Author's note: A short one today… Thank you, Miriam. Nobody else is reading this anymore. That's what I get from this story now being AU…
Chapter 31: The Devil's Deeds
I carry your wounded
dreams like the Devil's deeds…
What do I have to say to make you stay?
What do I have to do to make you happy?
—Roxette: Staring at the Ground
"What a coincidence," Malfoy said. "I actually wanted to intercept you on your way down to the Great Hall. This makes it so much easier. To whom do I owe this unexpected benefit?"
"What do you think you're doing, Malfoy?" Harry asked. "What are you going to do? Curse me?"
"Nothing that simple. As for the cursing part—the Dark Lord certainly has a few ideas concerning that."
"Voldemort?"
"How you ever survived an encounter is simply beyond me, thick as you are," he muttered in reply and leisurely sauntered towards him. "He's here. And he's waiting. The master does not like to be kept waiting."
Here? Where here?
"Where is he?" Harry asked.
"You'll see… Well, Potter," he went on. "This is it. You can have it the soft or the hard way: Follow my instructions voluntarily or find yourself be forced to do so—oh and before you even think about that you can overcome the Imperius Curse, let me tell you something. There are other ways to make people obey. Your wand, Potter." He held out his hand.
Harry didn't so much as move a muscle.
"Your wand."
"No way. I'm afraid I have other plans for today."
"Don't tempt me to cast the Cruciatus Curse on you. Or did you like it so much the last time?" he sneered. "I could magic your voice away, too. No one would hear you scream… Your wand."
Harry decided to give in. It was no use, was it? What was he supposed to do? Run? Malfoy would stun him. Then he'd wake him up again and Harry could try to run again.
Call for help? Malfoy would stun him within the fraction of a second.
Pretend that he wanted to hand over his wand but then cast a curse himself? Malfoy was too close for that. Indeed, he was too close to disarm him even by doing wandless magic—as if Harry could concentrate now that, with Hogwarts under attack and Ginny most likely still outside the castle walls, there was too much else on his mind.
Malfoy snatched Harry's wand. "A wise decision. Didn't think you had it in you."
"You're a bastard. But I knew you had it in you—I just didn't know that you are such a bastard."
"What a pity. A typical Gryffindor—," he began. "Who's following you?"
Harry furrowed his brows, listening. There were indeed footsteps… They echoed far through the empty corridors… If they'd come just a bit closer, and Harry would call…
"Who's following you?"
Harry was silent, hoping that he could play for time…
"Who is it, Potter?" Malfoy hissed, his wandtip near Harry's throat. Harry didn't want to know what curses Malfoy might have in store for an occasion like this. It was true; the Slytherins most certainly knew more Dark curses than the other students, save perhaps the Ravenclaws, who studied anything if only it was interesting—only theoretically, of course.
But a Slytherin—particularly a Malfoy, Death Eater par excellence—would practice any Dark curse and use it. Harry didn't want to know what was on Malfoy's mind if he didn't cooperate. Would he kill him straight away? If he did, then what about Ginny? Hermione and Ron would tell her that he, Harry, had run off because of her…
Why couldn't he have stayed in the Common Room and then walked down with all the others, hoping that Ginny would be fine, instead of playing right into Malfoy's filthy Death Eater hands?
"Might be Professor McGonagall…" Harry said slowly.
"Silencio!" Malfoy hissed and dragged Harry into an adjacent classroom.
Harry opened his mouth to call out—but no sound came out. How stupid! He used the Silencer Spell.
The room had been unused for many years, as he perceived immediately. A lot of dust was in there. Inches thick it covered the floor and the few chairs and desks, and myriads of cobwebs were hanging in the corners and from the ceiling like old lace, ripped, torn and thick with greyish dust.
The clicking footsteps came nearer, accompanied by McGonagall's voice.
"…foolish boy. Just like his father. Running before thinking. Always getting into…" Harry heard her mutter as she passed. The door was only slightly ajar.
The sound of her footfalls faded and Malfoy peered through the narrow gap of the door, never giving Harry the opportunity to try and overpower him. He always had him in his viewing range.
After another few seconds had passed, Malfoy dragged Harry out again, shoving him along corridors and passages in utter silence.
Voldemort was here… If Malfoy was taking Harry to him, he must be somewhere inside the castle. Hidden…
Where would he be if he didn't want to be discovered too soon?
The direction they were going…
A hidden place. Inaccessible under normal circumstances perhaps? A secret place? Secret…
Harry's mind was putting one and one together…
Could it be that Malfoy was leading him to—.
Yes. The second floor corridor it was. The door with the ever-present 'Out of order' sign. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom—and the pipe that would be leading down into the Chamber of Secrets.
Indeed a secret place. Very much secluded. Dark and cold. It was a long time since he had been down there. Five years. He still remembered it. If the Basilisk—the dead Basilisk—was still decaying? Had its blood dried on the stone, leaving behind black stains that were still visible? Was Harry's own blood still there? The Basilisk fang with which he'd pierced and destroyed the cursed diary that had drawn its life from Ginny, thus draining her and almost killing her?
A suitable place. Suitable for Voldemort. A dome. A cathedral. A tomb. Was it to be—?
"Open the sink, Potter," Malfoy interrupted Harry's disquieting thoughts.
Harry tried to answer, but found he still couldn't. Thus, he indicated his throat.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Of course. Finite Incantatem."
"This is a girls' bathroom!" a voice wailed.
Myrtle soared out of her cubicle—or rather through its door, literally—and stopped in mid-air, floating and blinking, somewhat annoyed. But then, as her transparent gaze fell on Harry, her usually sombre face lightened up a bit.
"Oh, it's you again. Hullo, Harry." She actually smiled, but then seemed to remember something. "You haven't been visiting me for years! You promised! Some promise that—."
"Sorry, Myrtle. But this is not the time…"
"Of course, Myrtle's just good enough to answer questions and help solve some riddles and—."
"Please, Myrtle, listen…"
"No, you listen. You so promised to come and visit me more often. I thought we were—."
"Can't some people even just shut up in death?!" Malfoy shouted.
Harry was almost grateful. Myrtle had been launching into a tirade about ungratefulness and friendlessness. But Malfoy had been a bit tactless when he'd interrupted her. He'd said the 'D'-word…
And as Harry feared, there was Myrtle doing exactly what Myrtle did when only something remotely connected with life and death was mentioned. She started wailing. Loudly and piercingly—which might even be a good thing. If someone passed the door, they'd hear…
"Rub it in, will you?" she whined. "Even in death people are teasing me, verbally abusing me…"
She disappeared into her toilet, sobbing in her very favourite place—the infamous u-bend.
