The Seventh Soul
Chapter One Sadness and Sorrow
An attractive young woman hurried up the London street walking like a gazelle in high heels and a tight and short, mid-thigh skirt. Her brown hair was pulled up into a neat coif. The street was rundown and crowded an industrial district. It was a poorer section of the city and even at midday there were derelicts sitting on stoops along the way. They called out to her as she moved along. She kept her head straight and ignored their leers, jeers or sometimes plaintive cries. It looked as if she knew where she was going without looking at the encrusted house numbers, some of which were missing or faded or painted over. She stopped, craned her rather slim neck and tilted her head to stare up at a set of windows that were open in the late summer. There were no welcoming curtains at the window and the stairs that led to the third floor flat were filthy. Her heels clicked against bare wood as she climbed.
Rapping lightly on the door she leaned her head against its wood to better hear any stirrings from within. There was a rustle and she nodded to herself. She felt her heart speed up as she realized he was there. She bounced on the balls of her feet and shuffled the heavy folder of papers she held tightly against her chest.
The door remained shut but a voice, muffled and low, emanated from the other side. "Who is it?" it said.
"It's me," she answered and before he could ask the identifying question she continued, "I got ten Outstandings in my O.W.L.S and a Exceeds Expectations in DADA." She knew that if a muggle had been standing nearby, her words would have not made any sense. The person on the other side of the door liked to amuse himself with having her repeat it even though she still felt mortified at having received the poorer mark in Defense Against the Dark Arts. She frowned at the door, waiting. He had to give an appropriate response before opening it. It was for security purposes. She stared at the peeling puce paint of the door with a number 12 in tarnished brass letters hanging on it.
"I have a friend named Dobby," the voice mumbled. "He's short with very long ears." The door opened a crack and then widened. The person who stared back at her had light brown hair, green eyes and wore a cap low over his forehead. "Hi. Come in."
She slipped through the door and looked around for a split second and then dumped her armful of papers on a table next to an unmade bed. The room was sparsely finished and hot. Not even a breeze came through the opened window. The room also smelled slightly of old rot and decay and dirt although he had swept it and had placed a few belongings on the rickety table that sat near the window. It had two chairs. She sat in one and demurely crossed her legs. She was comfortable in wearing either muggle or witches clothing.
"So what are your plans, Harry? I imagine it was horrible at the Dursleys. I'm glad you got away safely last night. I lay awake for hours worrying. By the way I like the bleached hair." her words were rushed and she tried a smile, but it faded quickly.
The young man dropped into the chair opposite her and laid his hand on the papers she had dropped on the table. "I had plenty of time to think while I was there Hermione." Harry politely kept from going through the paperwork and instead, sat chatting with her. "Thanks to you it was easier than it could have been, what with changing my money into pounds and all of that. I just slipped away last night on an errand and caught a bus. It was safer all around rather than waiting until midnight."
"And you weren't followed?" she asked and he shook his head, still staring at her with his green eyes as if asking a million questions. "Don't worry about your things. I'll take care of Hedwig and your trunk and all." She placed her hands on the table and folded them together. He nodded and remained silent. There were deep shadows under the green eyes, a sign that he had not been sleeping either. He also looked customarily thin after a lengthy stay with his aunt and uncle. "Just think, Harry," she said quietly, "you'll never have to go back there again."
He nodded again.
"What will you do for food and all of that?" she asked and noticed that there was a small kitchen area. She saw a few things on the counter.
"I'll be fine, Hermione." He followed her eyes, his own looked haunted. "I won't be here long enough to worry about it."
"There's a map in there," she said finally, knowing that he wanted to examine the papers she had brought. "You'll have to do some checking around when you get in the area. It seems that when you ask about Godrics Hollow, people give varying descriptions and directions. It's almost as if its unplottable." She leaned over as he spread the map over the table. "Although Mr. Weasley swears that it isn't." She placed a hand on his. "You'll promise to at least send news to one of us as frequently as you can."
"I've decided it's best that you don't know exactly what I'm doing Hermione because I think that you'd be in more danger, but I'll try. You're still planning on going back to Hogwarts if it opens?" he asked. She nodded. "Good. You'll be ever so much help if you're there and in touch with the Order. What about Ron?" Harry asked sitting back and pulling the map to him. "What has he decided?"
