Chapter 22
The Bowels of North Tower
One of the eeriest aspects of Lord Voldemort, in Peter Pettigrew's opinion, was the fact that even with his eyes closed, the red of his pupils could barely be seen through the eyelids. Only on rare occasions had Peter seen his master asleep. For one thing, Voldemort slept only a few hours per day, and in any event, he usually woke immediately if someone entered his room. By the evening, however, the dark lord continued to sleep, having awakened only for brief moments during the day.
During those minutes of consciousness, he instructed Peter to inform his fellow death eaters that he would recover soon enough and for each of them to take a good long look at the body of Severus Snape. Unnecessary instructions, of course, for each death eater had duly observed the battered corpse of the former Hogwarts Potions master which still lay in the sitting room for all to see. The message came through loud and clear. This is what happens to traitors.
Peter checked on his master every half an hour or so, but as far as he could determine, no improvement was occurring. Finally in the early evening, Peter noticed Voldemort moving slightly in the bed. The death eater moved to the bedside.
The dim redness beneath the eyelids suddenly turned bright as Voldemort opened his eyes. Peter could see that his master remained in great distress from the stresses of the previous evening, when he tortured and murdered Snape.
Voldemort knew it as well. His condition would not improve. This was not the result of an illness that he could overcome, but the effects of powerful dark magic. Before his numerous transformations, before his banishment to oblivion by Harry Potter, before his difficult rebirth in the graveyard, Voldemort possessed the strength and stamina to withstand such magic, but obviously he could no longer manage in his weakened condition.
This left him with two options. Two terrible options. He could accept his disabled state and hope he improved enough to function. Or he could take the second option, the only way in which he could regain at least some of his health.
"Where is Nagini?" he whispered to Peter.
"He's in the corner, master. He has been with you all day."
Voldemort closed his eyes tightly for several seconds, a pained expression clearly visible to Peter.
Without opening his eyes, the dark lord softly ordered, "Leave me, Wormtail. I must be alone." Peter nodded servilely and moved towards the door. Just as he stepped through, he heard Voldemort hissing in Parseltongue.
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"What does he want to do in the lake?"
Draco shook his head in response to Remus Lupin's inquiry, "I don't know. None of us did. The few that would talk about it thought it was a waste of time. The dark lord doesn't spend time on explanations. Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that he is interested in the lake, more so than Hogwarts itself."
After his capture in Hogsmeade at breakfast, Remus led Draco outside the town's limits and then stunned him. When Draco awoke, he found himself on a simple bed in a windowless room dimly lit by two oil lamps on the barren walls. In one corner, he saw an open toilet and sink with a small white towel. He immediately patted himself to try to locate his wand, but then remembered that Remus confiscated it in Hogsmeade. The teen bowed his head as he sat on the edge of the bed, realizing that he may not touch another wand for the rest of his life. For all intents and purposes he had become what he had been taught to despise: a muggle.
How long he remained alone in the dim room, he did not know, for his watch had also been removed. Finally Remus and another man, tall, black and bald, entered the room and began to question him.
Draco told them everything he knew and made no attempt to conceal any information about the dark lord. At times he felt like a house elf disobeying a master's orders, but he knew that his future now depended on his cooperation. One way or the other, Voldemort would kill him if ever afforded the opportunity. The best he could hope for now was that he may be released from imprisonment prior to his death. Maybe he would be granted a few years of freedom as an old man.
After an hour passed, Remus and Kingsley decided to end this session. As they prepared to leave, Draco drummed up the courage to ask of his future.
"What's going to happen to me, Professor?" He thought using the word "professor" indicated respect and might help gain favor with him. Unfortunately, Remus' expression did not contain an ounce of compassion.
"That remains to be seen. For now, you will remain our prisoner. Some day we will deliver you to the Ministry. Make yourself comfortable. We'll bring you some reading material. This room is your new home." Remus did not delay further, and Kingsley shut and bolted the door. No doubt he placed a spell on it as well. Draco threw himself onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.
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Evan slipped away from his new partner, Veronica Singh, and closed the door of a storage closet. After placing locking and silencing spells, he pulled out the two-way mirror. He felt Harry's call a few minutes earlier. Tapping his mirror with his wand, the face of Harry Potter appeared, though looking away from the mirror, impatient from the wait.
