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Chapter 9

"He is not worthy of the honeycomb

that shuns the hive because the bees have stings."

- Shakespeare

Remus knew immediately what Severus referred to. He had found the Durmstrang castle a forbidding place, surrounded only by rock and sea, situated as it was on the eastern coast of Bulgaria at the top of a cliff. The castle was similar to the Hogwarts in design, but smaller and without the unexpected twists and turns of his old school. Instead, there were traps, hexed and cursed objects and places that students were expected to dodge and dismantle. It made the werewolf's job doubly difficult.

In addition, the school also had much larger hallways that were supposed to reverberate with the noise of the giant bell from the topmost tower: The Bell of Agrippa, the school's single great founder hundreds of years ago.

Remus had never heard the bell ring in the short weeks he had stayed nearby. But he had read all he could about the great wizards and witches of Durmstrang, and he knew Voldemort would have felt a kinship with the powerful Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa von Nettesheim, who had a reputation of a darker Merlin in that part of Europe, and was a brilliant astronomer and arithmancer of his time, and a leader and teacher who united the Germanic wizards of the time through the school.

The bell was supposed to be a sort of nexus of power and once rung, it would be heard by every witch and wizard who had ever studied under its iron weight. It was a call to arms, a cry of unification. Remus was only grateful that Karkaroff had yet to manage to use it to unite Durmstrang under Voldemort's dominion. It was what made the school powerful, despite--or because of--its single founder and smaller number of students.

Remus snuck through the hallways, dodging students and traps almost absent-mindedly as he tried to find the staircase that would lead to the bell. Would he have to ring it? Remus shuddered, remembering the description in the book he had read about anyone who dared to ring the bell without great need, or sufficient worth. He hoped the horcrux was not the bell itself, and merely hidden within or around it.

Before he reached the tower, however, a door slammed opened in the hallway, and a man with dark eyes and beard walked out straight into Remus.

"You!" The man exclaimed, hand immediately going to his wand. It was Igor Karkaroff, the Dark Arts instructor of Durmstrang, and one of Voldemort's most trusted men.

Remus let the glamour fall from his face, wand already in his hand. He should have known the glamour would not fool this man, who had the reputation as one of the best wizards in Northern Europe, and one of the most paranoid.

The two circled around each other warily, every sense attuned.

Harry did not bother straightening the house. He tried to move his mother into her room, but even without saying anything, Lily instinctively fought his magic. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood up in the wake of his mother's wandless magic. He had never known her capable of this. And it added to his terror, until it was all that he could do to move towards her and touch her.

"Mum, come on," Harry cajoled, "Everything's going to be alright. You just need to rest a bit, ok?" He made sure his voice was low and soothing, as if speaking to a beast that has gone mad.

But Lily did not budge.

Ellis walked in a couple of minutes later, his dark red hair sticking up in points. He rubbed his eyes for a second. "Harry? Is mum ok?"

Before Harry could answer, a whirlwind of magic swept everything away in the house, destroying several of the paper screens, and whipping up the already scattered objects into a frenzy of power.

Harry immediately grabbed his brother and pushed him towards his room. "Stay there," he screamed soundlessly into Ellis' pale face, before he shoved the door close and locked it with the most powerful charm he knew.

Then he ran back to his mother, and physically dragged her into a corner. Lily was finally reacting, but her movements were sluggish and uncertain.

When the wind died down, a robed man stood in the doorway. Harry grabbed his kendo stave scattered on the floor. The blunt-edged sword made of bound bamboo had flown from its case. It was the only weapon Harry could reach. His wand lay in his pocket, forgotten for the moment.

The boy's stance was open and ready, his knees slightly bent. The stave was held in the first position, its point extended in front. But the robed man ignored him completely, and spoke instead to Lily, who was trying to haul herself up by holding on to the wall.

"So this is where you have been hiding from me, Lily Potter." The man's voice was sibilant, and to Harry's ear, there were undertones of hatred in the softly-spoken words.

"Voldemort," Lily said, her hands shaking, but her green eyes were steady and almost glowing with equal rage.

Harry stepped back instinctively upon hearing the man's name. His parents had told him all about this wizard, and he grew up listening to the accounts of his evil deeds and despicable exploits. This was Lord Voldemort? The greatest Dark Lord in this century?

"So you have found out my secrets," Voldemort hissed, his words blending into parseltongue until Lily could barely understand him. "But you will pay dearly for them. You will pay with everything you have, Lily Potter!"

And he pointed his wand straight at Harry. "Avada--"

Lily shouted wordlessly and with a final burst of wandless magic, she somehow flew several feel away in the space of a second, straight into the path of the green blast.

"--Kedavra!"

Harry could not move. He stared down at his mother's bloodless corpse, the bamboo stave in his hand lowered and forgotten. Tears were flowing from his face, but he never felt them. A moment later, he was shaken from his stupor by the laughter.

The Dark Lord was laughing. The hood of his cloak had fallen, and Harry could see the features of the man beneath it; his head was smooth, but his skin was somehow iridiscent, like the scales of a snake when light hit upon it. His lips were pale, his eyes red. They looked straight into Harry's eyes, as if in challenge.

Without thinking about anything, the nine-year old had raised the stave in his right hand. And, shouting an eerie battle cry like the enraged scream of a wild tiger on the rampage, Harry Jahan Potter charged.