Posted 2/9/2014, fixed typos 2/25/2014
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This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.
Chapter Twenty-One - The Truth Comes Out
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Feeling the issue allowed no time to be wasted and the situation dire enough to warrant a little bending of the rules, all three immediately went to the tiny Professor Flitwick and told him of their suspicion. Hermione had taken over the actual explanation because, in her words, the teachers were more likely to believe her. Flitwick acted just like they had hoped and called the Aurors. They too listened to their theory, but they had a lot of questions to go with it. Finally, they were satisfied and left to begin their own investigation. Harry, Ron and Hermione left, each with ten points for their house they felt they didn't deserve.
Anxiously they waited, but day after day went by, and Malfoy still remained at Hogwarts. Had he somehow managed to worm his way out of trouble? They knew something had happened. They had kept a close eye on Malfoy, looking for evidence of some crime, and they knew they had been spotted doing so at least once. The Slytherin didn't seem to mind much, but he knew as well what they had done.
Hermione had begun doubting their theory. If the Aurors hadn't stopped Malfoy then he had to be innocent, she had reasoned. Ron had been torn between hating the other boy and agreeing with Hermione. Harry on the other hand did not waver in his belief. To him Malfoy was a Death Eater. He took comfort in that simple claim as it gave him some sense of accomplishment. It was one part of his tumultuous life he had under as much control as he could hope for.
His days were very stressful. Even without the additional load of Occlumency training and the mystery of Death Eater Malfoy, he desperately wished for more time in the day. Quidditch had come around, yes, but he had to keep up with his training schedule to keep the team on their toes. The lessons were growing more difficult, the homework assignments took more time than ever before, and to top it all off, Harry had to deal with his disappointment about not acquiring the memory from Professor Slughorn, the stress of waiting for Dumbledore to finish the corrections on the modified Summersby-Tsareva Bridge; all that meant next to no time for him to improve his defensive spellwork. He had been on the verge of confiding in his friends more than once. They might have wanted to join him had they known, but he had kept it to himself. Once he'd genuinely plan his training, he'd tell them, he reasoned, but for the moment, he only had what little time he could steal in between his other responsibilities.
When January ended, Hermione returned Smith's book on the Mind Arts. She had confided in both of her friends just how much she wanted to keep it for a while longer as she was determined to learn Legilimency as well. Unfortunately, with Lavender and Parvati far too curious to leave books lying around, Hermione had felt it better to revisit the subject once she had mastered Occlumency.
The first February weekend began surprisingly warm. Harry had finished the Quidditch training session shortly before noon on Sunday. Katie had grumbled and threatened him half-heartedly, but in all honesty, each member knew just how good they had become. Even Ron's spotty performance had started to improve. After a short, but healthy lunch, he had met up with Hermione. Together they had forced themselves through most of their homework, Ron joining them half-heartedly. It was at times like these that Harry envied his friend. Having time to laze around sure seemed to be nice. Had he himself ever been so relaxed about his duties?
On their way back from dinner when they had talked about the recent and much publicized attack on another family, this time a politician's, they ran into someone they hadn't seen in a while. It was still an odd sight for Harry to see Tonks in her Auror robes.
"There you bunch of rascals are," she greeted them. "Great, saves me a lot of time searching for you. Wotcher, Harry. Hermione, Ron, everything alright?"
They nodded. Hermione smiled at their older friend. "And how are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm fine, thank you. Could be better, could be worse, most of the time. Lots of work watching the school, which is a downside, but also not as much paperwork as I'd have at the Ministry."
"Tonks," Harry interrupted her, "what have you done about Malfoy?"
She frowned at him. "That's not something I should be talking about, especially not to students."
"Well, we pointed you lot in the direction. I think we deserve to know what came of it," Harry pointed out. "We aren't little kids anymore, and even when we were, we'd have more guts than some people from the Ministry."
Rolling her eyes, Tonks shook her head. "Fair enough. Well, we checked. We found no evidence to link him to the deaths, but you had assumed as much, hadn't you? And we also checked him. No Dark Mark."
