Chapter 26 - We Two, Part 2
"And we two, spinning our little life mostly by rote, seldom with clear cognizance, seldom with firm intent, were products of a sick world."
W. Olaf Stapledon, Starmaker (1937)
07.40 – Tuesday 17th February 1998
In, out.
In, out.
In, out.
Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, protector of the Philosopher's Stone, Tri-Wizards Champion and rebel against the Ministry of Magic stood alone in the chill dankness of the gloomy chamber. He repeatedly ran his tongue over his front teeth and the numb area inside his mouth, a legacy of his encounter with the guardian of the volcano Horcrux. As he did so, the white plume which his lungs sent forth with each breath held him mesmerised and he let his thoughts wander where they would.
It had surprised nobody more than him, he reflected, when he had awoken from a light sleep in the small hours of the morning feeling the need to…prepare…himself for the day ahead. Never had he been one for pomp and ceremony, but the gravity of the occasion seemed to demand of him a certain reverence. He had, in short, felt it fitting to dress properly in the only uniform he had ever respected – that of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He had been perfectly comfortable and surprisingly calm as he spent the few remaining hours of the night in the cleaning and repair of his neglected school clothes. He was no great shakes with a needle and thread and therefore had no reservations about using magic, but for the most part he worked in the Muggle way. One of the few times he had ever been relatively content whilst living with the Dursleys had been on Sunday afternoons. It was then when he had attended to his regular chore of polishing the footwear for the entire family. Vernon Dursley was nothing if not a man who both valued and demanded a shiny shoe. He believed you could separate the world into two categories: those with and those without shiny shoes. There was no need for him to state which group he thought to be the lesser of the two.
As he shifted his gaze slightly to look at his own highly polished toecaps, Harry's mouth twitched as he remembered hiding his eagerness to begin the task lest it be detected by Uncle Vernon and taken away from him. It had been the quietest part of the week as the Dursleys were traditionally occupied and had little interest in distracting the boy if he was gainfully employed in what they saw as boring manual labour. Whilst Aunt Petunia had tried to coax Dudley into at least pretending to pay attention as she did his homework for him, Uncle Vernon would sit in his Sunday best watching that dreary programme featuring elderly people singing hymns in church. It was to this backdrop of drab songs of praise and Dudley's whingeing that he had slowly and methodically applied the black and brown shoe polish to the numerous pairs of shoes which his relatives possessed.
First he would use one of Aunt Petunia's old scouring pads to strip the old polish from the leather before going on to the apply a fresh layer. This he would do by wetting the shoes and then using a scrap of old towel to scoop the pungent paste from the tin before smearing it on in ever decreasing circles. Next a scrap of old hand towel would be used to smooth the polish evenly over the shoe before finally buffing it to a brilliant shine with a yellow duster. As he produced pair after pair of immaculate shoes, Uncle Vernon showed his approval in the only way he knew how: silence. Cold would be the day in Hell before he offered even grudging approval to his nephew.
Harry sighed.
As he looked down, unaccustomed as he was to the dull shine of his ordinarily scuffed shoes, he wished that everything in life could be as simple. For the all too brief time which he had spent on knotting his tie, tying his shoelaces and smoothing the front of his robes, he had been content. Now he was alone in the dark with nothing to distract his mind from the coming horror except to worry himself sick about his friends. They would be marching out to meet the Death Eater Legions right about now with the sole purpose of giving him a chance to face Voldemort on terms of the Order's choosing. So many innocent lives sacrificed in order to lull Tom Riddle into a false sense of security, he thought disbelievingly. That wasn't something he could do in a thousand years and it had been sheer folly to entertain the notion that he could be an Auror, he thought to himself.
Concentrating on the ever tightening bands which sought to squeeze the air out of his chest, he sought to distract himself from the tonnes of rock and soil separating him from the fresh air and daylight. No matter how bad he felt about being trapped underground, however, it was nothing compared to the uncanny presence of that hated arch behind him. When last he had laid eyes on it, Sirius had just fallen foul of its gaping, insatiable maw. He had so far managed to avoid looking at it, yet its very existence mocked him. Trapped between a rock and a hard place? Try being sandwiched between the veil and a door which could only open if commanded to do so by a Parselmouth!
