Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ On Hollow Ground ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

The once-radiant Hogwarts castle now lay shrouded in a veil of oppressive darkness as ominous clouds blotted out the moon's silvery glow. I sat on the damp, unyielding earth, the warmth that had once permeated the heart of our beloved school now replaced by a bone-chilling chill. An unsettling silence blanketed the grounds, amplifying the crushing weight of my despair until even the occasional comforting touch on my shoulder felt distant and futile.

Hagrid's deep, guttural voice trembled with raw, anguished denial as he repeatedly murmured, "He can't be dead... he can't be." The words, heavy with disbelief, wavered in the air, barely rising above the soft, mournful sounds that permeated the crowd of stunned students and teachers. How could this be the end? This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen.

I gripped my wand tightly, the cool surface grounding me as icy gusts of wind swirled around my neck, sending shivers racing down my spine. The chill was not from the cold but from the terrible reality before me—Albus Dumbledore lay motionless on the Hogwarts grounds. Just hours earlier, we had ventured into the depths of a cave, retrieving another piece of the immortal puzzle, but at what devastating cost? Now a pall of darkness blanketed my mind, each heartbeat underscoring a relentless ache with the finality of loss.

The aching absence of Sirius still cut sharply, even a year later. The sorrow had carved a gaping void within me, where hope once dwelled. I never anticipated another wound so soon, one so profound that it left me gasping for breath.

Tears welled in my eyes as I fixated on the grass, meticulously counting each blade and tracing their delicate edges, desperately seeking any distraction from the agonising truth. Yet, the sickening realisation sank deeper, piercing my heart—it felt cruel to hide, to deny the raw anguish and grief etched upon the faces of the mourners, my dear friends, as they leaned towards me, yearning to offer comfort and solace. Though I sensed their worried, sympathetic glances, all I felt was a crushing, suffocating isolation, utterly alone in the darkness of my despair.

The sudden embrace enveloped me, a protective cocoon that radiated warmth. Yet, I flinched and pushed it away, feeling unworthy of such comfort. Dumbledore lay lifeless before me, and the shattered expressions of those around me mirrored the turmoil within. I struggled to take deep, steady breaths, but each ragged inhale amplified the panic that pressed against my ribs, demanding release. In a futile attempt to halt the relentless tide of grief, I pressed my palms against my throbbing temples, only intensifying the ache.

A quivering breath whispered my name—"Harry…”—but the fragile words dissolved into the overwhelming, soul-crushing silence that had engulfed me. An all-consuming emptiness had taken hold, leaving no way to bridge the aching, desolate void. My throat tightened, choking back any attempt to respond, for no language could possibly express the devastating weight upon my heart or make sense of this profound, unthinkable loss.

As I turned, I caught sight of Ron and Hermione, their faces streaked with tears. My heart ached to comfort them, to promise we would overcome this trial together, drawing strength from Dumbledore's guiding wisdom. Yet I remained silent, paralysed by the crushing weight of sorrow, powerless to offer any resolve or reassurance.

I stared intently at Dumbledore's lifeless, motionless form, my eyes pleading for any glimmer of life. Reluctantly tearing my gaze away, I was met with a sea of sombre faces—students and professors alike, their expressions etched with profound concern and disbelief. The devastating tragedy had drained all vibrancy from the world, leaving only a muted, dull palette of profound grief and utter despair.

Ron's voice cracked and trembled as he spoke, "Harry, we... we should go." His eyes darted away, unable to meet my gaze. The simple words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken dread that twisted the pit of my stomach.

Hagrid's gentle, steadying hand on my shoulder pierced through the muffled cries and sobs that surrounded us. "Come along now, Harry, we best be off ‘fore the night grows even darker," he rumbled, his voice thick with sorrow yet tinged with the familiar kindness that had once pulled me back from the brink. I scanned the sombre scene, desperately wishing against all reason that magic might somehow conjure Dumbledore back, his warm, reassuring laughter filling our hearts once more.

