"Ah, I'm so sorry for bumping you. Here let me help you." Harry spoke, reaching down to grab the slip of paper that the person in front of him dropped. Standing back straight, he let his eyes travel from the feet of the person in front of him, up the jeans, to the black jumper, and finally over a graceful neckline. He ended his look at her face, to notice that her eyes held a look of familiarity to them. He blinked, and suddenly he recognized her. "You go to Hogwarts, right?"
There was silence for a moment, almost as if she were pondering an answer. He knew from a quick glance that she had to be in his year, or maybe the year above, but his knowledge of other students dwindled considerably outside of the DA. After all, most of the students hated him at one point or another. It did him no good to try to make any friends, not when they were as flighty as a leaf in a tornado.
The girl seemed to shake herself out of her stupor and tried to inconspicuously step in front of the younger girl with her, who seemed to be in a daze of some sort. It was the younger girl that he recognized. She was known for being quite a sarcastic, and aggressive girl, though she was usually described with words less than civil. She was Astoria Greengrass. That made the other girl, with a bit of guesswork, the older sister, Daphne Greengrass. He remembered her quite vividly suddenly. She was a Slytherin, his year, often portrayed as nothing less than a bitch. He was not sure he had ever seen her smile or show any emotion on her face other than cool disdain for the people around her.
Suddenly, he was wary. Slytherins had that effect on him. While he did not hate every Slytherin, most of the Slytherins he had encountered, hated him. They hated him with a fervor that he didn't understand, especially because most of them had never interacted with him before.
"Greengrass, right? Daphne. I'm not sure we've ever met. I'm Harry Potter." He spoke, trying to play nice. He had, after all, just walked directly into her. She looked at him as if he were dumb, while still trying to hide the young sister behind her. The hand he had subconsciously sent her way was ignored. He tried to play it cool and ran his fingers through his already messy hair.
"Yes, I am Daphne." She finally responded. Her voice was soft, quiet even, yet not unenjoyable by any means. Over her head, he noticed Tonks walk into the bank and catch his eye. She ambled over to the small group, as exuberant as always.
"Wotcher Harry! Sent here to look for you, and see you talking to not one, but two pretty girls! Was I not enough for you?" She spoke, wrapped an arm around him and hugging him tight. He noticed Daphne's eyes get steely and hurried to clear up the air.
"Tonks, this is Daphne Greengrass, she's in my year. I just, well, I sort of bumped into her." Harry spoke, pushing back the blush that was creeping up his face. He didn't think that he would ever get over her flirtatious nature. He remembered that he had picked something up that Greengrass has dropped and started to hand it over. The familiar handwriting on the slip of paper stilled his left, and suddenly his right hand was holding his wand. Barely a second later, Tonks had her wand pointed at the two girls, her mood switching as quickly as she changed her nose.
"Problem Harry?" Tonks asked. Inwardly, he smiled that he had gained her trust to the point where she would draw her wand with little to no questions. She simply trusted him and the decisions he made. He silently handed her the paper, while looking at the scared look on Daphne's face.
"Where did you get the note?" Harry asked. He saw the girl hesitate, almost as if she thought she could find a way out of the situation. Harry ignored the few stragglers in the bank in favor of looking for any signs that she would be aggressive. Things were taking so long, that he almost spoke again before she beat him to it.
"My father had it in our vault. It was delivered late one night, and he placed it there as a contingency. Our family home has just been attacked. We were instructed to follow the instructions on the note explicitly." The young lady spoke, her voice gaining strength as she spoke.
"Wow. What a strange world." Harry commented, looking over at Tonks. He laughed, randomly, as he hadn't expected to. Neither had Greengrass.
"What, is so funny Potter?" She nearly snarled.
Harry stopped his laughing, though there were still hints of merriment in his twinkling eyes. Had he been able to see himself, he would have been eerily reminded of a certain silver-haired Headmaster. He looked over to Greengrass, almost as if truly seeing her for the first time.
"Why, Miss Greengrass, it's my house."
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She woke up in a panic, the room around her unfamiliar. It was dark, the curtains closed and none of the candles lit. She couldn't have been sleep for long, the clock on the wall confirming her thoughts. She sat up in the bed, it was not uncomfortable, but still not more comfortable that her bed at home. Thoughts of her home caused her more panic.
