Chapter 61 – Another Horcrux
A sudden silence fell over the room, and for the briefest of moments, Harry thought that those who were with him would protest even the suggestion of such a thing. For Harry, though, the more he thought about the situation, the more he knew it had to be true. Whether Dumbledore's speculation of how the horcrux had controlled Ginny was accurate was at this point rather irrelevant. The fact of the matter was that Harry was certain that she was a horcrux—all that was required was to have her summoned so that they could confirm it.
In particular, Harry watched Dumbledore. At the moment Harry made his declaration, Dumbledore had been surprised as anyone in the office. Quickly, however, a thoughtful and then a calculating expression had appeared on his, quickly followed by one of understanding and then sad resignation. It was a few moments later that he turned to Remus, who was appearing somewhat shell-shocked.
"You are our expert, Remus. Is it possible?"
Remus took a deep shuddering breath and blew it out loudly, an act which seemed to relieve some of the sudden tension which had fallen over the room. "It's not only possible," he muttered, "but I wonder why I didn't think of it myself."
"Perhaps none of us wanted to consider it," Jean-Sebastian interjected into the conversation. "Before we do something drastic such as calling Miss Weasley into the room, I believe we had best be as certain as we can. We don't want to frighten the girl to death, after all."
Murmurs of agreement echoed throughout the inhabitants of the room. "In that case," Jean-Sebastian continued, "let's go over this from the beginning."
Turning, Jean-Sebastian looked Harry in the eye. "I know you have told this story many times, Harry, but I need you to go back over it and tell us what happened as well as you can remember it. Particularly, we need to know in what order events proceed so that we can figure out what has happened."
Privately Harry thought like the exercise was something of a waste. It was known, for example, that the basilisk must have been the horcrux—how else would the shade of Riddle have appeared and been able to talk to him? And when the snake had died the only other one in the area had been Ginny. Well, aside from Lockhart and Ron, but they had been much too far down the tunnel on the other side of the cave in, and surely the horcrux would have gone to the nearest possible host. Harry did not see any other possibility.
But he was aware of the importance of being sure, and he knew he did not wish to frighten Ginny needlessly, so he agreed and began telling his story, from the time in which the basilisk had been slain, rather than everything else which had occurred before.
When he finished, Jean-Sebastian looked at Dumbledore. "So, from what Harry has told us, it sounds like the event which caused Riddle's shade to disappear, was when he destroyed the diary. In light of that, your conjecture of the soul shard using the diary to control Miss Weasley seems to be upheld."
"It appears to be so," Dumbledore murmured.
"But Harry had already killed the basilisk!" Remus protested. "When the host was killed the soul shard should have immediately abandoned the dead body and sought a new host."
"Does the new host have to be human?" Sirius asked.
Remus shrugged. "A human would always be preferred. Like attracts like. But if Ginny had not been in the chamber then the soul shard could have utilized Fawkes, for example, as another parasitic host."
"I believe that is irrelevant," the Headmaster intoned. "There was no other suitable creature nearby as it sounds like, at that moment, even Fawkes might have been too far away, so the soul shard had no other choice but to go to Miss Weasley. Besides," Dumbledore continued, looking at Remus, "who can say that the basilisk died instantly? Do we know exactly when the soul shard can no longer be sustained by the host?"
Grimacing, Remus shook his head. "All we know is that when the host dies, it seeks a new one or perishes."
"The basilisk may not have died immediately then," said Jean-Sebastian. "It may not have died for a few moments after."
"It is also possible that the soul shard did not fully integrate with Miss Weasley upon being freed from the basilisk," Dumbledore added. "It may have kept some part from being submerged in her soul, and since the connection to the diary still existed, it continued speak with Harry until that connection was severed."
"That is less likely," was Remus's firm reply. "I don't think there is a choice in the matter. A soul shard is dispersed into a human horcrux—that is just the way it is."
"Very well," said Dumbledore, conceding the point.
"Harry, you said Riddle disappeared after you destroyed the diary," Jean-Sebastian said. "Can you explain it exactly?"
Thoughtfully, Harry recalled the events of the chamber. "It's hard to say," he said slowly. "I was already being affected by the venom, and my memory is not very clear. When I stabbed the diary, Riddle's shade screamed and he disintegrated. But since it was like a spiritual manifestation, I can't be sure that it was destroyed."
"I think at this point we can assume it was not destroyed," Jean-Sebastian returned, "though perhaps it can be stated that his physical manifestation was destroyed." He turned his gaze to everyone in the office, before stopping on Dumbledore. "I suspect that Harry's speculation is true. Regardless, we need to call Miss Weasley in here to confirm. We may never know exactly how occurred, it seems to me that we know enough to at least investigate."
Dumbledore nodded. "I agree. We need to test her to make certain." He then turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger, I believe that Miss Weasley is a friend of yours. Can you summon her to attend us please? I believe it would be much less alarming than if I were to send a house-elf for example."
"Of course," Hermione replied, and she rose and left the office.
Once again, silence descended upon those who were gathered together. And though Harry was almost certain that his supposition was true, a large part of him hoped that he was incorrect. He knew first hand, after all, exactly what a burden the knowledge was, and he wished for anything rather than for another to be weighed down by it all.
On the other hand, he began to be angry: angry at Voldemort for attempting to make such disgusting items, angry at the way nothing good ever seemed to last in his life, angry that Ginny would now be dealing with it too, and even anger at himself for killing the basilisk and allowing this to happen. He knew, of course, that there was no way that he could be considered culpable in the matter—if he had not killed the basilisk, it may have gone on, killing others, causing havoc, and eventually the spirit of Riddle might have been brought on the scene and been brought back to life. That was indisputable. But it was also a fact that he had—unwittingly—slain one horcrux, only to allow the disgusting soul shard to latch on to another. And that did not sit right with him.
