I know. I should update other things. I'm trying. I'm just very... uninspired, for the most part, right now. Apologies.
Alright, so, another DGMxHP! Yeah. Yeah, you read that right. Another one. I can't help it, I get lots of ideas for them 8D
Difference being, this time, this is and shall remain only a one-shot! I am not going to continue this. However, it is up for adoption! I just feel bad, sometime, getting ideas and then letting them waste away into nothingness, so I decided to just make a one-shot based on the idea and get it over with. Maybe it will spark inspiration in somebody else. I do not mind if you use this, whether word for word or as a basis as long as I am given credit! (Especially if you take it word for word.) Also, send me a PM so that I can read it too 8D
If you DO feel like taking one up, I most certainly wouldn't mind it if you wanted further input from me. Such as if you wanted to brainstorm with me, or wanted my opinion on something, or even if you wanted help writing it (Not physically writing it, or I'd do it myself, but talking about the storyline in-depth and helping develop a plot? Sure). Just send me a PM, I don't mind
Disclaimer: I would never say I owned DGM or HP. And if I DID happen to say something, such as DGM, belongs to me, I'd be lying.
Title: Forgotten History
Category: Harry Potter x D. Gray Man
Summery: Lavi may or may not have died a Bookman, but he would never be able to stop recording the things that mattered to him. Harry isn't sure these records, though, were meant to be found.
Time line: This is way after the end of both of them. Well, after the end of the Deathly Hallows, but before the epilogue. Due to the fact DGM hasn't yet concluded, that means the ending is AU and made up for the purpose of the story.
That boy was loved by God. Or maybe he was hated by Him. I don't think he cared either way. I also don't think he had it in him to hate anybody no matter what happened.
Sometimes I really admired him. Sometimes I really pitied him. Sometimes I just didn't know what to do with myself. He had that effect on everyone. But he always affected everyone he met in some incredibly strong way.
The stories change with time. What was he, really? Nobody really knows anymore. Stories turn to legends, legends into myths... For a war that wasn't suppose to exist, that nobody was suppose to know about, perhaps there's something to be said that the stories lasted as long as they did. And maybe they still will, amongst old, dusty books like this one. Maybe the remains of the Order or their descendents will whisper about the man who could bring back the souls of the dead and turn them into monsters, and the exorcists who fought him and his family.
About the thousands of lives lost, and the countless sacrifices those people made. About the ones who stood on the very front lines, and bled for all of them. About the boy who was at the heart of it all, and kept no tears, no blood, no life for himself. I know those stories. But I know what really happened. I knew the Boy Who Would Destroy Time.
I was there.
He jumped violently, the book falling from his lap to land with a jarringly loud sound. He scrambled to pick it up, lifting it as gently as he could in the hopes that he could take away any damage done if only he were to handle it more carefully. A couple of pages stuck out awkwardly, no longer bound by the spine, and he quietly cursed the fact that it was a muggle book and not one that had any spell to preserve its condition.
He looked up to stare at the interrupter balefully.
"Ah, the mother tone," Ron grinned impishly as he strode into the room, sitting down heavily in one of the other armchairs, "Gets anyone's attention."
"Last time I checked, Ron, you're not a mother. If that's changed in the past few days, that's an absolutely horrid way of telling me," Harry winced as the pages crackled with age. He ran a ran through his messy hair, quietly rearranging the papers to better fit within their binder.
"I think there are enough girls around to do all the mothering, don't you?" Ron looked around. He noted the papers sprawled all over the low table just before him, the box full of yet more papers, and, you guessed it, more papers littering the floor. On top of the small mound on the table lay one lone folder, which he reached towards.
Harry barely resisted slapping his friend's hand away with the fragile book in his lap.
"Oh come on, mate," The other frowned, "You've pretty much commandeered this room and have barely left it lately. As much as 'Mione appreciates you being so interested in a book, even she's getting concerned."
"Can't please everybody," He rolled his eyes and began to carefully arrange the papers scattered about into what he hoped was a vaguely neat pile.
"Can't you tell us what it's all about, at least?"
"I could, if you would bother to ask instead of staring at me funny or stealing looks at whatever I'm reading," He reached for a particularly stubborn piece and almost dropped the book again. Nervous for its inanimate health, he set it on the small table next to his armchair.
"Okay, you've got me. What's all the fuss about then?"
"As it turns out, there was some recent discoveries. They're some really old muggle machinery. But even though we can tell that it's really old, it's actually really advanced. Some of it even more than the muggle inventions nowadays."
"And that warrants all of this," Ron waved a hand around the room with a raised eyebrow, "How?"