"So he's clean?" Ron asked disbelievingly.
"In the eyes of the law, yes. There's no evidence one way or the other. He could have done it, but so could everyone else in this school. Even if he hasn't got a Dark Mark, he could still be working for Voldemort. If you ask me, he is. It makes sense, and the mission you suspect him of having does fit. It could be his personal trial –if he does well, he'll get full membership, if not he'll have to wait for a while longer. But as long as we don't have any evidence, we cannot give him any truth serum or anything of that sort. Innocent until proven guilty, and we have nothing more than suspicions." She cast her eyes around. "But that's for the grown-ups to worry about. Oh, before I forget to tell you, Mad-eye was quite happy when he heard about it, especially how you handled it. He said you weren't completely useless, which is high praise, coming from him."
"How's he doing?" Harry enquired.
Tonks smiled at him. "Fine, I guess. He's doing some work for Dumbledore, I think, but you know those two. With the war going on, Moody's regaining a bit more of his old bite."
"Ah, that's good," Ron said with a nod. "He should be useful for us."
"And he's got another reason to fight now," Tonks told them. "He wants revenge for his imprisonment. Understandable, and I pity Pettigrew. Moody wants his blood almost as much as his master's." She looked around the corridor. "But anyway, please go to your Common Room. We are still in a war, you know, and it is getting late." Then, just as they were about to leave, she spoke up once more. "Almost forgot the reason why I was happy to run into you. The Headmaster asked me to give you this, Harry." And she handed him a scroll of parchment. "And now you can leave."
Walking up the stone steps, Harry quickly unrolled the letter.
"Another lesson?" Ron wondered. "I thought you needed that memory from Slughorn before you could continue."
Harry tried to shrug carelessly. "Well, yes. This is something different. I asked Dumbledore for help with a small issue. We'll meet next Saturday."
He had thought he had done well, but Hermione seemed to have picked up something. "And what is it about?"
"Oh, just a question that came up," he told her, avoiding her gaze by giving the Fat Lady the password. Stepping through, he saw the tables in the common room already occupied. "Oh, hey," he yelled at Dean and Seamus, "how about a game?" He nodded at the cards in front of them.
"Err, Hermione," Ron tried, his voice as sweet as he could, "about that essay for Flitwick, think you could..."
"Bring it here," she sighed.
The week leading up to his meeting wit Dumbledore had been one of the more problematic one's for Harry. Snape had decided on theoretical work for once, and had assigned an essay even Hermione had had trouble understanding. Herbology had been centred on Jumping Vine seedlings. True to their name, the seedlings tended to jump at unexpected moments. Once they hit something, they clawed into it as firmly as possible. For obvious reasons, the students had had to wear special protective gear and still some of the nefarious plants had managed to slip through the gaps in the protection. Neville had been thrilled, but he had been alone as Hermione had grown to hate them. Potions had been the same as the previous weeks. Harry had done his work exceptionally well with the help of the Prince, Hermione had grumbled about the injustice of it, Ron had ignored both and done his work, and at the end of the lessons, Slughorn had fled from Harry. Transfiguration and Charms had had their own hurdles, but they had paled against Defence against the Dark Arts.
The true problem for Harry had been the homework though. He had known he would need at least the Saturday afternoon for his meeting with Dumbledore. He had successfully sidestepped the topic with Ron and Hermione numerous times, but they too had grumbled about his sudden interest in doing the homework in the evenings; Ron, because he would have liked to play games or laze around instead; Hermione, because she had likely realized something was off but couldn't bring herself to stop Harry from doing his homework early.
