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So far... With future memories and by remaining unnoticed, Harry replaced Ginny's diary with a much more helpful one, and used the pretext of the Chamber of Secrets being opened to permanently petrify Malfoy and others. Now he faces the ultimate evil in Year 3. Read on...
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Chapter 3
The Fiery Tornado
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Harry's third year began somewhat differently. He boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time, and sat, barely noticed, by the one remaining Slytherin boy of his year: Blaise Zabini, who was studying his new Charms textbook.
When the train began to slow down – well before Hogsmeade – Harry moved silently forward along the inner corridor of the train. He glanced into compartments he passed until Crookshanks' wicker basket caught his eye high up on a luggage rack. A quick scan told him Hermione and her friends were there and that Remus Lupin was asleep, then he drew his wand as the express lurched to a halt, the air extremely icy.
The influence of future memories had changed Harry. His new, under-the-radar attitude had caused his Patronus to transform into a panther: scarcely visible except as translucent dark lines. Its power was overwhelming if a Dementor had nowhere to flee, and the ones that had boarded the Hogwarts Express were quickly shredded to vapour in a corner of the front carriage-connector. His ex-Unspeakable memories told him the general opinion that Dementors could not be killed was untrue; the belief had arisen because Dementors had, at most, only been driven away with difficulty. But when trapped by more positive, happy power than they could endure, they disintegrated. There was no record of anyone trying, and Harry wasn't about to publicise his success.
The engine driver and his fireman were not sure why the train had been stopped nor where the hot chocolate drinks came from, but they consumed them readily enough, and soon the train was once more under way.
At the opening feast, the Headmaster announced that Professor Stone had been reinstated as a senior Auror at the Ministry, and his old position as Defence teacher was now taken up by Lupin. He warned everyone that hordes of Dementors were stationed around the castle, and were to be avoided at all costs. Harry noted that he gave no explanation about why they were there, nor that an escaped criminal named Sirius Black was considered to be a threat to anyone and everyone.
Forgotten by everyone, Harry shook his head. Nothing much had changed. Keep Harry totally in the dark. Give him no support or guidance. He's disposable.
Not so in the third-year dorm. Harry had not anticipated the consequences of Blaise Zabini being isolated after the petrified bodies of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had been removed from Hogwarts. The poor youth had no interest in making conversation with Harry, and must have considered his bedroom almost a private one! At least he enjoyed the company of the girls of his year, so Harry did not feel too guilty. Still, perhaps he could dilute his notice-me-not charm a little so Zabini would not feel so alone in the dorm.
No sooner had he done so, than Blaise uttered what appeared to have been a long-suppressed question awaiting an opportunity. "I've been meaning to ask you, Potter, rumour has it that you were raised by Muggles. Is that true?"
"Sadly, yes. My relatives hate magic and by extension: me. It was a difficult upbringing."
Zabini's response was unexpected. "Muggles have their own way of life, right? Transport, education, healing? All different from ours? Better in some ways?"
An alarm bell tinkled gently in the back of Harry's mind. "That's right," he replied cautiously. "Their society and skills are extremely advanced compared to the magical world."
Zabini's eyes widened. "Cards on the table, Potter. Daphne Greengrass has been badgering me most of last year to... well, she's asked every Muggle-born in the school if..."
Harry tried not to look too concerned, but inside his heart had begun to pound. "Asked what?"
The dark-skinned boy was now sweating slightly. "Daphne has a younger sister named Astoria – you might have noticed her being Sorted?"
"Not particularly," lied Harry. He paused as if trying to remember. "Long, fair hair like Daphne? Was that her?"
"Yes, well anyway, Astoria was the victim of an ancestral curse that made her extremely frail."
"She looked healthy enough from the glimpse I had recently," said Harry.
"That's because she received Muggle gene therapy over the summer holidays, thanks to an anonymous benefactor who advised her father by owl."
Harry shook his head. "Muggles can't lift magical curses, Blaise, no matter how advanced they are."
"Well that's the thing," Zabini said excitedly. "Apparently the curse only changed something in the blood that was passed down the family line, and the Muggles can change things in the blood! Is that right?"
"I don't know any medical stuff. Maybe they can."
