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Chapter 16

Harry gripped his wand tightly. The smooth wood of the wand was slick with sweat. Pasha crouched huddled in front of him, calling his name. Each time she spoke, his heart twanged with an unbearable pain. This is Voldemort, he told himself. It is not Pasha, Pasha is gone. Those three words taunted him, echoing again and again in his head: Pasha is gone, Pasha is gone.

"Harry!" Pasha sobbed, "It's me, Pasha! Don't do this Harry, please, don't do this."

It's not Pasha, it's not Pasha, it's not Pasha, he chanted to himself.

"Harry, please don't do this."

It's not Pasha, it's not Pasha.

"C'mon boy, what are you waiting for?" growled Moody, his usually swiveling eye fixed on Pasha.

Harry gulped. Sweat dotted his brow. His hands and knees trembled as he slowly raised his wand. He knew it wasn't Pasha, he knew it was Voldemort, he knew she was never coming back, but he kept getting the odd feeling that she wasn't gone. Gone from this body, maybe, but not gone from this world. He could not explain it. He just knew, somehow. Maybe it was because of the connection they had - because she was his soul mate. Pasha looked up at him, her big, beautiful eyes pleading. Even though he constantly told himself that this was Voldemort, he still couldn't help feeling that pang of love whenever he saw her. It looked too much like her, sounded too much like her. Voldemort's plan had worked: he couldn't do it.

There has to be another way, he thought desperately, not this, anything but this.

He was suddenly struck with an idea. It was like a light bulb suddenly flashing in his head.

"Sir!" he said, turning to Dumbledore, "where are you keeping the Dementors?"

Dumbledore's face looked startled for a second, but soon turned tounderstanding as he quickly caught on to what Harry was meaning. "They are in the Astronomy Tower. The Ministry will be coming to collect them in a few minutes, best hurry."

Harry thanked him, and raced out of the room. He charged up the staircases and out of the dungeons. He felt the chilling effect of the Dementors presence even before he reached the Tower. It was like a bucket of ice cold water being poured over him, chilling him to the bone. He heard the scream in his head – his mother's scream – but he forced it out of his mind. Not now, he thought desperately, can't black out now. Pasha needs me.

There was a black haired, pink-faced witch he dimly remembered meeting in his fifth year when the Order had come to escort him to Grimmauld Place. She stepped protectively in front of the silver stepladder leading up to the room.

"Ah ah ah," she said, "can't go up there. Dementors."

He breathed a sigh of relief that the ministry hadn't taken them away yet. "I need to get up there," he said hurriedly, "Dumbledore sent me."

She peered at him suspiciously before noticing the lightening-bolt shaped scar on his forehead, and stepped aside. "Be careful," she warned.

He nodded his thanks, gulped, and clambered up into the room. All the squashy armchairs and tables had been pushed to the side of the room. The ever-present heavy, sickly smell of perfume was gone, along with the fire. The atmosphere in the room was frighteningly cold, and mist fogged the windows. About a dozen Dementors were standing in the room, but each turned its cloaked head towards him as he entered.

The coldness was overwhelming, and he fought to keep his consciousness. Before they could advance on him, he raised his wand warningly and spoke. "I have come to offer you a soul."

The Dementors paused. Their rattling breath continued to suck the warmth out of the room, and his happiness.

"I need one of you," he continued.

To his surprise, they listened. One of them glided foward. Harry nodded, uncertain at what to do next. What were you supposed to say to a Dementor?

"Uh... follow me."

He turned and slid down the ladder. He could hear the swhish of cloth and the rattling breath of the Dementor behind him as he made his way into the dungeons. He held his wand at the ready - just in case.

Finally, he reached the dark wooden door in the dimly lit corridor. He pushed it open and entered, his eyes settling on Pasha immediately.

"Her," he said grimly, pointing her out to the Dementor.

Pasha's eyes widened and gasped. "Harry, what are you doing?"

The Dementor glided foward, pulling its hood back. Grey mottled skin stretched over its empty eye sockets, and the gaping hole of a mouth was wide open.

"Hary, no! You can't - "

The Dementor gripped her face firmly with rotting hands as she struggled. It lowered it's face towards her... Harry turned. he couldn't bear to watch. An unbearable pain shot through him as Pasha cried for him to help her. He balled his hands into fists as he tried to block out her screams. This was the only way...

Suddenly, the room was plunged into silence. Harry turned around, dreading what he would see. Pasha was once again huddled on the ground, but this time, she was silent. He rushed over to her and crouched down. Her usually bright, golden eyes were dull. Empty.

"Pasha?" he whispered hoarsely.

She stared blankly ahead, looking at him, but not quite seeing him. A lump formed in his throat as he gently squeezed her shoulders. He stood suddenly as he felt someone standing behind him. Dumbledore looked at him with a sad expression on his face.

"You did the right thing."

Harry nodded numbly.Then why do I feel so bad? he added silently.

"Sir," he said, suddenly thinking of something. "Why was she acting like herself and not Voldemort?"

"Because of this." Dumbledore held up a fine gold chain he recognised Pasha had been wearing. "Voldemort spelled it to attract the person in which his soul lay. In this case - Pasha. His soul was already there. The only thing missing was his mind, so in order to fully become Voldemort, this was needed."

"So that necklace is his mind?"

"More like memories. But I guess you could say it was his mind, as it is our memories - our pasts'- that define who we are."

"And when Mrs. Norris attacked her," said Harry, remembering what Hermione had told him, "it broke and she went back to normal."

"Yes, but not comepletey herself; Voldemort's soul was still inside her."

Harry glanced down at Pasha, who was still staring blankly into space. "Professor, is there a chance that maybe her soul isn't gone?"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "It is very unlikely."

Harry nodded. He still couldn't quite shake off the feeling that Pasha wasn't truly gone. But I'm just kidding myself, he said silently. How could she possibly still be here?

A loud meow behind him shook him out of his thoughts. It was Mrs. Norris. He wondered - without much interest - at why she was here. And why she had attacked Pasha earlier on. Had she somehow known Pasha was Voldemort? Was it some kind of a sixth sense of an animal?

Harry tried to smother his yawn - without success.

"You must be exhausted, Harry, after what you've been through today. You should be off to your dormitory. I suspect your friends would be waiting for you."

Harry checked his watch - 2am. He thanked Dumbledore quietly, bade goodnight to the rest of the Order, and started up towards the Gryffindor common room. Trailing wearily up the stairs, he tried to push away the odd nagging feeling - the one that said Pasha was not gone. I'm just getting my hopes up, he thought, dejected. But as he reached the seventh floor, the feeling grew stronger still.

He knew he shouldn't do this; he knew he shouldn't get his hopes up, only to have them crushed again, but he could no resist turning the corner and following down the corridor. He reached a blank stretch of wall, which he knew contained a hidden door - the Room of Requirement. He paced three times in front of it, concentrating as hard as he could. I need something to find Pasha... I need to find her soul... I need to help her.

When he stopped and glanced up, a cherry red door greeted him. He reached out towards the gold door knob, heart racing, and slowly pushed it open.

A/N: Sorry about another cliff-hanger! Its just because of the big finale coming up, gotta make it dramatic!