"Hi, Harry," the auror greeted him, causing Harry to return his gaze to the other mirror, "I came as fast as I could."
Harry nodded and replied, "I know. Don't worry about it. I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to destroy another horcrux. You're welcome to enjoy the show if you want."
Evan sighed, knowing that he would be with Harry no matter what, but that slipping away from his new partner would be difficult.
"I'll be there, Harry. Where are you?"
"At Hogwarts, like we told you. We came this morning and found Tom Riddle's trophy. We're going to work on it soon. I can wait a little, but not too long. When can you be here?"
The two agreed that Evan would arrive between seven and eight in the evening, leaving Harry time to work with his friends to locate the furnace that Hermione alleged still existed at Hogwarts. She had not brought her own volume of Hogwarts: A History, but of course the library contained several of the heavy tomes, and she brought one back to the common room to find the passage. This ended up taking a good half hour, as the furnace only merited a brief mention, but finally she located the paragraph on page 828. She read it aloud to the others.
In centuries past, animal husbandry played a larger role in daily life at Hogwarts Castle than in more recent times. This resulted largely from the influence of muggle culture on the wizarding class, for muggles lacked the automated means of transportation that they now enjoy. When wizards visited muggle cities and towns, they needed to arrive by horse or carriage, and thus many kept the magnificent creatures at their residences. Of course, until recently, almost all wizards lived in rural areas suitable for raising horses and other domesticated animals. Until the middle of the nineteenth century, any self-respecting wizard, and indeed many witches, could ride as well as any muggle, and in addition to Quidditch, equestrian competitions also commonly took place on the castle grounds.
Of course, the maintenance of scores of animals required forging horseshoes, spurs, saddles, and similar equipment. While some items could be fashioned by magic, many wizards held to the belief that magically created equipment, especially horseshoes, did not match the quality of non-magically forged ironware. Thus the furnace located in the bowels of North Tower received continual use by skilled smiths of the time, and the more mechanically inclined students could learn the craft in addition to their regular studies. With the advent of modern transportation, use of the furnace gradually declined, and so far as anyone knows, it has not been fired since early in the twentieth century.
"The bowels of North Tower?" Ginny asked with a shiver, "That doesn't sound too inviting. I don't want to go to the bowels of anyplace."
"It just means that it's at the bottom of the tower," Hermione explained with a laugh, "Maybe even below ground level. I don't think we've ever been down there."
Harry listened intently but realized that he too could not picture that section of the castle, no longer utilized by the school. The other three looked expectantly at him, awaiting a comment, but instead he silently flicked his wand towards the dormitory rooms. A few seconds later, a rolled-up parchment whooshed down the stairs and a moment later landed softly in his hands. He rolled out the Marauder's Map on the low table among the chairs.
"Let's see what's on the map. I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
The others sat still for a few seconds, stunned for a moment by the ease with which Harry summoned the map. While summoning an object would not be considered difficult for a sixth or seventh-year student, it nevertheless should take a bit more effort than what Harry displayed. While they waited, the lines on the map began to form, and a few names appeared here and there.
"Did you even think, 'accio.' Harry," Ron asked disbelievingly, "It looked like you just flicked your wand without thinking anything."
"I must have," Harry replied casually, "The map's here, isn't it?" He leaned forward, looking for North Tower. The others merely looked at each other knowingly, and hunched over the map as well. Within a few minutes, they deduced the area of the castle where the old furnace must be, though they could not pinpoint it.
"Let's go down and see if we can find it," Ron suggested, and the four headed out the portrait door.
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"All of them. The Quibbler, Witches Weekly, Magical Mister, even Quidditch Weekly. The Ministry shut down all of them. A clean sweep."
William Oglesby nodded at the report, not in the least surprised. Rumors had been leaking almost by the hour, and clearly something big had to happen. No doubt, Scrimgeour had sicced his attack dogs on the Daily Prophet, and Oglesby would need to use all of his guile to remain a step ahead.
"Write it up," he instructed his employee, "Obviously, that will be our headline. Go!"
The reporter left, and Oglesby quickly summoned his assistant.
"We need to move again. It's too dangerous to stay here any longer. Give the order. After we finish tomorrow's edition, we're packing up again. Send Murphy and Patterson to place the protections on the new site."