'Was it still standing? Were her parents still alive? Where was everyone? Why did he send us here of all places?' She looked over to her left where a similar bed was situated. Astoria was sleeping peacefully, there was not a hint of tension in her body.
Daphne sighed.
If she listened carefully, she could hear the voices of the people she was with. It was hard not to, as she thought about it, they were nearly yelling. Most of it, as she understood had been about their desire for safety and that she could not be trusted. Most of it was from some elders, a lot of it from voices she had heard in school. She was used to being unwanted though, it made no difference to her.
She stood from the bed, checking her attire to see that her clothes had been transfigured into a simply t-shirt and pants, albeit with less holes. She could only tell that they were transfigured due to the magic that practically saturated them. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, before she walked out of the bed room.
Her first impression of the house, once outside of the darkness of the room, was not a good one. Where the walls of her family manor were that of soft white, the walls here seemed to be fading. The flooring looked scruffy and uncared for, and the paintings looked as if they depicted cruel punishments. It felt old and tainted. She shivered involuntarily.
The stairs were easy to find, and even easier to descend. The muffled voices of before were suddenly much clearer.
"How did she get a note with the location in the first place?!" A deep voice sounded.
"How is it still active? It was written under a different Fidelius Charm." A voice, Granger, she realized. If true, it was a great question.
"The intent behind the magic is the same, as is the location. It is possible, that this was left as an intentional loophole in the creation of the connection." The deep voice responded again.
"Regardless, we can't have two Slytherin spying on us!" Weasley of course. She hated the boy and everything about him. She hated how he seemed to latch onto Potter like a dog. She hated the way that he ate like one too, though a dog had a bit more finesse.
"Ronald! Can't you see that they've been through something traumatic. Astoria hasn't spoken a word since Harry brought them in. We do not need to assume the worst." Granger again. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all. "Besides, we'll be keeping a close eye on them anyway." Or not.
There were murmurs, indicating that there were far more people in the room than she had imagined. 'How big was this house in the first place?' She thought.
"Regardless, Mr. Weasley does have a point." A gruff voice, vaguely familiar to her, spoke up.
"Exactly! She's probably been sent here to sabot-" Weasley spoke.
"Enough!" A new voice, Potter, sounded. He was quiet but instantly commanded her attention. Due to the sudden quiet behind the door, she assumed he had their attention as well. She leaned closer, attempting to hear more. "The Greengrass girls can stay."
"You do not have the authority to make such a statement Potter." The deep voice sounded again, thought a bit hesitant.
"Ah, yes, authority. It's my house." Potter replied. So it was his house that she had been taken to. She had expected more, honestly. It looked run down, beat up, and completely without any sort of comfort; especially considering what she was used to.
"We do not know what she is here for. We.. you know nothing of her and her intentions. Actions like this is how we lost lives in the last war." Another voice, familiar again, sounded.
"Do not tell me about losses in the last war. If you remember, it made me an orphan." Potter replied, steel in his voice. He must've shaken off the anger though, as he continued to speak, though calmer. "I will talk to her about arrangements. Regardless, nothing happens until Dumbledore gets here."
"Very well, Mr. Potter." The deep voice replied.
"You know, listening in isn't the greatest start to your stay here." A voice, behind her and to the left sounded. She jumped, twirling and fumbling for her wand. She recognized the woman from the bank easily. She had the same, bright pink hair and the same amused look in her eye. Daphne was not amused though, remembering how this same woman had held her and her sister at wand point just a few hours before. She was still wary.
"I heard loud voices." Daphne responded, opting for honesty. It seemed to serve her well, and the woman before her chuckled and nodded. Daphne decided to keep her wand hidden, the woman didn't seem to be threatened, and there was no way she could fight her way out of the house.
"That they are. You're lucky that Harry stepped in though. They were hoping to get rid of you already."
"Why? What's so important that I shouldn't know it?" Daphne asked, a bewildered look on her face. Too late, she had realized that she had spoken without thinking.
"Tonks," Potter sounded, suddenly behind her. "I think I will take it from here. Greengrass and I have a lot to discuss."