"So it wasn't you that–"
–Harry laughed and shook his head.
Zabini stared at him for a long time. "Even so, Daphne said to tell whoever it was, she is deeply, deeply grateful for their saving her sister's life."
"It was that serious?"
"Deadly serious."
"One up for the Muggles then, yeah? Go Muggles!"
"Pardon?"
"Filthy Muggles save Pure-blood. Magicals indebted to filthy Muggles. I like it."
"You're joking?"
"Yeah, I'm joking, Blaise. Listen, you think if I pretend it was me that saved Astoria then Daphne might, you know, fancy me a bit? Play the deeply-grateful card as it were? She's looking really fit for a thirteen-year-old."
Zabini scowled heavily. "That's not funny, Potter!"
"Fancy her yourself, do you?"
"She's my friend. You're just a half-blood!" snarled Zabini. "If you love Muggles that much, why don't you ask them to cut out your scar and stuff it where nobody can see? That's what those butchers do, isn't it?"
"Enough said," smiled Harry. Danger diverted he thought to himself. Zabini would not consider Harry as Astoria's benefactor, and the 'boy who lived' could remain uninteresting and ignorable.
.
But Zabini's word came back to nag at Harry again and again. Without a magical adult, he could not approach St. Mungo's for help with his cursed scar; it was unthinkable to even consider Dumbledore. But Muggle surgery? How deep did the scar go? And the soul part? It could have no material extension. It's connection with him was entirely through the corporeal scar.
His future self had offered no solution. The associated pain and dream visions that person had suffered were proportional to the proximity of Voldemort's physical presence. The plan was to graduate from Hogwarts at almost eighteen and move far abroad. To walk away unnoticed and untraceable, and force Dumbledore to deal with Voldemort himself. The Headmaster never gave him the support he craved, and Harry would return the abuse with interest.
And yet...
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"Nice summer?" said Harry, as he and Ginny settled in to do her Transfiguration homework together.
"Yeah, Dad won a lottery prize so we all went to Egypt."
"Nice!"
"There was lots to do and– Harry, you wouldn't believe the spells they know over there. You could have an untraceable house anywhere abroad, change your name and skin colour, even make yourself ugly, live a normal life with real friends. Rich criminals do it all the time and are never caught."
Harry nodded. "I do have similar ideas, and what you say confirms it. I'll seriously consider it after Hogwarts."
Ginny's face was now pale, Harry noticed. "You'd have to cut all ties with Britain of course," she said, and the words trembled on her lips, "no connection whatsoever. And..."
"And what, Ginny."
Her head hung low. "You'd have to Obliviate me, Harry, as if I never knew you. It's the only way. You said you knew how to do the spell?"
"You'd let me do that?" Harry replied in astonishment. "You'd give up what little we have?"
"Oh, Harry, life's been so unfair to you. I just want you to be happy. We daren't risk my accidentally mentioning you're hiding abroad."
"You care that much?"
"Of course, I do! You've helped me lots! And now I want to help you."
Harry couldn't answer. He'd always intended to leave Britain after he'd seen all his former friends safely through Hogwarts. But Obliviating Ginny? That would be extra hard.
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Harry put the possible Obliviation of Ginny out of his mind for some future year. It was unthinkable, and by postponing the decision, he could pretend to himself it wasn't real.
Meanwhile, he was faced with a nothing year: twelve months when, apart from his limited contact with Ginny, he was without friends, without Quidditch, and without Draco's unpleasantness, so Harry didn't need to do anything but attend lessons and await the inevitable outcome of Sirius Black's escape. To give the man a fair chance to exonerate himself, Harry minimised his use of the notice-me-not charm outside of classes and mealtimes. If Sirius genuinely wanted to make contact to help his godson, then he'd be welcomed, but if his future self's memories held true, then it was very unlikely.
Likewise, Remus Lupin made no effort to engage Harry in conversation. Apart from the first lesson in which Harry made himself fully unnoticeable and took no part in the Boggart lesson, the boy, for a few months, was always noticeable in Defence classes. Yet never did Lupin ask him to stop behind for a chat, to talk about family, or even warn him about Sirius.