Finally, Saturday had arrived. After a healthy lunch, Harry returned to the common room. He had done reasonably well, he guessed. With the exception of a single, short essay and lots of reading that he wanted to skip, he had finished everything the previous day. He scribbled the essay, his mind only half present. He was far too nervous about the upcoming procedure. In his mind and on parchment, it had seemed like a good idea, but maybe he had been too hasty? Maybe there were other ways to deal with the Horcrux? And then, even if there were no other possible ways to survive and yet be rid of it, unless Dumbledore had vastly improved the method –and it was actually possible he had –it would still be dangerous. It wasn't a simple treatment of a burn or cut, and it wasn't something they could do dry runs of. If it went wrong, then they would lose pretty much everything. If they were wrong, then in a few hours' time, there would be no Harry James Potter anymore.
Then again, even if everything went right, the body and mind didn't succumb under the stress of the actual merging and the soul of Harry James Potter came out on top, he still wouldn't be the same, would he? So even if it went right, in a few hours' time, in some sense Harry James Potter would be no more. Maybe that had been why he had found it so difficult to concentrate on the actual homework. He had known he would die in some sense before either of the essays would be returned. Why should he care about stupid plants or idiotic charms with little general use when his life was drawing to an end?
He read his essay once to check for obvious mistakes. It wouldn't deserve any mark he could be proud of, but it would do. He simply didn't think it would matter in the end. He could die in –he checked his watch –little more than an hour. Homework? Not really all that interesting. If he died, would he meet his parents? Would he see Sirius again? Would they be angry with him for throwing his life away like that? He hoped they wouldn't. He didn't intend to die, after all, quite the contrary. The main reason he wanted to go through with it was to survive. If all went according to plan, he wouldn't see them again for a long time.
"Ready?" Ron interrupted his thoughts.
"Yeah. Not great, but it should do fine enough," Harry replied, rolling up the parchment.
"You're mental, you know that, right? You have the whole weekend to deal with this stuff and you force yourself to finish over a day early."
"He's not mental, Ron," Hermione chastised him. "For once he's showing a proper work ethic, even if it is to balance out his dreadful grasp of the theory."
"Same difference. Listen, Dean and Seamus want revenge for last time, so I'll join them, but... can you lend me some money? You know I'm good, I just don't have any cash on me."
Harry waved him off and handed him some coins. "Sure, just make sure you don't lose too much, alright?" Watching Ron run off, he shook his head. Part of him wished his own life was simple like that.
"Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice quiet. With a wave of her wand, she cast some privacy charms. Harry noticed mainly because the volume of the room lowered and for a second the air had shimmered.
"Yeah?"
"This business you are dealing with later..." She bit her lip. "I've watched you. I know you. You've kept it secret from us, and it worries me."
"I merely didn't mention it beforehand," he tried, but even to him it sounded feeble.
"It's not the first time you didn't tell me something," she continued. "You only told me about your... about Greengrass because I overheard Ron."
"I would have told you eventually," Harry countered with more conviction than before.
"Be that as it may, you still didn't tell me right after you returned from the holidays. You kept something important from me, despite fully knowing I would learn about it eventually. You didn't write a letter –and it was something enormous, not some small stuff.
"I know you. Ron might not have thought of it, lazy as he is, but you are better than that. You've kept secrets from me at least, if not also from Ron. You've stayed quiet about your... relatives. And you tried to sidestep our questions about your meeting with Dumbledore all week." She looked at him. "Something is going on in your life, and you keep us out of it. I know it. That hurt at first because I thought you didn't trust me enough to confide in me, but I can imagine why you did it, I know how you think. I'm starting to suspect another reason."
"I told you the Headmaster helps me with something. Ron believes me and trusts my judgement," Harry pointed out and felt horrible about it at the same time.
"And yet you still try to sidestep the topic and proving my point at the same time. You once said you knew Slughorn's memory really is important because he tries to hide it. I know there is more to this because you refuse to say what the meeting is about. I know you; there are precious few reasons why you would not tell us about it, and the most likely is you trying to protect us from pain. Harry, when you don't tell us something, I worry about you. I worry about what you might get up to."