"Harry," Fleur said quietly from his side.
He turned to look at her and notice her earnest gaze and the way her eyes held a hint of compassion. She smiled lightly while taking his hand in hers.
"You're not blaming yourself for this, are you?"
Harry released a long breath. "Not really. I will admit a part of me does feel like I'm to blame." He waved her off when she appeared like she wanted to say something. "I know that I'm not. But it's inarguable that Ginny might be a horcrux now because I killed the previous horcrux."
"She would have died if you hadn't."
"I know," was all Harry could bring himself to say in reply. "But that doesn't make it easier to deal with."
Closing his eyes, Harry fought back the tears that suddenly appeared, ready to be shed. "I hope I'm wrong, Fleur," he said, carefully modulating his voice. "I know you try but… I don't think… I'm not sure anyone can understand what a… a horrible burden it is."
Eyes shining with compassion, Fleur leaned over and put her arm around him. "I don't understand exactly what you are going through, Harry, but don't ever think that I am not aware of how much this is affecting you."
"We all understand, Harry," Sirius said as he reached across and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "We're all with you and we want to support you. You don't need to walk this path alone."
Allowing a wan smile to come over his face, Harry nodded at his godfather. "I know, Sirius. And I'm grateful for all of you."
"Just don't shut us out, Harry," Jean-Sebastian said. "We all want to be there for you."
Harry smiled and returned to his contemplation. The support of such wonderful people was truly appreciated, and Harry knew that without it he would be lost at sea without any hope of seeing land again. But in another corner of his mind, he also knew that no matter how much they supported and empathized with him, that they could not truly comprehend the pressure and burden this situation with the horcrux put on him. But it was what it was, and it could not be changed. He could hope that his suspicion was wrong. He would prefer to be the only one who had to live with the death sentence.
When Hermione told her of the summons to Dumbledore's office, Ginny frowned. What could the Headmaster possibly want from her? Ginny was not Harry—she did not spend almost as much time in the Headmaster's office as she did in her dorm, chatting like old friends and discussing strategy, Voldemort, and anything else that came up. She was a simple school girl, though one who was involved in Harry's club and, she hoped, a friend of his. What could she offer which Harry already did not?
"What does he want?" Ginny asked, rising to her feet. She took a surreptitious glance around and noted that no one seemed to be paying her any attention, which was just as well. A summons to the Headmaster's office was not the sort of thing you wanted to be published to the world.
"Not sure," Hermione responded. "I just know that he needs to see you."
"Now?"
Hermione smiled. "You're not going in front of the firing squad, Ginny."
Ginny smiled back at her friend, but she could tell instinctively that something was wrong. Hermione was trying to put a good face on it, but underneath Ginny could sense a tension which she rarely detected in the other girl—or rather a tension which did not have something to do with schoolwork or OWLs anyway. Frankly, it worried Ginny.
However, it was equally obvious that though Hermione might know something, she was not inclined to share it, preferring instead to make whatever communication when they could not be overheard by anyone else. It was likely best that way anyway, as Ginny had already thought that she would like to avoid any overt attention. She therefore did the only thing she could—she thanked Hermione and began to walk toward the portrait hole.
This was, of course, when she received her next surprise.
"I'll go with you," Hermione stated, causing Ginny to stop and raise an eyebrow at her.
"Does Dumbledore need to see you too?"
This time the smile was even more forced. "I've been in his office for the last hour or so."
A little frustrated, Ginny turned and walked from the common room and stalked down the hallway for a few moments, when she rounded on her friend and shot her a commanding glare.
"What's going on, Hermione? You're scaring me with all this cloak and dagger stuff."
Sighing, Hermione took her arm and began directing her toward the Headmaster's office. "I'm sorry, Ginny, but I can't say anything more." She looked around and Ginny, almost unwillingly, copied her, only to see that no one else was in evidence. They appeared to be quite alone. "You'll find out as soon as we get there. Let's just say that something has come up concerning your adventures in your first year. We need to know a few things."
It was difficult for Ginny to avoid swallowing hard at the thought of the basilisk incident. She tried to avoid thinking about it whenever possible, and though the memories rarely gave her nightmares any longer, thoughts of it were still unpleasant. And now, apparently, Dumbledore wanted to dredge up these memories yet again, bring up events which she had longed to bury behind an impenetrable barrier, never to be released again.
She could do it, she decided with determination. She was a Gryffindor, after all, a house which prided itself on its courage in the face of fear. But Ginny, despite her bravado, could feel the pit settle in the bottom of her stomach like a lead block, and she knew that this would not be easy, regardless of what the Headmaster had to say to her.
Luckily, she did not have to deal with it for long, as the Headmaster's office soon came into view. Apparently they were expected, as the gargoyle guard stood silently to one side, though Ginny had the prickly feeling that the statue was watching her as she passed by. The spiral staircase was a novelty as it took them quickly to the top of the stairs, and once she was on the next level, she was able to lose herself for the moment in her interest in the Headmaster's surroundings. She had never been in the office before, and she was curious as to the paraphernalia with which such a famous man would surround himself.
Her sudden easiness of mind was quashed the moment she entered the office itself, as the sea of grim faces staring at her registered.
"Hello Miss Weasley," Dumbledore exerted himself to greet her with a pleasant and grandfatherly smile. "Thank you for joining us."
"What do you need me for?" Ginny blurted and then colored at the tactlessness of the question.