"Open the sink, Potter," Malfoy repeated.
"So we're heading for the chamber?" Harry said. It was more of a rhetorical question than anything else, but Malfoy replied anyway.
"What? Oh, I almost forgot. You've already been down there, haven't you? It's quite useful, you know, your being a Parselmouth… It saves the Dark Lord quite some trouble. And now open it and you might just live a little while longer," Malfoy threatened Harry again. "I've been waiting to say this all my life."
"You're not going to kill me," Harry said.
"How presumptuous… And why not?"
"Because Voldemort wants to do it himself."
"You're right—but only in a certain respect. He'd very much prefer to kill you himself. Prefer, I said. But if necessary, I, as every single other Death Eater in the world, have the leave to kill you. Of course, only if you decide not to cooperate, that is." Malfoy grinned evilly. "But as you are a Gryffindor…"
Oh yes. I'm a Gryffindor; just like my father. And if I am to die tonight, I'm going to die just like my father did. I'm not going to be slaughtered by Malfoy of all people. And he knows it. If Voldemort wants me dead, he'll have to do it himself. Not because it is his decision, but because I choose death by his hand, not Malfoy's nor any other's.
Harry stared into Malfoy's cold pale-grey eyes. "Right, I am a Gryffindor. And Malfoy? I've survived so many encounters with him… What makes you think that I won't survive this time?"
"Are you mad? Who's going to save you? Dumbledore and all the other Professors are either surveying the attack on the wards—divisionary tactics, of course—or watching over those Muggle-loving fools in the Great Hall. As for Snape and Ravon, they're probably too occupied with shagging somewhere…" He made a noise of disgust. "And that when they both could have stood to the left and right of the Dark Lord's throne. Traitors, that's what they are. They'll be next."
"Ravon could defeat you and that filthy lot single-handed."
"Yes, the same way she did once already or what? Oh wait, I remember," he said sarcastically, "she didn't. Remind me again, what exactly the Master did to her…"
"You weren't even there."
"How would you know?" he drawled.
"Because I was there. I saw it. In my dreams. Just like I saw you crawling on the ground, suppressing a scream when the Mark was burnt into your arm, writhing in pain with the Cruciatus Curse, whispering your thanks to the Dark Lord and kissing the hem of his robes. If that's what being a Death Eater is all about, I'm even gladder that I never joined them."
"Shut up, you—."
"Yes? Out with it. Call me something you haven't called me before. Tell me something I don't know."
"You're playing for time, is that it?" Malfoy snarled.
Damn. Harry closed his eyes for a moment.
"Open the entrance." Malfoy brutally shoved him towards the row of sinks; all the time, Harry felt the wand between his shoulder blades. As he passed the mirrors, he could even see a few sparks emitting from its tip, fortunately not setting his robes on fire or doing something even worse than that.
'Open!' Harry hissed to the small snake that was carved deeply but quite ornately into the surface of one of the sinks. The sinks parted. One of them disappeared into the floor and once again revealed the dark opening that would lead down into the tunnel.
"Get in," Malfoy said, pushing Harry towards the large pipe.
Harry obeyed. Deep inside he knew that Malfoy was right. No one would come. He would be missed of course, but who would ever think of looking for him down there, where they were going now?
He slid down, Malfoy right behind him. He had lighted his wand. Its feeble light indicated that he was quite close. Harry would have to jump to the side if he didn't want Malfoy to land on top of him—which he clearly didn't want, thank you very much.
In silence, they made their way along the tunnel. Harry was lost in his thoughts, his memories. The last time he had been where he was now, had been with Lockhart and Ron when they had been on their way to rescue Ginny out of the Heir of Slytherin's grasp—oh what he wouldn't give if they were here now; even Lockhart he could endure.
As they neared the Chamber, they—or rather Harry—found that the heavy doors were already open.
Has he left them open for Malfoy to come down here, even if I were dead? Harry wondered. But then, who would have opened the entrance?
"After you. The Master is expecting you already. You should feel honoured," Malfoy mocked and pushed Harry forward once more, seemingly just for the sake of it. "He even saved you the trouble of opening the doors."
Harry walked into the gloom of the Chamber, Malfoy right behind him, almost like a shadow.
With sharp scraping noises, the doors slid shut behind them. Now no one would be able to enter anymore…
As they walked down the aisle between the pillars, Harry had a strong déjà-vu. He almost expected to see a sixteen-year-old dark-haired boy at the foot of Salazar Slytherin's statue. But he didn't. As they neared the far end of the Chamber and the statue, Harry perceived that a throne had been set up right in the middle between a double-line of Death Eaters. Five Death Eaters standing with their heads bowed, their faces obscured by the heavy hoods of their black cloaks.
Malfoy gave Harry a last push and then took his place in the line. The Death Eaters were now slightly behind Harry, on either side of him, and Voldemort stared at him for a few long seconds with those gleaming red eyes of his. He still looked the way he had during the Priori Incantatem.
"The time has come," the Dark Lord said, "to talk of many things." His voice was still the same. Of course, Harry had heard it in his dreams but that was not comparable to the real thing. A sleeping mind couldn't perceive the full horror of this hissing, high-pitched, simply evil voice. Voldemort would have made the most tender of caresses sound like a threat.
He raised himself from his throne in a way that he thought would be regal or graceful. To Harry, however, he looked more like an oversized serpent as he approached him.
Shivers ran down Harry's spine as he met the Dark Lord's gaze who was now standing only few feet away.
The last time they had met, Harry had had to look up quite a bit. Now he was as tall as Voldemort, so that the latter didn't even have to stoop to bring his face close to Harry's.
"So we meet again," Voldemort spoke. "I fear the pleasure will be entirely mine… Of course, that would be depending on your decisions."
"Decisions," Harry muttered.
The Dark Lord continued as though Harry hadn't spoken. "Remember the first time we actually met, Harry? When my not so very talented but quite useful servant Slatero Quirrell helped me in my quest for the Philosopher's Stone?"
Harry said nothing, only nodded.
"I said it then and I am going to repeat it now: Join me. I can give you power. Join me and I shall even bring back your parents. Your mother needn't have died after all; and your father, well, let's just say that he stood between me and my quest for infinite power which I just might call completed now. You only have to say it, Harry. Say you'll join me, and you shall not only have your family back but also receive more power than you could ever imagine." He stepped close to Harry once more. "Am I not merciful? Am I not generous?" During the last line of his speech, the Dark Lord had put a hand onto Harry's shoulder, his fingertip brushing Harry's neck. Harry's scar twitched nastily and he bit back a gasp.