"He's going back, too," she said. "Since you won't let us go with you, he's decided that he'll be there. We can keep you informed of what's happening there and at the Ministry, although its hard to tell if Mr. Weasley will get sacked, or demoted or whatever, now that Dumbled…." she stopped when she began to say Dumbledore's name. Even for her, the sound of it was too painful. She hurried on, "With things changing there, it's hard to know who will be trusted and who won't. The new Minister, Scrimgeour, is hard to read, Mr. Weasley says. We don't know whether he'll place his trust in the wrong people…. like, Umbridge for one." Hermione stood and folded her arms. "Of course, as soon as they realize you've left the Dursleys, they will be looking for you. Mr. Weasley says that they'll put a concerned face on it, but they all just want to have you where they can find you quickly. I doubt it's for your protection." She grimaced and touched a grimy surface. "I've gotten a little cynical, I think." She said it more to herself then to him, but he had heard her.
Harry nodded without looking up. "I'm afraid I've probably made an enemy of the new Minister, but I don't care very much. I have gotten a little wiser about it all though." He then raised his head. "I think we've all changed, Hermione. Maybe it isn't so bad being cynical. Maybe it will keep you safe. " He folded the paper and stuffed it into a knapsack that was packed and sitting by the bed. He stood and slipped his hands into trouser pockets and stared out the window. "I might even have to play games with Scrimgeour if needs be, to get what I want. It's the last thing I'll do though." He turned sad eyes to her and tried a wan smile. "I'm going to start off tomorrow. You know what I have to do."
She nodded and moved across the room to take his hand. "I will keep searching for any information that I can find. Hogwarts library will have all kinds of things on Godric Griffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. It's bound too. What I've found may be of some use, too." She nodded at the papers still on the table.
"Hermione…" he began, and she shook her head.
"You don't have to say anything, Harry. Helping you is a way for me to do my part." She dropped her head, worried that the tears that were gathering in her eyes would get away from her. She took a deep breath and then looked up. "Just stay in the muggle world as long as you can. You're less well known here and you know how to manage here as well as the other. Keep in mind, many of those who are looking for you aren't very adept here."
"Did you manage Rita Skeeter?" he asked, finally, turning to her.
Hermione did smile at this and stood to join him at the window. "Yes. She's frightened, but gave in to my reasoning. She'll start writing little articles so that You-Know-Who can see them. I'll feed them to her every day or so. He's not bothered the Daily Prophet. I think he wants to use it to his advantage at some time, but he's left them alone." She knew Harry knew she was talking about Voldemort. "And of course, when and if it's all over, she wants an exclusive: The Life and Times of Harry Potter." She whispered the last.
He nodded again and didn't share her smile. "And Remus has agreed to be Secret-keeper for the Order?"
She nodded. "He will meet you at No.12 Grimmauld Place tonight at midnight. He says he will initiate you then. Ron and I and the twins have already been initiated."
Harry thought about that and frowned. "Why do I have to be initiated. I just wanted the house protected so that no one can use it besides the Order, particularly Mundungus Fletcher, Lestrange and of course, Snape," he hissed the word out.
Hermione's brow furrowed and she nodded again and tried to reassure him by saying, "It's okay, Harry. Remus says it will offer you protection. I know you don't want to go back there. It has bitter memories for all of us, but it will only take a few minutes and he insisted." She smiled at his wariness. "He's our friend, Harry. He cares about you. Let him do it. Do it for me."
"Alright. I'll meet him there. Will you tell him?"
She reached for and opened his hand, pressing something into it. "This is a belated birthday present; but only just, since your birthday was yesterday. Happy Seventeenth birthday, Harry," she said it with a slight gruffness to her voice. To avoid his eyes she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
He closed his hand over the item and didn't look at it before he wrapped his arms around her and held her. They hugged and it took a long time before he felt satisfied and let go. She understood and stepped back, then turned and moved to the door. She stopped and looked at the door and spoke without turning her head. "If you need me, night or day, I will be there in a heartbeat. I will come even if it means my life. Ginny sends her love." She said the words and then opened the door and left, closing it quietly behind her.