Dumbledore just smiled kindly at her, gesturing with his wand and motioning her to the chair which appeared in front of her. Idly, Ginny noted that the chair was next to Harry, and that there was an open one for Hermione next to it. "We have come into some information which we need to confirm. If you will indulge us for a moment?"
Not trusting herself to respond, Ginny nodded jerkily, and then took her seat, though she perched on the edge, as though ready to flee at the first sign of trouble; she could not even state with a certainty that she was not ready to bolt should the news be bad. She was then surprised when Professor Lupin, whom she had not seen since he had left the school after he resigned his teaching post, raised his wand.
"I will need to cast a spell on you for a moment, Miss Weasley. With your permission, of course."
When Ginny nodded at him, Professor Lupin waved his wand at her in a complicated fashion, before releasing a spell, with the incantation, "Extrarius Anima Manufesto!" Ginny felt nothing upon impact, but she could immediately tell that there had been an effect, as she began to glow white. Quickly, however, the white glow began to darken, until soon it was a blood red in color, before it dissipated altogether.
If she had thought the expressions were grim before, they were positively morose as the effect of the spell registered on those in the room. What in the blazes was going on?
As the glow faded, Harry looked on stonily. They had found another horcrux. And yet it seemed to have come from the most unlikely source.
"Jean-Sebastian, if you would?" Dumbledore said, gesturing at the Floo.
Though it was obvious from the perplexed and slightly fearful expression Ginny was displaying that she did not have a clue what was going on, Jean-Sebastian immediately nodded and stepped into the Floo, heading for Grimmauld Place. No doubt the Headmaster thought it would be easier if the Weasleys were brought to the school by someone who was at least known to them, rather than just being summoned there via Floo call. Ginny was not stupid, however—Grimmauld Place was the location in which her parents were currently residing and as she began to put the pieces together, she turned to Harry, a wildness in her eyes that Harry had never been seen before.
"Harry, what's going on?" she asked, a frightened tone sounding in her voice.
"If you please, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore interjected, "we do not mean to frighten you." When Dumbledore spoke, it was as though his great number of years had all come to rest on his shoulders in the past few minutes. "I believe that the discussion we must have would be better if we only have it once. The Ambassador has gone to retrieve your parents—let us wait for the explanation until then, shall we?"
Ginny's flexing jaw muscle bespoke the fact that she would have much preferred to have demanded answers at that moment, but she controlled herself with seeming difficulty, and nodded her head.
Inside Harry was churning, a nauseating sensation which was forcing the bile up his throat, threatening to choke him with its foul taste. It had been hard enough to accept that fact that he was a horcrux and that he was not fated to live. When it was just himself, he could console himself in the knowledge that if he were to sacrifice himself at the appropriate time, then Voldemort could be defeated. But with two—the other being his best mate's little sister no less!—the situation became inevitably more complicated. How they could now set up Voldemort's ultimate defeat, he was not certain, but he knew that it must be done for the world to be free from the yoke of the madman.
A white-hot rage filled him at the thought of the self-styled Lord Voldemort. The man destroyed everything he touched! And now he was destroying the life and happiness of someone Harry cared for very much. This scum was not to be tolerated!
In the corners of his mind, Harry knew that he would have to take care of the man sooner rather than later. Perhaps Voldemort was well hidden and his stronghold secure, but others were not. He would have to think it over—surely there would be a way to strike at him which would hurt him immeasurably. Turnabout was fair play—the man had caused more heartbreak in Harry's life—not to mention everyone else affected by him—and retribution was long overdue.
In the midst of his struggle to control his anger, Harry caught sight of a pale Ginny, and with an effort of willpower, he forced his anger to cool. There would be time enough to rail against Voldemort later. For now, they were facing a very difficult explanation, which would leave Ginny's life in tatters.
It was only a very few moments later when the Floo flared and out stepped Jean-Sebastian, followed by a bewildered Molly and Arthur Weasley. Dumbledore hastily conjured two chairs and they sat down, clearly wondering at their sudden summons, not to mention the composition of those who were gathered in the Headmaster's office. Clearly, whatever Jean-Sebastian had said to them, they were not expecting anything good to come of this conversation.
At once Dumbledore took control of the situation, addressing the newcomers with a kindly smile. "Molly, Arthur, thank you for joining us. I'm afraid that we have discovered an unfortunate consequence of Ginevra's experience with the basilisk in her first year."
"What is it, Albus?" Arthur asked, and though he was outwardly stoic, his dread was evident in the way he held himself under rigid control. It was so unlike the normally cheerful man that Harry felt that he almost did not know him.
"Unfortunately, it is not as simple as just telling you." Dumbledore gazed at the Weasleys sternly, though with evident compassion. "This knowledge is very dangerous, and is protected by a series of oaths which will prevent you from disclosing the knowledge to anyone. You must swear them before we can tell you anything."
"Oaths on our magic?" Arthur asked with a frown.
"Oaths on your lives," was Dumbledore's quiet reply. "This knowledge must not ever be revealed—far too much pain and suffering have already resulted, and the consequences could be immeasurable for the world at large if it were ever to become known."
Molly and Arthur exchanged a glance, both now clearly fearful of what they were about to be told. As Harry understood it, under normal circumstances an oath on one's magic was considered to be more solemn than an oath on one's life, because to lose one's magic—a part of oneself—was considered to be worse than dying. But the oath on a person's life was perhaps the deepest of all oaths. If a person's life was required to keep a secret, then it must be vital that it remain from the world.
"Very well," Arthur said, though Harry thought he knew the mild-mannered man well enough to know that he would prefer not to be burdened by such weighty subjects.
