Chapter 33 – Entrapment

Professor Slughorn had taken great pains in ensuring that his store cupboard of ingredients was always well maintained, so that locating a particular jar or vial would never be too difficult. There was still however, a certain hesitation in his manner whilst picking out the ingredients for a Potion of Entrapment. The last time he had brewed it in front of a class had been over thirty years ago, and the resulting incident had earned him a caution from the Ministry.

Bearing this in mind, he climbed his stepladder and took a small jar down from a high shelf that contained a branch of strange dried purple leaves.

Before returning to Professor Moody's study, he prepared the basis for the potion which could have been one of many. The combination of substances to follow, on the other hand, was one of a kind. He moved cautiously on his way, keeping his cauldron and leather bag of ingredients as steady as possible.

The sweat was pouring off him by the time he plodded in through the door.

"Any trouble?" Moody demanded.

Slughorn sneered.

"None, as a matter of fact," he replied, "but what kind of 'trouble' do you imagine would have compared to what could happen in the next few minutes? Whether you like it or not, we're all facing the unknown, so I hope you have all your affairs in order."

Without another word, he conjured a small fire in the middle of the floor and levitated the cauldron above it. In a very short while, the room was filled with the scent that Harry had always associated with the beginning of a potions lesson, but it was a scent that changed with every new liquid or powder that was added. Moody, being an auror with particular knowledge of poisons, was making suspicious observations, such as "That stuff's a little hard to come by, isn't it?" and "Bloody hellfire, Horace, if the Ministry caught you using those nowadays…".

Finally, Professor Slughorn slowly drew two small glass jars from his bag and set them down upon the wooden stool beside him. He opened the one containing the dried purple leaves and fished three of them out.

"Take this and crumble it between your fingers," he warned, handing them a leaf each, "Then stick it under your noses and inhale its aroma as deeply as you can."

Exchanging inquisitive glances, Harry and Moody did as they were instructed. It was a slightly bitter perfume that filled Harry's nostrils, and one that very nearly made his eyes water. The professor then followed suit with the remaining leaf and uncorked the other bottle. This one contained a greenish black liquid that appeared to fizz and gargle a little with small, slimy white bubbles rise continuously from the bottom.

"Is that…Grindylow blood?" questioned Moody, his nose still twitching from the smell of the leaf.

"I'm glad to see I taught you well," Slughorn replied, with as much of his jovial smile as he could manage, "Bit of a loner but always an attentive pupil, I seem to remember."

He then took a broad silver spoon and held it, downward-facing, over the now simmering, sapphire tinted potion, then allowed a thin dribble to pour from the bottle over it, which then dripped delicately into the cauldron. A spiralling mist arose from the surface, commanding the attention of everyone in the room, including, they hoped, the soul that lay dormant in the crystal ball.

"So is that it?" Moody enquired, "Do we just wait?"

"No, not quite," said Slughorn awkwardly, "There must be one ingredient added that the…erm…spirit could identify and seek out. A kind of bait that is unique to the case in hand."

Harry could see exactly where this was heading before he had even finished speaking, and exhaled with the deepest annoyance. He could almost hear the creaking of neck muscles as the two professors simultaneously turned their heads to face him, like the sound of his own doom. It was quite obvious that no amount of protest would have the slightest effect.

"Oh, go ahead, throw me in the bloody cooking pot!" he blurted out in exasperation, "But this had better work!"

"Steady on there, Potter," said Professor Slughorn reassuringly, "A few drops of the old claret are all we need. One prick with a knife on the end of your finger, nothing more."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, he was scared, and once again wished he was just a muggle with only a muggle's problems to worry about. With a sigh of acceptance, he held out his hand.

"Give me the knife then."

He felt the touch of cold metal against his skin and opened his eyes to find himself holding a gleaming silver knife, just like he had once used for potion making. Unwilling to delay this any more than was necessary, he stepped forward and resolutely made a slicing movement with the blade across the top of his index finger. With his arm outstretched, he pressed against the side of the wound until he heard the delicate splashing sound on the surface of the liquid, turning away as he did so. The sight of his blood dripping into a cauldron didn't inspire the happiest of memories.

As he stepped back, Moody took his hand and closed the cut with a flick of his wand, giving him an encouraging wink. The mist emanating from the potion had now turned a crimson red, and all eyes had now returned to the seeing stone, which now began to judder from side to side on its base. They advanced upon it with the kind of caution that would allow them to retreat at any time.

"All part of being an auror," Moody remarked as he saw Harry's hand tremble as it gripped his wand, "Dealing with the unexpected, I mean."

Harry steadied himself as bravely as he could. No matter what Slughorn had intended, the potion was certainly having some sort of effect on the Horcrux. It was shaking more violently now, and the coloured smoke inside it was moving around far more rapidly. He turned to the old potions master who stood beside him.

"I think Tom might be waking up."

At that moment, a thin, jagged sliver of light etched itself down the centre of the seeing stone. Though it began to widen, like a tear opening up in a piece of fabric, the glass itself seemed to remain intact. For a few seconds, nobody even dared to breathe.

"What the…?" gasped Harry, as the smoke inside appeared to move effortlessly through the glass without damaging it in the slightest.

What was formerly a ballet of colour inside the ball now became like a storm cloud of ever-darkening mist as it flooded from the light. As it hovered in the air above them, it began to take the shape of a face. A pair of thin eyes, a slightly flattened nose, and finally a mouth became visible, as the three of them continued to stare in amazement. The face looked blankly down upon them, its nose moving a little upwards as it floated in the scent of the Entrapment potion. Moody looked back down at the Horcrux, which now seemed to be nothing but an empty ball of crystal, but the light remained like a portal.

"Stand back," he said slowly.

As he raised his wand, the face of smoke turned to him, suddenly contorted in anger. Floating forward menacingly, it then confronted Harry and Professor Slughorn. Then, as Harry opened his mouth to speak, the face dissolved into a stream of mist that went hurtling down his throat so fast that he barely even had time to choke.

The world in front of Harry turned to darkness. His eyes slowly glazed over in purest black, and all he could hear was a pair of voices in his head whispering feverishly to each other in parseltongue. He tried to make out what they were saying, but was too distracted by the feeling that his insides were being poisoned. The bile was attempting to rise forcefully from his stomach and his heart began to freeze up within his chest, as if it were now circulating ice-cold water instead of blood.

Standing rooted to the spot and convulsing violently, Harry felt an overpowering urge to kill. He wanted one or even both of the professors to attack him, just so he could feel justified in murdering the two of them without a moment's reflection. What disturbed him further was how much he wished that Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were in the room, so that he could revel in slowly torturing them all to death. Yes, one of the voices told him. See how much pain they can stand first. Make them torture each other before you put them out of their misery!

He then felt a hand grasp his arm and turned his head sharply. Now! His other hand, still shaking, groped blindly for his wand, when he heard a loud crack and the sound of breaking glass. There was a panic inside his head as the feeling slowly returned to his limbs. He could make out blurry shapes in front of his eyes as his legs buckled beneath him. There was just enough time to feel a slight warmth return to his organs before he lost consciousness.

While Moody examined the remains of the shattered Horcrux, Professor Slughorn searched about his pockets for some smelling salts as he watched the black smoke pour from Harry's mouth and gradually disperse as it mingled with the vapours of Entrapment. There were questions that would need answers, but it was silently agreed that now was not the time.