He had hoped never to see the Chamber of Secrets again as long as he lived. Truth be told, just about anywhere would have sufficed to face Voldemort. This frigid pit in the bowels of the castle had been chosen over his head and wishes, however. First of all, and perhaps most importantly, it was a remote location. Better that nobody ran the risk of stumbling across what promised to be a brief yet deadly encounter, was the general consensus. More importantly, though, was the fact that the door would only open to one who spoke Parseltongue. As far as anyone was aware, the only two people walking the earth today who qualified were The Boy Who Lived and You Know Who. If Harry had received a Galleon for every time he had been summoned from his classes by Ministry officials in the aftermath of his confrontation with the teenaged Riddle to either open of close the damned door, he would have been able to buy Hogwarts Castle and its grounds in their entirety.
Taking a final cleansing breath and steeling himself for what lay ahead, he brought up his right hand to regard his wand. It was strange how something you saw everyday soon ceased to register, how the most essential of items became mundane and unnoticed given enough time. Without his wand he was nothing and it was his purchase of this very item which had marked his transition from the Muggle world to the infinitely more satisfying one of magic. This small piece of Holly represented the three most important things in his life; no Dursleys, freedom and friends. Ever since the Tri-Wizards Tournament when he had been caught out by Mr Ollivander with a dirty wand, he had taken better care of it. That probably had more to do with the fact that he knew he would one day be facing Voldemort than the displeasure of the now missing wand manufacturer.
Shifting his attention to his left hand, he hefted the comfortable weight of Helga Hufflepuff's small golden cup. It was heavy for its size but Harry wasn't sure if that was due to its being made, at least in part, of gold or that it contained a fragment of Voldemort's soul. The centuries which had passed between the creation of the cup and its coming into Harry's possession had not served to dim or tarnish the badger engraved onto its surface. Indeed, it might have come fresh from the engraver's workbench so sharp were the lines of the rearing animal.
Whilst he had nothing but respect for the House of Hufflepuff, he thought the cup to be a little…unassuming…in comparison to the other Horcruxes. The teenage Tom Riddle's diary had at first appeared to be harmless enough, but had soon revealed its deadly nature. Sitting in a glass case in Headmistress McGonagall's office, and broken though it was, the black stoned ring of Marvolo Gaunt still had a menacing air about it. Likewise, the knowledge that the heavy gold locket had once belonged to Salazar Slytherin imbued the item with a tangible menace, missing though it was and it went without saying that Nagini too was a more than a little imposing. There was still the question of the unknown Horcrux which was most probably something that had once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw as he thought it highly unlikely that Voldemort would covet something of Godric Gryffindor's. Still, there was little point in speculating about what was out of his hands and he didn't imagine it would have any bearing on what was to come. He had all but accepted the inevitable and as a consequence he found himself to be disinterested in the future ramifications of missing Horcruxes.
Voldemort was sure to be approaching at this very moment through the castle which had been deliberately emptied against such an eventuality. Not only did the Order not wish to lose any more of its members to You Know Who, but they also did not want to impede his access to the Chamber of Secrets in any way. Should he think he was walking into some form of trap, he might well summon a number of his Death Eaters which would only serve to complicate matters further. This was between the Boy Who Lived and his nemesis, nobody else.
Harry finally turned a baleful eye to the hated stone archway of the veil. It stood upon the same stone dais which had supported it the first time Harry had laid eyes on it and it struck him again just how ancient and fragile it seemed to be. It looked as if one good kick would bring it crashing down in uneven lumps and he idly wondered just how the condemned prisoners had been restrained as they had been forced through the arch to their deaths. He supposed that if they hadn't had their arms and legs chained then they might well have desperately clung on to the arch or the veil in a last ditch effort to save themselves from whatever awaited them on the other side.
In, out.
In, out.
In, out.
"Let's see how you like this, Tom," he murmured as he drew back his left arm.