He's insane. He must be. There's no other explanation, Harry thought. Out loud he stated firmly: "The dead can't be brought back to life."
"Dumbledore told you so, I suppose. Funny the conversation should have switched to this subject."
Harry didn't move a muscle.
"Yes," the Dark Lord hissed. "I would think so." Then he gave a short, high-pitched laugh that made a gust of cold run over Harry's spine as it had done since the first time he'd heard it. Voldemort continued, his voice almost seductively low. "It is very advanced magic—neither light nor dark, but very ancient. So ancient that it took Quirrell—bless his soul—," he mocked, "a great amount of time to even discover its origins. But he did; and he did well, I must admit."
He's a liar, Harry thought. Neither light nor dark? That's rich. If necromancy isn't defined as Dark magic, I don't know what is.
"So you see, the great Albus Dumbledore… he lied. When has the man ever told you the whole truth? Doesn't he prefer leaving you in the dark? Make the boy suffer, throw him in the deep end so he may figure out how to swim all by himself. Who cares? Everything can be explained afterwards." The mockery was not only clearly audible; one could also see the insane joy Voldemort felt when he uttered the words. The most painful about what he'd said was that there was a tiny grain of truth in it. Dumbledore himself couldn't have found a way to deny it, could he?
No, Harry thought, Dumbledore always told me what I needed to know—even if I didn't like his keeping some things from me sometimes… And he was always there when I needed his help—if not in body, then in spirit…
But the Dark Lord was still speaking. "I, on the other hand, never lied to you. I am perfectly willing to fulfil your heart's deepest and most desperate desire—a family; your family. Just say you'll join me. Be my heir. It only takes one simple word." At that, Voldemort grasped Harry's face with one of his spidery thin hands and a sharp pain pierced through the scar once again. The Dark Lord let go suddenly and said quietly, almost pleadingly, "Think about it. Say yes."
Harry tried hard to recover quickly from the shock of pain, the Dark Lord had inflicted upon him with his touch. He was confused. What Voldemort said made no sense. It just didn't fit. On the one hand, he offered to bring back his parents; on the other hand, he wanted him to be his 'heir.' Wouldn't Harry's parents do something—anything—to prevent this from happening? He could never look his parents in the eyes if he joined Voldemort. They'd given their lives to prevent Harry from being killed by the Dark Lord; should he taint their sacrifice by joining Voldemort who was the incarnation of everything they'd fought? As painful as the thought of never hearing his parents say that they loved him, his mother smoothing back his hair and kissing his forehead or his father saying that he was proud of his son was—Harry knew he must not give in.
"I can't…" he whispered after a long silence.
"You can. I know it. I can feel it," the Dark Lord whispered in return.
Harry shook his head. This is it. The point of no return. This time the Boy Who Lived wouldn't escape… I'm going to die today…
Swallowing hard since he knew he was going to sign his certain death warrant with his answer, Harry forced out a strained, "No, I'm never going to join you. Never."
Voldemort raised his eyebrows; then he slowly shook his head. "Pity. Then you shall suffer—and die."
He took a few steps back and brandished his wand.
"Crucio!" he screamed, and Harry staggered back as the curse hit him violently, as if Voldemort had laid all his hate, fury and evil in it. He couldn't stay on his feet anymore, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he might despise the thought of writhing on the ground at the Dark Lord's feet.
"Mordeo!"
Harry remembered that curse from the dream he had had. The one in which Voldemort had tortured Professor Ravon.
The pain increased. While the Cruciatus Curse didn't hurt your body although it felt like it, those curses now would inflict severe injuries on Harry. He felt he was being cut and bitten and beaten and stabbed. It was indescribable. It felt as if it would never stop. Harry clenched his teeth together. Don't scream.
Harry fought against the pain, screwing his eyes shut, pressing his lips together to keep from crying out loud, silently crying out for Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Dumbledore… anyone! He needed help. He didn't want to die. What if no one realized he was missing? What if… Someone must be able to hear him. It was not that uncommon that this worked—especially under extreme circumstances. Professor Ravon had said so in her wandless magic lesson…
And thus, he cried out for help with his mind, for anyone who was willing to listen. Help me! Anyone! Somebody please! They are inside the castle! He's going to kill me and once he's done that, there will be no stopping him from entering the castle and killing everyone who stands in his way…
It felt like hours—but it couldn't be, could it? Someone must be missing him already. At least Ginny would…
It was as if he heard a voice in the back of his mind suddenly, a voice telling him to watch and think about what he saw, an urgent sounding voice. Well, actually it wasn't more than an urge. The voice didn't use words. It just pressured him to think consciously about his surroundings instead of the pain.
And despite the pain wrecking his body, the white-hot knives piercing him, he forced his eyes open and imprinted everything he saw in his mind. The Chamber itself, the stone columns on either side of the aisle, the figure of Salazar Slytherin, the towering figure of Voldemort, the half dozen of Death Eaters that was with him, his innermost circle, his most trusted… And strange as it was, concentrating on his surroundings instead of himself, his body, his fear, made the pain less sharp, it felt more distant, number somehow… Not that it had stopped hurting, of course not, but it was more bearable—if one could use this word in the same sentence with Tormenting Curses.
But the Dark Lord had only just begun.
"Flagello!"
So Voldemort intended to make him go through the same ordeal as he'd done with—?
Harry couldn't finish his thought, since the first strike of an invisible whiplash prevented him from doing so. He found he was kneeling on the ground—how he ever scrambled into this position was beyond him—his arms over his face to protect his eyes, panting and groaning with pain, as another whip was added to the first, and more and more and even more…
Every heartbeat pounded in Harry's head like a drum. He could hear his own blood rushing through his veins. Was he bleeding? He didn't know if the moisture that had gathered all over his body and begun to soak his clothes was blood or merely sweat.
Instinctively, Harry tried to shield himself from the attacks, but as the weapons were invisible, he couldn't even grasp them and rip them out of the attacker's grip…
Somebody screamed.
Harry was confused. Who would be screaming?
Then he realized with a start that it was he. Harry himself screamed as never before. And as it seemed he couldn't even stop. He didn't even need to breathe to be able to scream, or so it seemed.
"Contundo!"
Harry felt himself being lifted into the air; the pain had stopped for a moment, but then he felt himself being thrown against one of the stone pillars. The air was pressed out of his lungs. Harry thought he heard his bones crack. Then he landed on the ground in a heap, hoping it would be over, but it wasn't.
