HARRY POTTER
AND THE FRAGMENTED SOUL
THE DARK LORD'S COMMAND
Though everyone in the wizarding world was looking for him, only a few knew where he really was, and they had sworn to reveal it at the cost of their lives. Only a few beings could find the old, abandoned house now, set away on a hill in the town of Little Hangleton. It was the house he had only been to twice before, but now it was his hideaway, hidden from the world by every protective enchantment known to wizards, and a few not known. Only Lord Voldemort and his servants, the Death Eaters, could find the house now.
When he was sixteen, Voldemort had found this place for the first time. His father and grandparents had lived here then, but they didn't any longer. Voldemort had murdered them, and the house of Tom Riddle Senior had been empty for more than fifty years. Now his only son, completely unrecognizable by his constant experiments in the worst kinds of magic, had come again to haunt it with his sinister presence.
Lord Voldemort sat in a high wooden chair in an empty, dusty room, his catlike, scarlet eyes, devoid of warmth, pity and any kind of affection, and deathly white skin seeming to glow in the darkness. He gazed down on a young man of seventeen with white-blonde hair, bowing before him and trembling with fear. Voldemort spoke, in a high, cold voice that chilled the man's bones to the marrow.
"You have failed me once, Draco. Don't try my patience any longer."
Draco Malfoy looked up into his master's face. "Yes, My Lord. I'll do it this time," he said, in a bored, drawling voice, though with a tremor clearly detectable in it.
"You must, for Severus will not be able to help you this time, Draco."
"I can do it without him this time, Lord."
"You know where you must go?"
"Yes, My Lord."
"Draco, if you fail me yet again…" Voldemort said, anger barely detectable in his cold voice.
"No, My Lord, I won't."
"You can capture him alone? Without any assistance?"
Draco winced at the allusion to his last mistake. "Yes, My Lord."
"Do you understand, Draco, that you must not kill him? You must bring him here, to me, right away."
"Yes, My Lord," said Draco in a slightly disgruntled and disappointed tone.
"Very well, Draco. You know what to do."
"Thank you, My Lord."
He stood at once, bowing low to Voldemort and walking towards the door. There were others in the room, wearing dark robes and masks, noticeable in the darkness now that the boy had left. One of them spoke up hesitantly, a harsh female voice issuing from underneath the hood. "My Lord, why use the boy? Will he accomplish it this time?"
Voldemort sat back languidly in his stone seat. "I have seen his feelings, Bella, and found a surprise; his hate for Harry Potter nearly equals my own. We will see how he does on this task."
Bellatrix Lestrange removed her hood and mask, revealing an arrogant, heavy-lidded face with long, dull black hair framing it. Her expression was one of utmost surprise. "This is why none of us could do it, Master?"
Voldemort's face was expressionless, but a faint tinge of annoyance tinted his voice; Bellatrix almost jumped when she heard it. "I have already given you my views on this, Bella, which is more than you. The boy will have to try."
"Yes, Master," said Bellatrix, bowing hastily before replacing her hood and mask.
Voldemort's eyes seemed to flash red in the darkness. He almost smiled with malevolent pleasure. "To think, if the boy succeeds, then I shall finally have Harry Potter within my grasp."
And he laughed, his high, cold laughter echoing horribly around the dark chamber.
And that was when Harry Potter woke with a start.
Harry sat up in his bed, breathing hard. A jolt of surprise followed a searing pain in his forehead; he put a hand to his forehead, an almost habitual gesture, and felt the pain receding rapidly from the lightning-shaped scar he bore.
Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, pacing his small room distractedly. The mirror on his wardrobe door showed his reflection pacing beside him, a young man of almost seventeen glancing occasionally at him with bright green eyes, from underneath unruly jet-black hair. His reflection was tall and thin, wearing pajamas that did not fit him, as they were once his cousin Dudley's. The scar on his forehead stood out in the darkness, showing clearly on his agitated face.
He continued his pacing impatiently. He closed his eyes hard, trying to recall the finer details of the dream he had just had. Voldemort had told Malfoy to capture someone…someone Malfoy hated…Harry himself!