He looked at her. Reluctantly, he spoke up. "Hermione, I know you do. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the marriage contract, but it really hadn't come up in our talks. Let's face it, it's not something to write in a letter or blurt out, is it?" She smiled, and he continued, "I had wanted to wait for a quiet moment, preferably some time when we were both at ease, to explain it carefully instead of Ron throwing it out there. As for tonight, I doubt Dumbledore and I will leave the school, much less his office. We discovered some health issue we want to deal with. It is a direct result of Voldemort's attack on my family all those years ago. Until now, it hasn't affected my life negatively and we want to make sure it stays that way. Since it is linked to Voldemort, though, we don't want to drag anyone else into it. Why risk it? Dumbledore looked up what to do and worked out the theory. It should work fine."
"Why Professor Dumbledore and not Madam Pomfrey?" she asked immediately. "She can be trusted and has extensive knowledge as well."
"Well, like I said, the curse back in Halloween 1981 had unexpected consequences and that is what we want to deal with. To our knowledge, no one survived the Killing Curse except for me; it wasn't meant to fail, but did, and now I have to deal with cleaning up the loose ends. It is highly obscure magic, Hermione, nothing you would ever find in a book, not even the most advanced. This is a unique case and one where even Madam Pomfrey would likely be out of her water. It is also something we don't want getting out; can you imagine what would happen if the wizarding world learned the Boy-Who-Lived was struggling with something worse than a cold? Actually, even if it were just a cold, they'd probably already start writing my obituary." He paused before laughing. "Pretty strange year I'm having. Lots of stuff to sort through. First the inheritance, then the marriage, then..."
"About that," Hermione interrupted him. "I've been thinking, Harry. It's fishy, isn't it? Last summer, you inherited the Black title, even if you cannot yet take up the mantle. Neville and you went to Gringotts to sort through it. Surely the marriage contract would have come up?" She raised her eyebrow challengingly. "You just so happened to have family business to attend to in summer and Greengrass just so happened to have received her letter a few days earlier? You said she turned seventeen a few days before Christmas. A hundred-and-forty-four days earlier should be sometime in late July."
Harry bit his lip. He should have guessed Hermione would figure part of it out. "Well, what do you want to hear, then? She would have received a letter saying a candidate of Second Rank existed, but she wouldn't have known my name. And I still wouldn't have known about the contract. My letter would have arrived in March. So, what do you want to hear?"
"The truth, preferably. How could you not pay attention? You could have avoided all that trouble," she argued. "It's suspicious, Harry. Remember what I told you about you keeping things from Ron and me? Whenever you do, there's usually some stupid, noble reason and your idiocy to blame for it. We're here for you, you know that, right? We want to help you in every way we can, but we can't if you're keeping us in the dark."
He sighed. "Suspicious it is, then. Should've guessed. Well, I'll give you the brief overview. But you can't tell anyone, not even Ron."
"But..."
"No," Harry interrupted. "No one, Hermione." She nodded reluctantly. "Neville learned about the contract in summer. That was the family business. He told me, we met with Greengrass, but parted ways without any change. She wanted me to dissolve the contract on behalf of the Black family, but there was nobody who could have signed for the Blacks, so it fell through." He smacked. "In November, she asked for another meeting. We met. She didn't want to marry Malfoy, believed him to be unpleasant. –Hey, she had a hunch even back then!" he said in surprise. "Well, to escape him, the contract had to be either dissolved or fulfilled."
"Harry!" Hermione yelled. "You didn't! Please, please, please tell me you didn't!"
He raised his hand. "We planned the contract we have now. Seven years of my freedom, and then we'll go our separate ways. The heir clause, Hermione, remember? We intentionally left a back door."
"You planned for that?" she gaped at him. "Are you... you are completely mental!"
"Not really. This way, Greengrass doesn't have to marry Malfoy. On the nineteenth of December 2004, House Greengrass pays House Black a bit of gold for no particular reason at all, and most assuredly not as compensation for the contractually arranged marriage. Should Daphne still be alive by that time, it'll be a lot more. The whole deal is meant to keep her alive –a noble reason, so you were right about that. Separate vaults, so she won't get her hands on my wealth. As little contact as reasonable so she won't be seen as allying herself with me. And she is really distressed about it, about having to marry 'that Potter' and losing her choice in the matter, but has learned to accept what the traditions demand of her. It is most decidedly not an act. She gains her freedom from Malfoy, House Black gains additional wealth, Malfoy gets nothing to hand over to our enemies. A business deal. As long as Greengrass... as nothing happens."