The assistant rushed out of the make-shift office, and Oglesby ran a hand through his greying hair. The Prophet now would be the only independent voice in Britain, and the responsibility weighed on him. Now that Scrimgeour had formally given the order to shut down all press outlets, Oglesby's resistence constituted a crime. He did not consider himself a criminal and hated breaking "the law." In this case, however, he had no choice.
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The trek through "the bowels" of North Tower took the better part of an hour, as none of the four Gryffindors had ever visited this part of Hogwarts Castle. As far as they could tell, the entire section had been abandoned, not put to any use whatsoever. In fact, after taking several wrong turns, they did descend below ground level into a windowless wing as dark and depressing as the dungeons.
Peaking into several rooms, they deduced that in ages past, this part of the castle had been home to a number of different workshops, though the four sheltered youths knew little of such forgotten trades. An eerie quiet greeted them as they slowly meandered along, accompanied only by the sound of their footsteps and muted voices. They attempted to light the ancient lamps lining the wide stone hall, but only a third of them still functioned, shrouding them in semi-darkness.
Finally they reached the end of a hall where unexpectedly a door appeared instead of a solid stone wall. Harry as usual seemed least concerned by his surroundings and led the way, opening the door without hesitation, flicking his wand to light any lamps inside. Two of them flickered to life, and the four friends immediately recognized the large stone furnace at the opposite wall, charred black from centuries of use.
"It makes sense that it's here," Hermione reasoned, because we must be near the edge of the castle where the furnace can be vented. She gingerly stepped towards the elevated opening where wizards of yore spent hours before intense flames. Just looking at it made her feel warmer, which she welcomed in the coolness of the stone rooms.
Ginny approached as well, never having even heard of such a thing, much less viewing one.
"How does it work?" she asked.
"I'm not exactly sure," Hermione answered, "but the fire obviously goes in here." She pointed to the opening in the stone. "Then there should be a bellows of some kind to control the amount of oxygen to the fire." They all looked around, and in fact Ron discovered a large leather bellows leaning in the corner of the room, barely visible in the dim light.
"This has seen better days," he opined, displaying the cracked and torn leather on the centuries old tool. He removed his wand and to a simple "reparo" brought the bellows back to workable, if not pristine, condition.
Harry walked around the side of the stone furnace and found the small hole into which the tip of the bellows fit. He pointed it out to the others, and then walked around the furnace appraisingly.
"Should do the job," he commented confidently, "We'll come back when Harrington arrives. Let's eat dinner." Without waiting for any opposing viewpoints, Harry strode swiftly out the door. Left with no option, the others followed behind.
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Few teachers resided in the castle during the summer months, though they would start to trickle in before too long, as the September first opening date approached. Sybil Trelawny always remained, but she rarely emerged from her Divination classroom or nearby living quarters. Hagrid stayed, of course, but he normally preferred the outdoors and did not bother coming to the castle for meals. Thus Headmistress McGonagall saw no reason to eat in the Great Hall, and she had informed Harry as much in her letter.
"Dobby," Harry called as they discussed the dilemma on the way back to the common room. The elf appeared in a few seconds, this time clean and typically dressed with several colorfully knitted hats on his tiny head. "Do you know where we can eat?"
The diminutive elf excitedly replied, "Dobby tells other house elves that Harry Potter and his three friends are here. Dinner is ready for Harry Potter and his friends. House elves can serve it anywhere Harry Potter wants."
After returning to the common room and stuffing themselves on a huge amount of roast beef, potatoes and freshly-baked bread, the four hardly felt up to tackling another horcrux, but Harry felt the small two-way mirror vibrate in his pocket. Evan Harrington had arrived.
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After Peter Pettigrew left him, Lord Voldemort briefly spoke with Nagini, assuring himself of her presence. Then he sunk back into his pillows to consider his options one last time.
Much of his life had been invested in his immortality, not only the creation of horcruxes but also many other magical experiments on himself. Most of these experiments failed, yet he learned from each attempt, and little by little he managed to transform himself in ways that may seem horrifying to the average person. For him, however, each transformation carried him one step closer to his goals. It mattered not that he no longer resembled the handsome young Tom Riddle, nor that his appearance repulsed people.
