The Diadem
The clock was broken, he swore it had to be. The hands hardly moved, suspending the movement of time purely by their own laziness. He'd searched the house for the twins not too long ago, thinking it was their idea of some sick prank, but they weren't anywhere to be found. Instead, he sat and huffed and watched and waited. He didn't have the patience for anything else. Hell, he didn't even have the patience for this.
He watched the clock rather than watch the sky, the frustration lessened that way. At least he had the hypnotic swing of the pendulum to lull him into a short-lived daze, and the hands, despite the loathful glare he directed their way, would occasionally bother themselves to shift a tick. The sky on the other hand was blue and blue and blue, with just a hint of gray, until it slipped unnoticeably to a hue of blue just a shade darker, and the torturous cycle continued itself.
He couldn't urge the sun to move, just like he couldn't push time forward; and that there, was his problem.
"You're driving yourself mad," Fleur had said the last time she'd stopped in to see him. Which, checking the face of his grandfatherly companion, was only 15 minutes ago.
Only 15 minutes… Merlin save me, he thought. When had everything grown so long?
In truth, his entire week had been this way, a boundless set of seven days, starting from the moment Everard had appeared to him in his locket and told him of the message from his friends. Today was simply the worst of the days, dragging along at a lethargic pace as though someone had pulled the plug on the world.
It was a testament to his mood that the three meetings Mad-Eye had called earlier in the day, all for the same purpose, all repeating the same questions and the same warnings, had roused him from his plodding stupor rather than toss him deeper into one.
Fleur had been his saving grace, a golden ray of sunlight cracking the impassable cover of his worry. Those stolen hours snuck away with her exploring what had ignited between them were the only times the happiness of the world passed briskly by like a cool summer breeze. Cruelly, however, it was exactly those moments he wished to stretch on forever; stealing kisses, whispering in secluded corners, and never willing to lose the touch of the other which felt so sacred and roused a feeling beyond mere magic.
Even now, he felt empty without her beside him. He had half a mind to go find her and pull her away for a quick snog—or a longer one if the fancy so took them, he wouldn't complain—but he shook his head, clearing it of such ideas. Besides, he thought, feeling a satisfied smile grow along his lips at the memory, he'd already lured her away twice earlier for similar ungentlemanly purposes.
Getting restless and feeling a familiar madness creep over him, Harry tore his eyes from the clock and pushed to his feet. Leaving the sitting room, and walking down the hall past the kitchen, he couldn't help but chance a glance through the window outside.
The sun had finally slipped into a steady descent, casting an orange haze over the midnight blue of the sky. Anticipation bubbled in his stomach. He had time yet, but suddenly the unending crawl began to slip like sand through his fingers and staring at clocks and cursing the sky seemed like such folly in the face of more pressing matters.
Maybe Fleur was right, Harry considered as he climbed the stairs. I could have done without torturing myself.
He pushed through the door to his bedroom and stopped not a foot inside, shaking his head with laughter. Sitting there, waiting expectantly with an eyebrow perfectly raised to meet him, was the woman on his mind.
"I knew I'd find you here."
Fleur hummed softly in response. "What is that supposed to mean?" she asked.
"Nothing." Harry held up his hands innocently. "Only that I know you can never pass up an opportunity to scold me."
"And have you finally come to your senses?"
"Only just in time," he admitted, moving towards the table where she sat.
"You are lucky I am so patient," she said, a devilish gleam to her eye. "A woman can only take so much when her boyfriend's favorite pastime is staring at a wall."
She reached up and pulled him down by the collar, capturing his lips in a soft kiss.
"I put your things on the bed," she whispered, letting him go.
"I'm sorry, by the way," he called out as he picked through the items he planned to take with him. "It's been a long week."
While carefully folding the Marauders Map and tucking it into his pouch along with his invisibility cloak, he could feel a warm presence step behind him. A moment later, two slender arms slipped around his sides and a chin nestled inquisitively on his shoulder.
"How are you feeling now?"
"Better," he said, twisting his head to peer down at her beautiful face. He wanted to smile, but he felt his eyebrows knit together instead. "It's just—now that it's here, I can't shake the feeling that something is going to happen."
He shook his head and slipped from Fleur, feeling suddenly very silly. "Never mind," he said dismissively before she could respond, "it's only that it's almost Halloween, and… it's nothing."
Fleur's eyes softened upon his. "You do not like the day and what it means."
A dark bark of laughter escaped his throat. "Why should I be afraid of a day?"
A mirror hung above the desk sat next to him, and unconsciously he sought out his own reflection in its scratched, nebulous glass. Green eyes stared back, sharp and sad from a gaunt face of sallow skin, obscured only by the long strands of his untidy hair; the features nothing more than shades of the past.
"My parents died—so what," he said bitterly to himself. "It's superstitious nonsense, that's all. No different than being afraid of ghosts and goblins under your bed like a little boy."
There was a pause.
"You are anything but a little boy, 'Arry."
Still staring ahead, he could see her almost ethereal image take its place next to him. He wondered if he was ever again faced with The Mirror of Erised if this was what he would see.
"There is nothing wrong with feeling fear," she said tenderly, fitting her hand in his. "We all do. He does as well."
Harry swallowed thickly, not taking his eyes off her.
Their fears were very much alike, he noted, where once it hadn't always been that way. Life was all that mattered now, the primal need to survive surging through his veins and gripping his soul with paralyzing fingers. Either would do anything to keep it, but in the end, only one would walk away with its precious flame.
I finally have something to live for…
"I suppose I should leave soon," Harry said, distractedly. "I don't want to have them waiting for me."
Fleur nodded, almost hesitant. "Please be safe, mon chéri," she said, pulling him to face her again. "I will be waiting for your return."
"In and out," he said aloud. Though whether it was for her, or his own peace of mind, he wasn't sure.
"In and out…" she murmured back, leaning in, her eyes fluttering shut. Their lips met, soft, wet, velvety, and as they shifted within each other's arms, Harry felt himself fall into her allure.
"Ah, I see I am interrupting something this time."
They broke apart with a jolt and spun to the sight of Grindelwald's smirking face. He watched in open amusement from where he rested against the doorframe.
"I can't leave you two alone for more than 5 minutes anymore," he said, his smirk widening.
Harry felt an itch of irritation burning under his skin. "Can you stop doing that."
Grindelwald simply laughed. The man had made it his mission these past few days to interrupt them at every opportunity, taking the greater pleasure the more intimate the moment he encroached on.