07.55 – Tuesday 17th February 1998
Harry grunted with the sheer effort he put behind sending the Horcrux winging towards its target. As it turned end over end, the cup traced a flattened arc on its journey into the centre of the veil. He blinked and missed its transition from this world to whatever lay on the other side of the black surface. What he didn't miss and indeed would have needed to be deaf and blind to have done so was the entirely unexpected side effect of destroying a part of Voldemort's soul in such a manner.
A split second after the cup disappeared, a shockwave burst out from the confines of the veil to knock him flat on his back. As he shook his head and worked his jaw to clear his popping ears, Harry raised himself up on his elbows to check that the veil was still in one piece. Fortunately it was and he watched, transfixed, as a misty form slowly rose from the space contained by the arch. After a few seconds it seemed to resolve itself into the indistinct form of a human man, desperately struggling to escape the pull of an unseen force. Despite the efforts of the phantasmal arms which seemed to be straining against ancient pitted stone of the arch, the figure was drawn inexorably back and slowly disappeared beneath the fluttering veil suspended from the pointed archway. Whilst Harry had previously been feeling detached and disinterested in the course of events, it surely wasn't the case now. What he had just witnessed left him feeling like he had been fetched a stinging slap on his face.
Hastily picking himself up from the cold, hard flagstones and rubbing his throbbing elbows, Harry looked around the Chamber as if expecting Voldemort to swoop down like an avenging wraith. He held his breath and for long moments stood stock-still as he strained his senses to the utmost. Waiting for the repercussions of this action put him in mind of a time he had dropped a plate in Aunt Petunia's pristine kitchen. It had been the middle of the night and he had been ravenous enough to dare the journey past his uncle's and aunt's bedroom door. With the vast quantities of food needed to satisfy the two beefy Dursley men, he knew that if he took only a tiny amount of whatever there was to hand in the fridge then a few mouthfuls might well go unmissed.
Taking a good five minutes to creep down the stairs, his face had lit up in more ways than one when he had finally eased the door to the fridge open. Dudley must have invited some of his friends to tea judging by the veritable hillocks of party food in there. Surely if he ate just one spoonful of each of the plates then he would be stuffed to the point of bursting. Quietly teasing a spoon out of the drawer next to the sink, he chose a plate containing the remaining half of a glistening red jelly. The quivering ruby mound seemed to move in time to his thudding heart and his mouth was watering at the sight of it.
It was then, at the moment of his triumph that disaster struck. As he carefully turned to gently deposit the coveted jelly on the kitchen table, his thumb slipped on a drop of water on the side of the plate and it fell to the floor. The resulting crash, which would have been loud enough by day, was thunderous in the quiet of the night. He still remembered to this day the force with which he had screwed his eyes shut, determined to convince himself in the few seconds remaining to him before the arrival of his roaring uncle that it hadn't happened and had in fact all been a dream.
The worst thing about the subsequent month of punishments was the nagging sense of self-reproach. He knew full well that what he had done was wrong, of course, and to be sure he had been hungry. However, in spite of knowing what would happen if the Dursleys discovered his theft, he had been stupid enough to go ahead with it anyway. The sense of injustice which he ordinarily felt throughout the period of his extended punishments was not there to protect him this time as there was no one to blame but himself.
In, out.
In, out.
In, out.
Without warning, the low reverberating thud of the retracting bolts on the enormous door brought him back to reality with a jolt.
He was here.
08.05 – Tuesday 17th February 1998
Harry positioned himself with his back to the veil so he was looking down the long promenade which led to the great door. At regular intervals on either side of the damp flagstones were the sinister snake heads which added so much to the menacing atmosphere of Salazar Slytherin's work. He looked down at his shoes again and in doing so noticed that he was more or less standing just where Ginny had lain during his encounter with Tom Riddle. He moved forward a couple of paces.
When he raised his head again he could see that the huge door had opened fully and that there was a figure silhouetted in the lamplight, with an undulating gleam which seemed to writhe at its feet. For long moments nothing happened and Harry steeled himself for what was to come. So much was riding on this one encounter; so many lives were at stake and after what he had seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve…
The figure was now walking towards Harry. Its pace was not hurried, yet it seemed to eat up the distance between the two of them very quickly indeed. As Nagini slithered into the wide pool of light which surrounded the veil, she reared up and tested the air with her forked tongue before turning to regard Harry, who envied her the emotionless face she presented the world. She then gathered her body behind her in preparation to approaching him.