"Remus, if you please," Dumbledore said, turning to the Marauder.
By now the process of having the oaths sworn was familiar to Harry, and Remus was becoming quite proficient at extracting them in a quick and efficient manner. The nature of the oaths, once sworn, did not ease the Weasleys' concern once they knew what they entailed. It would undoubtedly be a long and emotional evening.
Once they had sworn, Dumbledore thanked Remus and turned back to Arthur. "There is no easy way to relate what I must to you, so I shall endeavor to be clear and concise as to what has happened. Please keep any questions you have until the explanation is complete—this will be difficult enough without frequent interruptions."
With that, Dumbledore launched into the story of the horcruxes, while Remus frequently added commentary and clarification to what the Headmaster was saying. For the most part, they left the discussion of the history of horcruxes alone, as it was truly unimportant to the situation at hand. Instead, Dumbledore covered what the horcruxes were intended to accomplish, followed by what they had originally thought of horcruxes, and finished with Remus and Tonks' journey to Egypt, and what they had discovered about their true nature. By the end of the explanation, Arthur was sitting forward with his face in his hands, the shock in his expression testament to the difficulty he was having in processing and accepting what he had been told, while Molly, her countenance white as newly fallen snow, stared unseeing into the distance while tears ran down her cheeks. The Weasley matron's restraint was actually somewhat of a surprise to Harry, as he would have thought her more inclined to loud demonstrations and active displays.
Ginny had turned and begun to weep quietly into Harry's shoulder as the explanation wound down, her body shaking with deep wracking sobs. Harry, as soon as she had turned to him in her distress, put an arm around her and held her to his chest, imparting what comfort he could. His own loves watched in sympathy as he did so, while not a hint of jealousy or discomfort at his physical closeness to the girl who had not-so-secretly harbored a crush for him was evident in their demeanors.
But though Harry attempted to provide comfort, in actuality he was not certain he was at all successful. The anger he had pushed away earlier had returned in full measure, and he was contemplating thoughts which he suspected would be looked upon with disapproval should anyone else in the room become aware of them. Harry burned with a cold fury and an almost physical need for vengeance against the madman who had engineered such misery.
"What can we do?" Arthur asked, though pulling himself together long enough to even ask that appeared to be an almost herculean effort.
"The soul shard cannot be removed," Remus replied, his voice colored with an apologetic diffidence.
"So do we just give up then?" Arthur demanded, raising his voice for perhaps the first time Harry ever remembered. "Are you asking us to sacrifice our only daughter for the defeat of V-V-Voldemort?"
Harry was certain that this was the first time that Arthur had ever spoken the Dark Lord's name out loud, but his anger and bewilderment clearly had given the man courage. Either that or he had worked himself up to the point where he did not even consider what he was saying, regardless of his stammering over the Dark Lord's name.
"Of course not, Arthur," Dumbledore soothed.
"Arthur," Molly spoke up, "this affects Harry too."
That took the wind out of Arthur's sails, and he turned to Harry appearing slightly chagrinned. "I'm sorry, Harry. This is just…"
"Believe me; I'm well aware of how much of a shock this is," said Harry, brushing off the man's apology."
A smile which went no further than his lips flitted over Arthur's face, and he nodded at Harry, partially in acknowledgement for the absolution, and partially, Harry thought, for how he was comforting Ginny.
"Perhaps you have heard me harping on the subject before, Arthur," Dumbledore spoke again, "but I believe that every magic can be undone, if we can only discover how. It just takes a little ingenuity to discover it at times.
"I can tell you that I will not give up on this. Not only does it affect Harry, who, as you know, I hold in much personal esteem, but also because sacrificing two wonderful young people is truly unconscionable. We will find an answer—this I assure you."
"How are you holding up, Harry?" Molly asked. And although a trace of the familiar mothering Molly Weasley could certainly be seen in her demeanor, she was also clearly concerned for him. Her care warmed him and told him that whatever difficulties they had had between them over the past few months, he still craved her acceptance and affection.
"I've had time to get used to it," Harry replied simply, trying to deflect her concern.
The look she gave him was anything but appeased.
"That's our Harry," Hermione interjected with a fond smile. "His rote answer is, 'I'm fine.'"
"Maybe, but unfortunately in this situation, it's really the only answer I have to give." Feeling a need to explain himself, or perhaps be granted absolution for the part he had played in Ginny's tragedy, Harry paused for a moment, before speaking again. "I'm sorry for how this happened. Maybe if I'd somehow managed to get her away to safety before the basilisk died…"
Harry trailed off, partially because there really was not anything further he could say, and partly because Ginny's head shot up from his shoulder, and she gazed at him through the tears which were still streaming down her face with an entirely familiar mask of displeasure.
"Oh honestly, Harry!" she huffed. "Only you could think that you could do better than simply kill a monster as dangerous as the basilisk. It's not your fault! If anyone is to blame, then it should rest on my shoulders for being childish enough to allow myself to become ensnared by that blasted diary."
"She's right, Harry," Molly echoed her daughter with a sad smile. "There is no way any rational person could consider you to be at fault for this."
"It doesn't feel like it," Harry muttered.
"Which is why you're such a good person, Harry," Arthur said. "But you do take too much on your shoulders, regardless."
He turned back to Dumbledore and his countenance was all business, though the emotion and anguish was still able to be seen. It was somewhat incongruous in the normally quiet and happy man's demeanor.
"Does Amelia know of this?"
"She knows of Harry," Dumbledore replied. "We just discovered Ginny before we called you here. I would appreciate it if you could inform the Minister of the latest developments."
