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…And Accusations – "If all that is good considers you evil, are you?" – Godslayer, Mercedes Lackey
The month of November blew in with a ferocious howl and a mighty gust of snow, coating every exposed object in a heavy sheet of sparkling white. No one dared venture outside for fear of getting lost in the whirling ice storms. The first Hogsmeade trip of the year had been cancelled, but no one seemed to care much.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione definitely had enough on their minds. Every free moment they had was spent practicing new spells and attempting to decipher the apparent gibberish their teachers had decided to start handing out for homework. Fortunately, it wasn't so much bookwork and essays they had to write up this year; seventh year classes were more focused on the practical and theoretical sides of magic. The three of them reserved a corner of the common room each evening and occupied it for the better part of the night to interpret Transfiguration theories or discuss the effects of combining spells or the usage of a Hover Charm instead of a Levitation Charm.
"I don't get it," Ron grumbled, glaring at Alternative Charms for the Advanced Caster. "They have the same effect and – "
"No, they don't," Hermione interrupted irritably, without even looking up from her search for an Obliteration Charm. Ron waited expectantly for her to continue, but after Hermione flipped to the back of the book, it was evident she'd forgotten about him.
"Well?" Ron said.
"Well what?" Hermione said absently. "It says it should be on page 168…"
"Try 186," Harry suggested. He had been making an effort to spend at least ten minutes each day clearing his mind of all emotion; his Occlumency lessons had started the week before. The subject, which apparently fell under the jurisdiction of the new Transfiguration teacher, was going fairly well. The young, lively man had nearly been as much of a hit as Professor Drake, and he was a damn sight nicer than Snape.
"186?" Hermione asked.
"Sometimes the books are messed up."
"Hey!" Ron said loudly, plainly annoyed at being ignored.
"What?" Hermione snapped, her eyes glued to her book.
"Aren't you going to tell me what differences the effects of a Hover Charm and a Levitation Charm have?"
"I think seventeen is a good age to start figuring things out for yourself," Hermione said exasperatedly. "It's all in the book, just look it up…Oh, here it is! Thanks, Harry."
Harry grunted in response, eyes shut. Ron made a face at her before turning back to his book, glaring at it as though it had been very rude to him. There followed a huffy sort of silence, which Harry was grateful for; it was much easier to concentrate when there wasn't bickering in the background. It wasn't long, though, before Ron opened his mouth again.
"Slughorn having any of his parties this year?" he asked in what he probably thought was a casual tone; Harry cracked one eye open and caught him glancing at Hermione.
Of course, he wouldn't voice any objections if Ron and Hermione ever started going out together; on the contrary, he'd be quite happy for them. But it would turn out to be uncomfortable if they split up for some reason or another, which would surely wreck any semblance of friendship between them. Either way, Harry thought it was high time the two of them acknowledged that they fancied each other; there wasn't time for indecision anymore.
"I hope not," Hermione said, still not deigning to give Ron a glance. "They weren't quite my idea of a Friday night."
Ron looked very put out. "But maybe – "
"I don't think McGonagall would allow them," Harry said, getting up off the sofa. Clearing his mind was getting easier and easier. He picked up Advanced Transfiguration and found the page they'd been studying during class, and attempted once again to work out how the witch in Figure A was flicking her wrist. "Too much going on."
"Not even for Christmas?" Ron didn't bother hiding his disappointment anymore.
Hermione finally looked up; whether it was to face Ron, or because she'd finished with the Obliteration Charm, Harry couldn't tell. "Who knows?" she shrugged, clearly uninterested, as she set her book down. "But party or not, we can't go – your mum's invited us to your house for Christmas, remember?"
"Oh yeah – yeah!" Ron said, his eyes lighting up. "And Fred and George'll be there – "
"It's a perfect place to study and practice," Hermione said severely.
Harry rolled his eyes at this as he discarded his book; Figures A-D were all too ambiguous. "That sounds fun," he said tonelessly.
Hermione gave him a withering look. "It will be. Now don't you have a Charms theory to comprehend?"
"…Despite the persistent rumors flying about the mysterious disappearance of Mr. Hayes of Durham, Ministry of Magic officials have recently determined that he had merely gotten drunk at a local pub, stumbled into the next town over, and spent the night in a horse stable. He has been restored to his home and is in fine condition. Although he declined to comment on his escapade, he assures the public that it had nothing to do with Death Eaters."