"Sssuashiss-thá!"
Both Harry and Nagini flinched at the insult barked in Parseltongue and it was hard to say which looked the most put out; Harry who had uttered the curse on impulse, or the snake which seemed angered by the word. She coiled her body upon herself time and time again until she resembled a tangle of rope and seemed to be on the point of attacking until her master stepped into the light.
"You might very well level that insult at yourself, Harry Potter. 'Puppet' you say? What then are you if not the ultimate puppet? Who are you to level such an insult at Nagini, guilty as you are of the same sin?"
His voice had not changed and was still that otherworldly mixture of high-pitched huskiness and mellower bass notes. It was capable of evincing a false bonhomie to rival Cornelius Fudge after he had enjoyed a stiff firewhisky, yet was still able to project a cold hatred to rival Severus Snape's best. It was a valuable tool for such a manipulator as he.
If his voice had not changed then his appearance certainly had. Whereas it was true that he was still cadaverously thin and his skin had not lost its unwholesome grey-white pallor, he too had chosen to dress for the occasion. After coming to a halt at Nagini's side, his beautifully tailored midnight-black robes continued to sway ever so slightly. Despite trying not to show even a hint of weakness Harry shivered as the undulating motion of the robes served to remind him of the tattered black curtain on the hated veil.
Once again he closed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. If anyone had ever told him he would one day feel secure enough to close his eyes in the presence one of the most evil Dark wizards in history, he would have laughed in their face. Yet he felt safe enough doing just such a thing, secure in the knowledge that he would not be attacked quite yet. Then he opened his eyes again and resumed his scrutiny of Voldemort.
His feet, which had last time been filthy as they had pushed Cedric's dead face to and fro, were clad in glistening boots of the supplest leather. Had it not been the Dark Lord who was wearing them, Harry might well have laughed. They looked very much like a pair of boots Lavender and Parvati were always fighting over. Quite who owned them, however, he couldn't say.
Finally he raised his eyes to the most obvious addition to Voldemort's apparel – the plain silver circlet which adorned his bald head. Harry had spotted it the instant he had stepped into the pool of light and had deliberately looked away lest his mind betray him. It was vital that Voldemort not suspect anything and leave here prematurely for although Harry was doing his best to Occlude his mind, he could not guarantee anything against Voldemort's power. If it was indeed the missing Horcrux…
"Is it a Horcrux?" said Voldemort in a tremulous whisper as he raised his fingers to his lips. It was as if he were reading Harry's mind after all, but when he broke down into mocking laughter, Harry knew that his secrets were still safe.
"But I forget my manners, Harry, and that simply will not do!" Voldemort stated in a more serious manner. He brought his heels together with a sharp click and curtly bowed his head.
"I am Lord Voldemort, wizard plenipotent in the world today and I have come to bring the matters outstanding between the two of us to a close," he said in a formal tone. Then he looked up and his face was once again given over to its habitual sneer of condescension.
"I must admit that I am gratified that you are here and have not forced me to run you to ground, Harry, for that would not be a fitting end for the son of James Potter. I should not have scorned him the last time we met as he was, after all, a man. He did indeed meet me as a pureblood wizard should meet his enemy; face to face and with no underhand tricks! He knew he was doomed, of course, yet that did not stop him confronting me with his wand in his hand and a snarl on his face!
"You, on the other hand, have never sought to face me without underhand trickery and cowardly deceits. Each time you have eluded me, Harry, and here I am forced to concede that these occasions have both vexed and wearied me, each time you have eluded me you have only managed to do so due to the help of others. Your filthy Muggle mother, that senile old fool Dumbledore, the pathetic shades of my fallen victims and even by the incompetence of my own followers have you gone free!" he hissed.
Then he briefly turned to regard the distant door to the Chamber of Secrets before once again facing Harry. A distant rumble told him that the heavy portal was rumbling shut, sealing the two of them in here until the end…until the matter was decided.