Arthur gave him a tight nod. "Please find a solution, Albus. We cannot sacrifice either of them to defeat Voldemort, no matter what the cost."
Once Dumbledore had given his assurances that everything that could be done was being done, the group settled back into a somewhat more desultory conversation, Remus sharing more information with the couple about the subject, while the rest spoke quietly of subjects unrelated to the tragedy. It was perhaps something of a defense against the horror—if they could still speak of mundane subjects, there must be hope. The Headmaster, however, sat somewhat aloof from the rest, obviously caught up in his thoughts, or perhaps in trying to resolve the puzzle which lay before them. The Weasleys, of course, wanted to assure themselves that their daughter was well, in spite of the devastating news they had just received, and though Harry thought he saw something of a wariness in their eyes—understandable considering what they had learned—their fears were quickly allayed, and Ginny was the same person she had ever been, though of course, affected by the knowledge.
It was entirely understandable, Harry decided. The fact that a portion of a megalomaniac's soul lived intermingled with their daughter's would give anyone pause, not knowing exactly how that piece of soul would act. Would it influence her in any way? Would it induce either of them behave more in a manner keeping with the soul fragments embedded in them? Of course they knew that Ginny had now carried that shard for almost three years now and had received ample proof that she was still their daughter, regardless of what had been done to her. Still, it could not be easy, and Molly and Arthur were clearly trying to come to terms with what they had learned.
For Harry, his thoughts were consumed with feelings which were far from what he usually entertained. Fleur and Hermione—and Ginny, when her parents' attention was diverted elsewhere—talked in quiet voices around him. But Harry participated little and heard less. The one thought which dominated his mind was that of vengeance. Voldemort would be made to pay for what he had done. Of that, Harry was determined.
Being a mole in the Dark Lord's employ had become much more difficult since the failed attack on the Ministry. Not only had the Ministry developed a sort of competence which, truthfully, had not existed in years, but also a tenacity which had never truly been in evidence.
Even in the days of Minister Bagnold, who had been very well regarded herself, many of the department heads and those in their departments had been those who had come by their positions by reason of their family name or position in Wizarding society, rather than any true merit. And while some of those were surely capable people, it meant that there were also many who weren't, which made it much easier to work.
That problem had been further exacerbated by the fact that Fudge had held his position with the agenda of enriching himself, and as such, many more yes-men and hangers-on had risen to positions of authority. The Ministry had been so weak when the Dark Lord had returned, that many in the Death Eater ranks believed that it would fall if anything more than a stiff breeze were to hit it. But those who worked toward such an event had overlooked one small detail—Madam Bones had spent years entrenched in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and had built a reputation for toughness and experience, and perhaps more importantly, had been ready and waiting in the wings for Fudge's downfall.
Still, the Ministry should have been ripe for the plucking, as Fudge had played admirably, though unknowingly, into the Dark Lord's plans by keeping the Ministry from recognizing the his return, and ensuring they remained as weak as possible. And yet, when the Death Eaters had staged their attack, the Ministry had managed to remain standing, though bloodied, due to the combined efforts of the Minister, the Aurors, and that infernally interfering Dumbledore. And since then, the drive of the Minister to see the mistakes of Fudge's tenure reversed, had resulted in a much stronger front presented by the previously teetering Ministry. Oh for the glory days of Fudge's administration and the sheer incompetence the man had displayed. If only the Dark Lord had not killed him in a fit of anger!
Calming himself with an effort, Benedict stopped and reined in his anger. The truth of the Dark Lord's return had already been acknowledged by the time the Dark Lord had turned his wand on the ineffectual Minister, and the damage had been done. Fudge had already been finished, whether he had known it or not. The man's death had not even turned him into a martyr, so reviled was he for his blindness and willful stupidity. So in the end, it had not really affected the matter at all.
No, that was not the true problem. The true problem was that those in a position to influence events should have known that Bones was a potential problem. She should have been dealt with years ago, and if her predecessor had been effective too, then they should have been dealt with in the same manner. But it was all too late—Benedict had tried to get close enough to kill her, but the one time in which he had actually been able to make the attempt, that meddling Dumbledore had once again thwarted him. There was another who needed to pay the ultimate price for his continual interference in the Dark Lord's plans.
But that too was another matter—Benedict was certain that the Dark Lord had something in mind for the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Benedict was there that Sunday night to investigate another matter, and one which was a potentially serious blow to the Dark Lord's continuing efforts to overthrow the Ministry and install a right-thinking regime in its place.
Things had been difficult lately. Not only had the attack on Hogsmeade been surprisingly turned back and the obvious existence of a traitor been discovered, but the Aurors that had been ensconced in the Auror department had subsequently gone quiet. Those moles should have provided warning to the Dark Lord that his plans for Hogsmeade had been compromised, preventing the debacle at the village and saving, not only the Death Eaters who had been killed and captured, but also their giant and werewolf allies.
Why had they not provided warning? Why had they not contacted the Dark Lord since before the Hogsmeade attack? The answers to those questions were why Benedict found himself in the Ministry late on a Sunday evening, when he would much rather have been at home, nursing a glass of firewhiskey.
Again Benedict cursed the Ministry and their sudden transformation into effectiveness. What would have been a relatively simple matter before was now fraught with danger. He was the Dark Lord's man in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and he did not relish the thought of being exposed for being a Death Eater, but the Dark Lord had commanded, and he had no choice but to obey.
As Benedict walked into the law enforcement offices that evening, he noted that there were few others there, which he would have expected, given the late hour and the fact that it was a weekend. There was, of course, the regular contingent of Aurors present, a few support staff filing reports, and others on building security detail. But as the head of the sub-department, his presence was well-known, and other than the usual greetings, his passage presented no particular interest.