She was tired of people sneaking up on her! She had thought herself completely capable of knowing when other people were around, but a few minutes into consciousness in this house, and it had happened twice already. It was unnerving.
'Where had these people learned to walk?' She thought. The house was old, with creaky floorboards, and yet they had walked in silence. She was too stuck on her thoughts to do anything more than follow Potter up the stairs and to a room that could only be described as a study. It was cozy, if not for the sheer darkness and awful feeling she got from it. She did not like this house, not one bit. But it seemed safer than her other options, for now at least.
"What do you want?" She spoke, internally wincing at her default tone. Maybe, just maybe, it would have been better to be a bit more civil. He had defended her, to an extent, not too long ago.
"Just to talk. You don't know me, and I don't know you. And yet, here we are, suddenly living together. I'm curious as to what brought you here."
"What does it matter to you?" She retorted, already experiencing the stress of talking to the raven-haired boy.
"I would like to know how you found yourself to be here." He replied, still seemingly calm and unaware of her inner turmoil.
"I'm not sure that's any of your business." Was her response. It was probably the best that she could say without exposing her fears to him. Truly, she was in unfamiliar territory with unfamiliar people. She had her sister, but Astoria was too young to be aware of the political dynamic within Hogwarts. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back. It had been plastered all over the papers. Even before then, there had been inklings within the Slytherin common room; after all, Malfoy wasn't the subtlest of people.
This conversation was dangerous, and being here, with him nonetheless, made it even more so. It made her head hurt and her heartbeat speed up. She was panicking again, and so soon after her last encounter with sure death. She wasn't sure that she could handle it. Her wand was nearby, but she was still in what could be termed enemy territory. She needed to get away, back to the room with her sister and hopefully away from this place. She needed to get away from him.
"Leave me alone!" She spat.
"Maybe later. If anything, you should probably listen to what I have to say." Potter replied.
"And why should I do that? You have nothing to offer me." She responded. It made sense to her, in a way. She was her, and he was him. From what she had seen, it would mean death just by being near him. It was nothing that she wanted. She was not supposed to be involved in this war.
"Sanctuary," Came his response. It was short and to the point, and she found that she could not breathe. Thankfully, he continued before she gave it away. "Not just for you but also your sister. I know you were listening in, so you understand that most of my allies and friends think I should be done with you and send you on your way."
That shut her up, briefly. She was safe, for now. Though, inwardly she felt as if she had traded one enemy for another. She believed that she was in a worse situation. But, she was safe, and so was Astoria.
She hated the feeling. Potter continued speaking, knowing he had won that round.
"I don't count you as an enemy. Nor do I count you as a friend. I know nothing about you. Hermione calls it my saving people thing, I call it being a decent human. You had the information to find us and you would have eventually. I simply sped up the process. You are safe here, simply by my word. Dumbledore, too, when he gets here, will agree with me."
"What does this mean for me? And my sister?" She asked. Her emotions boiling. She hated the look on his face, it was smug in its own way.
"While you are safe, there are rules to follow. There are certain parts of the house inaccessible to you, by my choice," He paused, "Greengrass, understand that no one here trusts you. If it came to a choice of my safety and your life, guess which one would be forfeit?"
"Are you threatening me, Potter?" She snarled. Her fingers twitched, longing for the familiar piece of wood that had never left her side. She felt cornered.
"No. I'm not one for threats. It was simply a fact. Would you trust you? Don't answer that, would you not go through the very same precautions? Not even considering that, would you want to invite someone from a house that has been an enemy since you stepped into Hogwarts into your home, potentially learning your secrets and weaknesses? Ron had a point, I think, that Slytherin can't be trusted, not completely anyway." Potter spoke. His eyes bore into hers, and she hated the feeling of vulnerability.
A tense silence followed his statements. She would not concede defeat. Not again.
She was breathing heavily, nearly ashamed at the level of anger coursing through her. She could not let Potter get under her skin. From what she had seen, he was very good at being infuriating. He was looking at her as if he could see right through her, and she was done being invisible.