It was the start of October before anyone offered the boy who lived any help, and it wasn't an adult: it was Neville Longbottom. The lad was standing one lunchtime in the busy Entrance Hall at the top of the stairs leading up from the Slytherin common room.
"Harry!" Neville cried. "I was hoping to see you. Been on the lookout for months! Merlin, you're really hard to find! And why are you on your own?"
"Erm... Nigel uumm... Neville, isn't it?" Harry deftly cast a moderate notice-me-not charm over them both.
They shuffled aside to let other students pass freely. Neville was looking at him strangely. "I heard there'd be a Hogsmeade weekend at the end of this month. Me and Hermione and our friends, we're all going together. You could come with us if you like."
"Ah... ordinarily, I'd love to, but I've not been able to get permission from my uncle. Sorry."
"That's a shame. I was hoping to... thing is, with Black on the loose, I wanted to offer my support if you needed it."
"Black? The escaped criminal in the news? Uuh... why me, exactly?"
Neville stared at Harry. "I mean, if he comes here. ... Aren't you worried?"
"Worried? About what?"
Neville's mouth gaped like a toad. "You don't know?"
"Know what?"
"Sirius Black is the one who betrayed you, of course! He got your parents killed by You-Know-Who, but not you. Everybody thinks he'll come here to finish the job."
"WHAT!"
The general hubbub continued, and nobody even glanced their way, but Neville lowered his voice to a whisper. "Nobody's warned you?"
Harry shook his head which was in a daze – not from what he was being told, but why.
"Don't the Slytherins help?" continued Neville. "You should have friends around you all the time! I mean, I can't do much, but two or more of us might dissuade Black rather than him find you alone."
Harry smiled. "This is really good of you to offer, Neville. nobody else has. May I ask why? I mean, you don't really know–"
"–Because you helped me and Hermione in first year of course!" He whipped out his wand and held it up. "This is fantastic! I was struggling with my dad's wand before. Now my class results are much better."
It was Harry's turn to gawk. "You... you remember... me?" he croaked.
"Of course!" Neville pulled what looked at first glance like thick white card from a pocket in his robe. "The personal organiser! It was the first thing I told it even while we were still in your flying lesson. And I've never forgotten a password since. I owe you plenty!"
Harry winced. Nothing like making a note to circumvent an Obliviation. "Have you reminded Hermione about this?"
Neville grinned. "Hermione doesn't need reminding. Anyway, she was taking notes, remember?
"Yes, but they were instruction notes. Listen, don't mention to her that it was I who gave that lesson, would you? I prefer to keep a low profile. And you and I must not be seen to associate."
Neville nodded. "Got that?" he said to his organiser. He nodded again as he read the whiteboard. "I love it when the planner writes back to me on its own!"
"This is deadly serious, Neville. A great many wish me dead – along with any friends."
Harry reached into his bag. "I appreciate your offer of support, Neville but never speak to me directly unless we absolutely cannot be seen or heard. Take this two-way mirror. If I'm ever in trouble, I'll call you – on one condition..."
"Name it."
"You do likewise. Call me if you're in distress. Deal?"
"Deal!" Neville said grimly.
.
The first real indication that Sirius was in the area had been at the end of the month when the Gryffindor's Fat Lady portrait was slashed. Neville called Harry to warn him to stay in his Slytherin dorm because Black must have assumed he would be a Gryffindor.
Harry knew better of course. Although his future self had not passed back any personal memories of Sirius Black, he knew who the man was really seeking to destroy.
After that one altercation, the year passed into the next without Harry learning of any more trouble. It was June before anything significant took place, and a major story broke in the Daily Prophet:
SIRIUS BLACK KISSED BY DEMENTOR!
PETTIGREW'S BODY FOUND NEARBY!
SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT OF MURDER!
Harry slumped into a depression. A bitter taste remained in his mouth. It was obvious that Sirius must have caught and killed Scabbers – no! murdered Pettigrew – then himself been attacked by the Dementor. Should Harry have tried to help Sirius, even though Sirius showed no interest in his godson's welfare? The man had chosen his own reckless path, and seemed destined to die young – yet guilt still tormented Harry's spirit.