"Now it is just you and me, Harry Potter, and there is no possibility of you indulging yourself in your cowardice again this time!" he crowed.
"Huásss-ashíth," hissed Harry by way of response.
Voldemort was momentarily taken aback and it showed in his face. Whether it was due to Harry's lack of response to the goads or by the fact that he had chosen so far to converse only in Parseltongue was not clear. A snarl clawed its way onto his face before he once again mastered his emotions and gave another of his courtly bows.
"Oh, you are quite welcome," was the reply sent forth by those thin, cold lips. "Now, if you don't mind I think we will begin. It would be rude of me to keep my Death Eaters waiting, after all."
In, out.
In, out.
In, out.
The two wizards raised their wands.
08.25 – Tuesday 17th February 1998
Harry was panting.
He had already tried everything he knew and then some more besides. Once he had seen a Slytherin fire a stinging hex which bounced off any surface it came into contact with until it hit flesh. Only the fact that he had been caught red-handed by Professor Flitwick and punished severely had prevented the hex coming into widespread use in the halls and corridors of Hogwarts. When all else had failed, Harry had sent a series of these bolts bouncing off the floor at different angles in an attempt to just touch Voldemort. It had failed.
He had been prepared for the fact that his enemy would be using a different wand and had not been disappointed. Although his original claw-footed wand was tucked into an elegant holster on the front of the sash which secured his robes, Voldemort was using an incredibly long and thin substitute. Every time Harry launched one of his not inconsiderably powerful attacks, he would be frustrated by the tiniest flick of that thin wand clutched in an equally emaciated hand.
He was being toyed with.
It was undoubtedly something to do with the silver circlet which adorned Voldemort's head, for as soon as they had begun duelling it had developed a faint blue light. Harry had not expected to land a blow on Voldemort this time. He was always trying to impress upon people that he had been carried through his previous confrontations mainly by luck. The Order's plan did not rely on Harry's magical powers or duelling prowess one whit, so in theory this was a wasted effort on his part. However, one very important factor was whether or not Voldemort carried on his person the unknown Horcrux and Harry had to find out.
"Accio circ…" he began.
He was slammed back onto the flagstones with such force that he had his answer. This was the first time which Voldemort had chosen to strike back at him rather than simply deflect or evade his spells. Looking up from the floor he met those narrowed and furious red slits a moment before they assumed a more composed expression. Harry smiled, letting Voldemort know that he had just slipped up and that he himself had been manipulated. It was a small victory admittedly, but a victory nonetheless.
"Ruasss-há-shíass!" he hissed at his enemy.
Voldemort laughed coldly.
"Oh, did you? Well let me ask you this, Harry; who saw it? In all of world of wizards or Muggles, who witnessed the tiniest of flea bites which Harry Potter claims to have landed on Lord Voldemort? Who then shall bear witness to your great victory and travel the lands singing of your great deed? No one, as well you know! You will never leave this place, my young friend, or at least not by the door," he added, casting a darkly significant glance at the veil.
"Do you really think you possess any power, artefact or quality which will force me through there? I have spent my entire existence searching out possible threats to my immortality, and knowing them all I may confidently state the following: you are not one of them!
"Long have I searched for a method to make you suffer, Harry, and I don't mind admitting that the more I searched the greater my sense of frustration was, for something of sufficient horror was not to be found. Finally, however, I have found a way to hurt you in a manner befitting one who has defied Lord Voldemort!"
From his position on the floor Harry had a hard time seeing past the figure of Voldemort, but he thought he saw movement back along the promenade leading to the door. He dared not try to get a clearer view for fear of interrupting Voldemort's bilious monologue and drawing his attention.
"Can you see them yet, Harry? Have you discerned the way in which you shall meet your end? They are magnificent!" Voldemort screeched with his arms cast wide.
This was it, the moment which he had been dreading since he had discovered the truth in Scrimgeour's office. Nothing could ever compare to the trepidation he had felt knowing that this time would come, not even the waiting for the Tri-Wizard Tournament tasks in which he was afraid for his very life. He had long resigned himself to the fact that this would be has last day on earth, yet still he was terrified. He gulped some air down his constricted throat as the dimly lit figures approached them.