"You probably hate everything Slytherin don't you?" She snapped, breaking the silence. The conversations with her housemates still resonated within her. From those, the image of the Boy-Who-Lived was far different than the one that stood before her. She mistook his anguished eyes for someone that was not used to being denied anything. She took his stance as a challenge to her audacity. She took the tenseness in his shoulders as a show being strong when she was verbally attacking him. She could win this fight.
"You don't know the first thing about me." Potter replied, his voice low. She thought she detected a hint of anger.
"I've watched you for years. I know enough. You hurt people...and Dumbledore lets you off. Is it because you have the scar? Is it because you got your parents killed? Is it because you're mediocre in magic? You're pathetic Potter!" She nearly screamed.
Her mouth had gotten the best of her, but once started, she couldn't stop. She didn't want to. She had a lot of aggression pent up and finally had someone to release it on. If worse came to worse, she felt confident that she could soundly best him in a duel.
"Oh, and what are you Miss Greengrass?" He asked, his face not betraying much emotion. "I'm pathetic, and you were chased out of your home."
"You're an arrogant piece of dragon dung!" She snarled. Her anger got the best of her and she went for her wand. It flew out of her hand before she could even aim it at him. She hadn't even seen him go for his wand, but it was there casually in his right hand as he surveyed her wand with his left. She suddenly felt lonely.
Her wand was everything to her, always there and always comforting. He had the audacity to take it from her.
"Give it back, Potter." She growled. Outwardly, she put on a strong and imposing facade, hoping that he wouldn't see the tremble in her knees. Even in her trainings with her father and the sparring with her sister, she had never been disarmed so easily. It was a very bitter feeling.
"No." He said simply. He looked at her finally, beginning to twirl her wand through his fingers. "You're going to sit, and you're going to listen."
"And if I say no?" She dared.
"Could you say no? I have your wand Greengrass. You don't know where you are. The house responds to me. If I even fake a bloody nose, you'll be locked in the recently cleaned dungeons. If I sneeze too hard or simply look as if I am distressed, there are a number of wands within shouting distance that don't trust you and wouldn't hesitate to separate your head from your body. You are going to sit, and you are going to listen." He spoke. His voice was calm and low, almost as if it were a conversation about the summer sun and the beauty of nature. It scared her.
She sat down.
"Good. You can use that Slytherin mind." He spoke. She listened, too afraid to respond.
He started pacing, still twirling her wand, though in his diatribe, he had tucked his away again. In his face, she noticed a glimpse of an angry visage, and his brow furrowed. Still, he kept silent. He glanced over to her, almost as if he was measuring her worth, assessing her value and finding her lacking.
"I, Harry James Potter, swear on my magic that the words from my mouth in the next 30 minutes are nothing but the truth. So mote it be." If she had been talking, her mouth would've closed audibly. She was shocked.
'An oath! Bloody hell!' She thought, her face, though, showed none of that emotion. She had very carefully, if not problematically, schooled her features.
"As of this moment, you are safe. You are whole. We are not pressing you for answers. Instead, we ask that you follow simple rules. While you and your sister are not prisoners, we cannot just trust anyone with our secrets. We, you and I, that is, operate in two different circles. While I don't know your stance on things, I am sure you are aware that I am an enemy of Voldemort. I cannot allow myself to be vulnerable. Ever. As a result, there are some places here where you should not venture, other places where you had better not venture."
She could understand that, in a sense. Even for just a few short hours, she and her sister had been left alone and in peace. It was more than she had expected, truly. For too long, she had heard of nothing but the dangers of associating with Potter, of having a soft spot for Mudbloods, and the consequences of being friendly with Blood Traitors.
It was directly from Malfoy, of course. He had been backed by the combined might of the elder students, his own magical power, and the wealth of his family. In Slytherin house, that was everything. For nine months out of the year, and for 5 years so far, she had been subjected to the ideals of powers greater than hers. Even if she did not believe in it, though there were times where she could see validation of the claims, she could not escape it.
The silence had stretched for too long. Potter was looking at her expectedly. She realized she had forgotten to respond.
"I understand." Was her response.
"Good. Then you will know that despite me guaranteeing your safety, being safe is completely up to you." With that, he stepped past her and out of the room, gently setting her wand closest to the door. She stood still for a bit, frozen in thought. She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and turned towards the door.