The invisible forces were back, beating him and bruising him. He couldn't think properly anymore. All his senses seemed to be filled with pain. He could taste his blood, smell it, see stars explode before his eyes, although they were closed. As waves of agony rushed through him once more, he heard himself scream again.
"Finite Incantatem!"
The scream broke off. The silence was breathtaking.
It took Harry a while, until he realized that there were no more curses, no more forces hurting him. Harry tried to take stock of himself.
He was bleeding all over. Check.
A few ribs seemed to be broken, but they didn't hurt that much, not after the curses. Check.
He had lost his glasses—and he realized, he must have dropped his wand too—no… no, he hadn't. Malfoy had taken it sometime back. Now he remembered. He couldn't think clearly, his whole body hurt. He was quite sure that this was roundabout how Professor Ravon must have felt when Voldemort had tortured her.
For a long while, all Harry heard was the sound of his ragged breathing; all he saw was the faraway dark-grey ceiling—or maybe it seemed only dark-grey because of the gloom and the fact that Harry's eyes were so bad.
"Draco."
Malfoy stepped towards Voldemort and bowed.
"Yes, my master."
"The boy's wand."
"I have it here, master." He held it out for the Dark Lord to take.
Voldemort accepted the proffered wand. He turned to Harry, his spidery hand idly playing with it. His own wand firmly clenched in his other hand.
"So powerful they could have been together. What they could have created… The destruction they could have caused together. Brothers. No other two wands can achieve what a wand and its brother can do. A pity that this has to be done. But it was your decision, not mine."
He couldn't possibly! It was a part of Harry. It was almost as though he'd cut off Harry's right arm… He couldn't possibly intend to—.
"No…" Harry moaned. It was quite in vain.
"Snap it, Draco."
Like a whip crack or a bone breaking, a sickening splintering noise echoed through the chamber. The wand had been snapped in half.
Voldemort smiled evilly—or so Harry thought; he could hear it in his voice—and said, sounding almost benevolent, "You won't be needing it anymore, anyway. I guarantee."
Never had Harry felt so defeated. Never in his whole life would he have realized how much a part of a wizard his respective wand was. It had been a loyal and reliable friend. It had saved him from Voldemort. It had obeyed. It had worked splendidly. And now it was broken, just like Harry was…
Harry couldn't even see where Malfoy had thrown the pieces. Everything was blurry. He realized that tears were stinging in his eyes. He couldn't tell one Death Eater from the other. Their white faces over their dark-clad torsos were indistinguishable.
If only I had my glasses back on. Stupid eyes. I swear if I survive this, I'll get contact lenses.
If.
I won't even see him properly when he kills me…
Now Voldemort laughed again—this cruel, high-pitched laughter that had haunted Harry in his sleep for a great part of his life.
The Dark Lord swept into Harry's blurred line of view and started to speak. "And now you—."
But he was interrupted as the great doors suddenly began to slide open with loud scraping noises that echoed through the Chamber, and a small black blotch whirled in. Harry screwed up his eyes. He thought he saw a bird, a black bird. It circled the room before it headed towards Voldemort. But before it reached him it expanded in size until a figure clad all in black stood just a few yards away from the Dark Lord—there was no doubt. It was Sariss Ravon.
"Seize her!" Voldemort yelled and the Death Eaters obeyed.
They started to approach her in an attempt to restrain her before she could cause any trouble. He saw her raise her left hand and make a movement that he could only interpret as a motion one would make to throw their wand away. His assumption was confirmed as soon as he heard a faint clatter echoing through the chamber. The Death Eaters were apparently confused. And then she quickly raised her arms on either side of her body, palms facing outwards. Something akin to electricity seemed to invade the air, leaving a prickling sensation all over Harry's body, making his hair stand on end. Harry screwed up his eyes again to see better—and suddenly the Death Eaters flew backwards, crashing into the walls and the stone columns on either side of the aisle that led towards the statue of Salazar Slytherin. All this happened within only a few seconds. The prickling sensation remained; the static energy blowing through the chamber like a light breeze that made Professor Ravon's hair fan out around her. She looked like a banshee…
But to Harry it felt as if his guardian angel had materialized out of thin air.
Voldemort had his daughter at wandpoint now. "Claudo veneficium," he said and Professor Ravon flinched a bit. "Sariss, this has been a very stupid thing to do," he hissed. "This time, there's no one here to save you."
"I might not need to be saved."
She turned her head slightly and glanced shortly at Harry, and he could have sworn he saw her nod almost imperceptibly, but he couldn't be sure.
"The boy's not in a state to help you. He's weakened. His wand has been snapped already. He'll die as soon as I've disposed of you. But I'd like you to tell me how you found me—just to satisfy my curiosity. It's not that I couldn't spare the time, is it?"
Seeing that Voldemort had his attention completely focused at Professor Ravon, Harry now remembered what she had taught him, so he concentrated on finding his glasses and mouthed "Accio, glasses!" Nothing happened. He tried again—nothing. Stay calm. Concentrate. Focus. Now. "Accio, glasses!"
And suddenly they were in his hand and he pushed them onto his nose, glad that he could finally relax the muscles in his face again.
"Perhaps you failed to take into account my hidden assets," she said, having shifted her gaze back to the Dark Lord and slowly taking off her gloves. Why did she do this now? Harry asked himself. Was she playing for time? What were her intentions?
But the answer to his question was given instantly as Professor Ravon lifted her left hand and held it out in front of her, the palm of her hand facing towards Voldemort. And Harry could also see it and caught his breath just like the Dark Lord did. Voldemort glanced shortly at Harry and then back at her again.
A scar just like mine, Harry thought. That's why she was wearing gloves for quite some time… She must have been the one to catch his psychic message because of this scar; she must have been the voice. But how is this possible?
And suddenly he remembered. Like a door that had been opened, the memories poured into his conscious mind. He remembered when he'd first seen her. She had been there. Yet, this was impossible. But he remembered it as he had started gradually remembering more and more of what had happened the night his parents had died during the last few years. How his father's voice had told his mother to take little Harry and go… How his mother had refused to stand back and let Harry be killed by Voldemort… And then the green light that was Avada Kedavra hurtling towards him… After that mayhem, noises, clatter, damage—and a body that shielded him, lying heavily on him for a few minutes… And then a face, her face, looking down on him for a few seconds, then leaving him for a few minutes and coming back to pick him up… Sariss Ravon/Riddle had been in Godric's Hollow the night the Potters died… If they survived this now Harry would have a lot of questions to ask her—and Dumbledore, too. Nothing that concerned Harry happened without him knowing about it. Almost nothing…
"Some things can't be changed," Professor Ravon said. "Others can."