"I don't really care about the machinery," Harry replied, "Or even all that much about the old castle they found them in. But the records in that castle... they're... strange. They tell of some old war that happened that hardly anyone knew about unless they were directly involved. They tried to keep it as secret as the magical community keeps itself."
"Okay," The other wizard drew the word out for a moment, "That is weird, I'll give you that. But why so interested yourself?"
Harry was quiet. He reached for the book again and ran his fingers over the cover.
It was very plain on the outside. It had only one thing to denotate its title, and that was a symbol. He'd found it on many of the reports he'd looked through. He knew it symbolized the group called 'exorcists'. It was held together by a simple locking mechanism that perhaps more fancy journals have. But what had drawn attention to it had been the faintest traces of magic which still lingered over it.
The man who had originally found it had noticed as much, and that's why he'd picked it up. But it would not open for him. He'd handed it over to another team to analyze, but it seemed that even specialists couldn't figure out what kind of spell protected the book, let alone how to get rid of it or what, precisely, it did. If it was simply to hold the book shut, they didn't know how to dispel it, nor how to figure out what the requirements for unlocking it was.
Had it been in better condition, they would had forcibly ripped it off. Whatever spell it was, it wasn't to protect it from wear and they couldn't guarantee that it would remain in one piece if it were handled so.
And then Harry had picked it up. It did not spring to life at his touch, but something in his hand had begun to glow – the strange earring he had picked up from a certain room. Later, he found out that the book had come from the same room, though the two had not been together.
Just starting to read it had drawn him in. Of course, having been on the job, he hadn't had the time, but after thoroughly perusing many of the old records and written accounts of missions and briefings and notes... He was fascinated. And he wanted to know more.
"Don't you find it interesting?" He asked softly, "A war that covered the entire world that not even the magical community knew about?"
"Sure," Ron leaned back comfortably, "But not enough to lock myself away and become all obsessed with it."
"I'm not obsessed with it," Harry replied with noticeable irritation, "This war had some sort of connection with something that wasn't muggle. They claimed it was from God, and there are plenty of accounts of something called Innocence that was clearly magical. The descriptions of the things they fought... aren't natural, even by our standards. Something really important happened, and a lot of people died. And nobody knows about it. Is it strange that I want to know?"
"A little," Ron shrugged noncommittally, "Look, mate, you've never really been interested in that kind of thing before. I can't remember a time where you voluntarily subjected yourself to this kind of studying."
"There's a first for everything, as they say," Harry muttered.
"Well, it's not healthy. Come out with us for a little while, at least. Maybe even Ginny will be able to come. You can read all this anytime you want, but we can only get together a little while sometimes."
"Alright, alright. Fine. I didn't need that much convincing anyway," He sighed and rubbed his eyes under his glasses, "How is Ginny?"
"Angry you haven't talked to her," Ron grinned a little at his friends groan, "But I have your back. I told her it was auror stuff. She knows how that can be. So..."
Bookmen record history. They do so completely impartial to the story as they write it, even as they had lived it. They aren't suppose to choose a side. They aren't suppose to interfere. They have no name, no history, no future because they live in the past.
I knew this. I was a Bookman. I was suppose to be impartial. I was suppose to record history as it happened even as the Innocence chose me, even as I fought Akuma and even as I was heralded as Exorcist. I wasn't suppose to choose a side.
I knew all the exorcists. I may have been a Bookman first and foremost, but I was still an exorcist. The Innocence made sure of that. And there is no exorcist who truly can't choose. To not choose is a betrayal. To betray is death.
Perhaps the Innocence knew me better than I knew myself.
"It's right this way," The auror hurriedly led the way through the old halls. As old as the castle must have been, it didn't have the same air of age like Hogwarts did. Harry could still see a lot of it's lost glory. He could tell that at one time the marble had been a bright white, the suits of armor polished to perfection, the tapestries spun with bright thread to tell glorious battles. It would have been an amazing sight.
He walked into what looked like a very large, domed room. Immediately, he saw what was so important to be dragged out of bed in the middle of the night.
It was a huge shard of bright white light that existed from no apparent source. Above it, there floated a number in the same form as a digital clock. He didn't know what it was, but he did know that the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end.
"There you are, Potter," It was the Auror Head, confirming that something important was indeed going on, "Any longer and I'd have sent someone to drag you out of bed."
"Well, I'm here now," Harry motioned towards the huge shard of light, "What is this?"
