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Harry Potter - The Curse of Undeath
AN:
Originally, i had intended for this story to be much, much longer, but i ended up deciding to make it shorter. The story takes place during year 4, the triwizard tournament, a year that i feel like has been milked dry by the fanfic community enough as it is. As i was writing, i found myself wanting to get along with the plot instead of writing about every single incessant little occurrence that i could write about which happens during the 4th year.
When you read this story, you will notice there is ALOT of timeskips. This is completely intentional, as ive read so many fanfics about the 4th year its enough to make me sick, so much that i get conniptions just writing about the 4th year myself. There is a lot of things that happen between the scenes, so to speak, and i do try and tell that in a manner that feels natural for the readers, but i wouldn't be surprised if certain parts of the story feels rushed.
I had intended to write into the 5th year as well, but IF i eventually do, then it will be a separate story, but sequel to this one. I haven't decided yet if i want to though.
So, why chose to begin at 4th year? I had an idea, and it was that idea that i wanted to build upon, and that idea begun at 4th year. I don't have a better nor worse excuse than that, so that is how it is. I got the idea from Total War: Warhammer game that came out a good while ago and i instantly fell in love with the Vampire Counts faction that you can play as, a faction of the undead specializing in necromancy.
Interest peeked, i looked into the Harry Potter fanfics to see if there was a good story about necromancy, and to my surprise i found nearly nothing. I ended up wanting to write something myself that was original, but still clearly what many will perceive to be 'Necromancy'.
One thing though:
The story is, if you didn't catch onto the hints, quite progressively dark, but not as much as i had originally intended. What the main character does in my stories are in no way a reflection of my personal beliefs or values, its just a character i have created. Nothing more.
If people have any questions il try to answer as best as i can, but im in the middle of moving into a new place so i promise nothing.
Anyways, chapter 1, ENJOY!
Chapter 1 Under the Skin
He should not have been surprised. Really.
He should not have been surprised that Ron's jealousy would get the better of him, but it still stung when Ron condemned him for a slight he was not even guilty of.
The worst part was, Ron had been with him all the way since the beginning. He'd been there when they found Sirius, during the events of the chamber of secrets and during first year with the possessed Quirell.
Every year they'd drawn the shortest stick yet stayed together, and finally it seemed like Ron fell into line with the rest of everyone Harry knew.
He didn't know what to think of Hermoine. She seemed to believe him, but effectively washed her hands off both of them, not wanting anything to do with their argument. Harry could understand her, but he was still disappointed. She still had other friends as an alternative, Harry did not.
Days passed this way, people whispering behind his back, scoffing at him whenever he passed. Snide remarks became an increasing occurrence and Harry found himself more and more withdrawn from everyone else.
You'd think friends would show a little more loyalty than this, but it seems getting picked unwillingly for a tournament he was obviously much too young to join and frankly does in no way have the skill to cheat his way into is enough for everyone he knew to throw away their morals and abandon one of their own.
Harry found himself growing angry with them.
He was angry with his friends for leaving him alone, he was angry with the faculty for not stepping in and he was angry with himself for ever having placed trust in them.
When he was first shown the 'Potter stinks' badges that more or less everyone in school just a week later was wearing by Malfoy, along with some snide remarks, Harry couldn't help but hate them.
He found himself stewing with cold anger, outwardly ignoring everyone yet burning inside.
As class ended Friday noon, Harry quickly packed his books from history class and swiftly left the area before anyone could bother him. People had been particularly vicious that day. Some had even thrown things at him and Harry really needed to get away before he snapped and hurt someone.
Wandering for some time, Harry quickly realized that finding a secluded location Friday noon after school was incredibly difficult, if not impossible. Couples looking to be alone with each other had already claimed every corner of the school, and unless Harry decided to brave the forbidden forest for some time alone, he'd obviously share his self-imposed exile with undesired company.
Against his better judgement, he eventually found himself in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
Closing the door behind himself Harry drew a long and shuddering breath before finding a dry place to sit down in the wide bathroom.
