves around Harry’s kitchen as though it’s his own. “Not yet, but not terribly far either from the looks of you. I’ve seen corpses with more life. Tea?”
“Yes. White, please, with one.”
Malfoy opens and closes the refrigerator without the slightest hesitation, as though he knows exactly how all these Muggle appliances work. Perhaps he does, Harry simply never gave it much thought. He just assumed. Of course Harry also assumed that Malfoy would never betrayed his Dark Lord either, which just goes to shows exactly how little Harry knows, in point of fact.
The scrape of a chair being pulled out yanks Harry out his reverie. “Have a seat,” Malfoy says, sipping from a chipped red mug.
Harry’s feet are clumsy and strange, and he trips into the available chair more by accident than anything else. They drink their tea in silence for several seconds before Malfoy speaks. “Are you sorry yet, Potter?”
Harry snorts into his tea. “No. But I’m getting there.”
“You’re a fucking idiot, Potter, has anyone told you that yet? I suppose not, considering you are The Hero and have saved everyone from a fate worse than your smug arse.” Malfoy shakes his head, before taking another sip of tea. ”Merlin’s beard, you’d think you’d be a bit happier about this winning bit. All right people died, but that’s what happens in war in case someone forgot to tell you.”
“I didn’t forget. I killed them.”
“Yes, and I suppose you'll want a medal for that as well before long. Get over yourself, Potter. You’ll be better for it.” Surprisingly enough, Malfoy’s tone isn’t condescending or harsh. In fact, it’s almost sympathetic, and when Harry looks at Malfoy’s he’s taken aback by the wry grin.
“Sorry,” Harry says when he manages to spill a third of his tea down his front.
Malfoy’s mouth twists, this time into a smirk, and he places his mug on the table with some finality. “Not yet, Potter, you're getting there. Stranger things have happened: there might be hope for you yet.”
-finis-
Notes: I am ungrateful swine who doesn’t deserve her, but this is dedicated to Kassie who made the entire story come together with her enormous capacity to remember all sorts of shit. I’m sorry I’m such an evil bitch. Mordred, guilt is a fucked emotion.
Also, taking a blatant idea from my girl, I need some icons. Like um,Warrior Angel or Everwood (show me the Bright-love) or Maggie and Thandie are always good or ooooh Viggo and Ewan as Remus and Sirius or whatever. Whatever the hell, you lot wanna make.
-Goo Good Dolls
Harry Potter
Manifesting Destiny: A Three Part Story
I:Git
II: Feckless
III: Eejit
The blood on Harry’s hands is drying and sticky, but it doesn’t matter.
The robes that hang in tatters around his frame are irrelevant, and the smell of his singed hair will not linger in his nostrils for the next fifty years of his life. Harry has no regrets: the obvious regrets are too big to ever be forgotten and the smaller ones are irrelevant.
It is springtime in England, and the sky is a maudlin gray. The land around Godric’s Hollow is wet. And wet. Rain, tears, blood, spells. There are countless bodies strewn less than one kilometre from where Harry’s parents died, and they will be removed in time or left to fertilise the land. Perhaps the Medi-Wizards will arrive soon. Perhaps the Muggles have noticed the stench in the air. Perhaps not.
Several centuries ago Godric’s Hollow was a burial ground for the Druids, and people just can’t help but die there. Harry does not know this, nor would he care if he did.
He thinks it’s important not to care. It’s his choice.
He’s learning that choices like this are necessary. For example: he chose to win. And so they did.
He won. They won.
Harry has done what he was destined to do, and he will always want to remember this. So he lays down in the mud and dreck and blood, and bangs his head on a small rock. Because he can, by his choice.
::
There is a great deal of difference between the person you are at sixteen, when your parents are dead, and your guardian has disappeared through a fucking doorway into oblivion, and you are tired of being kept out of the important decisions. And the person you are at twenty years, seven months and thirteen days, when you have killed everyone within a two kilometre radius, just to be on the safe side because Voldemort has learned how inhabit bodies besides his own. Harry doesn't remember Switching Spells being so effective, but he tries not to remember a lot of things.