Ginny's voice cracked like shattering glass as she whispered, "Harry, let's go." Realising she was the one sobbing beside me, a turbulent mix of emotion churned within. Futile anger battled against the need to comfort her, but every potential word felt like a betrayal. In that moment, I could barely even console myself, let alone find the right way to ease her distress.

As I rose, a sudden wave of nausea overcame me, and the world spun violently around me. Ginny swiftly caught me, her strong grip steadying my faltering steps. Without her unwavering support, I would have crumpled to the ground, limp and lifeless like discarded parchment. I felt her steady heartbeat against my shoulder, a vulnerable yet living presence amidst my anguish. In that bleak, desperate moment, I realised I was not truly alone, yet the crushing weight of my profound sorrow still ran deeper than I had ever imagined.

The students parted, their wide, pitying eyes fixed upon me, as if sensing my impending breakdown. With each torturous stride, my profound grief bore down mercilessly. This all-consuming sorrow ravaged my very being, relentlessly compelling me to surrender to its torment. I dreaded that I could no longer withstand the anguish.

Suddenly, white-hot agony shot through my scar, far worse than the constant throb that had haunted me since that fateful night. I collapsed to the hard ground, clutching my head as the heavy weight of grief pressed down upon me.

“Harry!” Ginny's desperate cry pierced the chaos, her trembling voice slicing through the agony that gripped me. All around us, pandemonium reigned—distant wails and the ominous wind—yet I lay paralyzed on the ground, my body wracked with unbearable torment, trapped in a self-imposed nightmare.

"Stay with me, Harry!" she cried desperately, her anguished eyes piercing my soul. But the blinding, agonising throb of my lightning bolt scar overwhelmed my senses, drowning out all else.

Agonising pain gripped my throat, strangling my desperate attempts to cry out and express my inner turmoil. Warm, persistent hands clutched my shaking body as I struggled to ground myself in the tangible world, fighting against the overwhelming darkness swirling around me.

A sharp gasp pierced the air, like the haunting crack of breaking glass, as I lowered my trembling hand from my brow. Transfixed by the sight, I recoiled in horror at the gruesome spectacle before me—my scar had burst open, thick rivulets of crimson cascading down my skin in a fearful, ancient pattern. This was unlike anything I had witnessed; it felt like a cruel reminder that I could not escape the past, as my nightmares had become reality.

Hermione crouched beside me, her brow furrowed with intense concentration as she carefully inspected my injury. "Harry, focus on me," she commanded, her steady, authoritative tone slicing through the pandemonium. "What's happening?"

I struggled to respond, my voice coming out in a ragged rasp. "I—I'm not sure," I stammered, a sense of disorientation and fear creeping into my words. "It feels—"

Sudden popping sounds and a bone-chilling scream from nearby sent a jolt of panic surging through me, making my heart hammer in my chest. A suffocating dread crept over me, making my skin crawl with a sickening unease. Frozen in place, I sat paralysed, the unbearable weight of the decision crushing down on the very core of my being. I knew that if I dared to look up, I would come face-to-face with the fearsome Lord Voldemort himself. Yet, strangely, his looming presence did not inspire the same crippling terror it evoked in others, even as I bared my most vulnerable self.

A shiver ran down my spine as I grasped the horrifying truth—Voldemort had somehow breached Hogwarts' once-impenetrable defences, likely emboldened by Dumbledore's death and his own immense magical power. The thought filled me with a dreadful sense of our own growing vulnerability.

Silence gripped the courtyard as people stood frozen, eyes wide with alarm. Even the seasoned members of Dumbledore's Army and Hogwarts professors were immobilised, many catching their first terrifying glimpse of Voldemort. A cloud of dread blanketed the area, the sheer weight of their collective terror evident. Voldemort had arrived, and he knew precisely how to make a dramatic, chilling entrance.

A lean, shadowy figure materialised before me, the darkness clinging to his form like a second skin. His lips curled into a sly, cruel smile, exuding an air of unsettling confidence. I drew a sharp breath, my emotions swirling—fear, anger, and a compulsion to intervene. Rendered speechless, I felt utterly insignificant against the encroaching darkness that threatened to consume us.