Then she started walking, only coming to a halt when she reached a position a few feet away from Voldemort. Harry could also see her face clearly now; he could even see her eyes that were almost as green as his if it wasn't for the bit of brown in them. Had Avada Kedavra done this to her? Harry was quite sure this must be so. It had not affected his own eyes because his had always been green—he'd seen his eyes on some photos of himself and his parents…
And then she spoke, holding her arms in a position as though she wanted to embrace an old friend.
"Father," she said softly…
~*~*~
Farther up in Hogwarts castle, an hour or two earlier that day…
Sariss hurried towards the Astronomy Tower since Dumbledore had contacted her and asked her to do so. There was apparently an attempt to breach the wards, a Death Eater attack. And as far as Sariss could tell from what Dumbledore had said, Voldemort's whole army was out there. The headmaster had sent Hagrid to contact the giants again, opening a small gap in the wards on the side that faced the Forbidden Forest, sealing it again after he had passed through. The giants were living in the mountains—they hadn't left Britain after the siege that had happened two years ago—and it would take them only a few hours to get here—hopefully in time…
As Sariss stepped out onto the platform she saw that the other teachers, save McGonagall, were already assembled and surveying the grounds.
Flitwick squeaked nervously, "They aren't really trying very hard to breach the wards, are they? All the charms still intact… so many attackers and not a single charm broken… strange…"
"I don't have a good feeling about all of this either…" Snape confirmed his suspicions.
Sariss stepped between Severus and the headmaster.
"Ah, Sariss. You must have flown through the castle to get here so quickly."
She took hold of Severus's hand and squeezed it slightly, only out of habit, before releasing it again. "Has anything… important happened?" she asked the headmaster, who shook his head.
"No, we suspect that they are only distracting us—yet we're not sure what they're…" Dumbledore trailed off as very fast footsteps could be heard.
McGonagall came rushing through the doorway. One look at her face told Sariss clearly that she was in quite a state. And her words confirmed it. "Potter is missing. Mr. Weasley just informed me that Harry hasn't joined the other students. And Draco Malfoy—" at that, she threw a glance at Severus "—seemingly can't be found either."
Dumbledore glanced at them. "This is not good. They can't have left Hogwarts grounds. Voldemort's army would either be not here anymore or trying to breach the wards in earnest, if they had."
"Perhaps they're waiting for something…" Sariss whispered.
"They can't get into the castle without breaching the wards, can they?" Severus asked.
"There are certain ways..." Dumbledore tilted his head to the side, looking thoughtful, as though he were listening intently. Then he furrowed his brows and said, "They are already inside somewhere…"
"How? Hogwarts is unplottable. You can't Apparate on Hogwarts grounds. They can't be inside already…" McGonagall interrupted.
"Under normal circumstances, not really; at least not without us being aware of them. But there are certain ways to enter unplottable locations." Dumbledore looked at Sariss and Severus. "However they would need someone to provide them with them from inside—"
"Malfoy," Sariss and Severus whispered in unison.
"This is what I had feared—and suspected, too," Severus took over. "I just didn't think he'd openly declare himself a Death Eater before he had left Hogwarts for good. Apparently the Dark Lord had other plans."
"Then we must find them. If it is as you say, they are still inside the castle somewhere," Sariss concluded.
"Yes, go and search the castle. However, although this attack serves only the purpose of distracting our attention it is nonetheless required to be watched closely. They might just try and get through the wards anyway. We can't take any risks that could lead to having to fight on two fronts—even more so if it should prove true that some of them are already inside…"
Professors Snape and Ravon turned around as one and—with their robes billowing behind them as a result of their fast pace—made their way down the stairs to turn every stone, every secret passage, every mouse hole inside the castle, upside down. Where could they be?
A strange sensation crawled over Sariss. She grabbed hold of Severus's sleeve. He turned around. "Is something wrong?"
"I just felt like someone walked over my grave," she whispered. An unpleasant feeling was spreading through her.
He looked at her, concerned. "Are you sure you—"
She flinched. "Ouch!" Sariss said and grabbed her left hand with the other; the scar had stung quite badly. She'd stopped walking as soon as it had started hurting.
"I… The scar, it hurt. It never hurt before…" Sariss answered thoughtfully. Then she clenched her teeth together and sucked air in between her teeth, giving a groan of pain. The scar suddenly stung as though hot knifes had pierced right through her hand. She swayed.
Severus rushed to her side, steadying her; then he took her hand to take a look at her palm. The scar was livid against her pale skin. She bit her lip in pain to muffle a scream that dreaded to escape her.
Suddenly she tensed, her intakes of breath short and shallow, and ripped her hand out of Severus's grasp to cradle it with her other hand. She screwed her eyes shut, as two tears started slithering down her cheeks, and began to rock back and forth. "Sariss! Do you need help? Do you want me to take you to the infirmary? Are you in pain?"
Her eyes snapped open suddenly. She looked at him. "No, this is not my pain," she whispered, realizing just what this might mean. "Not I am in pain. He is. Voldemort must have him already. He must have touched him…"
"Who? Potter?" Severus enquired.
She nodded, her eyes wide in astonishment and shock. "It's the only possible explanation. The scars are indeed connected. Incredible…"
~*~*~
"But where are they?" Severus asked, fully aware that this wasn't really a question, rather an exclamation born out of desperation.
"I don't know," she snapped impatiently. "How should I—" she suddenly broke off, her eyes darting around wildly. After a while she spoke up again, "Wait a second… Harry is cold, lying on a stone floor. He's in pain, terrible pain. Voldemort… Harry says he's going to kill him—"
"What are you talking about?" Severus was still quite a bit puzzled at her reactions.
She grabbed him by the collar of his robe and pushed him against the wall, one hand over his mouth. "Quiet…" she whispered, closing her eyes as though she were listening.
"What is it?" Severus mumbled against her hand. He couldn't help the tingling sensation that slowly spread over his lips at her touch.
"He's describing what he sees for me… A huge stone room, columns on either side of the aisle leading towards a rather ugly statue of a man, apish looking—does that make sense?—with a very long beard—"
"Slytherin! The Chamber!" Severus exclaimed, realizing that Sariss must be able to see and feel something of what the Potter boy saw and felt. Dumbledore had been right when he'd said a connection had been established. "Who's there, Sariss?" he asked, grabbing her tightly around the shoulders.