With a loud humph, Hermione looked up in disgust from the morning's issue of the Daily Prophet, though Harry couldn't tell whether her condescension was directed at the article or at Ron, who had nearly fallen off the bench in his mirth.
"Honestly," she muttered, giving the paper an irritated ruffle. "Don't they have better things to report on? Death Eaters are rampaging the country and they fill half a column about some crazy drunken codger…"
Harry remained silent as he shoveled waffles into his mouth. Whatever frustration Hermione had felt about the Ministry and the reporters of the Daily Prophet in the past had grown about tenfold in the last month, and nearly anything could set her off.
"It's called comic relief, Hermione, ever heard of it?" Ron said as he sat back up, still weak from his bout of self-strangling laughter.
"There's a certain time for everything, including comic relief, but this wasn't one of them," Hermione snapped.
"You're just too snippy to appreciate humor," Ron said matter-of-factly.
Harry could see that Hermione wasn't listening – her eyes were scanning the paper so fast he reckoned they were being powered by motors.
"What'd you find?" Ron asked, his
demeanor all seriousness once he noted Hermione's expression. She
ignored him and kept on reading, eyes narrowing as she went further
and further on.
"Bloody hell," Ron said at last, snatching the
paper from her hands to see for himself what was so shocking.
"Ron, no – "
Ron held the paper out of her reach. "Come off it, Hermione, I just want to see…"
Harry took one look at Hermione's dismayed face and leaned over Ron's shoulder as he began to read aloud.
--
THE CHOSEN ONE: HOW MUCH RESPONSIBILITY SHOULD HE TAKE?
With the recent death of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, at the hands of former colleague Severus Snape, the entire Wizarding world has been abuzz. Many families are shocked that such an esteemed and influential man could be attacked within his own school. The incident has prompted many parents to withhold their children from attending Hogwarts this year. "If the Headmaster can be attacked by a teacher, then how do we know our kids are safe? I'm not risking it," said Mrs. Madley of Shropshire, mother of would-be fourth-year Laura Madley.
But the school environment is not the only thing the Wizarding people are worried about. Reports of sacked towns and village raids have increased threefold in the past month. Hit Wizards and Aurors are on constant alert as Death Eaters roam the country, supposedly under the direction of their resurrected leader, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Sightings of the Dark Mark have also increased, striking fear and apprehension into the hearts of countless citizens.
Although this scene is eerily evocative of the First War, some people believe that this Second War will be different. Known for over a decade as the Boy Who Lived and now dubbed "The Chosen," Harry Potter is considered by well over half the population to be the imminent savior of the world and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's true nemesis. But the future hero of the Wizarding world is still in school. So just how much of this war is he responsible for, and how much is the Ministry of Magic?
"He's still just a kid," Mr. Johnston of Cheshire told reporters. "People might think he can save the world, but we can't expect so much from a seventeen-year-old. It's the Ministry that should be stepping up." Mr. Carpenter of Suffolk believes differently: "People are dying here, every day, because nothing is happening. No one's working to prevent the destruction and the killing. The boy's the bloody Chosen. He should be out here, bloody doing something, instead of sitting all nice and cozy inside that school." Mrs. Flynn, a recent victim of a Death Eater raid, echoes these sentiments. "He survived the Killing Curse once, didn't he? And they say he's defied You-Know-Who twice as many times as the most powerful wizard in the world. Well, if he's so bloody brilliant, let's see him do something about this!" Mr. Kindlon, a former Auror, is firmly against these arguments. "We all remember the days of the First War. Even the best Aurors, the greatest Hit Wizards, and the finest witches and wizards of the century couldn't stand against You-Know-Who. It's ridiculous and immature to expect a student, no matter how extraordinary, to face him. If he really is the only hope we have, we shouldn't be sending him out into hell willy-nilly."
Whoever the populace deems accountable for the devastation, one thing is certainly true: The effects of the Second War are spreading across the country, and spreading fast. With the threat of more danger and violence and The Chosen's capabilities uncertain, the question still lingers in the minds of all: Exactly who can the Wizarding world count on to end this war?
--
Ron allowed his hands to drop the paper into his lap. The chatter of the Great Hall slowly faded from Harry's mind.
If he's so bloody brilliant, let's see him do something about this!
People are dying here, every day.