"No clue," The older man snorted derisively, "But the readings on it go haywire. There's more power in this thing than I've ever seen in my entire life. It shows no signs of life, no reactions. But it seems to be a gateway of some kind. We sent a probe through. We automatically lost contact with it, even though we should be able to get readings on the other side of the world."
"For a muggle affair, it seems to involve a lot of magic," He mentioned, crossing his arms.
"I suppose so. But this is no magic I've heard of before. Whatever this is, I can't imagine where it came from."
"So what do you need me to do?"
"We sent some things through, couldn't find any of it. We couldn't accio it or even tell in what direction it had gone. But we sent a couple things through with string, and not only did the string remain whole, but we pulled them both back out and they were fine. For an entire hundred yards of string, it seemed unaffected."
"Wait..." He turned to look at his superior incredulously, "You're not thinking of sending me in there, are you?"
"Not just you, but yes. We're getting no further on this end. They can't even tell what kind of magic it is, only that it obviously goes somewhere."
"I could say the exact same thing about the Veil in the department of Mysteries, and nobody that goes in there comes back out!" He exclaimed, thinking with a pang of Sirius. He also subtly noted that the Veil, for all that it appeared to be made of darkness, this thing seemed made of light.
"Including string," The Head replied, "Whatever our specialists aren't figuring out, this is a gateway. If it makes you feel better, we did send in a bird on a string, and it was fine. So it can't be that if something is wrong it's limited to organics."
"Yeah, okay, so if something goes wrong, I'm only going to die but at least you know that humans die and birds don't," Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head forcibly, "If I'm going in there, I want some kind of quick portkey just in case."
"Already ahead of you, Potter," The man handed Harry a simple metal pen; the habit of using plain, nondescript items hadn't changed, it seemed.
"Isn't this some kind of breach of regulations somewhere?" Harry asked, turning to stare up at the giant doorway of light with a squint of his eyes.
"If you really don't want to go, stop whining and say so," The other rolled his eyes and waved to a man off to the side, "With your reputation, I thought you'd be dying to jump in and figure it out firsthand."
Harry sent his superior a distinct narrow eyed glare and muttered a dry, "Oh ha ha."
"We're ready when you are," It was a slightly short man, possibly twice as old as Harry himself, who approached, looking decidedly nervous. He fidgeted a little with the edges of his sleeves even as another man arrived as well, looking far less nervous but nevertheless wary.
"Alright, let's get the show on the road, kiddos!"
There was no particular sensation upon crossing the barrier of light. No particular warmth, no great light burning his retina, not even a sickening pull deep in his gut or feeling of being smashed into a too small space. One second he was standing in a very old, abandoned castle and the next he was standing in, for all intents and purposes, some kind of town that seemed just as abandoned as the castle was.
His teammates, both technically his seniors, immediately looked around without moving from their spots. The one who seemed most in control began to attempt some communication spells to speak with those waiting where they had left, but not a single one would work.
For a moment, Harry just looked up one way, then down the other. The sky was bright, but no people were moving about.
"Some kind of warded area?" The nervous one suggested as his attempt with even simple spells like accio and wengardium leviosa failed.
"We don't seem to suffer any physical abnormalities thus far," The other observed, "And if there are any alarms here, I'm not sensing any. And nobody has come running."
"Then we might as well take a better look," Harry shrugged and stepped towards the road that led towards what seemed to be the large tower at the center of this strange town.
"Wha – wait! Potter!" The leader snapped, shaking his head, "We don't have clearance to go wandering off. This is NOT a muggle invention or area, no matter what we thought, so we don't know what might be out there."
"If he wasn't hoping I'd go off to check things out without being told, I'll eat my knickers," Harry's lips twitched upwards as he continued on.
As a Bookman, I am not able to write about the friends in the Order I had and how many of them died. I am not able to stress how many people died everyday or the kinds of losses they had. I can't talk about what it's like to see a kid dressed in an exorcist uniform and struggling to learn elementary math while being taught how best to hit an akuma to get as much damage as possible. I can't mumble about how close the Chief was with his exorcist sister, or how sometimes the exorcists would get together with the scientists just to have fun, or how the cook would go out of his way to make everyone's favorites.
Only what was important. No opinions. Only statistics. And that's why I am not writing this as the Bookman.
I am writing this as Lavi, the exorcist.
The first door he opened led to a great expanse of field. The second was to a town that seemed situated somewhere in France. The third went nowhere at all, just some kind of great expanse of darkness with no floor. When he found one that exited out into Italy, he took a breath and stepped out into a bustling crowd, ignoring the cries of his seniors behind him.