"But... that doesn't make any sense!" Hermione complained. "If she didn't want to marry Malfoy, why not dissolve it herself?"
"Too expensive," he pointed out. "Remember what the others told you? But it doesn't matter. It's a done deal. From the moment I intentionally activated the contract, there was nothing either side could have done."
"And you had planned it for weeks without telling either Ron or me?" she asked, hurt.
"It wasn't something to speak to anyone about. The less people know about it, the less likely it will get out. While I trust you, it wasn't my secret, strictly speaking. I already said the whole deal was meant to ensure Greengrass' safety. The first responsibility had to be to her. It's not my choice who confide in. I'm sorry, I really am, but..."
"Yes, I know. I can imagine. You are mad to have considered it in the first place, Harry, and I'm very unhappy about it." She shook her head. "Back to this health issue, then."
Harry turned and looked over to the window. She had him cornered, he knew it. In fact, he should have seen it coming. Ron wasn't observant enough to see small things like that, but Hermione was far too attentive to not notice. After a while of silence, he turned back to her. "It's a bit of a spell misfire that hasn't been fixed yet. It hasn't troubled me until now, as far as I can tell, and it might very well be that I won't ever have any problems as a result of that spell misfire, but I don't want to risk it. If all goes according to plan..."
"Don't say that!" she told him, a fierce look in her eyes.
"If all goes according to plan, I'll be absolutely fine this evening. It is tricky to fix, but not impossible for someone of Dumbledore's skill. It also shouldn't take long, from what I know. If not, I might take a while to recover. It might have consequences, but I'm willing to deal with it."
"But why didn't you tell us in the first place? We would have wanted to be there, I'm sure Ron would agree with me!"
"I'm sure you would have wanted to. But we had a lot of other stuff to deal with, and the presence of others might not be the best during the procedure. I promise you, once I return I will tell you everything I can about it. But for now, believe that the Headmaster knows what he's doing. I heard he's quite a talented wizard," Harry finished with a lop-sided smile.
Hermione snorted. "That he is."
He glanced at the watch. "Trust Professor Dumbledore, Hermione. He'll know what to do."
"And trust you, because you would never lie to me? Bollocks, and you know it. You're doing something reckless, and that's why you kept it secret."
Harry smiled at her. "There is a risk, but unless something goes horribly wrong..."
"Any risk is too high of one," she argued.
"Sometimes, risks are inevitable. I'd like it dealt with by the time I'm facing Voldemort in the final confrontation."
"You don't have to, Harry," Hermione countered. "Someone else might deal with him."
"Someone else who has the protection of the twin cores, is sure to have his undivided attention and will get close enough to him without being stopped by the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange?" He shook his head. "Face it, Hermione, it's got to be me, of that I have no doubt. The prophecy, for one, doesn't it prove how it was to go?"
"It only says one has to die by the hands of the other. You could slip him a potion or send him a... a bomb or something."
"A bomb?" Harry chuckled. "Really? A bomb?"
"Well, why not? We could... we could enchant an envelope, undetectable extension charm, put the bomb in there, send it to him, and once he opens it..." She mimed an explosion.
"I'll mention it to Dumbledore, but I don't think Voldemort receives that much mail in the first place."
"We could make it look like something else," she tried.
"What? Fan mail? Pink hearts all over the envelope? 'My Dearest Dark Lord'? Be real."
"You first. I was thinking more along the lines of... I don't know."
"He's a half-blood and not stupid. He'd suspect deception the moment he'd receive the letter. Worse, if he survives, he'll have one more weapon at his disposal. Say what you will about him, but I doubt he wouldn't use that tactic himself."
"He doesn't use guns," Hermione replied with a shrug.