He was tired of this. Tired of the stares and simple minded bullying.
Looking over the bathroom, a small smile tugged at his lips. While it was here the entrance to the chamber of secrets laid from which he had some memories he would much rather forget, it was also here Hermoine had brewed the Polyjuice potion when they intended to spy on Draco.
Thinking of Hermoine and Ron brought a wave of depression and Harry found himself thinking about other things very quickly.
Looking towards the sink where he knew the entrance to the Chamber of Secret were, Harry found his curiosity building. Last time he'd been there, he had not taken the time to really look around down there.
Standing up, Harry stretched and frowned towards the sink.
It was not like he had anything better to do. Dumbledore would have never allowed him to go down there...
...But Dumbledore had done nothing to help him either.
Glaring coldly, Harry walked towards the sink and spoke the same words he'd opened the path with the last time.
Nobody knew, that in the coming months, a horror was born.
It was dark, much darker than what Harry could remember the chamber being. Despite the tunnels ominous appearance, Harry found himself welcoming the complete and utter silence.
Making his way clumsily through the narrow tunnels, Harry's eyes eventually adjusted to the dark and Harry quickly recognized the layout around him. He remembered it like it had been yesterday, when he'd scrambled across the ground, scurrying through the tunnels on his escape from the basilisk.
Pushing away the dread that followed the memories, Harry pushed on towards where he knew the basilisk laid.
Finding the wide and somewhat brighter lit room, the picture of Salazar still upon the wall, the Basilisk laid the exact same place he remembered it.
To his surprise, without a single sign of decay.
It had been almost 2 years since it died, yet here it laid, as if it had fallen just yesterday.
Making his way towards it, Harry eyed its corpse warily. He knew it was dead, yet it still seemed just as huge as it had been last time. Looking towards the face of Salazar upon the wall, Harry noticed its mouth, where the basilisk had exited from last time, was still open.
Sucking in a sharp intake of breath, Harry eyed it thoughtfully.
Curiosity pulled him towards it. What could the harm be? The basilisk was dead.
Climbing into the hole, Harry was finally forced to use his wand to light the way, as the tunnel was shut in complete darkness. Climbing through, Harry momentarily panicked as he came upon a circled, stone room with shedded snake skin laying about. Calming his beating heart, Harry giggled almost deliriously at himself, before walking across the room towards a narrow corridor at the other end.
Anticipation was building in him. He'd assumed there'd be nothing more than the snake's chambers, yet this corridor was much too narrow for the large snake.
Seconds later, Harry came upon a room, shrouded in darkness and dust.
Lighting the room with his wand, Harry entered the the circular room.
It was a library. A small one, shelves of books going up the walls until they disappeared into the darkness above. A small, old lamp stood upon a wooden table in the middle of the room with a chair at its side.
Dust filled his lungs and nostrils as he breathed. This room was old, and clearly unattended since hundreds of years ago.
Harry frowned and eyed the room critically as he moved to light up the lamp on the table. Had Voldemort not discovered this adjacent room? He supposed not everyone would explore the basilisk's chamber, especially when it was still alive. Looking around the room, Harry would not be surprised if the room had not been used since it was first built.
A shelf in the in the middle of the room drew Harry's attention. The shelf was empty apart from one book that stood in the middle all by itself.
Against his better judgement, Harry picked up the book.
The book had no inscription on the outside of it and its texture was leathery, yet odd and alien to him.
Opening the old book carefully, he lighted its pages with his wand and squinted his eyes. The simple text upon its first page was old and hard to make out, the pages yellowed by time.
'My name is Ludvig von Coldwyn and it is within these pages i leave my life's work. My days are numbered and it is my only hope to hide this knowledge that many would never see come to light.
I can only hope that whomever is reading this does not have the narrow frame of mind that most ignorant wizards carry.
I ask you to treat this book with respect. It is wrapped with the skin of my dead wife, as was her dying request in order to forever preserve my legacy.'
In sudden disgust, Harry dropped the book as if he'd been burned, the heavy book falling to the ground with a loud thud that rang like a gunshot through the room.