"Old men such as myself find the greatest contentment in nature, and what is more natural in life than watching the purity of youthful love bloom before your eyes."
"That sounds like an elaborate way to call yourself a lecher."
"A lecher is too base," said Grindelwald, flicking his hand dismissively through the air. "I simply enjoy seeing the embarrassment on your face."
Harry didn't respond any further, noticing the way the lines of Grindelwald's face drew serious. The man's eyes narrowed on him and flicked from his face to a spot, empty, by his side.
"Are you certain you don't want me to accompany you?"
For a moment, Harry thought he might have caught a note of concern in Grindelwald's voice, but it was impossible to tell. The paleness of his grey-blue eyes hung like a mist, shading whatever thought or emotion lurked behind.
"I'll be fine," said Harry, feeling strangely under pressure by his gaze.
"Don't take any needless risks," Grindelwald said forcefully, his eyes sharpening and fists clenching. "I can't lose—" He stopped himself, breathing in and exhaling deeply. The fire from his complexion extinguished to nothing. "You better leave," he said, suddenly cold, "It is near dark outside."
Harry watched the old man carefully, again finding him impossible to read. Eventually he nodded, not needing to be told to leave twice, and embraced Fleur a final time before stepping into the hall.
Grimmauld Place was silent, the shadows leaking from its walls swallowing all sound, and smothering it into an unwilling slumber. The floor creaked beneath his feet, but nothing else could be heard as he moved through its halls. He preferred it that way. He didn't want to encounter anyone else as he left and be forced to entertain their empty assurances and words of wisdom.
Closing the front door behind him, he stood on the brink of twilight, facing a sky brushed with heavy strokes of purple. Patting his Mokeskin pouch where it rested securely against his chest, he tightened his coat over his shoulders and spun on his heel, reappearing on the crest of a familiar knoll, now shrouded in the darkness of the vacant sun.
Lighting his wand to a dull point, Harry marched some dozen feet through unkempt grass to a stone path, rarely trodden. At its end, sitting a forgotten ruin, was the Shrieking Shack. He rounded its weather-beaten walls, traced his wand, and inspected the boarded windows. Warped and rotting, and nailed in at an odd angle, he found the loose plank he was looking for and pulled. The wood groaned and creaked, complaining as he continued to tug, until with a final yank it slipped out of place and swung uselessly to the ground.
Crawling inside the dusty room, Harry brushed himself off and found a seat on the broken remains of what used to be a dresser. Scanning the walls with their clawed and peeling paper, he tossed his light to fill the air and waited.
Waiting, unfortunately, wasn't something he particularly wished to return to doing, especially with regards to whom he was waiting for. An uncomfortable feeling turned in his stomach at the thought of his friends, remembering the terms on which they'd last parted. The icy silence still cut deeply.
Thankfully, he was swept from the throes of his thoughts by the sound of approaching voices.
"There's a light."
A harsh whisper pierced the stillness of the shack.
"Do you think it's him?" a second voice, a girl's, could be barely heard.
"Not sure. Have your wands out just in case," the first voice said again.
"It's me," Harry called out into the dark, his trepidation gone and a smile on his face instead. "I'd rather not get cursed on accident."
The first face to pop out was round and pale, with two silver eyes which seemed almost to stare through him. "Hello, Harry, your head is looking awfully clear of Nargles. Have you been snogging?"
"Of course he hasn't, Luna. Who would he with in here?" Neville said, pushing forward next, bringing Harry into a bearish hug. "It's good to see you mate."
Harry noticed how one of his eyes was darkened and swollen a size larger than the other.
"Hi, Harry."
He looked up to see Ginny watching uncertainly over the rest, and behind her, almost hiding, was Ron.
Harry opened his mouth at the sight of his best mate, but was halted by who entered next. In a blink, the Elder Wand snapped to his hand and pointed threateningly.
"What's he doing here?" he spat.
"Woah! Easy, Harry, easy, it's alright," Ron intervened, throwing his body in the way. His face scrunched up as though he'd eaten a particularly terrible Bertie Bott's bean and glanced over his shoulder. "He's… not terrible anymore, at least in a non-Death Eater sorta way."
A moment longer passed before Harry lowered his wand from Draco Malfoy.
"He's been helping us in the castle," Neville explained, though he still looked rather uneasy with the idea.
Harry scoffed.
"It's true," a new voice cut in, and Astoria Greengrass entered the cramped confines of the room. "Draco's saved us from a lot of trouble, he's been incredibly brave."
"I couldn't let you get punished with a bunch of blood-traitors," Malfoy muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" Astoria asked, and Malfoy kept quiet. "You don't have to play tough just because Harry is here, Draco."
Neville and Ron both looked to the young Ravenclaw with matching grins.
"How did you get here?" Harry asked curiously. "The tunnel only takes you to the Whomping Willow."
"We didn't take the tunnel," Ron replied. "And what were you thinking, sending Sir Cadogan after us? We were avoiding that nutter for days before he practically bloody screamed to the world that he had a message from Harry Potter!"
Harry ran a hand over his face. "I didn't think he would send him."
"Who?"
"Everard," he said as if it meant something. "Never mind that, how do we get into the school?"
"The Room of Requirement, of course," answered Luna.
"It took a little thinking after we got your message, but Ron and I figured that if the Room could give you anything, why not a passage out the school," said Neville.
"It was brilliant," Ginny complimented.
"We had to practice a bit to get it right," Ron added, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his head. "You need to be really particular with what you want from it, otherwise it can drop you off the Astronomy Tower or take you straight to Snape."
"Where does it lead?" Harry asked, impressed.
"That's the beauty of it, it takes you anywhere," Neville beamed. "If you're being chased, you can hop into the room and it'll bring you somewhere in Hogwarts that's safe."
"We've used it a few times since figuring out how it works to avoid some pretty hairy situations," said Astoria.
"The tunnel to the shack is pretty gross though," Ron said with a grimace. "It's got rats and spiders, Harry… spiders."
"What do you want from here, Potter?" Malfoy unwantedly cut in.
"Why do you care?" he shot back, not hiding the contempt in his voice.
"If I'm sticking my neck out for you, I'd at least like to know if it's worth it."
"If you want Voldemort dead, then it's worth it," he said, staring the Slytherin in the eye.
Malfoy's jaw tensed, not saying a word.
"We were—uh—sorta wondering the same thing, Harry," Ron said hesitantly. "Why are you at Hogwarts?"