A horde of Death Eaters suddenly materialised from the shadows, their black robes billowing ominously around them. Sheer terror gripped me as they encircled us, wands drawn. In that heart-pounding moment, the full gravity of our dire situation became painfully clear. They outnumbered us by an overwhelming margin, and any glimmer of escape seemed hopelessly out of reach.

The word "No!" erupted from my throat, a desperate, involuntary plea for those around me to fight back, to resist the encroaching darkness. But my anguished cries went unheeded, falling on deaf, unresponsive ears. In that moment, I could feel the rising pressure building within my scar—a throbbing, vise-like tension that consumed me. Then the pain hit, sharp and piercing, launching me into an abyss of sheer agony that tore through every fibre of my being.

My blood-curdling scream pierced the eerie silence of the night, drowning out the panicked gasps that followed. The shrill, agonising sound ricocheted off the ancient castle walls, commanding the terrified attention of everyone present.

Voldemort's piercing stare bore into me, his eyes swirling with a serpentine fury and sinister triumph. In that fleeting instant, I felt a powerful, unsettling connection—a gravitational pull towards this embodiment of evil. He was not simply a figure of wickedness but a reflection of the weighty choices that lay before me. It was as if he could see into the depths of my heart, recognising both my dread and my unwavering resolve.

The oppressive, suffocating night air enveloped me, filling my lungs with a dread so palpable it was almost tangible—a familiar yet deeply unsettling sensation. I had faced horrors before, but this was different, a darkness that seemed to seep into my very core.

Suddenly, Voldemort's chilling, serpentine voice pierced the eerie silence. "Children wandering the castle grounds at this hour," he purred, a twisted delight dripping from every word. "Such a delightful sight."

Bellatrix Lestrange's maniacal cackle pierced the suffocating tension, cutting through the air like a razor's edge. Around me, the crowd was gripped by paralysing terror—some whimpering softly, others trembling uncontrollably, many frozen in utter shock. I fought to draw breath, the atmosphere heavy with fear.

A searing pain erupted from my scar again, a fiery serpent coiling relentlessly around my skull, its crushing grip intensifying with each thunderous pulse. My whole body quaked with dread as the towering, ominous form of Voldemort drew ever closer, paralysing my pounding heart.

With every advancing step, my determination withered, my once-steadfast spirit ebbing away. My wand, so enticingly near, lay just beyond my grasp—yet the thought of grasping it filled me with a sense of futility.

I gasped for air, desperately trying to fill my lungs, but the searing pain refused to subside. The angry scar pulsed with a malevolent energy, as if alive and intent on tormenting me. Each agonising throb caused my fear to swell, gripping my racing heart in its constricting coils, like the deadly embrace of Devil's Snare.

Voldemort now loomed before me, his very existence a suffocating force. I beheld the grotesque curves of his face, contorting his form into a living nightmare. As our eyes locked, the world faded away. Those eyes blazed with a vile fusion of hatred and ravenous desire, embodying all the darkness in the world.

"Ah, Harry Potter," he growled, his icy voice laced with menace that threatened to bury me alive. My pulse raced, a wild, frantic drumbeat pounding against the relentless chill of his words.

A primal, anguished wail tore from my throat, my voice cracking with raw emotion. Salty tears cascaded down my cheeks, obscuring the nightmarish vision before me. I dug my nails into the tender flesh of my clenched fists, clinging to any shred of lucidity as the all-consuming blackness swelled and swallowed me, enveloping me in its suffocating, unwelcome grasp.

The words faded into the background as I became consumed by the agonising pain that gripped me. A blinding, roaring fire ignited in my forehead, its scorching waves crashing through my body, reverberating in my mind. The frantic pounding of my heart echoed in my ears, syncing with a primal fear that coursed through my veins. Voldemort's twisted, cruel laughter surrounded me, but in this moment, all I could focus on was the burning, all-consuming agony.

A sharp, merciless flick of his fingers yanked my head back, cruelly baring my battered, bloodied face for his sadistic pleasure. Blood poured down my forehead and cheeks, blinding me, yet his unyielding grasp refused to relent. I thrashed and twisted desperately, like a trapped beast, but my frantic efforts proved utterly in vain.