"Why should he? Wands are more versatile anyway. But a bomb, hidden in a letter? Very creative, quite cheap... clever, even." Harry frowned. "How did you think of that one, in any case? That's..."
Blushing, she avoided his gaze. "Well, I thought about cartoons. You know, sending each over bombs, tricking the other and similar plans."
Harry shook his head. "Well, as nice as that idea is, I think I should leave. It's better to be a bit early than too late."
"See you soon, then," she replied with a smile, dropping the privacy spells.
He stared after her for a moment. Then he sighed and whispered, "Goodbye, Hermione." He turned and left through the portrait hole, knowing what he had to do and wishing more than ever to stay with his friends.
But it had to be done. He had to die, one way or the other. It was strange to walk the last steps of his life. He had thought about it. If it went horribly wrong, he would die and either a new Tom Riddle would be born or the body would simply fail. On the other hand, if the procedure was successful, he would still not be the same Harry. Would it be like dying? In some sense it would be, yes, but then, he would still be mostly the same, so maybe it would be more along the lines of a sudden shift in personality.
He hadn't noticed how far he had walked until he stood in front of the stone gargoyle guarding the staircase to the Headmaster's office. He gave the password and watched the guardian step aside. Magic was still very fascinating.
At the top, he knocked on the door, and, after being told to, entered.
"Harry, very good. How are you?"
"Fine, sir," he replied as he looked around. The room looked just like it always did. Upon realizing that, Harry frowned. Should he be worried that he knew the Headmaster's office that well? "How do you do, sir?"
"Equally as fine, thank you for asking. Now, before we begin, there are a few issues I need dealt with," the Headmaster said. "First of all, I revised your work. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but it left a lot to improve upon. I still couldn't eliminate the inherent danger of the procedure."
"I am willing to take the risk, sir. I trust your magical capabilities and knowledge."
"That is very kind of you, but not what I was going for. We have to prepare for the worst. If all goes well, as far as I can tell you will still be Harry James Potter in the eyes of the law, meaning, you will still be responsible for your past actions."
"Including contracts?" Harry inquired. He hadn't thought much about that before, but figured it wouldn't matter either way.
"Yes, including contracts. You will still retain your inheritance, the vaults in your name... your possessions. But should we fail, it would be your legal death, and they would pass to your heirs."
"I have a will in place, sir," Harry told him.
"Ah, that is good. I hope you were careful with the writing?"
"Hermione looked it over. She'd get the books, Ron my Firebolt, the wealth would be spent for a lot of causes, but none of them being Death Eaters. Oh, and Kreacher would pass to the school so he'd be kept in check."
"Very wise. Now then, Harry, are you ready?"
He nodded. "I suggested it, sir. Yes, I am ready."
"All right. I will walk you through the process, and yes, I know you should be familiar with it. You will sit down. I read the sources on the Summersby-Tsareva Bridge and some of them mention the risk of fainting. You will have to prepare yourself, concentrate on your own being. You will have to collect your essence so that it will be ready for the confrontation. Focus on what defines you and protect it with all your might."
"Yes, sir."
"Meanwhile, I will prepare the bridges. Yes, Harry, plural. I have looked over your theory and believe it is the best if I were to open numerous paths. While it is more difficult, it will also speed up the process. If I were to guess, it will be uncomfortable, but you will have to tolerate it. I'm sorry; I will not be able to help your with that. Once the two halves or, in this case, the two entities meet, it will be tumultuous. I will not be able to help with that either. Please understand, I am only responsible for the bridges, I cannot interfere in any way. Once I have established the connection, I will also have no way of breaking them."
"I know, sir. It's about as much my theory as it is yours," Harry replied with a roll of his eyes and sat down on a wooden chair. Now that the actual procedure was upon him, he felt nervous.
"Yes, very well. I would also ask you to hand over your wand," Dumbledore said. "You won't need it, but I cannot risk you using it in your confusion."
Harry did as he was told and placed it on the Headmaster's desk. "Sir, if... if it fails, will you tell Hermione I'm sorry? She figured part of it out, and I told her I would be safe."