Entering the Resource Department's office, Benedict gazed around, trying to see if anyone was there this late at night. Their office was always staffed to a certain extent, as those who took the Auror reports were always on duty, but they used offices closer to those inhabited by the Aurors. The office that performed strategic planning, created duty rosters, and so forth, was likely to be deserted that late on a Sunday.
Except that it was not.
"Benedict," a young blond woman greeted him, and even as he plastered a smile on his face, he cursed the fact that she was there.
"Hestia," Benedict responded with an affected smile of greeting. "You're here late tonight."
"I just came in to see to a few things—nothing major."
Benedict nodded. "I've got a couple of things to look into myself. Don't let me bother you, though."
"All right, boss," Hestia returned. "I was about to head home anyway."
That was music to his ears, and he nodded and favored her with a more genuine smile than the one he had directed towards her earlier.
As she went back to whatever she was doing, Benedict watched her for a brief moment, before remembering himself and moving away from her towards his office. Hestia had always presented a unique challenge. She was perhaps a little fierier than he usually liked his women, but she was also very attractive—attractive enough that Benedict had wanted to bed her for years. Unfortunately, she had rebuffed his overtures after she had arrived, and Benedict was left with the frustration of wanting her, while knowing he had to bide his time.
Usually, he would not have had any compunction against taking her and obliviating her after the fact, but in this instance he had decided that it was not worth the considerable risk. She was very capable, after all, and if anything happened, the Dark Lord would lose his informant in the department, an outcome which would incense him, especially for an insignificant sexual conquest.
But time was on his side, after all. Once the Dark Lord was established in the Ministry, Benedict would be free to take her at his leisure. The Dark Lord would not care one way or another over the fate of one insignificant female, especially if one of his favored Death Eaters was the one to take her. Benedict lost himself in his thoughts for a moment, relishing the idea of doing what he wished with her. He would make certain that she regretted refusing him all this time, and would take double pleasure in the fact that by all reports, she was now cavorting with the blood traitor Black. It would make the end result that much sweeter.
But now was not the time for such thoughts. Benedict knew that he had to focus on his task, or risk discovery. Failure would not be tolerated by the Dark Lord, so mercurial and hard to please had he become. Besides, given the fate of captured Death Eaters recently, he might not even survive long enough to be punished by his master.
Trying to appear busy, Benedict spent several moments in his office, waiting for the time when Hestia would leave and he would be free to conduct his search. Less than fifteen minutes later, when he confirmed that his colleague was no longer in the office, he went about his task.
The first place to look was the records, and he began to quickly go through them, hoping to find some mention of the fate of the two silent Death Eaters. But though he spent some time going over the past week's information, no mention of Sanderson or Thompson could be found. If Shacklebolt had discovered their duplicity, then he had not made any record of the fact.
With nothing to go on, Benedict slumped from the records room, and sat down at his desk, wondering what he should do now. Prudence suggested that he should return to the Dark Lord's lair and report that he had not been able to find anything.
But prudence was not perhaps exactly wise in this instance, due to the Dark Lord's unpredictable mood of late. The Dark Lord had been dealing out punishment much more than he ever had in the past, and Benedict was not certain at all that he would escape a similar fate himself. Surely there must be a way to carry out his orders for the evening.
Then it hit him—unless the two had been executed immediately and without a proper trial—something which was extremely unlikely—then they would be held in a secure location. And as the Dark Lord was well-known to have compromised the Dementors, Azkaban could not be considered to be a secure location. The only other place they were able to hold prisoners, unless they had established some other secret prison, were the cells underneath the Ministry on the same level as the courtrooms.
Nervously, Benedict considered the risk of confirming their incarceration by going down to the courtroom level himself. It would doubtlessly be guarded, but he could perhaps get away with it if he seemed to be official. It was risky, but so was returning empty handed to the Dark Lord. It was that thought that decided him.
Quickly, Benedict exited the office, after taking a few pages of parchment with him to make it seem official. He crossed through the DMLE and approached the on-duty Aurors, returning their greetings as he attempted to quit the area.
"Benedict!" said Enrique Gonzalez, the section leader on duty. "You're here rather late."
"Just had to look into a couple of things," Benedict replied cheerfully. "I think I'll head home now, though. Got an early morning tomorrow, after all."
"Very well," Gonzalez replied. "A new order just came through, though, and I'll have to ask you to bare your arm."
Though his immediate instinct was to panic, Benedict hid his sudden anxiety carefully. "Bare my arm?" he asked lightly. "What's gotten into Shacklebolt?"
"Just making sure that everyone who works in the building is clear of the dark mark," was the other man's even reply. "The Auror corps was vetted a few days ago."
Benedict was just able to keep himself from sucking in a surprised breath. Clearly this was why the two Aurors had gone silent—they had been unmasked and taken into custody. The Dark Lord must hear about it!
But first, he had to escape, and to do that, he would need to evade Gonzalez and the three Aurors who were eyeing him as he hesitated. They were clearly too much for him to handle by himself, obviously, so he would need to effect his escape quickly.
"The Auror corps was vetted you say?" he asked mildly, feigning a moderate interest in the news.
"They were. The department heads and the rest of the Ministry will soon follow. But Shack decided that we should start going through the workers that came in today for any reason."
"Come on, Gonzalez," Benedict cajoled. "You can't be suspicious of me. I've been working in this department for years. I'm no more a Death Eater than you are."
"I certainly hope not," was Gonzalez's firm reply. "But orders are orders. I will need to ask you to bare your arm. Once we establish the fact that you don't have the mark, you can swear an oath that you don't support You-Know-Who, and you can be on your way."