Voldemort's cruelty knew no bounds. With a vicious swipe, he ripped the glasses from my face and ground them mercilessly beneath his heel, the sickening crunch echoing in my ears. Suddenly, I was plunged into a world of blurred shapes and distorted shadows, every figure looming before me like some grotesque phantom. Panic seized me as I realised I was completely, helplessly blind.

His face hovered above mine, his malicious gaze glinting in his eyes. "You understand the significance of Dumbledore's death, don't you?" he whispered, his hot breath searing my cheek. I could barely process the words through the agonising pain and bewilderment that consumed me. The mere thought of Dumbledore, the great man who had guided and believed in me, sent a shudder of anguish through my body. The same evil that now tormented my life had taken him from me.

A searing curse struck me, piercing my heart like a bolt of lightning before I could react. Molten agony erupted deep within, a raging wildfire consuming my insides. My body convulsed uncontrollably as I doubled over, retching crimson blood onto the cold, damp earth. The acrid, metallic taste that flooded my mouth was a visceral testament to my agonising suffering.

Voldemort's piercing, icy stare bore down mercilessly on my trembling, helpless body as he kept his wand trained and ready. I desperately searched the abyss of his soulless eyes, clinging to any glimmer of humanity, but found only an endless, abysmal void of pure, unadulterated cruelty. "I can unleash torment far beyond the darkest depths of your most horrific nightmares, Harry," he hissed, his voice oozing with venomous contempt.

I had not seen Voldemort cast his spell, yet the tangible impact of his ominous, silent power was impossible to deny. Each strained breath ripped painfully through my chest. Desperate to fight back, I longed to scream and lash out, but was instead dragged deeper into an all-consuming, suffocating despair.

Despite the heavy fatigue weighing down my body and the haze clouding my senses, every word and sound cut through the veil of my anguish with piercing clarity. Then, Hermione's well-known voice sliced through the encroaching darkness. "Stop!" she cried out desperately. "What are you doing to him? Stop it!"

The anguished cries pierced the air, but my mind struggled to make sense of the chaos around me. I strained to focus on my blurred vision, desperately trying to make out the shadowy figures—my friends, all captives in this living nightmare like me. Their familiar faces were obscured, yet I longed for their comforting presence. Though I couldn't see them, I yearned to reassure them that I was still here, powerless to reach them but aching to provide solace in our shared ordeal.

Voldemort's taunting voice dripped with mocking malice as he sneered, "Can you see, Harry? Your friend wanted to be of assistance."

Hermione's voice quivered, a fragile thread of determination struggling to rise above her sobs. "You're murdering him!" she cried desperately.

Voldemort's cold, hollow laughter chilled me to the bone. "Murdering him?" he scoffed. "I would never stoop so low—for now." Though I couldn't see him, I felt the weight of his dark, penetrating gaze boring into me, savouring my torment and revelling in the power he held over me.

Agony ripped through my body as his dark power unleashed another agonising wave, making me convulse uncontrollably. I coughed up more crimson blood, splattering the ground around me. Each laboured breath dragged the heavy weight of despair deeper onto my chest.

Ginny's desperate voice broke through the torment. "Please, stop!" I wished I could find the strength to comfort her, to reassure her that I would fight and endure. But the words died on my lips; weakness bound me like chains.

Voldemort revelled in my anguish, clinging to it gleefully. "Do you truly believe Harry Potter cannot endure the pain?" he sneered. "Hear that, Harry? They mistakenly think you are weak."

Anguish and bewilderment consumed me, yet I resisted the urge to cry out, steeling myself to prove my strength and refuse despair. The mocking laughter of Death Eaters rang in my ears, and the temptation to surrender weighed heavily, but I summoned every last ounce of willpower to stand firm against their cruelty.

With my heart pounding in my chest, drowning out the cries of my friends, I fixed my gaze on Voldemort's venomous stare, his icy breath chilling my skin.