"I understand, Harry. Now then, are you ready?"
Harry took a deep breath and focused on himself. His lessons in Occlumency paid off, and he soon had good control over himself. He nodded. Behind him, he heard the rustle of sleeves, and the anxiety doubled.
And then, it felt as if icy spikes were driven into his head. They seemed to split, as if barbs grew on them, themselves plunging into his mind relentlessly. His own being seemed to be pushed aside; with every passing second, the pressure increased. Surely his head would explode soon, flashes of his memories bubbled to his forehead, but he had to keep it together, couldn't let the other one win, had to come out on top. With all his might, he tried to concentrate on himself, blocking out the pain, blocking out the strange sensation. For no longer were there barbs and spikes, but instead it felt as if he was torn apart by a ravaging beast; sharp teeth dug into his mind, poisonous, it seemed like, for whatever they bit, it felt oddly detached, numb, or sometimes drifting away. The pieces seemed to be corrupted, slowly leaving his control. But he had to keep it together, couldn't let the other one win, he had to...
... grow stronger, win. Hunger, pain; leave it behind. Grow, feed. The other couldn't win, grow, fester...
... never before had Harry felt so nauseous, he would be trapped inside his own head, he would lose; but couldn't, he wasn't allowed to, he needed to be strong for his friends...
... childish. Weak. No one had ever...
... more? How could that...
... prepared for this...
... imprisoned, or defeated even. If he failed, then all his knowledge would...
... die, and then He would be reborn...
... his memories drifted away from him, he couldn't stop it as he lost control...
... stronger, and then...
... like a plant, taking root. They had miscalculated, he wasn't strong enough, he...
... could see it, the hours spent talking about it, the best kept secrets! They dared to...
... hurt him. Another part...
... idea. All he had to do was...
... failure. Would he even see them again? Would he...
... be free of the taint...
... tainted? Why would...
... fulfilled. Yes, the old codger had done it, but...
... win. He...
... never had...
... slowly, he felt the attack lose much of its ferocity as...
... slow down! He was...
... Hermione and...
... he needed...
... and they would be horrified by...
... win, after all, wasn't it...
... naturally, it had to have been expected, but still, it felt...
... corrupting him, bit by bit...
... come out on top...
... never again, he was...
... regaining his momentum, maybe there was still a chance, if he could only...
... and then...
... painful, but he had to endure it. He had survived a lot worse, hadn't he, in those hours by himself as a little child? A small tingle, as the raging storm in one part of the mind seemed to calm down...
... persevere, his goals in life, he had to cling to them, if only he could remember! But he had lost them, he felt it, the clash had finished, as the aftershock ran through him. But there was no way back, they were entangled, tied up with each other, and...
... there was something he couldn't quite place. As if something was tugging at him. Perhaps it had been there before but...
... drawn to him, that other one, the one who...
... dare he try it and...
... subsided, no longer a burning cold, but slowly turning into...
... help would never come, he was lost, and he had won...
... find the solution...
... voice he knew from age-long moments ago, but he couldn't focus on it, for he had to...
... finish this battle of...
... never the same, but what he had gained...
... lost it? Was that...
... even so...
... sleep, as he was tired beyond imagination, but he couldn't, not...
... while he was ahead... was he... similar in that respect... he had to give it to... what was going on? Was this... river might feel... mixing, very... close, if only he... felt it fall into place. It fit, maybe because it had belonged there once, or maybe... almost done. Never before had it... new. The birth of a new... dimly aware of it. But it had lessened to... stinging... sleep, but not so close... felt the last of himself go, but maybe he would see his... mother again who had died for him... and then, he might finally... rest.
The mouth opened, not quite his own, but someone's, and it croaked words neither understood.