A deserted alleyway allowed him to communicate with his Head. He couldn't help but be amused by the stuttered response he got when he announced he was in Italy and no, he didn't apparate there by somehow ignoring international rules and regulations.
He was yelled at by his teammates when he stepped back inside this strange magical device, but he had long since learned that when he was sent on things like this, he was practically being asked to do as he liked because the others were usually too stuck on the rules. Which was a good thing, really, but his situation was alright only as long as his Head excused what he did.
Not every door went to some foreign part of the world. Not every door went anywhere at all. Some seemed to lead to other rooms, strange ones, or long hallways, all connected to this strange pocket dimension. Magic didn't seem to work anywhere.
The library they found was big, and he took a small look at some of the books he passed. Not all were in English.
Through the rooms they traveled until they emerged inside what he was sure was that tower in the center of the town. Looking out confirmed it, and he wasn't the only one to suck in a sharp breath upon seeing that they really did seem to be in some kind of pocket dimension.
"I think we should go back now," The nervous one announced with a wring of his hands.
"We've been in here long enough," The other one agreed with a suspicious look around himself.
But Harry wasn't listening as he approached the long table situated in the room. He ran his fingers over the edge, staring down with a small frown.
I think I first started to really question who I was when we were traveling to Japan. I denied it, of course. 'Lavi' was not who I was, it was only what I called myself. It was a title, a slice of time, a persona. A mask of who I was not. But when we were taken forcibly into the Ark, I had to confront myself there. Literally.
Nobody really knows what the Ark is. Only that the Earl created it and that Allen Walker could control it, though we didn't know that until later. We fought Noah in the Ark. Or, the others did, at least. I only fought myself. Having the deepest parts of yourself dragged into a sort of metaphysical existence and shove all of what it was into your face is not the most pleasant of things. I can only be glad that nobody but the Noah who put me in that situation could see. I would have burned myself up to be free of it if it wasn't for Allen.
Harry looked at the scorch marks along the floor, the ceiling, and wondered if this is what people felt like when they walked over the ground he had dueled Voldemort on. It hadn't felt special to him, but it was strange, being at the site of somebody else struggles against something evil.
He headed his teammates advice and finally started back towards the door they had entered from.
He was called in again a few weeks later. It was again rather late, but this time he went in much more willingly. He had been working with the aurors taking care of this strange case a lot over the past few weeks, partially because he had been going through the records and the journal so much that he had become the one to ask about the place. He would tell little bits of knowledge he had picked up through all his reading, but it could only take them so far.
But they wanted him to explore the Ark some more. He agreed because it truly was a marvel even to the magical community. And that was how he found it.
He was wandering that room in the tower again. The others had written it off, but just being there tended to raise the hair on the back of his neck in a not entirely unpleasant way.
And then he turned around, and there was a door there that hadn't been before.
He wouldn't be himself if he weren't rather reckless, he knew, and if it had appeared out of nowhere there was no guarantee it would still be there later. Especially if it was like the Room of Requirement, and he had no idea what he might have done to trigger the door to appear. So in he went.
The room was white, and almost empty but for a piano and a couch. He didn't know how to play the piano, but he sat at the bench anyway. He ran his fingers over the keys gently, feeling no dust. It was as if it were stuck in time. He tried to press a key, but it did not move.
A breeze blew for the first time since he had ever stuck a foot into the Ark. Then a voice whispered, as if into his ear and yet from a long ways away, "These keys are not yours to play..."
He stood too fast; the bench was loud as it hit the ground. He caught a glimpse of movement in the corner of his eye, and when he turned to look, he saw somebody else in place of his reflection. They sat, their hood turned up hands placed on the keys but not playing.
He spied one of the hands black as night with long, gross black nails, yet the other gloved in white. Harry shivered.
He saved a lot of people. Sometimes it seemed like the more he saved people, the more he damned himself. In the end, he never got what he deserved. But then, heroes never really do.
He was the best of all worlds. Of man, of Exorcist... of Noah. It's almost funny that the Noah saw him for what he was better than the Order did. The Order didn't want to see the good that could lay in a person like him, even in a Noah. But the Noah could tolerate no Innocence. But Allen could never be bent, could never break. So in the end, he chose neither.
I never got to tell him how much I looked up to him for that.
"Who are you?" Harry asked, his voice firm. If he could face down Dark Lords with a smirk or a laugh, he could hold a conversation with any ghost, apparition, or imprint.
"That depends on who you ask," The reflection said just as firmly. The voice was almost whimsical; light for a male, soft and yet with a hidden iron edge.