After all, Harry will be awarded the Order of Merlin for mass murder. There's something wrong with that.
Ron was not supposed to be at the last battle. Nor were Luna and Seamus and Justin-Finch Fletchley, who Harry will never be able to call by his first name. Never Justin, or Finch-Fletchley, always Justin Finch-Fletchley, who is dead and will not be marrying Ginny now that the war is over.
Harry didn’t know they were there. They weren’t supposed to be.
But now Harry knows, and he can see things clearer than he did before.
The person you are now is not the person you will become in the future, and Harry has to wonder what life will be like when he’s completely lost the plot.
::
There is an ancient belief, perhaps Native American, that sins are manifested in the form of rocks.
There are people who eat rocks as a way of absolving other people of their sins.
When people are on the verge of dying, these rock-eaters swallow rocks representing this person’s sins so that the dying souls can pass onto the next world with a clean soul.
Some people say you will know a Sineater when you meet one, because the rocks in their stomach clink together when they move.
::
Harry knows the legend of the Sineaters but he can’t recall learning it. He doesn’t actually remember all of it, just bits and pieces, but that can be said about most of his memories anyway. The Muggles call it post-traumatic something or other, but Harry supposes that’s not really important considering that most of the people he used to care about are dead now. And even though the owls keep coming, he can’t be bothered to answer them.
One day a strange bird, that is quite clearly not an owl, arrives. Its beak is hooked and rather large, and it ruffles its blue feathers in distaste when Harry offers it a piece of toast. Harry has no idea what tropical birds eat. Instead he relieves the bird of the straw bag wrapped around its leg and watches as it takes off through a window that Harry doesn’t remember opening in the first place.
When he opens the straw parcel several smooth pebbles fall out and one rolls over the table and clatters onto the lino. There is no signature on the enclosed parchment, but the green ink couldn’t possibly be from anyone else, and Harry remembers dreaming about eating stones.
The note says ‘thinking of you.’
::
Malfoy arrives on a Wednesday. Or perhaps a Thursday. Harry’s not really sure, the Prophets have piled up all over the flat, and he doesn’t really pay attention to the dates anymore, just flips open to the Obituary section and reads about who else is gone. Strangely enough, today, that doesn't seem important, considering that Harry’s currently got a turncoat Death Eater puttering around his kitchen.
Malfoy is tanner than Harry has ever seen anyone, and his hair is a strange white-gold. Quite clearly preternatural.
“Am I dead yet?” Harry says, leaning heavily against the doorway. His hip is bony and it aches when he bangs it against the wood frame. Malfoy’s back is to him, and he doesn’t flinch at all when Harry speaks.
The kettle begins to shriek, and Malfoy moves around Harry’s kitchen as though it’s his own. “Not yet, but not terribly far either from the looks of you. I’ve seen corpses with more life. Tea?”
“Yes. White, please, with one.”
Malfoy opens and closes the refrigerator without the slightest hesitation, as though he knows exactly how all these Muggle appliances work. Perhaps he does, Harry simply never gave it much thought. He just assumed. Of course Harry also assumed that Malfoy would never betrayed his Dark Lord either, which just goes to shows exactly how little Harry knows, in point of fact.
The scrape of a chair being pulled out yanks Harry out his reverie. “Have a seat,” Malfoy says, sipping from a chipped red mug.
Harry’s feet are clumsy and strange, and he trips into the available chair more by accident than anything else. They drink their tea in silence for several seconds before Malfoy speaks. “Are you sorry yet, Potter?”
Harry snorts into his tea. “No. But I’m getting there.”