This thought was accompanied by one last twinge of his scar, before the pain died altogether. Harry stopped pacing, rubbing his forehead with his palm. Why was it hurting again, after more than a year? Harry vaguely recalled something Dumbledore had said about it…Voldemort had been using Occlumency, the magic of closing your mind, on him for the past year, as his last intrusion in Harry's mind had almost destroyed him. Why did Voldemort suddenly not care anymore?
And why had Harry dreamed about Voldemort again? This hadn't occurred since two years ago, but then it had happened with alarming regularity. Harry felt a sickening feeling around his midriff at the idea of having these dreams once again.
He did not stop to wonder about why Voldemort wanted him in the first place. This answer was obvious to him now, and had been for more than a year. A prophecy had been made eighteen years ago, with a significant and dire meaning, about Harry and Voldemort. It had stated that the only one who could conquer the Dark Lord would be born at the end of July, and would have "power the Dark Lord knows not," and, most significantly of all, "Neither can live while the other survives."
Harry had by now accepted this, that he must soon fight the most evil wizard of all time, as something he should have known long before he heard the prophecy. And though Voldemort knew every one of Harry's weaknesses, and had used almost all of them accordingly, Harry had recently found out Voldemort's one and only vulnerability.
Harry stopped his relentless pacing by his bedside table, lifting a locket on a gold chain from it. The locket was large and heavy, and carried a message inside;
To the Dark Lord
I know I will be dead long before you read this
but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.
I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.
I face death in the hope that when you meet your match
you will be mortal once more.
R.A.B.
Harry had pondered over the initials R.A.B. for a month now, and they still made no sense. He understood the bit about Horcruxes, though, for this was Voldemort's weakness. Horcruxes were objects that could be used to keep a piece of soul inside it. The soul fragment could only be trapped inside the Horcrux by killing another human being, therefore ripping the soul, and using the damage as an advantage and encase the soul fragment into the object. Widely considered, to those few who knew about them, as the most evil magic ever created, no witch or wizard had ever created any more than one Horcrux.
That is, until Voldemort came to know about them. He had made no less than six, though only four remained. The locket…the cup…the snake…something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's…
This mantra constantly pulsed through Harry, and he never let himself forget, for this was the key to defeating Lord Voldemort. These four objects were the last remaining Horcruxes that Voldemort had made.
This set Harry moving again, dropping the fake locket onto his bedside table again. He paced agitatedly back and forth, the thought running through his head of why Voldemort no longer cared about Harry seeing him anymore, no longer cared that Harry vaguely recognized the house he had seen, no longer cared that if Harry saw too deeply into Voldemort's mind, it would cause mortal agony for Voldemort as well as Harry…
At this thought, Harry almost unconsciously sat at his desk as he passed it, his hand reaching to pick up his quill. He would write a letter to Dumbledore; yes, that would be the best thing to do. Dumbledore had always told him to write whenever something odd happened. He was in the act of dipping his quill into the ink pot when a slow realization took hold of him, along with a dulled sense of loss.
Dumbledore was dead; he had been murdered by Severus Snape, Harry's former teacher. Snape was somewhere, in the service of Lord Voldemort, after leading Malfoy out of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Hogwarts was closed, Dumbledore was dead, and Snape and Malfoy were gone. Everything Harry knew seemed to have disappeared, gone forever, like so many other things. First had been his parents, murdered by Voldemort when he was a year old. He had found his godfather, Sirius Black, only to lose him in a battle more than a year ago. And now Dumbledore was gone, the only one who had really protected Harry.
Harry was here to respect Dumbledore's request made last year, to return for the last time to his Aunt Petunia's and Uncle Vernon's, before he turned seventeen and became a man. A strong magic had been placed upon their house, which would continue to protect him until he turned seventeen. He habitually glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside table; the time was half past eleven.