"I'm asking you," He rested one hand on the piano and gently righted the bench, though he did not sit. The reflection almost seemed to pause before the hand in black pulled down the hood. The young man didn't look directly at Harry, but his white hair gave him away even if the rest of him didn't. But he didn't answer. Instead, he began to play the piano, and a glance at the keys under his hand showed that they moved as if they were being played directly.
"You're Allen Walker, aren't you?" Harry crossed his arms, unwilling to touch the moving keys. The reflection paused for just a moment before continuing the song.
"Where did you hear that name?" The boy sounded nonchalant.
"... From a friend of yours," He replied.
"My friends are dead," The reflection's own reply was just as nonchalant as before.
"Lavi's words still live on," Harry uncrossed his arm with a frown, "I found his journal. He writes a lot about you."
"I know you opened his journal," The other said, "That's why I opened the door for you. But I am not Allen Walker."
His frown deepened. "Then who are you?" He demanded.
"I am nobody," The boy said, "I am a reflection. I am something that does not truly live. I am something that was, but is no longer."
"I'm not sure what you're trying to say," He slowly circled the bench. He got the creeps from standing there. "Are you his ghost?"
"No," It shook it's head, "I am... a memory."
"A collective memory," It amended, "But not of his."
"Then why did you bring me here?" Harry waved an arm around.
"I brought you nowhere," It almost smiled, "Your feet brought you here of your own free will. I only opened the door."
"Then why did you 'open the door'?" He rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"...You've read the story," It suddenly stopped played, standing to face him completely. It seemed to press a hand against the barrier between them. Harry silently hoped that it could not simply step through. "What did you think of it?"
"You brought me here to ask me that?"
"Indulge me," A smile did flit across pale lips then, and Harry sighed and did so.
"I don't know what you what me to say. I found it hard to believe. If nothing else, the magical community should have known something of what was going on. The whole thing felt like it was out of some dark fantasy book."
"But whether it was real or not... I thought it was sad. Very sad. I was fascinated. And I was glad to know that it was over."
"Is it?" The reflection's smile was gone again in a flash.
"If there were still Akuma around, we would know," Harry ran a hand through his hair.
"Would you? You are confident. What makes you think that there aren't ways of hiding even from your kind?" The reflection asked, "You would not know if He would not want you to."
"Are you trying to imply that there are still Akuma? Then wouldn't there still be Innocence? The journal said that the Earl was defeated."
"There IS still Innocence, no matter what the Order believed before it died," The reflection shrugged and smirked a little, turning in a half circle to saunter over to the couch and sit gracefully, "And I am not trying to imply anything."
It's behavior didn't really seem to fit with the description and understand Harry had previously had of Allen Walker anymore. He wasn't quite sure what to think about it.
"What makes you say that then? Did you open this door so that you could give me some kind of warning or something?"
There was silence for a long few seconds before the boy leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"The Order believed that if they could destroy the Earl, they would win the war. No more Akuma could be made, the Noah would have lost what they strove to protect. But the Earl is a Noah himself," The reflection shook his head a little, eyes lowered, "And we all have Noah in us. Every human has Noah genes, and so they'll never stop being reborn. And as far as anyone knows, that includes the Earl. And even if he's not around, the other Noah still are. Who's to say there are no akuma left? If the Innocence still exists, so too must Dark Matter."
"How can you be sure?" Harry fisted his hands, "If you're just some kind of memory, how can you know Innocence still exists? Can you even leave this room?"
"I cannot," It said, "But you can."
A wave of its hand a a new door was there in the room.
The story is a long and painful one to tell. It's the only story I have ever wanted to tell personally, the only one that I felt truly apart of. But it's also one that should be told to some. This war may have been secret, but if it were meant to fade away into obscurity, neither I nor the Old Man would have been there.
It led to a cave in who knows what part of the world. It took Harry's eyes several long minutes to adjust, but even then all he could see was a distant glow. The door remained at his back, but he reluctantly began shuffling towards the faint glow.
Around a bend and he had to freeze.
The walls were crystallized in many spots, reflecting the light of what lay at the center. And at that center was a very large, so light blue it was almost white, crystal that glowed almost brilliantly.
And at it's center a very familiar figure of white. Face as young as he imagined it had looked when first surrounded by the crystal, scars crisscrossing his half naked body, was Allen Walker.
But, I suppose that you don't know about any of this yet. You don't even know what the Noah are, or the Akuma. That's how it's suppose to be, after all. Perhaps I should hope that this book with just turn to dust after all. But if this is found, I ask that you read what I have to say because I want this story to live on as more than ink, as numbers and letters on a page.
I want you to read the last words to be written by me as Lavi the exorcist.