"I'm not here to fight," Harry said, knowing that was what they expected. "Now isn't the time. I need to get something from the Headmaster's Office—the Sword of Gryffindor. It can help me destroy something important…"
As his voice trailed off into the cool air that filtered through the poorly patched sections of the shack's roof, a look of understanding fell over Ron and Ginny's freckled faces.
"Alright," said Ron with a determined nod, "we'll get you in."
A gentle smile pulled at Harry's lips. "How close can you get me?"
"Well, it depends on what we ask the Room to do," he pondered, while scratching at his red hair. "Me and Malfoycould probably get you close enough."
"Why you two?" he asked confused. The thought of Malfoy and Ron doing anything together evoked a headache. What has the world come to…
"It has to do with the Snape's new rules," Neville filled in. "After every meal all students have to return to their common rooms for an attendance check. Prefects sweep the halls to round up any stray students."
"It's bloody unnecessary," cursed Ginny.
"Speaking of which, Dinner's almost over, we should probably head back now," Ron said, checking his watch.
"Why'd the rest of you come then?" Harry asked, before they started to leave.
The room was silent as everyone looked to him strangely.
"We, uh… wanted to see you, Harry," Neville said. "We care about you."
"Oh," he reflexively uttered, not sure what else to say.
Without delaying any further, Ron led the group through the disordered interior of the shack to the staircase at its heart, where slowly they descended to its dank, musty cellar. The tunnel appeared to be the same as the one which led to the base of the Whomping Willow, but as the light of their wands illuminated the earthen passage, he could see that a second, near identical path branched at a fork inside. They burrowed like worms underground, travelling over dirt and dead things, buried and forgotten and long having been turned to dust. Roots ran overhead, twisting their gnarled bodies in the likeness of serpents, so much so that Harry swore he could see the odd one slither. Ron hadn't been kidding either, spiders were everywhere, crawling along the walls and hanging inches above their ducked heads as they harmlessly spun their webs; though he'd yet to see a rat.
It wasn't an easy journey by any means, traversing up and down and side to side over uneven ground. He'd long lost track of what direction they were headed in and stopped to pull out the Marauder's Map and check. Whispering the words and scanning its ink covered surface, he could see they were under the Quidditch Pitch.
"Tired already," a voice said from over his shoulder.
Harry slipped the map away and turned to Malfoy who walked at his side. For a moment he considered ignoring his old rival but was overrun by his own curiosity.
"Why are you helping?" he asked. "I don't see what you're getting out of it."
"What a shock, St. Potter so caught up with his own big head he can't understand why someone else might do something," Malfoy mocked. The group ahead of them was in the midst of their own discussion, the sound of their echoing voices enough to mask their conversation.
Harry ignored the jibe. "When was the last time you did something for someone else?"
"You don't know me, Potter," Malfoy sneered, picking up his pace a touch.
"I think I know you pretty well, actually," he said.
Malfoy stopped, and faced Harry with a look between disgust and disappointment. "That's your problem, you think you know everything when you don't."
"Well then tell me what I'm missing," Harry called, though he wasn't sure why. He looked up and down the length of the tunnel. "We've got the time."
Malfoy considered him a moment before continuing walking. "You don't know what it's like to live with a monster," he said quietly.
Harry almost laughed.
"I'm not talking about the Muggle swine who raised you, it wasn't all roses with my father either…" Malfoy's eyes hardened into a shell. "You know what I am trying to say."
"Do you want me to feel sorry for you, Malfoy?" said Harry, feeling something bitter swirl in the back of his throat. "To look at you and your rich Pure-blood life and your mummy and daddy who love you, and say how tough you've had it, when it's them and who they choose to ally themselves with who've hunted and killed everyone I've ever loved."
"I don't want your pity, Potter."
"At one point you did."
Their eyes met, and Harry could see a flash of green in the grey.
Malfoy swallowed and turned his head. "Things are different now," he mumbled.
"Are they?" Harry prodded.
The Slytherin didn't reply, keeping his eyes forward and walking stiffly.
"Do you suppose I'm to believe that you just turned over a new leaf?"
"There are things better than just being afraid all the time," Malfoy eventually whispered, his eyes gently following the petit frame of Astoria Greengrass. His sunken cheeks brightened with a life they hadn't held before. "I don't want to have to close my eyes and see him and his pet monster all the time."
A secret smile tug on the corner of Harry's mouth. Everard is going to love this, he thought.
"You had a thing with her sister, Daphne, didn't you?" Malfoy said after a beat.
"I found someone else," Harry replied.
"A pity," Malfoy shrugged, "Greengrass always did like you."
"We're here!"
The rest of the group had stopped ahead, and Harry and Malfoy quickly caught up to where Ron stood staring at a thick stone wall which grew in front of them.
"We'll let Harry out here, the rest of you head off to the common room before anyone notices," instructed Ron.
A soft, crumbling sound suddenly came from the wall to their right, and the earth fell away in the shape of two low-hanging arches. Within seconds, a pair of branching tunnels were carved before their eyes, climbing in a steep ascent into the darkness.
"Don't worry about us, Ron, we'll be fine. Just don't take too long yourself, Carrow doesn't need any many more excuses to punish you," said Neville, stepping into the passage on the right. Ginny followed, while Luna and Astoria disappeared into the depths of the one on the left.
"We're in the dungeons," said Harry after the two tunnels had closed over with fresh dirt making it appear like nothing had ever happened. The map was open in his hand.
"What? That's strange," Ron said with a frown.
"What did you ask for Weasley?" Malfoy questioned.
"For the Room to take Harry safely where he needed to go."
Something made Harry checked the map again, closer this time, and while doing so he froze on a name and pair of footsteps nearby.
"Here is fine," he said quickly.
"But what about—"
"I'll get to the sword, Ron," he interrupted. "There's just something else I need to do first now."
His friend eyed him strangely, but the frown on his face relented. "If you say so…"
"Wait!"
Harry spun back around at the sound of his friend's call.
"I—er—I'm sorry… uh, for how I was before I left," Ron fumbled awkwardly. He was fiddling with something in his hand. "I shouldn't have been so mad about Fleur. It's just—Bill was so broken about her… and he's family… but so are you… and—never mind. Here."
He passed Harry what looked to be two sticks, but the moment they touched his palm, a rush of warmth, familiar, like the embrace of an old friend, flowed through him. It was almost as though his very soul trilled to a distant song.
"I forgot I'd been holding on to it until I unpacked my stuff here at the beginning of term. I was still mad then, but not anymore, and it's yours and I wanted to give it to you 'cause… you're still my mate."