He embarked on the creation of horcruxes almost on a lark, just as a means to safeguard his immortality until he could discover a new, better way. But he never did discover a better method, and ultimately he concentrated on the horcruxes. Nor just one or two, but six, thereby dividing his soul into seven pieces, the most significant number in magic. Certainly the process carried negative effects on his health and physical capabilities, but in no way did it affect his magical abilities. In the end, he felt is was worth the sacrifice.
Until Harry Potter ruined it. The plan never included nearly thirteen years in oblivion, stooping to the possession of vermin in order to survive. Nor did he ever expect to have to resurrect himself in the manner that he finally accomplished in the graveyard at Little Hangleton just two years earlier. All of this took a toll, though he admitted it to noone. Physically, he could barely function, and even his magic did not seem as sharp as before the incident with Potter.
Now Snape's betrayal forced Voldemort to take the action he had intentionally avoided. It HAD to be done; Snape could not be allowed to flee, for then others may follow. Death eaters did not love Lord Voldemort, nor did he seek their love. He required only their fear and respect, and by bringing Severus Snape to justice, any death eaters contemplating a similar action would think twice. Or more.
But it would all be for naught if he could not recover some semblance of physical health. How could he rule while barely alive in his bed? Only one course of action remained, one that he hated to take. Dumbledore destroyed the ring and the locket, Voldemort believed, while Potter inadvertently destroyed the diary, leaving just three horcruxes remaining. Now Voldemort himself would have to destroy another.
"Nagini," he hissed, "Come to my bed. I must talk to you."
The large dark-green serpent, well over ten feet long and nearly a foot in diameter, silently slithered up the side of the bed and coiled itself next to Voldemort's feet.
"What has happened to you, Master?" Nagini hissed, "Never have I seen you so ill. Cannot your wizards heal you with their spells or potions?"
Voldemort never regretted any of the numerous murders he committed during his life, and in fact enjoyed the act of killing immensely. Murder represented the ultimate exertion of power over another. This time, however, he preferred not to kill. If he cared about any creature other than himself, that creature would be Nagini.
But that mattered not. Nagini held a horcrux which Voldemort needed to reacquire, and reacquire it he would.
"You are a good and faithful servant, Nagini," Voldemort hissed, "And with your help, I shall regain my health." Just as he finished hissing, he pulled his wand from under the sheets and violently slashed it downward in Nagini's direction. The severing charm sliced cleanly through Nagini about a foot below its head, which fell to the side, bounced twice on the bed and then rolled out of sight to the floor. For several seconds, the remainder of the serpent's body twisted violently until finally the remnants of life left it. Blood spurted out of the severed neck, soaking the sheets and blankets.
Voldemort anxiously awaited the appearance of a piece of his soul, and once the snake's body came to rest, the tell-tale mist emerged slowly, beginning to swirl in the air. The mist ultimately formed into a miniature version of Lord Voldemort from years past, for Nagini was the second to last horcrux to be created, when Voldemort had already largely assumed his current appearance.
"Come to me," Lord Voldemort ordered, "You are needed within."
Without a word, the horcrux dissolved into mist again, and shot into Voldemort's midsection. A wave of relief passed through him, and he immediately felt improvement. Placing his head back on the pillow, he fell asleep.
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Though Evan Harrington only briefly met Ron and Ginny at the Burrow the previous day, Harry did not bother with additional introductions. Instead he briefly brought the auror up to date, and the five of them again made the trek to the ancient furnace. This time, Harry carried Tom Riddle's trophy with him.
Evan did not question the use of fire to destroy the trophy and release the horcrux. He sensed that in this area, he needed to defer to Harry, who knew much more about it than he. If Harry sensed that fire must be the method, so be it.
Though any of them could easily start a fire, they still needed something to burn, and as they scanned the bare stone room, they realized that they forgot to bring any fuel. This needed to be a true fire, not mere magical flames.
"What did they use in the furnace?" asked Ron, "Wood or coal?"
"I don't know," Evan responded, "but it doesn't matter. Hogwarts doesn't use coal, so we'll have to use wood."
Before the auror finished speaking, Harry had already pointed his wand towards the door, holding it steady and waiting. The others observed nervously for what seemed like minutes, but before long they could hear something approaching. Suddenly they ducked out of the way as log after log from Hagrid's wood pile came flying through the door, stacking themselves neatly. Within a few seconds, half a cord of wood lined the side wall.
"Is that enough?" Harry asked quietly.