"This army will bolster the ranks of my Death Eaters, Harry! They will turn the tide of the war irrevocably in my favour regardless of what happens above our heads today. Few are the witches or wizards who are powerful enough to rend my new soldiers limb from limb which is, of course, the only way to stop them! And as they kill, so shall they add their fallen victims to their own ranks!"
His face grey and beaded with sweat, Harry regained his feet despite the best efforts of his own body. It was if it was resisting him with all of its might; his arms and legs felt like they were made of lead and his muscled wobbled like the jelly from Dudley's birthday party.
"Yes! Yes! Here they are at last, Harry! They are here for you!" cried Voldemort exultantly.
Harry looked up as the Inferi closest to them stepped into the pool of light. Some were naked and some were dressed in little more than rags. They, however, were easy to pick out as they were dressed as if they had just arrived home from a day at the office.
"Harry, it is my very great pleasure to reintroduce you to your parents!" cooed Voldemort with a wide smile.
The reanimated corpses of James and Lily Potter stood flanking their master.
08.30 – Tuesday 17th February 1998
Harry vomited.
He bent over as his stomach expelled what little he had managed to eat for his last, lonely meal and splattered the floor in front of him. He felt hot and cold pinpricks all over his body at the same time and was aware of Voldemort's hysterical laughter. He vomited again.
"Harry! What sort of a welcome is that to extend to your beloved parents? Their journey to this place has been a long and torturous one, I assure you. Do stand up and try to look as if you are happy to see them!"
He made a short sweeping motion with his arms to which James and Lily responded by stepping clumsily forward. They were now fully in the light and Harry could not help but see them quite clearly. This time when he bent forward there was nothing left in his stomach and he gagged as the dry heaves racked his body.
Their dishevelled hair looked brittle, dry and dull as if they had just recovered from a long illness whilst their skin lacked the lustre of the living. Instead, it looked like the waxy parchment Professor Sprout used to wrap the dried plants she had regularly sent to Snape for his Potions classes. They stood as if they were dangling from a wire attached to the top of their heads and both of them were slightly lopsided. In a desperate attempt to avoid looking at their faces, he concentrated on their clothes which looked like they had been long abandoned on the floor of a dusty room before his parents had been hastily and sloppily dressed in them. Voldemort's defilement of them was complete.
He sighed and raised his eyes to meet theirs.
It was as if he were looking upon a grotesque puppet which had been constructed to parody a human. Lily's eyes were half-closed and seemed to be staring at the floor to his left. James's eyes, on the other hand, were far worse. One seemed to be looking directly at him whilst the other was directed away to the edge of the circle of light. They both stood stock still, without even the action of breathing or blinking to give them the appearance of life.
He moved his own bloodshot eyes to meet the narrowed red slits which had regarded him unblinkingly since the beginning of their confrontation and then screwed them shut in a vain attempt to dislodge the unshed tears. His lips were compressed into the tightest line he could manage in order not to lose control of them. He would not cry in front of Voldemort, he swore to himself.
Hearing a strange noise he glanced up to see the ring of Inferi shuffling forward very slowly behind their advancing master.
"Harry, I think it would be entirely fitting for the occasion if you were to embrace your parents, don't you? It is true that we are both English and are possessed of that famous emotional reserve but special occasions merit a public display of affection, wouldn't you say? Come now, Harry, embrace your dear Muggle mother!
"They will kill you ever so slowly, Harry!" he continued in a gentle tone of voice. "It shall neither be slow nor painless as they use their fingers to pick the bloody gobbets of flesh from your body. Before the end you will scream and you will beg for mercy, but…you…shall…not…have…it!"
As he stood almost toe to toe with Voldemort, he fancied he could feel the non-existent breath of the Inferi on the back of his neck. To steady his wavering resolve, he cast his mind back to the promise he had made himself after Hermione, Bob, Iain and Jerry had been injured whilst searching for Helga Hufflepuff's goblet.
From here on in he would say anything, do anything and deal with anyone in order to end all of this. He would finish with the Horcrux, the Death Eaters, Voldemort and anyone else who threatened peace in the world. No innocent would suffer again on his behalf; not one.