With a reverence, Harry carefully folded the pieces of holly connected by a thin, burning feather and slipped them into the pouch around his neck. A lump formed in his throat. "Thanks," was all he could force out.
"Shut it, Malfoy!" Ron snapped irritably all of a sudden, his face very red. "Don't say a word. It's not my fault you haven't got any friends."
Harry glanced over to see Draco biting back the urge to say something with all his might.
"I need to go," he said to both of them then. He touched the stone of the castle and felt it vanish beneath his fingertips. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, seriously, "I promise it'll all be over soon."
Stepping into the cool air of the dungeons, Harry took out his cloak and threw it over his shoulders, disappearing from sight. He waited some time for Ron and Malfoy to retreat down the hall after him, bickering the whole way, before pulling out the map and scanning it again.
She was still there.
Travelling deeper into the dungeons, snaking his way from one corridor to the next, Harry tracked his course, watching as he drew closer. He checked over his shoulder frequently, despite knowing no one was around, paranoid of being followed. His mind was playing tricks on him as shadowy figures flickered in the gloom of the torchlight, darting from corner to corner, and every now and then he thought he could hear something skittering after him.
All thoughts, reasonable and unreasonable fell from his mind as he rounded a final corner and found himself staring at a floating figure, emanating a faint, silvery glow.
"Helena…" he called softly, removing his cloak. "Helena Ravenclaw."
The ghost spun slowly in place, her handsome face vague and vacant. "Who is this? Come closer."
He took a step forward, his skin kissed by her spectral light.
"Harry Potter," she said, the silver of her eye sparkling with recognition. "It is very brave of you to be here. Your name is whispered often within these walls."
He nodded slowly. "I'm here because I need something."
"I imagine so."
She watched him carefully, and as she did, it felt like many more watched him as well from beyond a veil.
"What is it you seek?" she asked.
"That which I do not know," he answered honestly.
"Ah, knowledge…" The word floated through the air as she did. The ghost of a smile played on her pale lips. "You speak as a student of my house."
"It is the knowledge of your house I'm interested in," he said.
The air shifted with his words, and a mist slowly began to rise in the short stretch between them, sending a terrible chill which frosted over the dungeon stone.
"Speak plainly, Harry Potter," she said frigidly.
"I'm looking for something belonging to Ravenclaw."
"You already have my cloak," she pointed out.
"I do, and I thank you for that," he said, understanding it wasn't flattery she was hoping for. "But I'm looking for something else, something that might have been taken, something put to vile use by a man called Voldemort."
"I know the name," she said, looking to him sadly and shaking her head.
"Then you know the things he is capable of."
"I do not need a reminder of his crimes." Her voice cracked like a whip, but her expression quickly fell away to sorrow. "Nothing was taken…"
Harry dropped his head, feeling the heaviness of disappointment.
"Nothing was taken," Helena Ravenclaw repeated, "but something was given, foolishly—a secret taken to the grave in a forgotten forest."
Harry looked back up.
"There was once a boy, charming and handsome, who wished to know more of my mother's diadem…"
"Tom Riddle," said Harry, and she nodded.
"He listened to my tragedy, so patient, so understanding, and he wished to help me in a way no one else could. The diadem is what keeps me here, locks me in this existence with my regret, and he offered to destroy it, to allow me to move on. But he lied."
Her image turned ashen, reflecting the name she hated, and almost before he could react, she tried to flee.
"I can destroy it!" he called desperately. "Tom Riddle corrupted your mother's diadem with his soul, and in order for me to destroy him, I need to destroy it as well."
The Grey Lady stopped and glided to a point just before his nose, peering down through the lens of death.
"Do you lie, Harry Potter?"
He shook his head. "I would gladly set you free," he said.
Without another word, she floated away, and for a heartbeat he thought she would leave without telling him after all. However, Helena froze in the spot where he had found her before, staring at the lifeless stone of the dungeon wall, alone in her misery.
"He left it in the Room of Hidden Things, a place where all can be found if asked correctly," her voice reached his ear in a broken whisper.
Not wanting to waste a moment, Harry thanked her and took off down the hall in a rush, tossing on his cloak and pulling out the map to chart his path. Nearly the entire school was empty, the students all in their common rooms as Neville had said they would be, only the odd ghost and professor could be seen roaming the halls freely. From memory, he picked the shortcuts he knew would take him to the seventh floor as quickly and safely as possible.
I found another one… The thought bounced madly around in his head as he ran. A Diadem. Ravenclaw's Diadem.
Relief surged through him, and he laughed in dark disbelief, realizing that Voldemort had hid a Horcrux under their noses the whole time. The cup and diadem were both in reach, and so was the chance of victory, which grew like a prick of light glowing through the cover of a dark, storming cloud.
You still have him and the snake, he tried to remind himself, but hope had already taken root, filling him with breathless excitement.
Harry's body moved on instinct, cutting through passages and slipping past moveable portraits and false walls. It was almost as if he was a child again, out after curfew, chasing mysteries under his cloak, living out the memories of the past. At one point he even thought he caught sight of the fur of Mrs. Norris at his feet while dashing out from behind a tapestry on the 4th floor, and a nostalgic thrill of fear shot through his heart. However, checking the map, he was relieved to see she was sat with Filch on the floor of his office.
He slowed as he reached the final stretch of the corridor which led to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He looked over his shoulder before checking the map, seeing no one, and then he glanced over his shoulder again. The distinct feeling of being watched pricked at the hairs on the back of his neck. Several portraits lined the walls, their eyes wandering idly and ever watchful as he silently crept by.
I need to find the diadem… he thought as he walked in front of the blank stretch of wall. I need to find a place where things are hidden…
On his third pass, a dull grinding sound rumbled through the hall, and the dancing trolls opposite him stopped with their clubbing, picked their noses, and stared dumbly as a burnished copper door appeared in the stone. Harry reached out, pulled the handle, and stepped through the doorway.
Inside, was about the most cluttered and disorganized mess of a room he could ever floor to ceiling, were mounds of run-down furniture ranging from broken desks to rotten tables to frames of four poster beds over a hundred years old. Discarded bottles of Sherry lay shattered and sticky at his feet, and enough notebooks to fill a library three times over were stacked in precariously assembled towers.