Hermione Granger was standing there, idly peering at her, an unreadable look on her face. The girl stared at her, not a word spoken or muttered. After a while, it began to unnerve her. She couldn't help but speak up.
"Is there something that I can help you with mu - Granger?" Daphne asked, surprisingly calm. Inwardly, she was fuming. She had nearly slipped and dropped back into her Slytherin ways for a second, and this house was probably the worst place to do that. Especially, considering the conversation with Potter.
"I'm just happy that you and Astoria are safe. She and I spoke briefly, while you slept. I hope that we didn't wake you. You missed lunch, so dinner will be ready in about an hour." Granger spoke, softly. There was still no hint of emotion on her face.
"I- - uh, that is. Thank you." Daphne managed to squeeze out. It felt uncomfortable.
"No problem." Granger spoke, turning to go. She made it only a few steps before she turned back around. "Oh, and Daphne? Never pull your wand on Harry again."
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It was a scene of pure, unadulterated destruction.
Where there had once been one of the finest gardens in Britain, remained nothing similar. Instead, piles of Ash, still floating on the receding magic took the place. The earth was scorched with dark magic. The magic had been so saturated in hate that it would take months for a cleaning ritual to be used effectively.
What had once been a body was now a pile of blackened dust, so strong had the heat of the fire been. A strong gust of wind blew through the area, furthering separating the remains. And that was only what the first glance revealed.
Albus Dumbledore felt his heart grow heavy. He could still feel the presence of Voldemort and he could nearly visualize the battle that had taken place. The Aurors, powerful and capable in their own right, had likely never fought someone of Voldemort's caliber. Dumbledore could imagine that battle had been brutal, and quick.
It has taken him far longer than he had intended to make it here. Leaving Harry had been a simple matter. Stopping briefly at Hogwarts had allowed him to pen some crucial letters to potential allies, feed Fawkes, and give some further instruction to the staff. From there he had apparated directly to the road leading to the Manor. It had been filled with reporters, spectators, and Aurors. Upon seeing him, the crowd of reporters seemed to surge towards him with the promise of questions he could not, and would not, answer.
"Professor Dumbledore, can you tell us what happened here?"
"Supreme Mugwump, has there been any attack on the Minister?"
"Headmaster, has there been any further word on the migration of werewolf packs? Does You-Know-Who have something to do with it?"
Had he been anyone but Albus Dumbledore, he could have caved with the sheer number of questions thrown at him. As it was, he had simply needed to raise his hands, motion for silence, string some pretty words together, and then move on. Sometimes, he hated politics.
He hastened to the shell of the manor, knowing all his questions could be answered there. As he moved closer, one of the supporting beams collapsed, dropping an entire corner of the remnants to the ground. Construction wizards rushed over to inspect the rest of the building.
It looked as if it had been firebombed. Voldemort, likely, had used Fiendfyre to great effect here. It would've cut through the steam beams with ease, as well as eradicated any enchantments and protective runes inscribed into the foundation of the home.
"Albus." Kingsley intoned, coming from his right. Dumbledore shook the hand of one of his most trusted allies, and man so steadfast in his loyalty that he thrived in a role that he was overqualified for; only because duty kept him steady.
"Kingsley. I take it that Voldemort paid a visit?"
"Indeed, the Minister is dead. Whatever magic Voldemort used, it was devastating to the area." Kingsley paused, "He branded him Albus."
Albus picked up on the subtlety of the statement. This was no normal attack by Voldemort. He had come here personally, likely to achieve a goal. As crazy and as unhinged as the Dark Lord was, he was not without intelligence. Nearly everything he did was for a purpose.
"Show me." Albus asked, his magic flaring about him. He nearly chastised himself for not seeing such a move from his old student. He stopped once he realized that secrecy was the backbone of Voldemort's attack. Even still, he'd need to encourage everyone to be more vigilant.
It took them several minutes to make it to the Minister's body. The dangers of the building collapsing were very real. Even with the supporting beams, and with the magic being used to hold it altogether, Albus could feel it weakening. They had to be careful. Once he reached there, his breath caught in his lungs.
