Harry Potter and the Forests of Valbonë
Chapter Thirty Five
The blood ran down the length of the blade and then dripped to the floor. The sound of the droplets striking the floor echoed around the room until they sounded like a cannon in Harry's head.
Bang, bang, bang, bang.
Like the heartbeat of an enormous monster. Harry might have preferred that.
"Am I actually seeing him?" asked Harry.
"Unless we've both gone simultaneously gone mad," offered Sternley, his tone grave. "But the odds of that—"
"Are very unlikely," finished Harry, swallowing.
For his part, Tom Riddle just stared, dark malicious eyes burrowing into Harry's. Part of Harry wanted to strike out with the sword and sever the boy's head from his shoulders. The other part was frozen in terror, to afraid to move, let alone attack.
"How are you here?" he whispered.
"How am I here?" asked Tom, in a mocking, sing-song voice. "What do you think, Harry Potter?"
"I don't understand, Dumbledore said—"
Tom Riddle's laugh was high-pitched and terrible. His lips drew back over his teeth in a horrific parody of a smile and his eyes flickered red, just for a moment.
"Dumbledore said, did he?" he said, dark merriment still ringing in his tone. "Guess what, Harry Potter. Dumbledore doesn't know everything. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that Dumbledore knows almost nothing about anything. He's old and senile and can't protect you from—"
"SHUT UP!" shouted Harry, finding his voice. "JUST SHUT UP. YOU'RE WRONG."
Tom Riddle laughed again.
"What a dashing retort," he chortled. "'Shut up', he says. Stung did it, that one? Came a bit too close to the truth?"
"Dumbledore is a better wizard than you'll ever be," snarled Harry. "We beat you in the chamber."
"We?" asked Riddle. "I didn't see anyone but you. Dumbledore was there in spirit, was he?"
"He sent me Fawkes, and Sternley."
"As I said in the Chamber," scoffed Riddle. "A songbird and an old hat. If Dumbledore cared, if he could protect you, don't you think that he'd come himself? No, Dumbledore is a scared old man and you survived by luck. Just as you always have."
"That's not true."
Riddle screwed up his face in scorn, pushed the blade aside and made to step closer to Harry. The fear that had kept Harry frozen to the spot vanished. He leapt backward, sword ready to strike. Tom stopped coming forward, but didn't look impressed or alarmed. If anything he looked rather bored.
Every inch of Harry was screaming at him to strike, to run Tom through, but something stopped him. A nagging voice in his head told him that Riddle was right. That Dumbledore wasn't here to save him.
"If Dumbledore is so great," continued Riddle. "Why isn't he here, protecting you? If he's so great, why hasn't he sorted out this whole Albanian Ministry thing? Why hasn't he sorted out the goblins? Why hasn't he come to protect his precious boy-who-lived? Why couldn't he even stop me from killing Ginevra Weasley?"
Harry's mouth went dry.
"What do you mean?" he asked, voice hoarse. "What do you mean, killed her?"
Riddle's eyes went wide with surprise.
"Oh, you believed her safe?" he asked and then he laughed again. "Dumbledore didn't even tell you? The Dark Lord's possession isn't that easy to overcome. All you did was buy her a few more months. She withered away into nothing a few days after you left."
"No she didn't!" shouted Harry, shaking now. "You're lying."
Tom Riddle shrugged.
"How else would I be here?" he asked. "How else could I be?"
Harry didn't have an answer.
"I almost feel sorry for you, Harry Potter," said Tom, turning and walking a few steps away. "You saw in the diary how Albus Dumbledore treated me, but what he's done to you is far worse. He made you trust him and strung you along in his silly little games."
Harry's brain felt like it had been smashed to pieces, or like someone had thrown something into the cogs. His thoughts were coming to a standstill, nothing was making any sense.
"Harry, don't listen," urged Sternley. "He's—"
"Oh shut up, hat," snapped Tom, whirling around. "Dumbledore's little spy. You've been whispering in Harry's ear all this time, haven't you? You were the next helpful friend that Dumbledore conveniently placed in his path, like Hagrid and Hermione and Ron and Ginny before you.