I never even met him! he told himself, but inevitably he surrendered to sobbing and self-pity. He'd walked away from the problem and two men were dead because of his inaction; his soul felt scarred forever.
The boy had one further task he could not walk away from, and it must not wait for the summer holidays according to the information given to him by his future self. Nevertheless, all of Saturday and most of Sunday morning passed before he could work up the courage to face the test. With heavy heart, he visited the Room of Hidden Things, and then made his way along the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack.
Through unshed tears he stared at the dishevelled bed. There were clear signs that someone had been here recently: a fresh splinter in one of its wooden posts, disturbed dust on an old cabinet, and a new rip in the filthy floor covering. He sighed, braced himself, then, driven by his future self's demand, he made a soft call. The word was no more than a murmur, and its tone was full of doubt. There was no response, and Harry's shoulders relaxed with a mixture of relief and disappointment: Sirius must not have yet made a will! Yet no sooner had he accepted that belief...
A loud crack disturbed the stillness and a house-elf covered in grimy rags appeared, with a snout for a nose and enormous bloodshot eyes, crouching on the rotting, threadbare carpet.
"Kreacher won't, no, Kreacher won't!" croaked the house-elf, stamping his long gnarled feet and pulling at his huge ears. "Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh, yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, won't–"
"–I shall help you destroy the locket," Harry said, delivering a well-rehearsed speech as loudly as he could.
Instantly, the elf fell silent, listening, and shocked.
Harry continued, "In return you will restore the Black family home to its former glory in honour of Master Regulus. With the death of your former master, changes must come. You must protect the portrait of his mother: Mrs Walberga Black. To do so, I order you to carefully remove that part of the wall upon which it is hung, and secure it safely in the basement where it can be preserved for all time. Do you understand me, Kreacher? It must be sealed away from vandalism and the risk of damage."
The miserable old elf stumbled to his feet. "Kreacher wonders how this Mudblood's brat possesses such knowledge, how–"
"–Dorea Black was my grandmother. Her blood flows through my veins. I claim by right the ring of Lord Orion Black – it will be needed in the preparations to destroy the locket. And the will of Sirius Black?"
Kreacher was staring, astonished at this new information. "Not yet registered..."
"It doesn't matter. Magic knows the former Lord Black's intention or you wouldn't be here. Were you the witness? Where is it?"
"In the document safe at the Black residence."
"And the key?"
"Only the true Lord Black may open it."
"The ring?"
"Locked in the desk with the bank vault k–"
"–Take me there!"
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Harry's memories of twelve, Grimmauld Place were hazy, because his future self did not consider it critical to pass them back, but with Kreacher's help, the boy soon found the study where he immediately took up quill and parchment.
As he scratched out two names and addresses he said, "Go to these locations, Kreacher. Inform the Child Care Department that your master needs a 'protected legal guardian' – here, I'll write it down. It simply means the guardian's name is not on the public register – only the private one. Give them this signed agreement from my relatives. Next, tell the property agent we urgently need them to cast the Fidelius Charm on this residence. Right now, if possible."
Harry handed over a bag of Galleons and the elf was instantly on his way. Perhaps it was mean-spirited to block out Dumbledore, but the old man had treated Harry exactly that way in his former life, so would not be allowed take advantage of Harry's innocence and ignorance in this.
As soon as the elf had departed, Harry retrieved the Black vault key and Orion's ring from the desk. He hesitated briefly, then slipped it on his finger. The flow of family magic was quite evident by its power, and the boy sat down for a while to adjust to the sensation.
Matters were pressing so he approached the wall safe and grasped its handle. He expected a slight delay, but a full minute passed before the heavy door yielded. Sirius's will lay atop a large heap of parchments, but that was not all that Harry sought, and he began scrabbling through, glancing anxiously at his watch now and again as he did so; it would not do for Kreacher to understand what he was doing.
"Yes!" He stared at a musty, yellowing sheet, well-worked with stamps and blood-seals and confusing legal text – but Harry only concerned himself with the heading: Statement of Bridewealth.