Harry sat on the edge of the bed and looked absently at the door. He knew it would be hard to see her leave and yet, felt comforted that his friends might not be at his side, but were clearly supporting him. He finally dropped his head and opened his fist. Laying in the middle of his palm, still warm from her touch, was a small time-turner.
"Hermione!" he gasped. He knew it was not the one that she had been given by the Ministry and had turned in at the end of term; it was smaller and glowed with an iridescence. It was lightweight and seemed to almost flutter in his hand. He held it up by the thin golden chain and studied it. He knew that somehow Hermione had taken it the day that they fought the Death Eaters at the Ministry; had kept it secret from everyone. To have the presence of mind, he thought, and go against everything she thought right; to go against the rules, and take something like this…. His heart ached suddenly with the thought of itHe slipped it in his trouser pocket and lay back on the bed pulling the inch thick stack of papers off the table towards him. The shouts, murmured voices and crying of babies that echoed in the halls and the smells wafting through the tenement were dim reminders of where he was.
The words drummed in his head in a marching cadence and made it difficult to sleep or think; over and over the words repeated themselves- The Locket, The Ring, The Cup, The Diary, the Snake- continually and incessantly played in his head. The words had been there playing in his head since he'd returned to the Dursleys and saw satisfaction in Vernon Dursley's eyes when he told them that Dumbledore was dead. Somehow it hadn't been real; Albus' death, and Snape's betrayal of the Headmaster. In order to keep from going mad, Harry had pushed those thoughts from his head and repeated the other words like a mantra.
He'd expected the Dursleys to turn him out immediately and in some ways had wished for it. The weight of Dumbledore's death had almost pushed the will to live out of him after it had finally sunk in up to its hilt. He could only hold onto what the Albus had told him; about his motives for killing Voldemort; it was a choice and he had made it. Harry knew that it was foolish to have told his aunt and uncle; reckless if they had actually thrown him to the streets, but he wanted them to know.
He half expected their reaction to the news. Albus, after all, had told them about his inheritance, about the gold. In exchange for his freedom, he had paid them, knowing that they would cause problems for him in the muggle world where he was not yet of age there. And so he had given, in writing, his share of Sirius money and in return he held in his possessions a letter written in his aunt Petunia's hand and signed by her, emancipating him.
Harry held the back of his hand against his forehead and began to read the papers Hermione had brought. She had included a week's worth of the Daily Prophets. One glance told him that he would have to read them later. Dumbledore's funeral, pictures of it and full page articles were splashed across the front pages of every one of them.
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Severus Snape sat at the long table and watched the Dark Lord study the plans of Azkaban. He barely noticed the icy cold, achingly empty atmosphere where the two Dementors floated nearby. They were conversing in their silent language, pointing and showing the evil wizard the complexities of the wizarding prison. While in the presence of the man, Snape was very careful to shield his mind, not even allowing intrusive, demanding images to enter it. Every now and again a face would swim to the surface and he would squash it back down into the depths.
"Leave my presence, Snape. Your thoughts feel like worms crawling around in my head. I cannot think for it," Voldemort snarled, without turning and waved a skeletal hand towards the door. Snape rose like a wisp of smoke, bowed slightly and left. He walked quickly to a secured room in the large dwelling so that he could sit and ponder in solitude.
The day was not a bright day. The place was crawling or literally, 'floating', he thought, with a snarling look on his own face, with Dementors. Any sun that shone was muffled by the thick vaporous fog they were giving off. Snape closed the window against the chill even though it was late summer and usually warm. He sat in a large overstuffed, mildly mildewed chair and steepled his fingers together and pressed them to his lips. He allowed his mind to drift to that night.
He had not anticipated that Potter would be on the tower, had not seen him there when he had run up the stairs and burst onto the scene. Potter had been after him much too quickly and Snape knew that he had been a witness. Dumbledore had anticipated something of the kind because the boy had obviously used his invisibility cloak and was probably paralyzed while he stood watching the whole scene. In some ways it had made it easier and in many ways more difficult. Snape felt the anger rise and indulged in it. Potter had almost ruined the whole plan.
And then there was Draco.
Snape could not lie to the Dark Lord and allow the boy to take credit. It had almost meant Draco's death. Snape had intervened and now the boy remained alive but perched precariously on the edge.