In front of him lay Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic. Or rather, what was left of him. His limbs had been separated from his torso aggressively. Shreds of skin and clothing lay in tattered pieces nearby. Another body, his wife, was nearby, her condition just as awful.
The head, luckily, was still attached to his round torso. His eyes had been charmed open, his mouth frozen in the shape of his final scream. And etched into his forehead, glowing a sickly green, was a lightning bolt.
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Severus Snape scowled, inwardly of course. It would not due to show his displeasure while in the company of his Deatheater comrades. He'd be dead before he could offer an explanation. He was already far from the most trusted of servants, at least in the eyes of his peers. He was still in the Inner Circle, and still drew breath. That had to mean something. Somewhere, maybe, Lily was smiling down on him. Or frowning. At least she was looking, so he hoped.
He froze. He was not a man used to fear, but the presence that approached him screamed at him to run away, and to never stop running. His mark held him in place. He dropped to a knee.
"My Lord. May your magic never waver." He spoke, eyes low.
"Rise Severus. Join me." Voldemort hissed.
The walk was silent. Severus made sure stay exactly one step behind and to the right of his master. 'One of my masters', he reminded himself silently. It would not due to forget the power Dumbledore held over him. Dumbledore, of course, was preferred, but even he could harsh with his expectations. Dumbledore preached forgiveness, which Snape understood. What Snape could not, perhaps would not, understand was the idea of forgiving himself.
He wiped himself clean of such thoughts as the Dark Lord began to speak to him once more.
"I have killed the Minister, destroyed the Ministerial Manor, and laid waste to their semblance of safety. I did this all before breakfast. Today's paper will speak of the message the Dark Lord has left. I need you to tell me how Dumbledore responds, and who he plans to nominate."
"Yes, My Lord." Severus replied, eyes still low. He made to leave but was stopped.
"You have been loyal Severus, continue this and you shall be rewarded beyond your measure."
"Yes, My Lord. I will not fail you."
Snape stopped moving, waiting until the Dark Lord was out of sight before making an abrupt turn and heading into the other direction. While he was here, he could potentially pick up some useful information.
His role was two-tasked. As a supposed spy for Voldemort, he was to inform him of any and all major moves that the Order of the Phoenix made. He was supposed to inform the Dark Lord of personnel changes, plans, and ideas. For Dumbledore, he was supposed to do the very same. Both expected him to keep their secrets, and neither of them, he felt, truly cared about his own safety. He was trapped, and he felt the walls closing in day in and day out. Yet, he had a duty.
In the supposed safety of their Headquarters, behind layers and layers of dark enchantments, some of the Deatheaters were a bit more loose-lipped than usual. It was a common occurrence to encounter a newer member bragging of their latest exploits. The talk and bravado of killing defenseless muggle fathers, and raping their daughters was enough to turn his stomach. He wished he could simply kill them all.
It would never be that simple though. Voldemort wouldn't allow it, Snape wouldn't survive it, and one small victory did not matter in the end. His purpose, at this time, was to simply provide Albus with information that could save as many lives as possible; all while knowingly forsaking the lives of others. It hurt him, but he was strong. At least, he liked to think so. Merlin, he hoped that he was.
"And I'm telling you man, we kicked the shit out of Potter. He threw a few punches, but he fell like the rest of them." A loud voice spoke.
Snape slowed down. He had, of course, heard of the attack on Potter and the subsequent fall-out. He had, after all, brewed the necessary potions to restore Albus to full health after. He would never understand how the man had nearly sacrificed his own life to save that of the boy. It was not the Slytherin way. Not unless, there was a substantial return of some sort in the future. Maybe Dumbledore knew something that he didn't. The man played chess in his sleep.
"While you were with the crazy bitch, our Lord tasked me to raiding a few potions labs. He said it was a mission of the utmost importance. And that he only entrusted it to me." Another voice responded.
"Shut up you fools. Every mission given by the Dark Lord is important." A third voice spoke out suddenly. He recognized that voice, it was Bellatrix Lestrange. He heard the sound of someone hastily getting to their feet. He assumed they were bowing to her. She had managed to strike fear into every other follower the Dark Lord had. No one was as fervent as she was in her loyalty. And everyone knew it.