Voldemort's pale, twisted face loomed mere inches from mine, his grip on my hair painfully tight as he yanked me upright. "Don't worry, I have all the time in the world to break him. This is just the beginning," he threatened, his voice dripping with malice.

Though every instinct urged me to retaliate, to spit in his face and reclaim the shattered remnants of my dignity, I forced myself to see nothing—not the people around me, nor my friends. Their survival was worth more than my momentary pride.

Warm blood trickled down my neck as his cruel fingers tightened their grip, eliciting a surge of panic within me. My breath quickened as I desperately struggled to pull away, but he held me firmly in place, like a predator savouring his helpless prey.

From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a crimson light streaking towards Voldemort. My heart skipped a beat as I recognised the spell—it had the air of a distraction, yet appeared determined and fierce. With a casual flick of his wand, Voldemort deflected the curse, his surprised expression piercing through the haze of fear that enveloped me.

His piercing, malevolent eyes narrowed with a sinister hunger as he whirled around, intent on discovering who dared defy him. In that crushing moment, the overwhelming burden of it all bore down on me, and I collapsed to the ground, desperately gulping for air. I felt the soothing coolness of the earth beneath me as I weakly turned my head, searching for my friends. Their familiar, comforting presence eased my anguish, providing solace in the knowledge that they persisted in fighting on my behalf.

Voldemort drew back, his wand a sinister extension of his pale, skeletal hand. "You dare to curse me," he hissed, his voice slithering into the air like tendrils of noxious smoke.

Even from the ground, I felt the world spinning dizzily around me, but I forced myself to focus on Neville, whose trembling voice nevertheless held a glimmer of defiance. "Yes, I do. But I'm still learning," he replied.

Neville's self-sacrificing words pierced my heart with a pain more agonising than any physical wound. A crushing sense of guilt flooded my being as I witnessed his courageous act.

"Then perhaps you require a demonstration of my power," Voldemort responded coolly.

"Voldemort, no!" I croaked weakly, mustering what little strength I had left to speak.

A wave of dread crashed over me as I watched Voldemort, a ruthless predator, stalk ominously towards Neville. In that heart-stopping instant, the true magnitude of our dire predicament became devastatingly clear. Sheer panic gripped me, and I desperately struggled to stand, but my body betrayed me, sinking lifelessly back into the unyielding earth.

"Guys, let me go!" Neville said with determination. Though his resolve was unwavering, a pang of sorrow gripped me as I realised he stood alone against a monstrous foe.

"Impressive," Voldemort mocked, his cold voice dripping with derision. "You have devoted followers who obediently heed your commands. Are they your slaves?"

"They're friends who support me, not mindless servants like your lot,” Neville retorted, his tone calm. “Unlike you, I have true allies."

A twisted, mirthless chuckle escaped his thin, cruel lips. "I have legions of Death Eaters who obey my every command without question. Shall I demonstrate their unwavering loyalty to me?" he hissed. The ominous weight of Voldemort's words reverberated through the air like a deafening thunderclap, shaking the very foundations of his being.

A bone-chilling dread gripped my body, sending icy tendrils of fear coursing down my spine. "No!" I cried out, my voice hoarse and frenzied, desperately trying to fend off the impending danger. Without thinking, I lunged forward, reaching out to Neville, but a numbing, vice-like hold seized me, anchoring me in place just as I moved.

"You’re not going anywhere," Lucius Malfoy declared in a smooth, menacing tone. With a flick of his wand, I was forcefully shoved back to the ground, the cool earth pressing against my cheek.

A crushing wave of dread flooded my senses, paralysing me with fear. Yet I knew I had to warn Neville, so with immense struggle, I forced out the words, "Stand down..." though the thick tension made me doubt anyone could hear.

Just as I mustered the strength to break free, a sudden slicing sound caught me off guard, snatching the breath from my lungs. Then Neville's sickening cry, followed by gasps, echoed like shouts across the courtyard.

"You'd do well to show some respect," Voldemort sneered, his icy voice cutting through the tense silence.

My heart pounded with a wild, frantic rhythm as fear and fury coursed through my veins. I clenched my fists, glaring with unwavering resolve at the embodiment of all I despised.