"Harry," Hermione said tentatively. "Harry?"
Harry turned around slowly to look at her. He could hear what they all but said aloud: It's because of you. Everything was because of him. The raids, the killing, the looting, the destruction and fear and chaos – it was all because of him. Because he wasn't doing anything. He sat here in the castle, day after day, safe and oblivious to the suffering and pain. He could envision children screaming in his head as they watched their parents being murdered, could imagine the Death Eaters laughing as they burned down houses.
They were right; they were all right. He should be out there, fighting, searching, doing something. Even though he knew, in a place lost deep in his mind, that he couldn't afford to go about acting as if this was just another ordinary school year, it was hard to concentrate when comfort and indulgence surrounded him.
He thought about the Horcruxes every day, every waking moment, but what good did thinking do? Thinking never solved anything; actions did. And even if he did find the Horcruxes and started destroying them, nobody would know about it. Keeping it a secret meant that he would still be blamed for not trying, charged with lounging around and hiding.
He knew that the Death Eaters – and, ultimately, Voldemort – were slaughtering to get at him - to get this sort of reaction from people. They were killing and destroying as a lure, because they knew as well as any that he wouldn't be able to stay hiding for long while others died for him. They knew that he knew he could stop the murdering, the ravaging, the torturing, if he just turned himself in. It was their plan, and it was working.
He drifted from class to class the rest of the day, only half-listening to what his teachers were saying. Hermione took down most of the notes for him as he sat in the back of classrooms, staring hard into space, plagued by the accusations, the guilt. There were so many things he should have done – try to find Voldemort, try to find a Horcrux, figure out the Death Eaters' next move. He was wasting his time, learning about Snapping Gorbellums and Altering Charms and Fulbert the Fearful.
He met Ginny in the corridor after his last free period. She said something to her friends before breaking away from them, weaving through the crowd until she reached him. Dropping her bag on the floor, she pulled him into a tight hug
"Hermione told me," she whispered in his ear. "Don't listen to them. You're doing all you can.
He closed his eyes and rested his chin on her shoulder for a moment, breathing in her flowery scent. She squeezed his hand as she released him
"I'll see you later, okay?" she said, picking up her bag. "You should get to class, too." She smiled at him before hurrying away toward the stairs
He sighed and made his way toward Potions, where Slughorn announced that they would begin brewing Wit-Sharpening Potions. Harry reached down into his bag and pulled out Advanced Potion-Making. It was the Half-Blood Prince's copy – he tossed it on his desk and glared at it.
Slughorn began writing down instructions on the board. Harry sluggishly got up to gather his ingredients and accidentally bumped into Theodore Nott, one of the few remaining seventh-year Slytherins. But instead of making some snarky comment, as Harry had expected, he murmured a quick apology and continued on his way. Harry stared at his back until Hermione prodded him. "Did you see that?" he demanded.
"See what?" Hermione asked, directing him toward the cabinet where the sneezewort was kept
"Nott," Harry said, jerking his head at the weedy Slytherin. "He just passed up a perfect chance at taunting a Gryffindor.
"I always thought he was one of the more decent ones," Hermione said musingly as she picked out several herbs. She passed some to Harry before closing the cabinet back up. "Besides, he's outnumbered now.
This was true; compared to the usual number of Gryffindors, there were only four Slytherins left. But still, it wasn't quite like a Slytherin to passively face a Gryffindor. And he had apologized.
"Stop worrying about it," Hermione told him as she began crushing her beetle wings. "If you think about it, it's actually a good thing. House unity, you know?
"Well, yeah…" Of course he wanted House unity, but this was so abrupt. He had expected fierce resistance from the Slytherins. Then again, just because one boy had gotten over his bloody Slytherin ego didn't mean they all had
He turned back to his potion and toiled over it wordlessly for the rest of the period, glancing only sparingly at his book. The potion soon became the desired shade of puce, but Harry couldn't detect the "distinctly invigorating odour" Slughorn had said it would have. Sighing, he went back and reread the directions, checking to see he'd done all the steps correctly
By the end of class, he and Hermione were the only ones who received a satisfactory nod for their potions
"When did you suddenly get so good at potions?" Ron asked sullenly, looking down upon his molasses-like potion with a dour face
Harry shrugged. "Mum's genes finally kicked in, I reckon.