Surprised by the sudden loud sound that pierced the silence, Harry backed out of the room, almost expecting something to come out of the darkness and attack. Shaking his head, Harry told himself to get his act together before walking swiftly out of the library.
The darkness had been getting to him. He needed fresh air.
Sitting down at the end of the Gryffindor table, Harry dispassionately ignored the petty whispers and snide remarks that was directed at him. His mind was occupied by his earlier discovery.
The book, this 'Ludvig', had wrapped the book in his dead wife's skin. Who would do something like that? Why?
...What secrets lied within its pages?
Had it been last year, Harry would have burned the book himself, but now, Harry had asked himself a question he regretted asking...
'What will aid my survival in the tournament?'
People had died in the tournament before, if he remembered what Hermoine had told him at the beginning of the year correct.
If someone wanted him forced into the tournament, Harry figured it was obvious as to the reason.
'So, Potter.', a voice Harry had learned to loathe called out from behind him. 'How do you think you will fare in the tournament?'
'Draco.', Harry sighed and glanced over his shoulder at his nemesis.
'People are betting on when you'l die, you know.', Draco grinned at him, Crabbe and Goyle flanking his sides with supid grins. 'Most think you'l die within the minute.', Draco sneered at him. 'My bet is within seconds.'
'You're probably right.', Harry muttered tonelessly, focusing his attention on his meal.
Silence filled the dining hall around him upon his words, but Harry did not care.
Curse Of Undeath Dark Souls
'What...?', Draco muttered, somewhat astonished after a couple of seconds. 'No fight left in you, Potter? No clever remark?'
'There is no point.', Harry shrugged and finished his food. 'You are right, I'l most likely die during these tasks, probably quite early.' Standing up, Harry gathered his stuff and looked at Draco. 'You have been right about a lot of things, ever since first year actually.'
And he had been. Draco had warned him against the Weasley's, particularly about Ron. Ignoring the astonished look Draco kept giving him, Harry stood and swiftly left the dining room.
Dangerous thoughts had occupied Harry the last hours, and this conversation only fueled his growing resolution.
He would claw for a way to survive with tooth and nail if he had to. He would do it alone, as everyone else had condemned him to.
Standing over the skin wrapped book in the pitch black room, Harry drew a deep breath.
In just a little over a month, he would face the first trial, something he was woefully unprepared for. He needed power right now. He needed an edge.
He needed to survive.
Steeling himself, he picked up the book, pushing away the instinctive disgust that filled him upon feeling the leathery texture of the book.
Sitting down, Harry placed the book upon the table and opened its page, the eerie weak lamplight barely lighting the pages.
...'I ask you to treat this book with respect. It is wrapped with the skin of my dead wife, as was her dying request in order to forever preserve my legacy.'
Harry shuddered.
'To my knowledge, i am the last Lich that has not been killed. If you, whomever you are, intend to learn the contents of this book, then i implore you; do not tell anyone. Those who knew of my chosen affliction, once friend turned to enemy, and one such friend was the one to claim the unlife of my wife. Heed my warning, or see the same ill will fall upon you.'
Lich? Unlife? Harry frowned as questions filled his head, but focused and read on.
'Within these pages you will find everything i have ever discovered about Necromancy, one of the old, true branches of magic. I would not be surprised if you have not heard of it. It has been forbidden for an incredibly long time, and those that have practiced it are currently, as i am writing these pages, being systematically purged from societies across the entire world.'
Beware. True necromancy should not be approached lightly, a wrong or right step may very well lead to your death. Ironically, the strongest and deepest branches of necromancy cannot be approached by the living. If it is not already apparent, a Lich, just like a vampire, are undead.'
Harry sucked in a deep breath. This was, without a doubt, incredibly dark. Moving to shut the book, something halted Harry's decision.
There were so many other books here, surely they could be of help as well?
...Yet Harry's curiosity compelled him to read on.
Slowly opening the book again, Harry continued to read.
He was just reading after all. What harm could it do?'