He opened his eyes just as his parents' hands were reaching for his throat. At his muttered "Protego Positus" a full body shield sprang into life. It was a faint blue nimbus of light which was renowned for being incredibly powerful and extraordinarily brief. As it flared brightly under the scrabbling fingers of the half dozen Inferi surrounding him, he looked directly into his mother's eyes.
The seconds stretched out into a full minute and still the Inferi could not touch him. Prowling the edge of the shield, Voldemort fought against a rising tide of vexation. He had won and yet he was still impatient for this to be over. He was anxious to join his Death Eaters above who had just joined battle with the Auror Phalanxes. He was already assured of victory but his colossal sense of vanity demanded that it be a flawless triumph, unblemished by the impure hands of those who opposed him.
"Your shield will soon collapse, Harry!" he called out eagerly.
He both pursed his lips and frowned slightly at the lack of response. Moving around the Inferi which encircled Harry, Voldemort scrutinised his enemy's face. Puzzled as he was by Harry's softening expression, he raised his wand.
"Legilimens!"
08.40 – Tuesday 17th February 1998
Love.
Harry was wandering the paths of his mind in search of love and despite the circumstances of his upbringing there was a surprising amount of it to be found.
First and foremost there was the platonic love which filled him whenever he thought of Ron and Hermione. He could remember as if it were yesterday the first time he had met them both on the Hogwarts Express. Of course, he hadn't much cared for Hermione to begin with, but that had changed soon enough. Although he pretended to ignore her advice, it was telling that she was the only person to whom he had constantly turned to when in need of counsel. In fact, he ruefully acknowledged that his own reckless nature had often been tempered by her cool intellect without his realisation. Often days would pass before it dawned upon him exactly how he had been manipulated by her.
Ron, on the other hand, was an entirely different kettle of fish. He was as fiercely loyal as Hermione it was true, but there the similarity ended. He was an uncomplicated presence in Harry's life and one which counterbalanced Hermione perfectly. Ron didn't confuse matters by constantly over-analysing them; instead he lived them. Much like a dog he displayed his emotions as and when he felt them and therein lay his charm – he was honest as he was open.
In an ever changing world of intrigue and suspense they had both always been there for him. With a twinge of guilt he acknowledged that he had received far more from their friendship than he had ever given in return and if there were a better definition of friendship that that, he did not know it. In the silence of his mind his love for them swelled and he thanked them for their friendship with all of his heart.
Next there was the sentimental love which he felt for the most precious things in his life. He still could not think of Hogwarts without a surge of emotion constricting his chest. He would not exchange the life which would end today for one with another fifty years if it meant that he had never come to this school. It was this place which had allowed him to experience freedom, friendship, Quidditch, wizard chess and pudding. If there was anyone who did not value such things, then Harry pitied them. That such things would cease to exist under Voldemort there was no doubt and it did not matter that he would no longer be here to enjoy them. Others would come after him to discover the simple pleasures in life and that should be enough for him.
He winced as a particularly strong jolt of the shield rocked him.
Ginny - she was both the romantic and erotic love which he had no concept of whatsoever until it had finally dawned on him that he found her attractive. Indeed, such a word failed to encompass the range of his unrealised feelings towards her. She had been the hope of something normal and good in his life, even if he had not seen it until recently. As a teenager, he had never really entertained the concept of a family beyond a hazy perception of what might happen in the future. There was no doubt in his mind, however, that he would have chosen her without hesitation to be his partner on life's path.
In the here and now, however, all he could think of was the softness of her lips as they kissed; the silky feel of her skin under the tips of his fingers as they traced the line of her jaw and neck; the fragranced darkness of her auburn hair as he buried his face in it in an attempt to nibble her ear. The pounding in his chest at such thoughts was of an entirely different quality to the dull thudding ache which he was experiencing now.
Another strong blow buffeted him and he felt his hold on the shield slipping. Like a rope sliding through his fingers, when his strength ran out he would fall to his death.