"You can't inherit potion-making skills," Hermione said, shaking her head as she packed up her bag
Ron raised an eyebrow at her. "Why not? If Harry's mum was good at it, why can't she have passed them down?
"Wonder what happened with you, then," Hermione smirked. "Your parents are both decent.
"Hey!" Ron said indignantly, his face going red
"It was a joke, Ron," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Anyhow, we've both got patrol duty tonight. Let's go.
"Patrol duty?" Ron groaned
Hermione put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "You're still a prefect, aren't you?" she demanded. "Now hurry up, or we'll be late.
"All right, all right…
"We'll see you later, Harry," Hermione said, waving to him as she towed Ron down the corridor
"See you," Harry called back. He watched them disappear around the corner, still bickering, and let his hand drop to his side. Sighing, he slowly turned around and started toward Gryffindor tower. The corridors were nearly empty already, and his footsteps echoed and rang in his ears
He turned around the corner and nearly ran into a girl with large, dreamy eyes and radish earrings dangling from her ears
"L-Luna!" Harry stuttered in surprise as Luna's books fell to the floor. He hurriedly bent down to help her pick them up
"Hello, Harry," Luna said in her usual vague tone, piling books into her arms. "I haven't seen you in a while.
"Er, yeah," Harry said, placing Beastes of Magicale Mythe on top of her stack. He suddenly noticed a folded copy of the Daily Prophet under her arm. "Read that, have you?" he asked with forced casualness, nodding at the newspaper as they set off down the corridor.
"Most of it," she answered, shifting the books so that their weight was on her hip. "There was an article about you."
He nodded, now accustomed to her directness. "Yeah.
"What do you think about it?
"Er…what?
"The article. Do you think you're responsible for what's happening?
Harry stared at her, but she didn't seem to notice.
"My dad doesn't," she went on calmly, as if she hadn't just asked if he thought he should be accused of negligent murder. "He says nothing's your fault – or anybody else's fault either, really. Except Voldemort, of course."
"I dunno," Harry said darkly, looking down at his shoes. "I don't think it's my responsibility to protect everyone, but… Well, everyone expects me to be doing stuff. Everyone expects me to be the hero, to go and just kill Voldemort already. But it's not that easy," he said angrily, wishing there was something handy to kick. "I suppose I could go out there and tell Voldemort to come and face me, but what good would that do? I don't know anything; not enough to kill him. I'm trying as hard as I can, but that's not good enough for anybody."
Luna was quiet for a moment, and they walked along in silence. Harry scuffed the toe of his trainers on the floor, his hands shoved in his pockets. "It doesn't matter," she said at last, "what other people think. As long as you know what's right, why should you let what other people say make you doubt yourself?"
Harry shrugged uncomfortably. Why should he care? They didn't know what was going on. They were just complaining because they didn't know the truth, the whole story.
"People always say what they want," Luna said. "Our neighbors used to call my mum crazy, and told her she should be sent to the loony bin. But she didn't care, because she knew that Dad and I didn't think that way. She knew that her family thought she was the most wonderful woman in the world.
They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, who was chatting with her friend Violet over a cup of tea. "Oh," Harry said, furrowing his brows. "Er, isn't Ravenclaw Tower the other way? You didn't have to come all the way over here."
"There's a shortcut over this way," Luna said, smiling serenely at him. "It was nice talking with you.
"Hey, er, Luna," Harry said quickly as she turned to leave. She looked back at him, her pensive eyes unabashedly settling on his hesitant gaze. "I – uh, thanks. Thanks for…that.
"You're welcome," Luna said. There was a hint of amusement in her voice.
"So why didn't Horatio the Heroic just Apparate? It should've been easy if he was so great and all."
"If you ask me that one more time, I'm going to shove this quill – "
"All right, all right," Ron said hastily, retreating from an irascible Hermione with The Dark Arts Outsmarted clutched in his hands. "I was just curious," he muttered to Harry.
"It was 'cause the pyramids had enchantments on them, like the ones at Hogwarts, so you can't Apparate in or out," Harry supplied. He was sitting cross-legged in one the armchairs in front of the common room fire, putting on the pretense of practicing Occlumency while actually stealing glances at Ginny, who was perched on the arm of the couch writing an essay for Herbology and humming to herself.