Snape continued walking, nonchalantly heading towards the voices. Standing still for too long would make someone suspicious.
"Ah Severus, how nice of you to join us. Been catering to the whim of the Order of the Phoenix again, spy?" She said the word vehemently.
"Bellatrix. Still torturing yourself for fun?" Snape responded, his voice still no more than a whisper. They traded barbed sentences often, sometimes coming close to drawing their wands. Their dislike for one another was known to all. The Dark Lord simply laughed at it. He would never allow them to kill each other, they were still useful to him.
"You are still a fool Severus. One day, you'll be a dead fool." Bellatrix snapped back, her anger seizing her quickly. She was an extremely powerful witch with a short temper. It was no wonder she was feared in the night.
"But not today. I was simply listening in on a mission about attacking Harry Potter. It's strange that our Master was more upset that Potter was nearly killed, than the fact that the attack was somewhat successful. It's almost as if he knew nothing about it." Snape drawled. The man to the left of Bellatrix blanched. Snape had recalled hearing the screams at the hand of the dark Lord. Voldemort had been very displeased when Bellatrix had reported to him.
"I am still his favored servant. Do well to remember that." Bellatrix spoke, the anger in her eyes alone could've killed him.
"And yet, even the favored have only so many chances of failure. You would do well to remember that." Snape responded coolly. It was always fun to rattle Bellatrix.
Her response was to glare at him and hastily turn and walk away. The two young Deatheaters followed her as well, throwing their own glares at him.
He quickly made his way out of the building and apparated away. He needed a good drink. Tangling with death tended to cause that effect.
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He was exhausted. Dumbledore had spent several hours at the destroyed Ministerial home, collecting information, quelling pockets of rebellious Fiendfyre and other rogue magicks as a result of the ferocious attack by the Dark Lord.
The reports that he had been receiving painted a very awful picture. He was able to piece that with some of the viewing orbs placed around the property. While they didn't catch all the action, they had managed to see some of the more devastating effects of the magic used. Dumbledore admitted to himself, quietly, that Tom Riddle had used magic very effectively, toying with the opposition before dismantling them quickly. He was precise and the magic he used was tossed about in a careless, yet deadly manner, spoke volumes of his prowess. There were precious few that could hope to match.
And yet, even his admiration over his once pupil, was streaked with disappointment. Tom Riddle had never learned to love, and Dumbledore swore on all of his knowledge that it was the sole reason for his descent. If, perhaps, the boy had found a way to love, and to experience love, he would have turned out very differently. Instead, the monster within him had consumed him. He had no remorse, and the only thing he had feared was death itself. But Dumbledore had found the truth, one of the greatest secrets of Lord Voldemort.
Horcruxes.
Further thoughts on such abominations was interrupted by a bright flash of familiar fire, he was whisked away.
He landed in a familiar area, with his Familiar hovering with flaps of his great wings.
"Now Fawkes, if you were hungry, you could have just fed yourself. You are more than capable of such a feat." Albus spoke, his senses already picking up the immense magical signatures approaching him. It always warmed his heart to be amongst friends.
"Albus. Welcome, we're so happy that you were able to make it." A deep voice sounded. Even at his age, he cut an impressive figure. Deep violet robes, pristinely pressed, adorned the man who had walked this earth for several centuries. The Grandmaster Nicholas Flamel, was aged, but had lost none of his presence. While he was not the most powerful wizard in the world, he was likely the most intelligent, and one of the more dangerous. Dumbledore could recall the stories where a bored Nicholas Flamel had decided to play politics. With the destruction of the Stone, he had lain low, quietly amassing his worldly knowledge.
Beside him was a woman, who even in her advanced age, could be considered quite handsome. The joy of her youth had left her several centuries before, and yet the calming presence of her magic was a soothing as ever. Retired Healer, First Class, among other titles, Perenelle Flamel was still a sight to see. Her presence was akin to the song of a phoenix. One could simply lose himself within himself just by being near her for too long.
Dumbledore bowed. "It is an honor to be welcome here." He embraced his friends, relishing in the fact that they were still amongst the living. "I had wondered why Fawkes had decided to sneak me away. He never could resist your call Lady Flamel."