Harry jumped; hastily pulling on a t-shirt and jeans, he stuck his wand in his belt and turned to face the room. His things lay everywhere, an odd assortment of spellbooks, robes, a cauldron, a broomstick, and a trunk, lying expectantly open for the trip back to Hogwarts that was never to come.
Harry stuffed everything in his trunk, making sure to put his silvery Invisibility Cloak on top, in case he would need it, and shut the lid with difficulty. He turned towards the window, striding over to a cage on the windowsill, where a snowy owl had her head under her wing.
"Come on, Hedwig," he said to her, placing her cage on top of his trunk for the time being. She hooted sleepily, not waking from her slumber.
Harry glanced at the clock; it was now a quarter till twelve. He checked hastily around the room, searching for anything missing, making sure to check his old hiding place under the loose floorboard beneath the bed. Harry made sure that all the clothes that fit him were inside his trunk, which was full to bursting by now, and, having raided his room for all of his belongings, dropped R.A.B.'s locket into his pocket, lifted Hedwig's cage and the handle of his trunk, and dragged it towards the door.
It took him a long time to get his trunk downstairs without waking anyone up, but when he managed it, he left his trunk by the foot of the steps and walked into the kitchen.
As he had half expected, his aunt and uncle were sitting at the kitchen table, its surface and every other one gleaming unnaturally in the moonlight. Harry guessed that each one had just been scrubbed down by Aunt Petunia, a thin, blonde woman with horselike teeth and a great dislike for dirt, insects, and most of all, magic.
Uncle Vernon looked up as he entered the kitchen. "Leaving, are you?"
Harry nodded. Uncle Vernon grunted. "Good riddance, I say. It's about time too, all those things happening, the pudding and Marge and Dudley's tail and the dementiods coming…"
Uncle Vernon's face was turning a familiar shade of puce underneath his bushy black mustache, and Harry, seeing this, said nothing to annoy him further. His aunt, uncle and cousin had been avoiding him ever since he came back a month ago, and he liked it that way. But he had one last thing to ask of them, before he left for good, so he went straight to the point.
"Do you have the letter?"
Aunt Petunia looked at him strangely. "What letter?"
"The letter Professor Dumbledore gave you a long time ago, when he left me here."
Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked at each other in shock, and then Uncle Vernon replied shiftily, "No, we burned it the night we got it. Why'd we keep something like that ruddy thing lying around?"
Harry didn't believe them; the truth was plainly obvious in the looks of fear in both their faces. "I don't believe it. Where is it?" he asked flatly.
"We told you, we don't have it," snapped Aunt Petunia. Harry remembered how much she hated questions, but persisted anyway.
"I'm not leaving without it."
His aunt and uncle glanced at each other again, and then Aunt Petunia sighed in exasperation. "All right, just take it then," she said ungraciously, taking an envelope out of her dressing-gown pocket. Harry reached out and snatched it, turning it over. On one side was an address,
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley
Number Four, Privet Drive
Little Winging, Surrey
Harry recognized the narrow, slanting handwriting, with a jolt, as Dumbledore's. Turning the letter over, he saw a broken seal, which had once been a badger, lion, eagle, and serpent all gathered round a large H; the Hogwarts coat of arms. He was about to open it when a voice came from the stairs.
"What's he still doing here?" said Dudley Dursley, coming downstairs.
"He'll be gone in a minute, Diddy," Aunt Petunia said smoothly.
An odd change swept over Dudley's face, his expression disappearing, suddenly looking blank. "No he won't."
Uncle Vernon turned an even deeper purple at this. "Too right he will, son, or we'll throw him out."
"He won't leave here," said Dudley again, his face impassive. Aunt Petunia looked worriedly at him.
"Diddy, darling, are you alright? You look pale," she asked hesitantly. Dudley did not reply. Harry had not said a word to his cousin, but was looking at him hard.
"Dudley, what's the matter with you?"
He got no answer, his cousin glancing about furtively. Then, suddenly, Harry felt a blinding pain in his head, which felt as if it would split in two. Aunt Petunia gasped, Uncle Vernon sitting slack-jawed, an expression of utmost shock on his face.