Hurriedly he changed his appearance with several charms: thick, dark brown hair that tumbled over his scar, and eyes to match. He sipped a small amount of ageing potion, then a noble's hat he conjured to make sure, along with suitable robes to fit a young man at the end of his teen years. He nodded in satisfaction at the reflection in his two-way mirror. How surprised Neville would be if he saw him now! How shocked if he had any idea of Harry's plan for the night!
He'd been rather rushed, yet only half an hour later, the front door clicked quietly open in the hallway as Harry was making his way down. Kreacher had already entered and was leading in an old witch who wasted no time in casting the protection that Harry needed, with himself as the Secret-Keeper. For the first time since setting out, Harry felt himself relax – but he could not yet rest.
"Kreacher, I need to visit the bank. While I'm gone... well, this Black Residence is quite a large house for one elf to maintain so... if possible, I'd like you to consider an elf you could recommend to assist you in making it more habitable. But before that, get Master Regulus's locket from the cabinet in the drawing room and lock it in this desk for safe-keeping. It would not do for an industrious elf to throw it out by mistake."
The sky was growing dark by the time Harry reached Diagon Alley and entered Gringotts. He displayed the Black ring to a teller and asked to see the vault manager.
"Welcome, Lord Black – take a seat. How might Scruklasp be of service?"
"I wish to claim on this document," said Harry, laying the bridewealth statement before the elderly goblin.
Scruklasp's teeth rasped and clacked as he read. "This is most unusual, Lord Black. The value is not great and the Lestranges have the right to challenge your request. I would hardly think it worth the–"
"–The Lestranges have no current legal entity being incarcerated in–"
"–Of course, forgive me. Nevertheless, this statement waives the right to–"
"–within the declared limitations," said Harry.
The old goblin frowned and bent his long nose down to study further. "Under which restriction would you wish to claim, Lord Black?"
"Bringing the House of Black into disrepute," said Harry. "Bellatrix is from my line, and I think torturing the Longbottoms into madness comes under that category."
"Indeed... I shall need to summon the Lestrange vault manager." His gnarled hand made a rapid horizontal gesture, then he began tapping softly on his desk, waiting.
Several minutes passed while the goblin scrutinised Harry. He said nothing, but the boy could almost see his mind whirring around, puzzling it out. "The reimbursement will only amount to a single item, you realise? Bridewealth is mostly a token these days."
Harry nodded, impatient to get the transaction over with. He need not have worried. Once the second vault manager arrived, Harry was taken rapidly down to the vault where he retrieved the Hufflepuff Cup by hovering a sticking-charmed Galleon forth and back.
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The streetlights were on in Grimmauld Place when Harry Apparated onto the front step of number twelve. He turned and surveyed the scene. The central grass was scarcely a park, and its hedges were scrubby and ill-kept. On the single path through it, a willowy young house elf stood to attention – as best an elf might – beside a wooden bench. Harry sniffed, and caught the sense of some kind of Muggle-repelling spell was in action.
"Kreacher..." Harry murmured under his breath.
His servant appeared beside him. Harry frowned. "Erm... if that's your elf over there, he looks a bit thin for housework."
"Drib's magic be strong once Master accepts him, and his girth will increase in time. He was raised in the House of Spence but is now mature enough to accept a post of his own."
"How do you know him? How can you trust him?"
"Drib is not a wizard, Master. An elf's will is to carry out his master's orders. No secrets will be given away."
"Kreacher, I want your word that you will treat him well, as Regulus would want you to."
"An elf has no word worth giving, Master. Kreacher will do as you ask."
Harry marched over and carried out the declaration of accepting a new house-elf, after which, as Secret-Keeper, he led him inside his new home.
"Elves, I will be away much of the time. I order both of you to inform me if you are not happy with any aspect of your situation so that I might try to improve it. Kreacher, find Drib a suitable place to sleep, give him some simple initial light rota of tasks to carry out, then join me in the study. Bring a small sack; I intend to fulfil my promise to you this night."
Harry sprinted upstairs; there was more than just the locket to destroy before dawn came.
.
Harry sat at the study desk, shuddering with sensations of malice and spite as he surveyed the array of shocking artefacts that he'd collected together:
From his bag he'd taken out the diary of Tom Riddle which he had switched with his more helpful James Riddle version in Ginny's cauldron during the summer of 1992. Closed it lay, as helpless as the Devil with no one to tempt.