"Brian, you humor me. Your charm knows no bounds. I wish the matter that we brought you here for was one of frivolity."
"Indeed Albus, we have finished searching our archives for all of the information that we hold on Horcruxes. It paints a very morbid picture if Tom Riddle has indeed created one." Nicholas spoke, gesturing for Albus to follow him along the path to their home.
It was a simple two story, brick home. There was beauty in the simplicity, and a sort of homely feel to the place. Though, given how often he had come here, it was nearly a second home to him. He wanted to bask in the beauty of the scenery before him, to relish the safety and relinquish the stress which had settled in his old bones. His host, though, had other ideas.
"Albus, we believe young Mr. Potter to be Horcrux." Nicholas spoke, already in the midst of conjuring chairs, and summoning a complete tea set.
Dumbledore's heart felt heavy. All of his fears had been verified. Deeply, he knew that he could not have been wrong, but even he knew that even experts made mistakes. Even he knew that the most powerful and intelligent men and women made mistakes. Hence, the reason he had asked for help. He had been suspicious of course. The scar for one had already piqued his interest. It was nearly public knowledge to know and understand that some of the darkest of magic left evidence of their use. No one had ever survived the killing curse before, so a lot of the attributes that Harry had demonstrated had been chalked up as a byproduct of surviving, of doing the impossible.
When Harry had arrived to Hogwarts, he had been a seemingly happy young man, small and thin for his age of course. That hadn't worried him as much as the pain he could see in the boy's face. He was young, of course, and impressionable as well, but well-behaved. He was a child that was unused to the spotlight, shied away from it, and did everything that he could to blend in. In short, he was similar and yet different than Tom Riddle had been. The Sorcerer's Stone, had been an eye-opening moment for Dumbledore though. He had chanced a peek into the mind of Harry Potter and was delighted at the strength of his character but had been mortified at the things that Voldemort had alluded to, and had been capable of. It would only get worse from there.
It hadn't worried him that he had been socially awkward, but it had worried him that he could speak Parseltongue. The diary from Harry's second year, along with a description of how it seemed to draw the life from Ginny Weasley had been the key. He had immediately spent countless hours of his summer before Harry's 3rd year to search all the books that he knew housed information on dark magic. It had not been pretty.
Fast forward past the years between then and now, and he had even more proof that Harry and Voldemort were connected. The pain in the scar, Voldemort being able to send images, false memories, and even emotions through the link that he had held. The link, too, had gotten stronger the more powerful Voldemort had become. He could not imagine the pain that Harry had experienced at the hands of Voldemort. The connection had gotten so powerful, that he could feel it whenever he had been near Harry.
"You do not look surprised Albus. I know that you had shared your concerns with us, but to be so stoic in the face of this is indeed impressive. We know how you feel towards the boy." Perenelle spoke, her eyes missing nothing.
"Not entirely surprised, no. I have feared for the worse, and hoped for the best. Nothing has ever been easy for Mr. Potter."
"You do know what this means, Albus?" Nicholas asked. "It means the boy will have to die. The only way to destroy a Horcrux is to destroy the host."
"I know. Merlin, help me but I know." Dumbledore thought. To have the soul of one of the darkest wizards to ever walk the planet accompanying his own, had to have been a horrible burden.
"You will tell him." Perenelle spoke again. It was not a question, but a statement of fact. Dumbledore nodded quickly, already understanding that he could not keep things from the young man. And yet, his mind was racing still. In his mind, he had gone over the past few weeks since the confrontation at the Ministry, cataloging and remembering the numerous encounters with Harry.
He hadn't sensed the presence of Voldemort.
"Albus, I can tell when your mind is working. What is it?" Nicholas asked. Dumbledore noticed, simply to his awareness of his surroundings that Flamel has poured himself a second cup of tea already. He was nearly as certain as he had been about anything else that something had changed since the time Voldemort had possessed Harry in the Ministry. In fact, even more recently than that.
"I'm not so sure that Harry holds a piece of Voldemort's soul any longer." He whispered.
Perenelle shared a look of bewilderment with her husband, a lot that they probably hadn't shared in centuries.
"Oh dear."