"Neville!" I gasped, my voice strained and weary, each syllable dripping with disbelief. "What have you done, Voldemort?" I demanded, my words tinged with a mixture of shock and dread.

Voldemort's chilling chuckle reverberated through the darkness, sending shivers down my spine. "Nothing too serious," he said dismissively. "Just a minor scratch."

The malicious laughter of the Death Eaters permeated the air, sending a chill of dread coursing through me. Through my hazy gaze, I watched Neville quaking uncontrollably, his body wracked with tremors as he fought to maintain his footing. Blood snaked down his neck, evidence of the violence that had been inflicted upon him.

Did Voldemort unleash a stinging hex? The curse could have caused far more devastating injuries—mangling Neville's neck, shredding his arm, or even robbing him of an eye. Worse yet, the attack could have been fatal.

“What do you want?” I demanded with a surprisingly firm voice that betrayed my underlying fear. My glare faltered as I stared him down, my chest heaving with each laboured breath. "You don't need to harm them," I insisted, pounding my fist against my pounding heart. "Harm me instead."

Voldemort prowled menacingly before me, his piercing red eyes narrowed as he considered my response. "Harry," he spat, his voice dripping with icy malice, "I cannot simply torture you as I wish. I must factor in the desires of the others who crave to be a part of your suffering. Surely you can comprehend that this decision does not rest solely in my hands?"

Voldemort's venomous taunts pierced the air, sending a chill down my spine and sowing seeds of doubt in my mind. Was I merely a pawn in his larger scheme? But as the faces of my friends, trapped in this living nightmare, flashed before my eyes, a surge of determination steeled my resolve. "I'm the one you want," I defiantly shot back, adrenaline coursing through my veins. "Direct your sadistic torments at me, and leave them be!"

Voldemort's thin lips twisted into a malicious, triumphant smile, his eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "You're quite brave, I'll give you that. But I was merely teaching your friend a lesson—he needs to learn the consequences of crossing me. You know I have no tolerance for insolence."

My pulse quickened, but I steeled my nerves and unflinchingly met Voldemort's menacing stare.

Voldemort suddenly shifted his tactics. Instantly, I felt his icy, unyielding grip clasp my face, and a surge of panic ripped through me. I frantically tried to jerk away, but his vice-like hold made the gravity of my dire situation painfully clear. The moment his icy fingers made contact, a visceral agony seized me—a searing, throbbing pain that seemed to radiate from the depths of my being. As the darkness closed in, bolts of fiery anguish erupted across every inch of my body, and I struggled desperately to breathe.

I let out a desperate, anguished cry, "No! Stop!" Mustering every bit of strength, my voice rang out, reverberating off the castle walls. Pleading with frantic, trembling desperation, I begged him, "Please, just stop."

The anguished cries of my friends echoed all around, blending with Voldemort's hollow, mocking laughter. I could barely discern their screams from my own agonising thoughts, as the all-consuming pain threatened to overwhelm me entirely. But my pleas for mercy fell on deaf, uncaring ears.

Tears streamed down my face as I begged once more, my voice cracking with desperation. But Voldemort remained unmoved, his red eyes glowing with sinister delight as he savoured my suffering. The agony intensified, a searing, twisting sensation like uncoiling venom that consumed me.

"Please," I gasped, the word barely audible.

Voldemort leaned in, the metallic stench of blood churning my stomach. "Begging will not save you, child," he hissed. "You must understand the power of fear. Embrace it. See how it transforms you."

Excruciating agony pulsed through me at his cruel command. The torment shattered my determination, snuffing out any remaining glimmer of hope as a raging inferno of hatred consumed me. Each agonising stab, each agonising jolt, made me yearn to escape, to disconnect from the cruel reality that bound me to this merciless tormentor.

The courtyard whirled dizzily as I teetered on the brink of blacking out. Voldemort's mocking taunts grew faint, drowned out by the thunderous pounding of my own terrified heart. In a last desperate bid, I feebly pleaded for him to stop before the encroaching darkness completely consumed me.