Also from his bag had come Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem from the Room of Hidden Things at Hogwarts. Its temptation was wit without measure to whoever was reckless enough to wear it.
Beside it lay Slytherin's locket from the desk drawer where Kreacher had secured it. Even closed it could bewitch the wearer.
Helga Hufflepuff's Cup took central place, one sip from which would mean madness and certain death.
This was the situation that greeted Kreacher as he entered the study.
"Tonight we complete the work of Master Regulus. Every object before you on this desk hosts the same darkness as that locket, and Regulus gave his life that we, and others, might live. He would want all of these destroyed, and we shall honour him by doing so."
Carefully they loaded up the large bag that Kreacher had brought with him. Harry told Kreacher to hold his arm, then, with a sharp snap, elf and human were gone.
.
Kreacher's wrinkled brow folded into a deep scowl; he didn't much like being Apparated by a human, and would have preferred to have been summoned after Harry had gone. His left leg gave way, but he felt himself supported by the boy's magic who was urging him along. His forehead darkened even more.
The pair were on a hill in almost absolute darkness. There was no moon, and the only light came from a village down in the valley. Beyond, on the opposite hillside, a large residence darkly shaped itself over some further unknown glow – probably a larger town.
As the elf's huge eyes adjusted to the diminished illumination around him, he perceived they were walking along a lane that curved to the right, and when they rounded the corner, Harry headed towards the black hedge that bounded the lane. Kreacher could hear him grumbling...
"The gap was right here, I'm sure of it..."
The boy absently swished away a few twigs with a mild cutting curse, then seemed to think better of it. A ladder was conjured and Harry hurried over the barrier. Kreacher came straight through with a "humph!" and hurried after his master down a narrow dirt track bordered by higher and wilder hedgerows than those they had left behind. The path was crooked, rocky, and potholed, sloping downhill like the last one, and it seemed to be heading for a patch of dark trees a little below them. Once amongst the cover of this thicket, Harry felt it safe to cast a light.
Amongst the tangle of trunks, a grim stone cottage could be partly discerned, so decrepit that it appeared no more than an abandoned shack. The only visible door was easing off its hinges and Harry wasted no time in blasting it silently out of the way.
"Is bad place," hissed Kreacher. "Much dark magic."
"Yes, you must not go inside for any reason – it is a deadly trap, probably many. The bag, Kreacher, the little sack containing Regulus's locket and the other corrupt things – can you cast it deep within from where we are?"
"Kreacher can, Master."
"Then do so and, immediately after, back away with me."
Harry noticed the elf did not swing the bag for a throw, but it departed his grip nonetheless, flew straight through the open doorway, and they heard the muffled clatter of its contents within.
The boy wizard was quickly out of the trees and striding around them. Wherever he found any other significant plant growth close to the copse, he vanished or destroyed it. In this way he soon cleared a wide dusty corridor encircling the trees. Satisfied with his work, he strode back to where he had first entered the thicket and, pushing only a little way in, he had a clear view of the shack's doorway.
"Kreacher, the spell I shall use to destroy the artefacts is very dangerous and difficult to control. I will need all my concentration for quite a while, so do not interrupt me. If anything goes wrong then you must depart instantly – that's an order."
"Kreacher will do as Master says."
"Render yourself invisible. If Muggles should arrive, divert them harmlessly – can you do that?"
"Kreacher can, Master."
"Let me know too should Aurors come, then flee back home. Do not let them see or catch you whatever you do!"
Harry braced himself, took a step forward. He'd trained and practised casting Fiendfyre a great many times, but he'd need all his resources to manage an area this large.
"Open!" He bellowed in Parseltongue. He didn't wait to see the results of his command on Slytherin's locket, but took two steps back and cast flaming death.
As fire roared forth from his wand towards the old cottage, it began as a narrow controlled stream, but when it passed the threshold of the doorway with nowhere forward to go, the flames expanded freely with deafening howls of delight. The small grimy windows burst outward with an enormous bang along with the thunderous racket of hundreds of roof tiles hurling upwards as the rafters were consumed. Harry backed further out from the trees, glimpsing as he did so, the old stone blocks of the shack walls beginning to glow a dull red.