She seemed to think again; then she said, "Death Eaters. Half a dozen or so. Voldemort—"
"The Inner Circle." If things had been any different I'd be there, too… "Not more?"
"As strange as this might seem… No. Not more."
"Why?"
"Perhaps this is what Voldemort thinks is appropriate. His style," Sariss snarled before beginning to take deep calming breaths, trying to block out the pain, perhaps trying to tell Harry that it was enough, enough by far. That they were coming…
"The room you described—it is the Chamber of Secrets, an underground vault, deep below the dungeons of Hogwarts. I've never been there, but—"
"Do you know where it is?" Sariss interrupted suddenly back in business mode.
"Dumbledore told me, but—Wait a minute… You're a Parseltongue! That's it!" He took hold of her arm and pulled her after him. "Come on, I'll show you the way. Dumbledore can take care of the attack while we try and settle this…"
"Right. There's no time to inform him. Knowing him he already has an idea about what's going on, despite of what he wants us to believe…"
~*~*~
Dumbledore always knew what was going on around Hogwarts, Sariss was sure about that. Perhaps he was deliberately offering her this opportunity… although they had never spoken about it, not since the day it had been made…
Severus walked so fast that Sariss had to break into a run at times to keep up with him as he rushed along corridors, moved aside tapestries to use secret passages as a shortcut, hurried down the staircases and along another corridor that Sariss recognized as being located on the second floor.
The Potions master came to a halt in front of a door. A girls' bathroom with an out of order sign sticking to the door.
"In there," Severus said and opened the door, his footsteps making squishing sounds as he trod on the flooded floor. Clearly out of order, that one…
"Wait a second. This must be Myrtle's bathroom!" Sariss exclaimed.
"You've been here before?"
"No, not really. You see, as a student you tend to encounter her in the strangest places—" She hadn't been here but like everybody else she knew that you had better avoid this bathroom—unless you wanted a wailing ghost following you around telling you childhood stories about Olive Hornby…
"Don't remind me."
"My, my, where's the party?" the respective person—sorry, ghost—exclaimed, floating out of one of the cubicles and eyeing the visitors curiously.
"Oh, hullo, Myrtle, still here?" Sariss drawled. Great, a conversation with a miserable ghost—although one of my smaller problems…
"So we're indeed not… your first visitors today?" Severus asked cautiously.
"No, you're not. Although the first two were much cuter than you."
Sariss covered her mouth to prevent herself from laughing at the expression that flickered across Severus's face. Despite everything, Myrtle did seem to have a sense of humour—or perhaps she was only very straightforward (although Sariss was of a completely different opinion concerning Severus's cuteness). Sariss cleared her throat and spoke nonetheless, trying to hold back the giggles that threatened to escape her. As grave as the whole situation was, it was also highly bizarre and very absurd, when one took into account that all of this was probably nearing its end…
"Was it Harry Potter?" she asked.
"How do you know? Yes, it was him and I tell you I was very angry with him because he hadn't visited me for years… and he had promised!" Myrtle blew her nose on a transparent ghost-handkerchief, as Severus indicated the sinks and said softly only for Sariss to hear, "The entrance is behind one of those. There must be a small snake engraved somewhere." Sariss nodded and went to inspect the sinks thoroughly.
"But he was so polite!" Myrtle continued. "Unlike the other one."
"The other one?" Severus asked suspiciously although he must have known the answer already.
Sariss only randomly followed the further conversation, inspecting the sinks one by one, then, finally, running her gloved hand over the image of a small snake.
"—that blond boy! Obnoxious, really, so impolite. Told me to shut up, reminded me again that I… I'm… dead!" Myrtle broke into tears and vanished into one of the cubicles with a loud splash just as Sariss turned around to face Severus and announced, "I've got it." Sobbing and wailing could be heard, emanating from the cubicle Myrtle had disappeared into.
"Well, open it," Severus said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"How is that supposed to work? Do you want me to simply ask it to please slide to the side or what?"
"If you put it that way… yes. Although you'd better speak Parseltongue when you tell your little friend there to open up."
Sariss looked at him doubtfully. "It's not even a real snake. How am I supposed to speak to something that's not even alive? Are you sure it works that way?"
"Are you implying that you might not be capable of doing something the Potter boy—to my knowledge—has already done twice?" he challenged.
She gave him a dirty look, then turned back towards the snake, tilting her head to the side. If I look at it from this angle it looks almost alive… perhaps… "Open," she hissed.
Nothing happened.
Turning around to face Severus she said, "Any better ideas?"
"No."
"What?"
"There's no need to. Look," he pointed behind her. She looked over her shoulder, doubtfully and cautiously.
The sinks were parting. An opening became visible as they were sliding apart. And one sink disappeared into the floor, very slowly until it was as if it had never been there, and revealed a large pipe. A very dark large pipe.
"I admit that I'm full of surprises. Even to myself," she stated dryly.
"That's what I fear, too," Severus muttered. Sariss ignored it. She knew what he was implying by this. There was no reason to confirm his fears now; she'd do this soon enough.
Instead of replying to what he'd just said, she prepared to jump down the pipe. "Looks like fun, doesn't it?" she murmured sarcastically, before jumping into it and sliding down with a small scream—the pipe was not only very dark but also very slimy—and a groan when she rather unceremoniously hit the ground.
She quickly got up to make room for Severus who should be coming through any second now and pulled out her wand. "Lumos!"
And there he came sliding down, slowing the descent and then rather elegantly stepping out of the pipe. Sariss glared at him.
"What?"
"Nothing," she said. "After all, you saw the end of the pipe. I didn't."
"A rather abrupt end of the journey then, wasn't it?"
"That's one way to put it." She looked down the tunnel and started walking. "Lacking any alternatives, I suggest we take this way."
"Are we playing 'follow the leader'?" he asked as he followed her and whispered, "Lumos."
"This is not a time for jokes, Severus," she replied impatiently. "This is a serious situation."
"I know that. I was just trying to—"
"Don't try to cheer me up," she said, taking his hand in hers, just to be close to him and feel the warmth of him seep through the satin glove for as much time as possible.
They walked in silence, at fast pace, not looking back, stepping over the remains of animals, small bones that cracked when one of them accidentally set foot on them.
A huge snakeskin was lying in the middle of a small widening of the tunnel. "The Basilisk skin," Severus whispered in awe.
Sariss said nothing; she simply walked on.