Snape also had to think over what he wanted to do about the Unbreakable Vow. Snape sipped from a glass of wine; a wine much finer than any that he owned. He did not heed the taste. Yes, Draco was a problem.
He is not like his father; not as ambitious, not as driven, greedy or… courageous, Snape decided. It had always amazed him how skillful Lucius had been at playing Voldemort. The boy was nothing like his father and Draco had left he, Snape, in a bind. The Dark Lord was not pleased with the Malfoys, definitely, not pleased at all.
Snape was also curious as to what the Dark Lord was hiding. Severus thought about it. It was clear that Voldemort wanted the Azkaban prison as his stronghold. Hi Death Eaters had been released, there was nothing there to keep his interest. To Snape, it didn't seem necessary as a place of defense, it sounded more like a place to he was using to hide something. Voldemort had far too many creatures that he was going to use to protect it. And as far as Snape was concerned the wizarding community was now at the mercy of the Dark Lord. Voldemort had no one to fear, and yet he was not content. On the contrary; in Snape eyes, Voldemort looked like a man who was afraid. Afraid of what? he asked himself.
He sat and stared at the grayed-out window and felt the mark on his arm blaze briefly. Ah, he thought somewhat miffed, he calls me. Always at your beck and call; always your servant, Master. He grimaced and heaved himself from the chair and headed back down the hallway. He entered as usual, head bent.
"Severus," Voldemort said curtly, his head down. He was studying some papers that lay on the table and pawing through them. "I will put you in charge of finding Potter. You know him better than anyone. Take the Malfoy boy with you. I do not wish to have him in my sight. When the time comes I will tell you when I need him. Perhaps his father will be amenable to doing several tasks for me if he knows you have his son." The figure at the end of the table raised his head and said calmly, "Kill the mother."
Snape felt the rate of his heartbeat rise just enough that he took a calming breath. "Yes, Master." He looked in the yellow eyes and knew that Bellatrix had been 'advising' the Dark Lord of what had taken place in his setting room weeks before. She had betrayed her own sister. "Master, she is a pureblood; she is a Black."
Voldemort curled his lip, what there was of it, and waved his hand. "What of it. I wish to punish Lucius for his stupidity. Perhaps he will think again before he makes foolish mistakes. After all, I am keeping his son alive and that is reward enough."
"Very well," Snape murmured and backed out of the room. He swept down the hall, feeling his jaw ache from gritting his teeth together. He was angry again and being angry always unnerved him. It was the one emotion that he had difficulty controlling.
He found the boy where he had left him, in a room in the same dwelling. Draco had been mute since the night at Hogwarts and appeared to have almost caved in. He was a shadow of his previous, boisterous, overconfident self. Snape stepped in without knocking and stared at him. Draco did not move from the seat at the window. Food sat on a plate before him and it remained untouched. He had not bathed, changed his clothing and had barely moved from his present position.
Snape wanted to direct his anger at him, but knew it to be useless. With a barely audible sigh he walked over, pushed the plate aside and lifted Draco from the chair. The boy's eyes turned to him vacantly.
"You must come with me. It is the Dark Lord's orders," Snape said, and waited. After a full minute, he took out his wand and waved it over the blond-headed boy and cleaned him and redressed him. He picked up a cloak from the nearby bed and draped it over him. Snape knew that the Dementors that hung about the grounds of the place were having an effect on Draco, as well as the shock from the night of the killing. What he wasn't sure about was what Voldemort had done to him that night, since he had not been allowed to be present. It was likely Voldemort had used Legilimency on him. Other than that Snape could only guess.
"We are going to go see your mother, Draco," Snape said calmly and noticed a flutter of the eyelids. Ah, so you are in there somewhere, Snape thought. And where will you be if I kill your mother in front of you? he wondered. "Come with me Draco." He pushed the boy towards the door and closed it quietly behind them. The two dark-cloaked figures emerged into a very dim late afternoon. Fog swirled around their feet and the sun that shone through was a pale ghost of its usual summer glory. There was even a slight chill in the air. Snape hurried Draco down a leaf littered walkway and through a very ancient gateway where they immediately disapparated.