Harry looked around daunted by the enormity of the room. Where do you even begin…
The room was as large as the Great Hall, and hardly a surface was left uncovered by one random assortment of items or another. A Gobstones set which looked to have been made from pure silver sat scuffed on the floor in front of him, and to his left, a particularly rabid Fanged Frisbee gnawed on the poor leg of an antique highbacked chair. He veered carefully away from the snarling disk and walked past a rack of old Shooting Stars retired from flying lessons. While picking one up and blowing off a shower of dust, a horde of pixies burst out of a nearby wardrobe and mice could be heard scurrying across the wooden floor underfoot. He put the broom back not caring to inspect it any further and continued on his winding path through banks of forgotten junk.
Stopping to inspect a tall, handsome cabinet which seemed strangely familiar to him, Harry felt something pull at the back of his mind. Tearing his eyes from the strange runes carved into its dark wood, he gazed out further into the room. Nothing particularly stood out to him, but there was a feeling that dragged him forward. It was slick, like oil, trailing invisibly along the ground and festering on every surface.
Dark Magic, he realized.
The feeling grew only stronger, falling over his skin with its foulness. Each step brought him deeper into the depths of this room's vile, reeking core. The Horcrux was close, he was certain. Closing his eyes, he could feel the shallow pulse of the fragmented soul. Turning to his right, he opened them, and before him sat a chipped bust of an ugly old warlock with a tarnished, jewelled tiara sat crookedly on its head. His hand slowly reached out to the diadem as if drawn to it, when the sound of crinkling paper spun him around.
A yellowish rat, fat and greying at the whiskers sat on top of an open textbook. It squeaked as he drew his wand. A rage burnt through him, choking whatever surprise he might have felt.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now," he ground through clenched teeth.
The rat shifted in blink from a furry lump on the ground to a hunched balding man, who was just as yellow and fat and grey as his Animagus form. Peter Pettigrew looked as pathetic as he had when he'd last seen him, chittering nervously and flicking his eyes around the room for an escape, but was too afraid to move at the point of his wand.
"H-Harry… Harry… it's s-s-so nice t-to see you," the rat chattered behind the overgrown fingernails of one hand. His other hand, the silver one, sat still at his side. "You l-look more like Ja-James and Lily than ever before."
"I said give me a reason!" Harry shouted, stepping closer and tightening the grip around his wand.
Pettigrew cowered under the threat and backed into a bookcase behind him. "P-please Harry… please… please don't kill me," he shrieked. "I wasn't going to turn you in, I swear it!"
"Oh, you weren't, were you?" Harry said caustically.
"No! No, the Dark Lord only asked that I follow your friends while at school," he said, shaking nervously.
"You followed them to the Shack?"
"Yes!" Wormtail grasped the question as if it were a lifeline. He wiped at his dribbling nose, and his eyes were watering as well. "I've followed them everywhere, but I never told on them. I didn't turn you in either, did I? I only kept following."
"You followed me through Hogwarts?" he asked, very serious.
Wormtail nodded, his eyes wide and supplicant. "I could have stunned you while you talked to the Grey Lady and turned you in, but I didn't! I would never do that to you, Harry. Not to James' son."
A pit of dread opened in Harry's chest, and he set his jaw in resolve. Taking two steps forward, he grabbed the wretched little man by the front of his ratty robes and jabbed his wand into his throat where it burned from its tip. Wormtail gnashed his teeth and whimpered pitifully.
"Please… Harry, please!" he begged.
"Shut up!" Harry roared. His mind was a storm, thundering behind his brow to the violence of his thoughts. He knew he had to kill him, least of all for overhearing about the diadem. He wanted to kill him as well, but this was different from how he'd imagined it. He'd killed before, but not like this. This was an execution—this was murder.
"I don't want to die… I won't tell him… I won't tell the Dark Lord anything, I swear… please, please Harry…"
The words were on his lips, but staring down at his father's old friend, holding his fate in his hands, he found himself hesitate, and before he could so much as react, there was a flash of silver and a crushing grip latched around Harry's throat. The breath was stolen from his lungs, and he felt his eyes bulge staring at Wormtail who looked equally as confused. Panic seized him, and desperately he tried to tear free of the silver arm, but it's metal fingers only clenched tighter.
"I… I don't—what…" Wormtail stuttered in a panic.
"Let… me… go…" Harry rasped, the taste of copper filling his mouth.
Wormtail's face suddenly twisted with a sickening realization. His features darkened and his eyes narrowed into greedy slits. He looked Harry in the eye, smiling with his rodent-like teeth, and shook his head.
Harry growled, feeling his throat tear with the effort. His head was beginning to spin, and his neck strained on the verge of snapping. Darkness closed in on all sides, and with a final surge of strength, he took the Elder Wand and cut it sharply against the base of Wormtail's forearm.
Oxygen rushed to his head in a great gush, and he keeled over gasping trying to fill his lungs. Wormtail's screams were nothing more than a distant buzz to the evidence of his own life. His hands reached for his throat and he massaged his bruising skin with trembling fingers as he let out a series of hacking coughs, feeling the phantom fingers still strangling in his mind.
Laying in front of him was the silver hand Voldemort had gifted his most loyal servant attached to the rest of his arm.
"Help, help me…" Wormtail breathed, staring in shock at the stub of his elbow. A black pool poured around him, filling the air with a metallic stench.
Harry stumbled to his feet, still coughing. He wiped a smudge of crimson from his mouth and watched in mute horror as the hand twitched to life again.
"No, no no no no no."
Wormtail's eyes widened in terror as the hand began to crawl towards him, inch by inch, dragging a bloody streak behind it.
"Stop! No, stop. I'm loyal! I'm loyal only to the Dark Lord, I swear… I swear!" Wormtail pleaded, but the hand did not stop. He looked to Harry, sobbing from where he lay collapsed on the floor. "Please, Harry… I never wanted to hurt your parents… I never wanted to hurt you…"
The hand crawled up his leg, gripping the seam of his pants, and Wormtail kicked frantically to keep it off; but with each shake, it only climbed higher and he only grew weaker. His wound continued to weep red tears and his skin paled to that of a corpse.
"I'm sorry, so sorry… I was never brave… not like my friends…"
The hand was on his chest, and Wormtail was wheezing and panting and shaking.
"Please… Harry, please… please… please…"
Then he went still, simply staring at the hand as it completed its deathly march. It was as though the dull flicker of a candle had been snuffed by a cold, bitter breeze leaving behind the empty husk of what had once been a man. The silver fingers wrapped almost tenderly around his throat, and in that instant, he thought he might have seen the final sparks of life in his eyes, but by then it was too late.
Harry turned away.