After another minute or so, they came across a cave-in. The rocks and earth had been pushed to the side already, and with a wave of her hand, Sariss cleared the tunnel enough to enable the two of them to easily pass through the now sufficiently large opening.
The tunnel continued, on and on it went, every time it seemed to reach its end it turned round a corner…
"Severus," Sariss finally broke the silence. There were some things that had to be said. "I must end this madness. This can't continue; it must not."
"What can we do? We can hardly walk in there and announce 'Check mate; hand over your wands and prisoner.'"
"I never said 'we' would walk in there."
"You aren't going to face him alone, are you?" Severus asked, incredulous, releasing her hand and running his fingers through his hair. "This is ridiculous! You'll be dead before you can utter his name."
"Do you trust me?" she asked softly, her eyes firmly on the ground in front of her, from time to time darting into the darkness that lay ahead of them.
"With my life—but not with your own."
She sighed. "Severus, please, I know what I'm doing. I've done research. I know I can do it. After all, the prophecy said something that could very well apply to me," she pleaded. "I believe Dumbledore thinks so, too. Otherwise he—"
"You're about to do something very stupid. You can't just switch to Plan B if you fail executing Plan A. There are no second chances when facing the Dark Lord. Nothing is to be changed by you becoming a martyr," he almost shouted and grabbed her by she shoulders, carefully balancing his wand between two fingers. Strange how Sariss seemed to notice every little detail about him now…
They had reached what was supposedly the entrance to the Chamber. A doorway guarded by two giant snakes made of stone, but so lifelike they seemed to wait for the perfect opportunity to strike. A greenish glow was passing through the very narrow gap between the door and the threshold.
"If I am to die," Sariss said, chancing a look at the doors. "I'll make sure he'll grace me with his presence in hell. And it's up to you to make sure nothing's left once I'm through with him. There might still be life in him after…" she trailed off, her voice not as steady as she would have liked it to sound—and she seemed unable to finish the sentence, but Severus apparently understood nonetheless.
"Sariss…" he said, a shaken and terribly sad expression on his face—it almost broke her heart to see him like this—and took her hands in his. "This is horrible. Don't do this, please. I beseech you. I don't want to lose you…"
"And I don't want to leave you," she whispered. "But if he kills Harry Potter, there will be nothing to stop him from entering Hogwarts by means of this tunnel and establish a rein of terror. The boy is the very symbol that keeps the wizarding world fighting against the Darkness. This boy symbolizes hope, a glimmer of light in the darkest of shadows—he's the last of the Gryffindor bloodline, after all. History mustn't repeat itself. The Dark Times must not be repeated. This time it would be far worse and we'd die for sure. All of us—and you and me would be first—after Potter. I can at least try to prevent this from happening. If I fail, history will remember me as a traitor, if I succeed—"
"You'll be a martyr! You'll be dead! There won't be a difference!"
"Perhaps. But perhaps not. Neither of us knows what's going to happen. I… I might just live to tell the tale…" she tried to reassure him, but wasn't very convincing since she had no idea what would happen if she really executed her plan—if it worked at all…
"Severus," she said softly, stepping closer to him and taking his face in her hands. "Severus, you know I love you, don't you?"
He nodded, looking deeply into her eyes. She felt as though she could fall into his eyes at this moment. They were so dark and so bright with unshed tears—Severus detested crying openly; his pride forbid it—like the deep dark ocean… "I know," he said. "And be assured that I don't just love you back—you've become my life, Sariss. Don't throw it away."
She sadly shook her head. "Oh, Severus. This is not about what you want. It's not about what I want either. This is about what must be done. There's no other way. If I don't at least try to stop him, no one will. This task is upon me alone."
Severus nodded again, silently, and bent his head in defeat. He must have realized that he could not stop her, that there was no way to keep her from doing what she simply had to do…
"Severus," she whispered once more, her voice thick with unshed tears and full of fear now, and gently stroked his cheek. "You have given me some of the most miserable moments in my life. But you have also given me nearly all of my most beautiful, my happiest moments." She smiled at him, at the same time sad and happy at the memory. "You have given me your love. Of all people it had to be you, the one person I least expected to even care…" She pressed her lips against her fingertips and put them to his lips, thus making him look up at her.
"Don't do this…" he tried again.
"I must. I don't know why. I'm the last person to do something so risky and foolhardy, something that can't be prepared for, can't be controlled a hundred percent. I'm not brave; I've never been; I only do what I do because I have no choice. Look." She stretched out her hand in front of her. It was trembling badly, shaking with fear. "I am terribly scared, either way… I just know that I must do this," she whispered unsteadily, a single tear slithering down her cheek.
"Sariss—," Severus began, but couldn't continue, since Sariss had already silenced him with a kiss.
She put everything in this—most likely—last kiss, all her love, all her worries and sorrow, all her desperation and longing, trying to force back the fear, that clenched her heart in an iron fist, by drowning in Severus who had his arms around her, pressing her against him as though he'd never let her go, kissing her back in the way he'd always kissed her, the way that made it even harder for her to forsake him and her own life in favour of Harry Potter and the wizarding world's survival…
After a while—and in desperate need for air—she extricated herself from his grasp and looked at him intently.
"Severus, listen closely now. Please. If this works, if I really succeed in what I intend to do—and I know that you know what it is, even if I do not say the words—it is up to you to finish him off. We cannot risk that only a part of this monster stays alive after all of this. This is the last and only chance to get rid of him."
Severus only looked at her. She could hardly bear his gaze. It made her want to take his hand and run the other way, run to a place as far away from Voldemort and the Chamber as possible, from Hogwarts and Britain… But she couldn't do that. If there were nothing else, she'd still owe it to Dumbledore without whom she wouldn't have survived this long a time. And there was this tugging feeling in her intestines, a feeling of being drawn towards the Chamber, even though her mind fervently advised against it.
Now be strong—Just listen to me! I don't even believe it myself. How thick are you? Run! New Zealand's very nice this time of the year. Or Bora Bora… Anywhere!
Let's pretend we were strong?
You do that well, don't you? Pretend to be what you aren't?
What do you mean?
I thought you loved him?
I do. I still do. I never stopped.
I thought you wanted to be with him?
I want to. More than anything else.
I thought you wanted—
Yes. Yes. Yes. I want to be with him. I love him. I'd walk through hell for him. I'd die for him. I'd—
Why don't you want to live for him then?
I want to… I so wish I could. We've both become so dependent on each other…
It's going to destroy him if you die.
I know. But if I don't go in there now and instead walk away with him, both of us would be living on borrowed time. Voldemort would find us. It might take a few years but in the end—
I see. That already happened.