In the very back of his mind he felt the briefest of flutters. It was if someone had gently blown on the back of his brain, so gentle was the sensation. He frowned as he screwed his eyes shut all the tighter as he concentrated on the faint tingle. He found something there and latched on to it for all he was worth. It was as fragile and ephemeral as a snowflake as he tried to comprehend what it was.
Then it unexpectedly blossomed open under his gentle scrutiny and it proved to be little more than a memory of walking downhill. There was just the haziest impression of grass and trees around him, but the sensation was definitely more focussed on the agreeable jolting passage down the hill. It faded away.
Another flutter and this time he seized upon it, recognising it for what it was. Again there was little in the way of visual memory which seemed to have taken a subordinate position to the memory of warmth. Harry was never one for joining Lavender in her afternoons spent in the summer sun in pursuit of a tan, but this memory was unmistakably of the sun on exposed skin. This sensation proved to as fleeting as the last and soon dwindled away.
The next in what proved to be a rapid succession of images made him squirm as it felt very much like fingers tickling his ribs. This was followed by the gentle stroke of a hand on his hair, then the ache of burning lungs after a brisk run, a bitter taste in his mouth which he did not care for in the slightest, the icy needles of a cold shower. Like the flickering of the sunlight through the leafless branches of a winter tree, the images continued to flow thick and fast. They were exclusively of physical sensations with very little in the way of emotional content, but the sensations were all agreeable.
The truth stole slowly upon Harry. What he was experiencing were the memories of the Inferi surrounding him. They were the distant echoes of what the souls which had once occupied these poor bodies found to be…pleasant.
Love – whatever form it came in, he felt it all the more intensely for having come to it late in life. He took a deep breath and concentrated as he tried to encapsulate all of the complicated feelings which he categorised as love into one package. Tears leaked from his eyes as sent this feeling back out towards those confused memories he was receiving.
"I'm sorry," he whispered as he looked directly at a stirring something in the eyes of his parents.
It was the first time he had spoken in English since he had entered the Chamber of Secrets and his own voice seemed strange to his own ears.
He turned at a gagging sound to see Voldemort desperately trying to wriggle free of the dozens of hands which clasped his arms, legs and head. Harry was exercising no control over the Inferi whatsoever, but he knew what was happening. Voldemort was radiating hatred and bad memories whilst he himself was concentrating on love. The Inferi were little more than animals which were trying to attack something which hurt them.
Looking back up at the corpses of his parents, he reached out his hands and steeled himself to touch them. Taking a firm grip on each of them, he bent his head again and redoubled his efforts to concentrate on those feelings of love. As more and more Inferi pushed forward towards the source of such feelings, they were forcing Harry and Voldemort towards the veil. It was clear now that there were hundreds of Inferius in the shadows of the Chamber which were now crowding towards them as moths towards a candle.
He turned his head from side to side, desperately seeking some avenue of escape. But as soon as he allowed himself to become distracted, those Inferi which were holding Voldemort began to loosen their grip. Seeing the flare of triumph in those inhuman red slits, Harry made his choice.
"I know I will die," he said to no one in particular. "But I now know that death is not the end I used to think it was. I don't know if I'll ever again see anyone I know when I die, but at least there will be those I love to continue here."
These calmly spoken words seemed to send Voldemort into a frenzy. Harry maintained his grip on his parents as he shuffled backwards towards the veil under the weight of the advancing figures. He was dimly aware of the knot of Inferi restraining Slytherin's heir jostling him as they stumbled onto the dais just inches from the veil and its fluttering curtain and winced slightly as Voldemort's hand finally succeeded in escaping the iron grip of one of his own Inferius and latched onto his arm. Such was his concentration, however, that he failed to notice that his flesh had been pierced by Voldemort's filthy long nails and that he was being dragged even more rapidly towards his death.
As he held onto James's and Lily's arms, he concentrated on the love which filled him.
03.20 – Wednesday 18th February 1998
In the ensuing chaos of the pitched battle between the Death Eater Legions and the Auror Phalanxes it would be many hours before a new entrance would be blasted through to the Chamber of Secrets from the outside. When it was, however, the would-be rescuers would find absolutely nothing except for the unsettling veil and its ever-fluttering curtain.
And at its base was a pair of crushed glasses.
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