In the silence that followed, he turned back to the bust upon which sat the diadem. Taking the Elder Wand, he cut a scrap from a mouth-eaten tapestry hanging nearby and fashioned it into a small pouch which he used to pick up Ravenclaw's lost treasure. The Horcrux almost seemed to vibrate in his hand.
Ensuring it was wrapped securely, he slipped the package into the pocket of his coat and turned around only to immediately freeze. Something glimmered in the paleness of the moonlight which streamed in from the paneled windows overhead. It was a moment further when his eyes widened in alarm. The hand was moving again, pulling itself over the lifeless form of Peter Pettigrew, where it reached for his sleeve and ripped it violently to reveal the black, twisting mass of the Dark Mark.
"No!" he shouted in a painful rasp, but a finger had already pressed down on the skull at its center. The hand then melted into a puddle of silver, and the dead man's arm shuddered as the Dark Mark pulsed to life.
The sword! I need to get the sword! It was the first thought which came to mind, and the only one that mattered. He knew what the call of the Dark Mark meant, but he couldn't think about that right now.
Along the wall to his right, a door suddenly materialised from where a bookcase had once stood. Not caring to put on his cloak, or even to check the map, Harry ran quicker than he had ever before through the passage provided by the Room of Requirement.
He was spat out near the North Tower of the castle and didn't miss a step, knowing that the Headmaster's Office was only around the corner. The gargoyle guarding the entrance jumped out of the way at the sight of him, and he stormed up the steps without even taking a breath.
The office looked very much the same as it did under Dumbledore, only a more sterile version. The magic was gone as was its whimsy, with its many trinkets, strange artifacts, and obscure odds and ends arranged in a seemingly deliberate clutter. A deluge of memories suddenly threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed them to the back of his mind as he rounded the front of the office in search. Fawkes' perch sat empty in the corner of the room, clear of any ash, and above it rested the Sorting Hat, its enchanted material folded shut. The many portraits of former headmasters were fast asleep in their frames, snoring, including that of Dumbledore whose eyes rested gently beneath the brim of his wizards cap. Scouring the shelves, there was no sign of a ruby encrusted hilt or a gleaming silver blade, simply the tidily arranged and dusted spines of ancient volumes.
"You won't find it there," a dead voice called from behind him.
Severus Snape emerged seemingly from the shadows and stood behind the great oak desk at the center of the office. He watched impassively from behind a curtain of greasy hair, rubbing at a spot on his left forearm.
"You can't stop me," said Harry, flicking his eyes around the room, still searching. "I've faced far worse than you before."
Snape's lips pressed thinly together. "I see your arrogance hasn't dimmed in our time apart. Though I suppose your actions in recent months bear the markings of someone with an inflated sense of worth," he sneered, but the venom behind his words wasn't there.
"I see you haven't changed either, still the traitorous coward who terrorizes children."
"A moral lesson coming from the boy who spends his days with a mass murderer," Snape derided. "If I'm not mistaken that fact does not divorce us, but only makes us that much more alike."
"We are nothing alike," Harry growled.
"On that, at least, we can agree."
Harry raised his wand. "Where is the Sword of Gryffindor?" he demanded impatiently.
"Use your mind, Potter. Where do you know it can be found?" Snape drawled, and Harry's eyes shifted to where the Sorting Hat sat. "Alas, not a complete dunderhead after all…"
Harry noted the way Snape's eyes took in the carvings of the Elder Wand. "It's his, if you're wondering," he said.
"I figured you had taken possession of it."
"He trusted you." Harry could hear the way his voice shook as he spoke. "How dare you take his place. You betrayed him after everything he did for you."
"It is always the fools who die in the end," Snape said distantly.
"Dumbledore was not a fool!" Harry yelled, his blood boiling under his skin.
Snape did not respond. The black void of his eyes suddenly shifted to the bulge in Harry's pocket. "What is it you are carrying?" he asked, the first hint of emotion cracking his expression.
Harry reflexively covered the diadem with his hand.
"Do not test me," Snape spat. His face was lined with something that almost looked like worry. "Where did you find that?"
"You'll learn about your master's secrets soon enough."
"There is no time to waste with your petty little games, Potter. Tell me!"
Snape's eyes bore into Harry's, and a sharp pain tore through his brow. The image of a silver hand, the diadem, and Helena's story flashed across his mind, before he wrenched it free with a snarl.
"Get out of my head."
"Pathetic," Snape taunted. "Clear your mind—or have I taught you nothing."
It was as though a hammer bashed against his skull, rattling his brain and breaking in with a brute strength he could not defend against. The little he could do was force memories to the front of his mind, and the one he chose came from the end of Dumbledore's 100th birthday, where he revealed the prophecy to his parents and the knowledge that Snape had been the one to leak its existence to Voldemort.
This time it was Snape who reeled from his own attack, his face contorting into an ugly mask of hatred and pain.
With his head still pounding, Harry breathed deeply, focusing the fury burning within him and channeling it into his own counter. He'd only attempted it once before, rather unknowingly on Malfoy, but he dove in, throwing the force of his entire being through the windows to Snape's soul. Instead of piercing a well-formed barrier as expected, he felt himself sucked into the vacuum of a black abyss. He tumbled for what felt like an eternity, time stretching thin before his eyes, falling and falling and falling until he landed on the soft cushion of freshly cut green grass.
"Sev, wait up!"
He stopped midway across the front lawn of the castle and turned to the sound of a chipper voice calling out his name. His stomach fluttered. A striking young girl with flaming red hair and shining green eyes ran up and brought him into a warm hug. He patted her awkwardly on the back, feeling his face flush and neck drip with sweat.
"I was worried about you over the summer. Did you not get any of my letters?"
His throat stuck and so did his words. How was he supposed to tell her that he simply chose not to respond to her? That he spent his summer with a group of Slytherins who hated those of her kind. That slowly, he was beginning to feel the same way.
When he finally did speak, he said, "Save her, please, I beg you… I'll do anything."
Sage eyes stared back at him from behind half-moon glasses, soft and sad. He hated that look. It was the same one he wore when he told him Black would not be expelled after trying to kill him with that beast Lupin. It filled him with shame, and left him feeling vulnerable, which only made him hate him more. But he needed him. He needed her.
"The choices we make are what define us, Severus. You chose a difficult path, one dark and destructive, but it's never too late to find a new one—to take a chance to make it right."
He fell to his knees, ready to beg like the pathetic man he was. He'd already lost her once, he couldn't let it happen again. Not when it was his fault.