Yes. It mustn't happen again. So many things shouldn't happen again.
Some do. Severus is going to mention your name and Lily Potter's in a single breath.
Stop it! Please! I must go. Don't remind me. I'm destroying Severus either way. No matter, if I stay or go. I must. Some things even love can't change.
I can only speak for me, but if I could, I'd be shaking.
I am.
"And try to stay hidden." Sariss tried to apply a commanding air to her voice—and failed. It sounded more like pleading to her ears. "I can't have him startled or react on the whim of the moment, hurl curses at you—kill you even—do you understand?" Her voice was unsteady and hoarse now. "I know this is very much to ask of you. You might be sent to Azkaban for this. If I should survive this, I surely will be—."
"I, too, will do what I must," he whispered sadly but also sincerely and raised his hand to brush aside a strand of her hair, his fingertips touching her cheek as he did so; a gesture that was so familiar, that she had gotten so used to, that it seemed to her as natural as the colour of his eyes, his voice, his scent…
She nodded tremblingly and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself enough to be able to walk in there without showing the fear that spread through her like cancer.
Slowly she raised her still slightly shaking hand once more to let her satin-gloved fingers run over his face. "Farewell, my love, although I hope it's not," she said with a sad smile and closed her eyes for a moment when he caught her hand and pressed his lips against her palm, his breath being so hot it felt as though she wore no gloves at all. Then she turned and straightened herself as she walked towards the stone doors, coming to a halt a few yards away from them.
Sariss—using Parseltongue (finally something he gave me that is useful without being a burden…) told the snakes to let her enter, which they did, sliding apart and disappearing into the wall on either side of the now open doorway.
This is it.
The point of no return.
Let the power flow…
She started walking again and, in mid-stride, she transformed and flew into the chamber, scanning her surroundings quickly in flight. She dived towards Voldemort, but before she reached him she expanded in size again until a perfectly human figure clad all in black stood just a few yards away from the Dark Lord. Voldemort stared at her for a second, then he yelled, "Seize her!"
At his command, the Death Eaters started to approach her in an attempt to restrain her before she could cause any trouble. Head held high so as to not betray her inner struggle—she would have preferred to be anywhere else but where she was, but was drawn there like a moth was drawn towards the light, knowing it would be doomed once it touched it—she raised her left hand and casually threw her wand away.
A gesture of surrender.
A faint clatter echoed through the chamber.
The hooded figures that were the Death Eaters paused, surprised at what she'd done. That was all the time she needed. She quickly raised her arms on either side of her body, palms facing outwards. Something akin to electricity seemed to invade the air for a fraction of a second, leaving a prickling sensation all over her skin, her hair flying as though a light breeze had entered the chamber somehow. The Death Eaters flew backwards, crashing into the walls and the stone columns on either side of the aisle that led towards the statue of Salazar Slytherin.
She could feel the power surge through her. Never had she let it flow deliberately like she did now. It had struggled to be released all her life. It had been pushing against the chains that defined who she was, restraining her, the pressure only easing a bit when she lost control for a second; but she had always reined it in all too quickly.
And the Dementor wasn't quiet anymore either. She had practiced in secret, tried to figure out what she had to do to let herself be overcome by the instinct of this supposedly darkest part of her. She had learnt to be what she had at first refused, then ignored, then denied—and finally accepted. It was awake now. It was hungry. But not yet; it was not yet time to give in to what it wanted. The Dementor part of her would get what it wanted soon enough.
Suddenly she feared no more. She only felt the power and the Dementor's hunger—and the urge, almost obsession, to end it all. She let all her hatred, all her suffering nourish her thirst for revenge… She wished to kill… But not yet. Some things had to be said first. Perhaps she had inherited his sense for style, after all…
"Claudo veneficium." Voldemort pointed his wand at her, and Sariss felt that tug in her intestines again that she had already felt once. "Sariss, this has been a very stupid thing to do," he drawled casually. "This time, there's no one here who could save you."
If all goes well I won't need any magic here. If…
"I might not need to be saved."
She turned her head slightly and glanced shortly at Harry hoping against hope he would notice her almost imperceptive nod.
The Dark Lord spoke up. Apparently, he at least had seen her nod. "The boy's not in a state to help you. He's weakened. His wand has been snapped already. He'll die as soon as I've disposed of you. But I'd like you to tell me how you found me—just to satisfy my curiosity. It's not that I couldn't spare the time, is it?"
Sariss kept her eyes firmly on Harry whilst Voldemort spoke.
Harry seemed to have caught on since, only a few seconds later, she saw him mouthing a spell. Nothing happened. Please, you can do this… she thought, willing him to concentrate harder. If he was to be of any help he would have to be able to see properly, which meant that he needed his glasses. She could only hope that he did what was needed out of his own accord since she couldn't tell him what to do, not now when her mind was in turmoil, when everything could go to pieces any second.
Never before in history has a plan been devised that has so many flaws and could go wrong in so many ways, one more terrible than the other…
Finally, out of a corner of her eyes, she saw his glasses soar into his outstretched hand and him putting them on.
She shifted her gaze back to the Dark Lord, allowed the hint of a smile to cross her face, and began to take off her gloves—deliberately slowly, to buy Harry some more time, and just to make her father nervous of what was to come. She could tell from his expression that he was slightly puzzled, yet curious—and foolish—enough not to just try and curse her—yet. After all, there was only one curse that harmed her by locking up her magic inside her, and he had already used it. Now that she was only a few yards away from him, he couldn't seriously harm her. Perhaps, if he were to use those Tormenting curses again… Yet, she only had to get her hands on him… Had he threatened her with one of those deceitfully harmless looking Muggle weapons, she would have had to be highly careful, but the way it was now she might stand a chance…
"Perhaps you failed to take into account my… hidden assets," she said and showed him the scar on her palm. Finally, she caught on on what he had meant when he had said that he wouldn't let her mess up his plans: He had remembered her. From the night of his first fall. From Godric's Hollow, where she had been. He had wanted to prevent her from going back in time to 'mess up his plans'… Everything fit. The puzzle was complete.
"Some things can't be changed," she sneered, and then harshly added, "Others can."
She started walking and stopped only a few feet away from Voldemort. And then she raised her arms, holding them in a position as though she wanted to offer an embrace.
"Father," she said softly…
Next chapter:
Sariss gets all lethal, Harry is impressed, Snape's first practical, then distraught, then tearful and desperate. And Dumbledore thinks about what to do.