And then... wails of dark anguish chased to the sky by a multitude of huge fiery talons and ravenous maws which devoured those split souls mercilessly. Without pause, the chimeric flame monster swerved around, gutted the cottage, then turned hungry eyes on its surroundings.
Harry cast a protective charm upon himself against the heat as he backed still further away to begin circling, keeping control of the frenzy.
Furious, the Fiendfyre swirled through the limiting trees which exploded in a whirling, white-hot tornado towering upwards. The child wizard groaned his dismay, knowing the beacon of light would surely summon police, Aurors, villagers, and possibly even townsfolk from afar. He'd planned on waiting until the Fiendfyre weakened as the trees were consumed, but he had to make an effort now to subdue the flames quickly. It didn't help that a powerful migraine struck him in the forehead, almost blinding him.
And then... disaster!
From his left he felt through the ground rather than saw or heard, a movement towards him. He staggered, stumbled, swerved to see: a huge snake was racing over the hot dry earth in his direction: Nagini!
HOW?
He sent one cutting curse which was all he could spare lest the Fiendfyre escaped his magic. The great serpent writhed sideways, blood showing in a streak down its flank. The fires flared excitedly, sensing Harry's dominance failing. The far side of the thicket was near-consumed, darkening as the fire raced to the side facing the boy, eager to make one last push against this arrogant youngster, to drive him away. But Harry Apparating to safety would leave behind a ferocious maelstrom devouring the countryside and the helpless communities nearby. Nagini lunged, mouth wide, fangs shining in the awful light...
But something happened that Harry had not anticipated. He'd forgotten Kreacher who now hurled himself between the monster and his lord. The great jaws snapped tight; Kreacher howled as venom poured through his veins. Harry sidestepped to avoid the collision. The flames roared in triumph. "Depulso!" Harry's cry could scarcely be heard above the noise of the flaming cyclone, yet magic knew his intention. Snake and elf were banished into the awful fire. Kreacher shrieked his last. The serpent burst asunder, it's gore vaporising as it did so.
The last of the trees were glowing stumps, and the Fiendfyre wailed as it starved ... weakened ... faded.
Near silence but for the faintest of smouldering crackles. The drifting smoke was still dense and choking.
Harry waited several heavy moments more, fully crushing the fire spell he'd cast. The smoking ruin of the Gaunt house stones were all that remained.
The boy Disapparated.
.
Exhausted, head throbbing with the agonising headache, Harry reappeared near the house on the far hill – closer than he'd intended. He knew what it was of course: the manor, home of the Riddle family. Nagini must have come from there. Was the weak, diminutive form of the Dark Lord already within? And with whom? Perhaps Quirrell had not perished after all, but surely he'd be very weak? Despite wishing to walk away, this was an opportunity not to be missed.
A blinding flash of light dazzled him. Pain flared in his wand arm as a cutting curse sliced across, his grip failed utterly, and his holster withdrew his wand lest it fall. He suffered a frightening glimpse of a desperate Quirrell alongside a grinning Crouch Junior before Harry, knowing he was outgunned and at a hopeless disadvantage, Disapparated.
"DAMN!" He dropped to his knees in the Shrieking Shack, clutching his arm. He'd been seen and surely recognised – no wait! He was still disguised as a young noble with thick brown hair.
He vanished the conjured hat and robe to survey his bare arm. The gash was deep so he applied a field dressing of dittany paste. His migraine was not now so intense, but he gulped down a potion to ease it further, then considered what had happened. Despite not having Pettigrew, Voldemort was a few months ahead of Harry's future memories – presumably Quirrell's survival had made the difference. The man looked to be in a desperate state of pain and terror. His body had been kept alive without unicorn blood and must be significantly decayed. What of Voldemort? He'd been relying on Nagini 's venom. No doubt he'd find another way to sustain himself with Crouch's help?
Could he have saved Kreacher? Impossible. It was unlikely the old elf could have survived Nagini's poison, and any attempt by Harry to help would have released the Fiendfyre to consume the both of them. The poor thing had certainly fulfilled his master's last command to depart should danger arise. Harry Potter sighed and summoned his first elf.