It was then that Benedict struck—he motioned with his hand, ejecting his wand from the holster, and quickly fired a reductor, which rendered a nearby desk into kindling, and showering the four men with splinters of wood. Dodging to the side to evade any return fire, Benedict sprinted toward the stairs, knowing that pursuit would only be a moment behind him. He had to make it down the stairs and to the Floos before they were able to catch him.
He was just nearing the stairs, when a voice called out, "Petrificus Totalis!"
Taken completely by surprise and not having time to elude the spell which appeared at close range, Benedict felt the spell impact him in the chest, throwing him from his feet, and snapping his arms and legs to his sides. He landed on the floor, hearing his wand roll away from his grasp, cursing his bad luck to run into someone.
A moment later a face filled his vision, as Hestia Jones looked down on him with an expression of interest. A moment later the pursuing Aurors trotted up and they began discussing the situation.
"Well, well, what have we here?" he heard the voice of Enrique Gonzalez speaking. "Benedict Yaxley—who would have thought? It's a good thing you were close by, Hestia."
"He seemed a little suspicious when he came into the office," Hestia replied. "I've never seen him come in on a weekend before."
Enrique was clearly curious. "So what did you do?"
"I disillusioned myself and watched him search the records, and then followed him out here. When you confronted him, I positioned myself near the exit so that I could take him down if he tried to escape."
"A good thing you did," Gonzalez replied approvingly. "Though he likely would not have made it past the guards at the Floos."
Roughly, Benedict felt the sleeve of his jacket being pulled up, exposing the Dark Lord's mark. He had failed.
"Well, Death Eater, looks like your luck has run out. I've got a nice cozy cell waiting for you to take up residence, right next to the other scum."
And with that, Benedict soon found himself trapped in a cell next to one of the missing Aurors. The Dark Lord would not be pleased in the slightest.
After the revelation that Ginny was a horcrux, it appeared as though Harry retreated even further into himself than ever. He disappeared immediately after the discussion in the Headmaster's office wound down, and though Hermione and Fleur attempted to discover his location, they had no luck whatsoever. The Room of Requirement was unoccupied, his normal haunts were abandoned, and they could not even use the map to locate him, as he had begun to carry it with him, no doubt to prevent anyone from using it to find him.
The next morning—being Sunday—he had appeared at breakfast once again, and though the two girls had tried to prompt him to tell them where he had been the previous night, he had rebuffed all attempts, preferring to simply ignore their questions than to make excuses. To all outward eyes, he tried to act as though nothing was wrong and everything was as it always was. Of course, this did not even fool his close circle of friends, to say nothing of Hermione and Fleur, who already knew what was bothering him.
With the revelations of the previous evening, another level of complexity was added to the situation. Not only was an overly brooding and tight-lipped Harry attracting attention, but Ginny Weasley, who had always been possessed of a sunny disposition and a bright personality had also suddenly turned morose. She attempted to appear happy at times that following day, but more often than not, her behavior mirrored Harry's. By later on that Sunday afternoon several of those around them had begun to notice the way Ginny was acting, and speculative glances showed that there were those who were making the connection between the demeanors of the two. Nothing had as yet been said, but it was becoming clear that something was amiss, and not only with Harry.
As to what they were to do about the situation, the two girls were not certain. Hermione's knowledge of her friend was rather ominous—in the past he had been sullen and moody at times, and did not take kindly to others interfering or bothering him with their expressions of sympathy, or even support. He was still affectionate with them both when they could corner him, but his expression could only be deemed wistful, and his attentions were more detached than they had been in the past. Harry was taking it hard and distancing himself from them as a result, and given the situation, it was difficult to come up with anything positive to try to cheer him up.
But even worse from Fleur's point of view, was the impression she had that Harry had given up. Oh, he was not suicidal and he had not given up the fight against Voldemort. In fact, if anything, he was showing signs of impressive tenacity in the prosecution of their cause against the Dark Lord. It was more that he had acquired a fatalistic air which appeared to have superseded any possibility of a solution being found for his conundrum. He made all the appropriate noises whenever one of them mentioned the possibility of Dumbledore or Remus finding a cure, but it was clear in his eyes that he had no hope of a solution ever being found.
On an undoubtedly related matter, once Harry had been found that Sunday morning, Hermione had begun to retreat as well, though hers was not from a fatalistic acceptance or a feeling of acute hopelessness. Rather, Hermione immediately repaired to the library and could be found there for the rest of the day, searching through dusty old tomes and obscure texts, obviously trying to find the answer to the problem. It seemed to Fleur like both of them slipped into themselves as the situation began to appear hopeless—Hermione to her books, and Harry to his brooding silences. Fleur had managed to drag Hermione from the library for dinner, but as soon as they had finished eating, she had immediately returned, where she stayed until the last possible moment before curfew.
Thus, it was up to Fleur alone to try to talk some sense into Harry.
Ironically, as Fleur strode through the school, keeping a watchful eye on her betrothed after dinner that evening, she felt like the anguish she herself had felt the previous week and her subsequent discussion with Harry and his affirmation of his feelings for her had given her a certain insight into what he was feeling. It also left her with a sense of purpose—as they were as of yet two years younger, Fleur knew that her companions were not yet to the point where they could cope with events of this nature as well as she, who was blessed with a couple more precious years of experience, was able. It was up to Fleur to keep the other two as positive as possible, and perhaps more importantly, to keep them together. Perhaps that was her role in their relationship, she thought to herself idly—she was there to keep the other two on an even keel, and to hold them together. Maybe she was the voice of rationality in the equation.