With a speed most unlike wide, slow Dudley, he moved towards Harry again, but this time Harry was ready. With instincts born from six years of Quidditch practice, he ducked, feeling Dudley's fist brush his hair as it went over his head. Harry stood up, automatically reaching for his wand. Then, with a pang, he remembered that he couldn't use magic legally until midnight, when he turned seventeen.
Dudley was coming at him again, aiming a punch with his right fist. Harry ducked once again, rolling out of the way. He had seen Dudley's expression once more, and was surprised to find it still oddly, unnaturally blank.
Harry looked in shock at his cousin's blank face. Dudley couldn't possibly…?
He ducked as Dudley's other fist sailed over him. Uncle Vernon was shouting something, but Harry could not understand, nor did he care right now. Thinking wildly, he backed up towards the kitchen table, reaching behind him. Dudley came after him, his face still impassive. Harry thrust out a chair from behind him, blocking his cousin's path. Dudley stumbled over it, but pushed it impatiently out of the way a second later. Harry looked desperately around the kitchen, hoping for something to aid him.
At that moment, the clock chimed twelve.
Without losing a moment, Harry yelled, "Stupefy!" A red light flew out of his wand, and Dudley fell back onto the kitchen floor. Aunt Petunia screamed shrilly, and Uncle Vernon turned towards Harry with an inarticulate shout of rage. Harry pointed his wand at his uncle, who froze in his tracks, small beady eyes fixed onto the wand.
"What did you do?" he shouted at Harry, eyes still on the wand.
"He's just Stunned," said Harry shakily; he was trying to fight off the shock of knowing his cousin had tried to attack him. "He'll be alright, but I'm not taking any chances."
"What did you go and knock him out for?" demanded Uncle Vernon, the volume of his voice not decreasing in the slightest. Harry took a deep, steadying breath.
"I think he's under the Imperius Curse. That's why I Stunned him."
"The what?"
"The Imperius Curse," repeated Harry, collapsing shakily onto the nearest chair. "It controls you, so anyone can make you do what they want you to. Dudley must be under it."
"Why would anyone want to control him?" asked Aunt Petunia fearfully.
Harry shrugged. "I'll bet it's because of me," he said dully. "A Death Eater must have got to him. There must be one around here somewhere."
"A what?" asked Uncle Vernon, his confusion apparent.
"A Death Eater, someone who follows Voldemort."
His aunt and uncle seemed to gather the worst from this last word, and his uncle's voice grew louder. "Lord Voldewhatsit again! Is he still after you, boy?"
Harry replied dully, longing for an end to the interrogation, "He's been after me since I was one."
"Now you listen here, boy," said Uncle Vernon, his face growing redder, the well-worn vein in his temple throbbing unpleasantly, "I've told you once before, if some maniac is after you then you can just move out right now!"
"I was going to anyway," said Harry wearily. Just then, further conversation, however pleasant, was halted by a knock on the door. Uncle Vernon made to answer it, muttering, "Who could that be, knocking in the middle of the night!" but Harry cut in front of him, reaching the door first. He opened it to find Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley standing on his doorstep.
"Happy birthday, Harry!" said Hermione excitedly, hugging him, blocking his vision for a moment with her bushy brown hair. Ron grinned.
"Hey, Harry. Happy birthday," he said, his flaming red hair showing up against the darkness outside.
"Hi, Ron, Hermione. What're you two doing here?" Harry asked them incredulously. Hermione answered him.
"Well, obviously, we knew that you were going to leave your aunt and uncle's today, and Ron thought that you would leave As soon as possible, about now," this said with a wide grin on Ron's part, "So we decided to drop by and wish you a happy birthday. Mr. Weasley wanted to give you a ride to the Burrow," she added, gesturing outside the door. A Ministry of Magic car was parked in the driveway. Aunt Petunia craned her long neck to see it.
Harry grinned. "Thanks a lot, you two. Do you, erm, want a cup of tea…?