"Fishent, listen carefully. I have a new home at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London. Can you find that location without me?"
"Fishent can, Master Harry."
"There you will find a young elf name Drib who is too inexperienced to manage such a big house. You must explain to him that his master is slightly injured and his head elf, Kreacher, died bravely tonight. Tell him I have sent you to oversee and direct his efforts. Can you manage that, along with your other duties?"
"Yes, Master Harry; my duties be very light for a house-elf."
"Good. Go then, and I'll be in touch as usual."
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Within a day, Harry had fully recovered with the aid of one of his own blood-replenishing potions. His migraine had slowly eased but he didn't relish suffering that pain again. He began to dwell on his conversation with Zabini in which Muggle surgery had been mentioned; could it achieve the desired result where the only solution in the magical world appeared to be death? He was brooding on this as he waited to meet Ginny outside the Room of Requirement. What if he was wrong? What if his brain and body were the actual Horcrux, and the scar merely the point of entry? What if–
"–A Knut for your thoughts?"
"Ah, Ginny! Come in!"
Once inside the Room, he told her of his plan to have his scar removed, though he let her jump to the obvious conclusion it was so he would draw less attention to himself.
"I'm guessing the operation and recovery will only take up the first part of the holidays, so I was wondering if... erm... maybe if you could visit Luna a few times then we could walk together, at least until you get there?"
Ginny smiled happily. "The long way or the short one? The scenic route takes over two hours."
"That would be great! And if you can find any other excuses where we could meet alone..."
Ginny grinned. "I will."
Harry's smile, which had matched that of his girlfriend, now faded as his voice took a more serious tone. "Listen, I know all this secrecy must be hard on you, and you'll be thirteen by next school year. You'll be able to go to Hogsmeade. Don't hesitate to make friends with other boys if you want. I'll be here when you need me and–"
"–Are you totally mental or what?"
"I only meant so you have company. Until, or even if, my situation improves, you're not safe with me in public. You might want some fun so don't feel guilty if you go on a play date or whatever. I just don't want you to be left out if someone asks you."
Ginny stared at Harry in dismay. "But you still... you still want to be with me, don't you?"
"Of course! But you need to be free of commitment until you're older, is what I think I'm getting at."
A crafty smile slid across Ginny's lips. "Well, since you put it like that, there are several really nice boys I was hoping would ask me to–"
"–Excellent! You're only young once. Enjoy your life, Ginny, and if we can ever have a sensible uumm... getting together thing uh... one day, I mean, then I'll be waiting."
"I was joking! ... But you... you're actually serious, aren't you?"
"Well, yes. I want you to be happy. That's why... why I'm even, you know, meeting with you and stuff."
Ginny's mood turned rather cool after that.
Harry struggled to say something. "You do understand me, don't you? It's because I care about you."
Ginny nodded but began sniffling. "It's just... so hard to..."
"I know, I know..." For the first time, Harry took her in his arms for a long hug. All he'd ever wanted was for all his friends to have a happy normal life without him, but it was proving nearly impossible with his former wife. Hopefully she'd accept what he'd said and, although he couldn't explicitly say so, have a good time at the Yule Ball with someone else.
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—oOo—
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Author's Notes
Was the Resurrection Stone destroyed along with the Gaunt Ring? Probably, but Harry just walks away from all that Deathly Hallows stuff.
I know the main definition of 'play date' but in this chapter it means an innocent appointment between romantically-interested youngsters.
In the previous chapter, I don't think I made it clear enough that Harry pretended the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, and petrified Filch's cat and (very briefly and harmlessly) Justin (and himself of course) as a cover up. If he'd only got rid of Draco etc then people would wonder why and who. At least he knew from his first life that nobody (read Dumbledore) did anything about the Chamber of Secrets being opened so that was likely to remain the same. I like to think that off-stage, Lucius feels responsible for Draco's petrification, believing it to have been part of the effect caused by Riddle's diary he put in Ginny's cauldron. So that's why he didn't raise a big commotion and investigation. I ought to have worked all this into the story better but I'm not rewriting it now.
Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)
– Hippothestrowl
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