Now, she really did not believe that. If she had never come onto the scene, she imagined that Harry and Hermione would have managed together quite nicely. Still, if she could keep them positive, it would help them in the long run—people functioned much better if they had a positive attitude, after all.
But now was not the time to consider such things. Harry was hurting and he needed Fleur's help. She was determined to offer it to him, and to make him see that there was still hope, no matter how bleak the situation appeared.
"How are you holding up?" she asked quietly as they made their way through the hallways.
"I'm fine," Harry deadpanned, and for a moment, Fleur could see the playfulness evident in his voice. It quickly disappeared, however, only to be replaced with the ever-present moroseness.
Fleur fixed him with a glare. "I would think that you'd know me better than that," she replied, keeping her voice carefully modulated, yet firm. "That rote answer never has worked with anyone who knows you well. I'm not sure why you bother."
Rather than reply, Harry just shrugged. Fleur raised an eyebrow at him, but she said nothing further, allowing her body language to indicate that he still had not answered her question and that she was content to wait for his response.
At length Harry sighed and turned away from her. "I'm doing the best that I can, Fleur. I'm sorry, but that's about all I can give you."
They walked in silence for several more moments, and as Harry seemed to be struggling with something, Fleur kept quiet, waiting for him to speak.
"I'm just pretty jacked off at Riddle right now," he finally said into the silence. "I mean, he's already done his best to ruin my life. Now he goes and ruins someone else's."
It was quintessential Harry. He had been lost and forlorn when he had found out that his own piece of Voldemort's soul could not be removed, but the greater part of his anger was reserved for when Ginny had been found to be in a similar situation. He was, at heart, a selfless person, more concerned for others than he was for himself. It was one of the things which made him so easy to love.
Of course, this attitude could also be one which was a source of annoyance, because he tended to take the characteristic to extremes at times.
But those were thoughts for another time. Fleur consciously pushed them to the back of her mind and focused once again on Harry. "You know that we're all doing everything we can to solve this puzzle, right?"
Once again Harry sighed. "I know you all are, and I appreciate it."
"But you don't seem like you have a lot of hope."
And that was the crux of the problem, and regardless of Harry's state of mind, Fleur was certain that he understood that fact himself.
But Harry eschewed any kind of a verbal response. Instead, he merely shrugged his shoulders and continued to walk.
"Harry, speak to me. Please."
"I don't have a lot of hope," he replied, clearly enunciating what she had expected all along. "The ancients who created it could not come up with a way to get rid of it; how do we stand a chance?"
"We've got some very talented and knowledgeable people working on it," Fleur replied, holding her temper back. It would not do to allow herself to become frustrated with Harry now, with the mood he was obviously in. "Besides, we have more than three thousand years of further experience and magical development to draw on. I would think that we have a better chance to resolve this than the ancients had."
No response was forthcoming. It was as though he did not hear her, though she knew very well that he had heard every word.
"You need to have faith, Harry."
"Faith is a commodity with which I have little experience," Harry replied, the first hint of impatience coloring his voice.
"Perhaps you've just never given it a chance."
"Look Fleur," Harry said, stopping and taking her by the hand, "I'm grateful for all you, Hermione, and everyone else have done for me. And I love you even more for how you are so strong, and how you keep me sane.
"The fact of the matter is that I don't know that anything can be done. I hope that Dumbledore will find something, and if he does, I will be pleasantly surprised. But I have to assume that nothing can be done. Riddle must fall and if my death is what is needed for it to happen, then I will not hesitate."
"What about Ginny?"
A sorrowful expression appeared on Harry's countenance and he ducked his head. "I can't do anything about Ginny, and I can't tell her how to feel or what she should do.
"But I promise you," Harry looked up, and she could see the fire of determination once again visible in his eyes, "I will do whatever it takes to see Riddle defeated. That I can promise you."
Fleur gazed back at him, willing herself to be strong, though her heart hurt inside her chest. "Have you ever thought of what it would do to Hermione and me if you sacrifice yourself to defeat him?"
An expression of utter compassion came over him and he stepped forward and grasped Fleur's shoulders, gazing at her with affection. "Heartache does not last forever, Fleur, regardless of what is written in stories. I'm sure that you and Hermione will both find others to love if I don't survive. You'll both be wonderful wives and mothers some day. I hope it is with me, but I know that two girls as wonderful as you would have no problem finding other men to love, and to love you in return.
"I'm not giving up, Fleur," he added quietly. "I just want to make sure that whatever happens, Voldemort is defeated. He has to be, or no one is safe."
Though she was not at all appeased by Harry's words, Fleur instinctively knew that she would get nothing more substantial from him that day. She stepped forward and rested her head on his shoulder, imagining just for a moment that she was safe in the circle of his arms, and that none of it—Voldemort, Death Eaters, or Pureblood bigots—existed.
They stood there in that attitude for some time, ignoring those who passed through the halls and the curious looks with which they were favored. At length, Harry drew away and kissed her on the forehead.
"Come on. Let's go back to the common room and continue this on one of the couches. I'm sure it would be much more comfortable."
And so they did. But though Harry held her for much of the rest of the evening—and spared an arm for Hermione when she showed up just before curfew—very few words were spoken. Fleur knew that on some level Harry was deriving as much comfort from their proximity as she was from his, but she also knew that his conscious mind was somewhere far away from that sofa in the Gryffindor common room.
Somewhere, his mind wandered dark paths, filled with plans, dark lords and battles fought against an unyielding foe. Somewhere, Harry was plotting the downfall of a dark lord, and Fleur was fearful of what form his plotting would ultimately take.
Updated 06/09/2014