"That little motivation to help him overcome the next big obstacle in the path Dumbledore has laid out for him. Aren't you suspicious, Harry Potter, that you were in Dumbledore's office when all this started? Aren't you suspicious that in your fragile, broken state you chose the Sorting Hat and the sword of Gryffindor? The very same tools Dumbledore sent his defender. What are the odds?"
Harry felt like he'd been drenched in cold water. It wasn't true, but it all made sense in a weird sort of way. Like he'd been doing a jigsaw puzzle upside down and someone had just walked into the room and flipped it round. As though now he saw the bigger picture and his whole understanding of it had fundamentally changed.
If it were true, he daren't trust Dumbledore, or Sternley, or the Anglia or even the sword. He couldn't even trust Ksheta or any of the other creatures he'd met while in Valbonë.
His head was spinning. It wasn't true. But somehow it was all clicking into place. Somehow it did make sense.
The corners of Tom Riddle's lips curled upwards in a triumphant smile.
'No it doesn't,' came a gentle voice in the back of his head. 'It doesn't make sense.'
Harry shook his head. Where was that voice coming from?
'Think about it. Even if you accept what he's telling you as truth, how does Tom Riddle know? Say he drained the life from Ginny and escaped here; how did he learn of what happened in Dumbledore's tower? How could he know that you took the sword or hat with you? He's lying.'
'He's manipulating me,' thought Harry and his head began whirring again, his brain making connections at lightning speed.
'And doing a damn good job of it,' replied the voice. 'But you're cleverer than this boy. How could he know?'
'He's in my head?'
The voice laughed.
'Better, but no. I'm already in here and let me tell you, your mind isn't big enough for three. I'd know if he were. Now concentrate!'
And Harry thought. Because now that he was thinking with a clear mind, it was obvious, wasn't it. In fact, he'd known it right from the beginning. The very first words he'd said, the very first inclination he'd had.
"You're not real," said Harry, his breath escaping in a sigh and his entire body deflating as he said the words.
Tom Riddle blinked and frowned.
"What did you say?" he barked.
"You're not real," repeated Harry, his voice stronger and more adamant. "You can't be. Only three people knew what happened in Dumbledore's office. One of them is miles away and he'd never tell you. One of them is a hat and he'd never tell you either and then there's me."
Harry licked his lips and jutted out his jaw.
"So somehow, you're playing me. You know what I'm scared of and you're using that against me. And what's more, you're not even Tom Riddle."
Tom blinked and scowled, opened his mouth to reply but Harry spoke across him.
"Tom Riddle isn't an idiot. He's failed before because he talked for too long instead of simply killing me. He wouldn't make that mistake again."
Without giving any overt indication or warning, Harry flashed the sword out, aiming for Riddle's neck. The blade went clean through and out the other side; no blood, no decapitation, just a wisp of dark smoke that followed the blade. Harry glanced down, the blade was clean, even the blood that had dripped to the floor had disappeared.
"Smoke and mirrors," chuckled Harry, then he looked up into the eyes of Tom Riddle and his voice became as hard as stone. "Come on then, what are you? Speak up, or are you afraid?"
With those words came a sound like a thunderclap and the room's magic peeled away. The pristine white walls turned to ash, revealing dark, cracked plaster beneath. The ceiling, high and domed, shook and then collapsed inward without a sound or movement. Beneath Harry's feet, instead of thick, plush carpet, were cracked and broken flags, littered with broken glass.
But none of these things held any interest to Harry. Not when compared with the creature which had appeared before him.
A grey, skeletal figure had materialised ten feet away from him. It hung there, suspended by thick, black chains that swooped down from the ceiling and were attached to the creature's manacled wrists. It was draped in what, from a distance, looked like cloth but as Harry approached, he realised was smoke that clung to the figure like thin material.
As Harry approached, it became obvious that this was not a man, indeed it looked like nothing Harry had ever seen before. The creature was very tall and thin, with flawless pale skin, stretched over jutting bones. It was humanoid, but proportioned in a way that would have been grotesque if it didn't cut such a serenely sad figure.