"Er…" said Ron hesitantly, looking at Uncle Vernon with some doubt. Hermione put on a smile. "Thanks Harry, that'd be nice," she said politely, though she too looked scared of Harry's aunt and uncle. Harry led them inside, putting a kettle on the stove. When he turned around, it was to find Ron and Hermione staring at Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, who were staring right back. Harry hastily stepped in to make introductions.
"Ron, Hermione, this is Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia," he said. "And this is Dudley," he added, gesturing to the prone figure of Dudley. Ron took a hasty step back from him.
"Harry, mate, why is your cousin Stunned?" he asked, though seeming unsure if he wanted the answer or not. Harry related the tale to him and Hermione.
Ron simply looked dumbfounded after he had finished. Hermione, however, stepped forward and bent over Dudley, checking under his eyelid. "He's under the Imperius Curse, alright. It should be lifted when he wakes up, though," she said quickly, at the looks of shock on Harry's aunt and uncle's faces.
"I guess it was a Death Eater that did it," said Harry, fearing the worst. Hermione merely nodded gloomily. Ron wore a bemused expression.
"Why would your cousin be under the Imperius Curse, Harry?" asked Ron, a bemused expression on his face. Hermione sighed.
"It can only mean that a Death Eater is after Harry," she said worriedly. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked at each other yet again, as if now sure that they were right. Uncle Vernon looked ready to shout once more, but thankfully refrained from doing so, as the tea kettle started to whistle. Harry got up and poured the water into three cups, adding a tea bag to each. He handed two cups to Ron and Hermione, sipping at the third. Ron was drinking his tea rather quickly, apparently keen to be off, but Hermione was gazing pensively ahead, earning a reproachful glance from Ron at her nearly untouched cup.
Harry finished his tea after a long silence, asking his two friends, "Are you finished?"
Ron nodded at once, and Hermione pushed her cup towards him with a vague "Thank you, Harry". Harry put their cups in the kitchen sink and headed towards the stairs. "Let me just get my trunk," he called over his shoulder. He tugged at a handle of his trunk fruitlessly for a minute.
"What am I doing?" he asked himself presently, and, whipping out his wand, muttered, "Windgardium Leviosa." His trunk rose a few inches into the air and led the way to the kitchen. He walked into the hallway, but stopped, and turned back.
"'Bye," he said to the Dursleys, not caring if they responded or not. He turned to leave.
"'Bye, then," said Uncle Vernon grudgingly. But as Harry was walking out the door, he heard Aunt Petunia say quietly, "Goodbye, Harry."
Ron opened the door for him, giving him a glance that plainly told him to hurry up, and Hermione had already headed towards the car. Harry shut his trunk into the back of the Ministry car, coming around to sit in the back by Ron. The car had been magically stretched to hold many more people, the driver's seat the width of a park bench. It was more than enough for three teenagers and an adult.
Mr. Weasley was driving; as Harry slid in next to Ron, he turned around. "Harry! So good to see you again."
"Hello, Mr. Weasley."
"Having a good summer?" he asked genially.
Harry couldn't say what his summer had really been like, so he merely replied, "Not bad."
Mr. Weasley smiled, a bit too understandingly, but said cheerfully, "Bill and Fleur's wedding is the day after tomorrow, we're still getting ready for it, it's going to be right in the garden. Now, all ready?"
"Yes, Mr. Weasley."
Mr. Weasley turned back to the steering wheel, looking around for the keys. Hermione handed them to him. "Do you know how to drive, Dad?" asked Ron cautiously from the backseat. Mr. Weasley replied airily, "Of course I do. I've been taking them apart for years, Ron. Now, ah," he said, scanning the car quickly, "where do the keys go again, Hermione?"
Hermione put in the key and turned the ignition for him. Mr. Weasley's eager smile never faltered. "Thank you, Hermione."
And without further ado, he pressed the ignition with his foot. "Wait!" Hermione cried, and the car stopped, two feet away from the Dursley's garden wall. She sighed exasperatedly, reaching over and putting the car into reverse. Harry and Ron glanced at each other, simultaneously reaching for their seatbelts.