“You’re a fucking idiot, Potter, has anyone told you that yet? I suppose not, considering you are The Hero and have saved everyone from a fate worse than your smug arse.” Malfoy shakes his head, before taking another sip of tea. ”Merlin’s beard, you’d think you’d be a bit happier about this winning bit. All right people died, but that’s what happens in war in case someone forgot to tell you.”
“I didn’t forget. I killed them.”
“Yes, and I suppose you'll want a medal for that as well before long. Get over yourself, Potter. You’ll be better for it.” Surprisingly enough, Malfoy’s tone isn’t condescending or harsh. In fact, it’s almost sympathetic, and when Harry looks at Malfoy’s he’s taken aback by the wry grin.
“Sorry,” Harry says when he manages to spill a third of his tea down his front.
Malfoy’s mouth twists, this time into a smirk, and he places his mug on the table with some finality. “Not yet, Potter, you're getting there. Stranger things have happened: there might be hope for you yet.”
-finis-
Notes: I am ungrateful swine who doesn’t deserve her, but this is dedicated to Kassie who made the entire story come together with her enormous capacity to remember all sorts of shit. I’m sorry I’m such an evil bitch. Mordred, guilt is a fucked emotion.
Also, taking a blatant idea from my girl, I need some icons. Like um,
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 01:15 pm (UTC)Gorgeous, gorgeous, so gorgeous. I love the details, and how you indicate so much with just a few carefully chosen words. Every sentence perfectly reveals just enough.
Lovely.
no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 02:18 pm (UTC)Gorgeous, gorgeous, so gorgeous. I love the details, and how you indicate so much with just a few carefully chosen words. Every sentence perfectly reveals just enough.
Lovely.
*hugs* Thank you so much, I'm glad you liked it.
no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 01:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 01:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 01:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 01:48 pm (UTC)*secret slytherin handshake*
no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 01:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 02:47 pm (UTC)It's all good, no worries!
no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 01:47 pm (UTC)Everything is everything.
I think I might use the sin eating in a fic, too. What if it was a Divination thing? Like some people can See by eating the sins of others? Sort of like psychic vampirism. Which reminds me of The Vampire Church website. That place used to crack me up.
Anyway. I will have to drabble for my icons, so we'll see what happens.
no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 02:48 pm (UTC)I didn't make you an icons, but write me some True Heir, bitch. And some Remus/Sirius. Please?
no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 01:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 01:56 pm (UTC)Weren't you supposed to make me some like forever ago? You love her more than me! *diva all over livejournal* No one loves me! I'm going to delete my journal!
You should answer my plea; I will drabble for you, too. lol
no subject
Date: 2003-07-12 12:35 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-07-12 07:08 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-07-12 11:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 02:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 01:59 pm (UTC)any use? :)
no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 04:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 02:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 02:50 pm (UTC)It's all
no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 02:31 pm (UTC)You may need to cut and paste thes URL into your browser rather than click on them, BTW.
Icons:
http://www.geocities.com/meretsv/comicforzahrafrommeret.jpg
http://www.geocities.com/meretsv/warriorangelfrommeret.jpg
Illustrations:
http://www.geocities.com/meretsv/wr.ang.gif
http://www.geocities.com/meretsv/devilicius.gif
no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 02:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 04:07 pm (UTC)meret118@netscape.net
no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 04:28 pm (UTC)meret118@netscape.net
*bounces up and down* look! look! and i did a special post to show off the new threads! {{{{{hugs}}}}}
no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 05:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-11 05:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-12 12:36 am (UTC)He's my sooper sekrit boyfriend.
no subject
Date: 2003-07-12 05:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-14 09:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-14 03:31 pm (UTC)This story is a bit strange, but I quite like it and I'm glad you enjoyed it. Thank you so much for commenting!
no subject
Date: 2003-07-14 01:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-16 08:04 am (UTC)Of the three fics, I liked this line the best:
The person you are now is not the person you will become in the future, and Harry has to wonder what life will be like when he’s completely lost the plot.