"Anything, I'll do anything…"
He whispered the words into the encroaching darkness and cried as she lay limp in his arms, her red hair fanned across the rubble and eyes shut forever. Others would be arriving soon, but he couldn't tear himself away. Despite his pleads, she would never come back to him, and forever would his soul be torn in two. All that was left was a baby, the last remaining piece of her. A boy with her green eyes, called Harry…
"Potter. He is getting out of control, I am telling you! His insufferable ego grows exponentially. He's exactly like Black and his father."
"Severus, calm yourself, the boy is reeling from a terrible loss and facing an even more horrid truth."
The way he tried to soothe him as though he were still one of his students set his blood to boil.
"He tried to kill me, Albus!"
"Yes, is it not remarkable how far he has come. When was the last time you were nearly caught out in a duel?"
"That is beyond the point I am trying to make."
"I implore you, Severus, treat the boy with a softer hand. It would do you both a world of good."
"You'll run out of time before he learns anything from a soft hand!" His rage gave way to shame as he noticed the way the old man's eyes fall. "Apologies, Albus, you know I did not—" He stopped himself, feeling stupid. How loathsome was he to look to wound an old man? "How is your hand? Has the curse progressed?"
"It is manageable… A price well worth the destruction of a Horcrux. I simply toil over my plan for the rest…"
"That is your plan!?"
Albus still wore the same warm smile from when he'd returned from his Christmas with Potter. Was he the only one with any sense left on this planet? Had age finally addled the great wizard's wits or was it his fondness for the boy?
"Would you rather he have to lay down his own life? The same one Lily gave for him."
He clenched his fist over the mention of her name. Using Lily to remind him of his loyalty was a cheap trick, and Albus knew it.
"I'd rather he not traipse around Europe with Gellert Grindelwald! Where is the wisdom in exposing him to such madness!"
"Do you finally admit to caring for the boy then?"
Oh, how he detested the man sometimes, especially that damn twinkle in his eye.
"I care about the stability of the wizarding world. Unleashing another Dark Lord on it seems counter to such order, even if he was your former lover."
"Gellert has his role to play, as do we all. Life is inordinately poetic in such ways, especially in regard to matters of love. Nothing makes a fool out of us all quite like it. Am I not right, Severus?"
A fool, yes. There wasn't a greater one in the world than he. What else could you call a man who chose to fall in love with Lily Evans?
"You really trust the boy will make it? Led on merely by a children's riddle."
Those same blue eyes that offered him a second chance, a path to redeem her memory, looked to him assuredly.
"I have no doubt Harry will find his way. He always does."
Potter…
Potter!
POTTER!
Harry pulled himself free, gasping for breath, feeling like he'd drowned and been dragged from the ocean.
"Potter! For Merlin's Sake, listen to me!"
In a daze, he looked over to see Everard shouting at him in a frenzy from the portrait above the door.
"He's here, in the castle. Voldemort! He's coming!"
So many questions flew through the scattered mess of his mind, each crawling over the next in the desperate hope to find a truth, but in the end, they only stuck together, stopping him from asking anything at all. No matter which way he assembled the pieces of what had just happened, the picture left him disbelieving. It couldn't be true. It had to have been some sort of trick.
Seeing the grimace on Snape's face as he flexed his left arm and rifled through the many drawers of his desk, he knew it wasn't. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by Snape whirling on him with blazing eyes.
"Get under your cloak! Now!" He gasped and gripped his arm, cursing, before mixing a set of vials he'd procured into a smoking brew.
"Did you really love—"
"I said now! He's nearly here." His face was as hard as stone. Nothing lived behind the features carved from decades of misery and deceit. "Do not move, no matter what happens."
"But—"
"For once in your life, do as I say, Potter!"
Harry complied, knowing he was left with little other choice. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and fell into a sheltered corner of the room. He watched as Snape drank whatever it was he had concocted, putting the goblet down just as the grinding of stone could be heard from somewhere below.
The cold slap of feet ascended the staircase outside, bringing with them a sinister dread which sunk into his very bones. The door to the office swung open without a sound, and a moment later, a shadow slipped into the room, the dark tails of its robes swirling in a black cloud.
"My Lord."
Voldemort stared down at his prostrated servant, his red eyes burning through narrowed slits. Something twisted along his shoulders, a curling mass of poisonous green which hissed and slithered along his bloodless skin.
"Rise, Severus," Voldemort's high voice called. He extended the slope of his slender arm and allowed Nagini to glide to the stone floor. She coiled around her master's pale feet, so that it was near impossible to tell where the snake ended and man began.
Snape slowly stood, but kept his head bowed as he spoke, "What is it that brings you to Hogwarts, my Lord? It is an unexpected honor to have you visit these halls."
"Do not shower me in empty platitudes, Severus," Voldemort warned. "I expect more from you than the habits of Bellatrix."
"If had taken on Bellatrix's tendencies, there would be no school to return to."
"Yes… It was wise of me to name you Headmaster. The insolence of children does not suit Bellatrix's delicate nature." An unsettling smile twisted along his thin, white lips. "I had considered taking the position myself at first, to rule from Dumbledore's own throne, erasing his legacy in my shadow. Perhaps I will do so sometime soon."
"How may I serve you, my Lord," Snape asked.
Voldemort took a step closer, and as he did so, Nagini unfurled along the ground and dragged her body to the edge of the room, close to where Harry stood. For a single, reckless moment, he considered killing the snake now. He could reach out beyond the protective folds of his cloak and destroy the final Horcrux before it slipped his reach. The Elder Wand was nearly in his hand, its itch at his fingertips, but he purged the thought from his mind knowing it would mean only certain death.
"Did you not feel my call?" Voldemort asked, and there was a pause. "Look me in the eye, Severus."
Snape slowly looked up. His dark eyes were held firmly in front of his master. A strained silence lingered in the air, leaving Harry on edge.
"I did," Snape said. "Though I simply thought Alecto might have become overzealous in her… teaching."
"It was Wormtail who had me called."
"Ah, I thought I'd picked up on his particular stench in the halls."
"Wormtail is dead," Voldemort's cold voice punctuated the air.
Harry thought he might have caught the subtle flick of Snape's eyes in his direction.
"A pity."
"I had him tasked to follow Potter's friends in case he contacted them."
"You believe his band of Gryffindors are capable of murder?" Snape asked rather bluntly.
The red of Voldemort's eyes ignited in a fire. "Do not make assumptions on my behalf," he bit. "Wormtail's death was caused by his own disloyalty not schoolchildren, I could sense that much." He watched as Nagini slithered over his feet. "Your defence of your own students is admirable, nonetheless. Has your heart finally gone soft? Do you care for your students after all?" he asked, clearly mocking.