The creature raised its head as Harry drew near and despite the smoke that billowed as it moved, Harry just about saw the shape of what looked like antlers. Harry had never seen anything that looked so bizarre and alien. Yet he didn't feel the slightest hint of fear as he stepped forward and gazed into its deep, sorrowful eyes.
"What are you?" asked Harry and his heart almost broke as it gave a sorrowful moan.
"I think," said Sternley from his head. "You're one of a very few wizards to look upon the natural form of a boggart. Or, at least, what's left of this one."
"What's a boggart?"
"A shapeshifter. It takes the form of whatever it thinks will scare you most. That's what it feeds on, fear. Nonetheless, mostly harmless."
"What's happened to it?"
If hats could shrug, Sternley did now.
"Something terribly evil, I dare say. I think someone's reversed engineered the boggart's natural magic enough to used it to fuel the enchantments on this room. Almost torturing it to death in the process."
"That's—" began Harry, but couldn't find a word to describe the heinousness of such a thing. "Can we help it?"
"I'm not sure. I can't even imagine what would begin to happen if you broke those chains. Tearing apart a creature's natural magic and binding it to something artificial— That's not only unimaginably evil, but horrendously dangerous."
Harry stared up at the figure, which gave a valiant little struggle against the chains that held it to no avail. He could see that it had pitiful little strength remaining and it only managed a few, faint tugs at the chains before slumping down, defeated.
Harry couldn't bear it any longer. He lifted Vocerr's sword and swung it, the blade whistling through the air and severing the chain holding the creature aloft. Metal struck metal and the chain gave way with a sound like the clang of a heavy bell.
The thick, black chain, suddenly split, screamed so loudly it set Harry's ears ringing. Dark, acrid smoke billowing from the wound Harry had inflicted. A bolt of purple lightning shot up the length of the metal to strike the ceiling, which cracked the plaster and sent a cascade of dust raining down on them.
The boggart, now free of one mooring, swung like a pendulum on its remaining chain. Harry struck again and the second chain broke with another loud chime. It too began to scream and also produced the smoke. A second bolt of purple lightning ran its length and struck the roof, this time bringing chunks of brick raining to the ground.
The creature sank to the floor, seeming to float through smoke as it fell and collapsed beneath its own weight. Harry darted forward and fell to his knees, lifting the nearly weightless head into his lap. For a moment, he found himself cradling the visage of Tom Riddle, which stared at him, near sightless.
"Thank you, Harry Potter," it whispered. "You have nothing to fear."
Then it dissolved into smoke.
Harry didn't have time to consider these words, for an almighty groaning came from above. Harry glanced up and was just fast enough to roll away from a downpour of bricks and mortar.
He wasted no time in leaping to his feet and looking to the exit.
The ceiling, irreparably damaged by the release of the boggart, began crashing down around him. Lumps the size of Harry smashed into the floor, pelting him with shrapnel that cut his arms and face. He staggered aside, wiped blood from his eyes and stepped out of the way of another lump of rubble.
"Quick, Harry," said Sternley. "Over there."
Harry looked in the direction the hat was indicating and saw a small door in the closest wall. He knew with absolute certainty it hadn't been there when he'd entered the room. But in the current state of affairs, he wasn't about to argue and flung himself in that direction.
Half running, half falling, Harry collapsed through the doorway and turned to look back into the room. Just in time to see an enormous lump of brick and plaster crash down where he'd been standing a split second earlier and block the doorway.
"Well that was lucky," he shouted, through the cloud of dust and above the din.
A moment later the crashing noises stopped and Harry took stock of his situation. He appeared to be at the base of a tall spiral stairwell. He climbed two steps in order to get a better view up, but the curve of the staircase made it impossible to tell how far it went up.
"Well, on the positive side," whispered Harry, in the silence. "We're no longer in danger of being crushed to death by a building."
"And on the negative," countered Sternley. "We've only one direction we can go and any chance of stealth has been lost."
"Meh, stealth is overrated," replied Harry, with a shrug. "Far too predictable. Give me a good old full frontal assault any day, nobody ever sees that coming."