Dumbledore jerked at the sudden sound. He had created the bridges against his better judgement, yes, and he had been shocked by the force, like a flood bursting through a dam Voldemort's soul in Harry spilled out. Had they miscalculated? Perhaps Voldemort had chosen a three-part soul, and every Horcrux was already gone? But it had been too late for that, far too late, and the old Headmaster had had to stand by and watch. And so, once the bridges had been finished, he had taken his place, guarding his student who was struggling for control over his own body. At first it had been violent, the boy jerking his head around wildly, screaming and grunting hoarsely. After a while, the fits had stopped. Harry –or was it really still Harry and not Tom? –had panted and tensed, but stayed otherwise eerily calm. Just when Dumbledore had been thinking about calling in help, another change had happened. The boy had become limp and sunken into the chair. Dumbledore had called Harry's name, trying to ensure there was still a mind in there, and hoping it was done once and for all.
And now, he had heard the boy say something. Even though he hadn't understood him, it was the best sign he had seen in a while. And it didn't stop. Life returned to the body, the arm dangling to the floor swinging slightly and the eyes fluttering open. But Dumbledore was far too experienced. Until he knew which side had won, he had to be careful. Why hadn't he called Alastor in to help?
Because the grizzled Auror would have given both of them a lecture neither would have been able to forget. Still, now Dumbledore wished he would have arranged a meeting with him, conveniently timed so the procedure would have been going on.
His student slowly shifted, sitting upright.
"How long did it take?" he asked, glancing to the window and the darkness outside.
"About three hours. How are you feeling?" Dumbledore inquired, still unsure.
"Just... tired, Professor." He struggled to his feet. "That was rougher than expected. You wouldn't happen to have a Headache Remedy lying around, would you, Professor?" He coughed, and fought to smile. "Because I could really use one right now." He looked over to the Headmaster. "You know... it's..." he broke off mid-sentence, as if frozen in his movement his hand raised halfway. Emotions flickered over his face, too fast for Dumbledore to read them.
Then the boy smiled, staring off into the distance. "It worked," he whispered. He chuckled slightly. "It worked," he repeated, and his smile grew into a grin. His chuckles turned into giggling.
Dumbledore felt relief wash over him. During those hours watching over Harry, he had thought -feared -he had killed the boy. It had been a risk, yes, but one he had desperately tried to reduce. And he had been sure he had done the procedure correctly. But then, what if Harry hadn't been prepared for it? He had chastised himself for not checking it, for trusting Harry this one time. But the boy had returned, had survived, and was recovering apparently.
The grin shifted ever so slightly, and a gleam appeared in Harry's eyes. And the giggles turned into laughter. But it was not the full-bellied laughter of Horace Slughorn or perhaps Hagrid. It sounded oddly disconcerting in the otherwise empty room, the paintings watching the incident with rapt attention.
And Dumbledore was shocked to see the student he had believed to be Harry throwing his head back and cackle, a mad glint in the eyes, very unbecoming for a sixteen year old boy -one who spread his arms slightly and continued to laugh hysterically. Instinct taking over, Dumbledore pulled his wand, cursing himself for not calling Alastor or really someone else. Even young Nymphadora would have probably been a valuable asset in the fight the Headmaster feared was looming. With a quick jab, he summoned Harry's wand from the desk, thankful for the slight advantage he had going into the battle with his student. But he was willing to do what needed to be done, and it had been in part his fault this new threat had surfaced. It was also his responsibility to take care of it, just as he had been forced to with Gellert.
He decided upon a classic opener, a stunner, and was about to cast it when he hesitated. Something was not right. The boy he had assumed to be Harry was still cackling, but his face looked no longer contorted with glee, but strained. The glint was still there, but more fearful than happy. The breathing was ragged, as if every bit of air was forced out of him. And the bold posture from before seemed tense. Before Dumbledore could make up his mind, the boy swayed dangerously. With a grimace, his breath hitched in his throat, he staggered, fought to stay upright. He managed it, looking off into space. Then, he fell over backwards without any life in him.
A successful failure, in a way. Also, Hermione as Harry's confidante.
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I added two lines to Hermione's dialogue about her wanting to help Harry, but not being able to if Harry keeps her in the dark.