Snape nodded, and Voldemort let out a shrill laugh.
"This is why you were always my most loyal, Severus. Such honesty, even in the face of death…"
"My Lord?"
"Where is Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked, stalking as a predator would. "He is somewhere in Hogwarts is he not?"
"I assure you, my Lord, I have not seen Potter," said Snape. He looked eerily calm in spite of everything, not a hint of fear or surprise in his face.
"And now you choose to lie. You disappoint me, Severus." Voldemort strode forward and stopped on the other side of the desk from Snape. He picked up the goblet on its surface, breathing in the thin whisps of smoke still rising from its rim. "A poison… a recent invention I suppose, crafted for this inevitability. Is it its effects that leave you trembling, or is it simply fear?"
Snape kept silent, and Voldemort turned and hurled the goblet where it clanged violently against the wall, his madness beginning to peek through. The bone-white hilt of his wand was twisting between his fingers.
"I can torture you," he hissed sadistically. "I can make you scream and beg and endure your final moments in untold agony." Nagini slid next to her master, the two of them coiled as though ready to strike. He stopped, however, and looked on pensively. "No, no you are a shrewd man, Severus. Cunning. You are not protecting yourself; you are protecting something else."
Suddenly, Voldemort faltered. It was as though his own words sparked something in the recesses of his mind. He gripped the chair in front of him and stepped back, scanning around the room desperately. Something gleamed in his eyes—a humanness.
"Where is it?" he whispered dangerously, his entire being feral, like that of a wounded beast. "I can feel it has been in this room. Where has Potter taken it!"
"He has already left," Snape finally replied, his voice weak.
"Crucio!"
The red spell struck him square in the chest and flung him into a nearby bookcase. Thick leather-bound texts tumbled from their shelves as Voldemort flashed his teeth, jabbing his wand forwards again. Harry watched, frozen in place, as Snape writhed across the floor, groaning, blood trickling out the corner of his mouth from where he must have bit down on his tongue.
"How did he find it! How did you learn of their existence! CRUCIO!"
Snape spat on the ground, breathing heavily through his pain. He looked frail, as though he was fading by the second, but still he found the strength to pull himself to a seated position and sneer. "No secret is safe, as you well know."
The great oak desk of the headmaster split in two with an almighty CRACK and the cabinet which once held Dumbledore's Pensieve splintered to pieces. Nagini glided over the debris, flicking her tongue, making a dry, rasping sound as her scales rubbed together.
"I will never die!" Voldemort screeched.
"You will…" said Snape, between hoarse coughs. His skin had turned a grey-blue color and his breaths were coming shallow. "Of that I have done my part to make sure."
Voldemort's eyes turned murderous. "You had a place by my side in the new world I envision, Severus. To think you forfeited it all in foolish loyalty to an old man."
"It wasn't for him," Snape said in defiance, "It was for her."
"Then so be it, I will grant you the same mercy I did that filthy mudblood."
Voldemort's wand slashed through the air and a spray of crimson coated the wall. The Dark Lord screamed, and Harry closed his eyes, the ear-splitting sound let out with such terrible force the glass of the high-arched windows overlooking the grounds exploded inwards. Through the painful echo bursting in his skull, he could hear a wet smacking sound as something was struck repeatedly with a dull thud.
Eventually, a silence fell over the room, but Harry kept his eyes shut. Footsteps paced in front of him and a heavy body slithered wetly over the stone.
"Come Nagini, we much check on my other treasures."
Harry waited, not daring to even breath until all sounds disappeared down the steps and the stone gargoyle could be heard closing the entrance. He opened his eyes and felt sick to his stomach. The sight reminded him of when he'd come across Nicolas after his botched ritual. A lump of dark robes lay crumpled in the corner.
Taking off his cloak, Harry rushed to Snape's side and knelt down in something wet. The man's eyes were glazed, but his chest was still rising and falling in uneven jerks. With every hollow breath a black liquid poured from bite marks torn into his neck.
"Professor… just hold on, please—I'll get help. It will just be a moment longer." He reached out with his hand and pressed it against his neck, feeling the dull pulse of the blood pour through his fingers. It was going everywhere, smearing across the floor in thick red streaks and seeping through his clothes.
A hand came up, shaking, and rested on his. The skin was as cold as ice. "Leave me… take the hat and the sword… use the floo…" he said, weakly pulling away Harry's hand which was failing to stem the blood flow.
"I can't—"
"You must," he strained to say. "Go, please… before it's too late."
Harry looked down at the man who he'd hated for most of his life, the man who'd started everything which had led to this point, the man who had done so much no one would ever know, and found that he pitied him. No one deserved this fate. Not another soul deserved to be taken by Voldemort. He nodded and stood to leave but was halted by an iron grip around his wrist. He turned back and met Snape's dimming gaze.
"You have her eyes…"
His final words floated softly and vanished along with his light. Harry watched him for some time before looking up to see the portrait of Dumbledore staring down with sad blue eyes and a lone tear trickling down into his snowy whiskers. Snape's grip had slackened to the floor, and he pulled himself free.
Stepping over the broken remains of the desk, Harry walked to Fawkes' abandoned perch and picked up the Sorting Hat from where it hung. Above the fireplace at the back of the office sat a small silver pot of glittering powder. With his wand, he kindled a flame and numbly tossed a handful of the powder into the hearth, filling the room in a green glow.
"Number 12 Grimmauld Place," he called as he stepped in, instantly feeling the nauseating sensation of being dragged through the Floo Network.
He was tossed out in a belch of green flames where he stumbled to his knees on a carpeted floor and stayed, unmoving. He knew he should be panicked, but nothing felt real. He could hear the sound of running footsteps and raised voices muffled beyond his detachment, and blurred figures had started to surround him at his peripheries, yet he simply stared forward, lost for words. It was only when he was pulled into a desperate embrace, could feel soft hands cupping his face, and see the silver hair and pale blue of her eyes that he managed to find his voice.
"He knows…" Harry whispered into the stillness of the room. "He knows about the Horcruxes, and he's afraid."
AN
I hope you all enjoyed this latest chapter! Apologies that it took a little while to be released.
I won't say much else, as I'm very interested to hear from you all. As always, please do leave me your thoughts on the chapter and the story as a whole, as well as any constructive opinions you might have. Your reviews are greatly appreciated! Thanks