"Should be," replied Evan, already grabbing two logs to throw into the furnace. Ron followed his lead, and soon a large pile nearly filled the fire chamber. Harry moved to the opposite wall and leaned against it, allowing Evan to direct the show. Hermione and Ginny moved next to him, one on each side. With a flick of his wand, Evan started the fire, and then threw flames from his wand to intensify it. Once the fire nearly filled the furnace, he looked at Harry, who still held the trophy. Evan nodded his head an inch.
Harry slowly stepped forward and felt the heat of the fire from across the room. Something inside him felt unsettled, not convinced that this would work. Nevertheless, he tossed the trophy into the middle of the fire. Evan used a long iron rod to move it into the hottest part of the furnace. Now they would wait.
After a minute, Evan again took the lead, inserting the bellows into the side hole and pumping air into the flames, causing them to leap high up the chimney. Though much of the heat escaped outside through the vent, the room nevertheless slowly heated to nearly sauna levels, and sweat began to drip off of everyone's faces. Evan continued to pump the bellows, occasionally instructing Ron to throw in more logs.
But the trophy remained in tact, completely unaffected. Even after ten minutes, the blazing fire did not appear to have heated the award at all, and Ron poked it with the iron rod to see if the gold may be softening. They could all hear the rod clank against the metal, hard as ever. The gold remained bright and even the smoke from the fire did not dull its finish.
This won't work, Harry gradually realized, Something is missing. He considered the other two horcruxes that he destroyed, the diary and the locket. One he stabbed and one he smashed with a hammer. Could fire simply not be the right medium to destroy this artifact? He paced back and forth, clearly agitated, wishing to take action himself.
When the answer dawned on him. He had to attack the horcrux himself. This needed to be a battle between him and it. He gritted his teeth, and Ginny and Hermione flinched when they saw his eyes briefly glow again.
Without warning, Harry rushed towards the furnace, wand outstretched, yelling, "INFLAMMARE!" An intense beam of fire emerged from the tip of the wand, boring through the flames of the fire and striking the side of the gold shield. His face screwed itself into an ugly grimace, as he concentrated on channeling all of his power into the flames shooting out of the wand.
Evan stopped pumping the bellows, and moved a few steps next to Ron where he could observe Harry more clearly. The two girls instinctively sought each other out, expressions of fear on their faces.
"He knows what he's doing," Hermione whispered to Ginny, "Just trust it. Stay back when the horcrux emerges."
Within seconds, sweat began pouring off of Harry's brow, and within a minute, his plain black t-shirt dripped moisture, completely saturated. Evan marveled at Harry's endurance, for most wizards could hold a normal inflammare spell for no more than ten or fifteen seconds. As he mutely observed, he remembered back to auror training, when they used this same spell in training exercises. To pass the test, an auror needed to be able to maintain the flame for a minimum of thirty seconds. By now, Harry surpassed three minutes, producing a flame of an intensity Evan did not believe possible.
Evan knew that Harry Potter was not a normal wizard, and previously he accepted intellectually that the boy could defeat Lord Voldemort, the most feared dark wizard in centuries. But now, witnessing the boy attacking the horcrux in such a spectacular way, he felt it. This boy really could succeed. More than ever, he knew that he made the right decision to abandon his oath.
Ron and Evan also sweated profusely in the intense heat, but they maintained their positions, staring into the fire. Finally they noticed a dark brown spot forming on the side of the trophy, growing larger every second.
"It's working, Harry," Ron yelled over the roaring fire, "Keep it up! You can do it!"
By now, sweat pour off of Harry's body from every inch of skin, and he felt exhaustion overcoming him, yet he saw the initial damage to the horcrux too, and Ron's shouted encouragement heartened him. The brown spot soon expanded to cover the entire trophy, and then the color deepened into a brittle black. Harry felt faint and tried to breath, but the intense heat prevented him from more than shallow gasps. I'm so close, he thought, Just a little more.
"YES!" screamed Ron when suddenly a crack zigzagged along the surface of the shield, "Almost, Harry. Finish it off!"
"Arrrrrrg," growled Harry, for the first time making a sound, and the fire from his wand turned nearly completely blue. Just as he collapsed to his knees, Tom Riddle's trophy shattered, tiny pieces of brittle gold spraying inside and out of the furnace. Harry lowered his wand and fell sideways to the stone floor, then rolling onto his back. He lost consciousness.