He felt incredibly restless, being stuck inside with nothing to do but read the same sentences over and over again and watch Ron and Hermione quarrel over whether Merwyn the Malicious or Grimwald the Gray was the better caster of the Quintapeddling Curse. The Legacy: The Founders' Roade to Hogwarts lay open on his lap, but he'd given up trying to read it about an hour ago. Aside from the ubiquitous 'e's at the end of every word, he was getting thoroughly annoyed at the lack of relevant information in the library's books.
Practicing spells and reviewing class notes took his mind off things for a while, but the problem of the Horcruxes always came back to beat him around the head. The fact that people were dying because of him still stung, even though it had already been four days since Luna had soothed his anguished conscience. Nobody – not him, not Ron or Hermione or McGonagall or the rest of the Order – had managed to find any Horcruxes yet, and here he was stealing glances at a girl while pretending to learn Occlumency. Granted, she was a very pretty girl…
He shook his head, grunting in frustration. He always got sidetracked.
But then again, he wasn't the only one.
Ron's eyes kept abandoning The Dark Arts Outsmarted to find what was apparently a much more interesting target, which was currently scanning a book twice the size of an encyclopedia. Harry caught Ginny's eye, and together they smirked at Ron's oh-so-obvious stare. It was a wonder he wasn't drooling.
At the slightest movement, he'd snap his eyes back to his own book and give a hackneyed cough.
"Are you all right, Ron?" Hermione asked once, after a particularly guilty-sounding bout of coughing. Harry had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing. "You don't need a glass of water or anything?"
"Er - what?" His face was extremely red; across the room on the couch, Ginny had her first in her mouth. "Uh, no! No, it's nothing, just…you know…coughing…"
Hermione looked unconvinced. "Positive?"
"Yeah, yeah," Ron said airily, nodding with a big fake smile. Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to her book. Harry tried to compose himself and flipped through a couple pages of The Legacy.
"Well, I'm done for tonight," Ginny said, letting loose a yawn. Gathering her parchment, quill, and inkbottle, she bade them all goodnight and kissed Harry on the cheek before disappearing up the stairs.
"I think I'll go to bed, too," Hermione said with a sigh, closing her book. "Are you two going to stay here?"
"Er, no," Ron said hastily, stuffing his half-written essay into a book as he leapt to his feet. "Really tired today."
Hermione looked pointedly at the parchment sticking out of Ron's book, but thought better of mentioning it. "You coming too, Harry?"
"Guess so," Harry shrugged, shoving his books into his bag.
"Good night," Hermione said as she headed to up to the girls' dormitories.
"'Night," Harry called as he and Ron climbed the stairs to their own dorms. Ron kept looking back over his shoulder and nearly ran into the door.
Inside the cozy circular room, Neville, Dean, and Seamus were already asleep. Harry dropped his bag at the foot of his bed and changed into his pajamas.
"Night, Ron," he whispered before pulling his curtains shut. There was a muffled reply as Harry took off his glasses and placed them on the bedside table. With a sigh, he lay back in his bed, sinking back into the soft covers…
Harry dreamed he was flying a Quidditch match against Slytherin, chasing the Snitch alongside Malfoy, who kept shouting snide comments about Sirius; Harry reached out and punched him in the face. Malfoy slowly fell off his broom, falling in a cloud of rippling robes to the ground, which suddenly seemed very, very far away… Harry looked back toward the Snitch, only to find that it had tripled in size and its wings transformed into giant claws. It reversed direction and whizzed through the air, now chasing him… He pointed his Firebolt straight down without a second thought, urging it on faster and faster until his eyes watered…and then Ginny was coming toward him on her own broom, grinning… But before he could reach her, Malfoy reappeared from below and grabbed her, careening into the air with her, up, up, away… Harry could heard her screaming his name, and he wrenched his Firebolt around, ready to shoot back up, but he'd forgotten about the giant Snitch; it slammed into him, and he flew off his broom to land painfully on the ground, where he found Snape leering at him… Someone wrenched his hands behind his back, binding them tightly with a cord, and suddenly he was surrounded by masses of black-hooded people chanting something he couldn't understand. Bellatrix Lestrange stepped forward, sneering at him… "You've met your end, little Potty, it's time you rejoin the worthless bastard you call your godfather in hell…the devil's been waiting for you…" He couldn't move, couldn't breathe… And then someone lit his head on fire…
"Harry!"
Harry's eyes snapped open, quite as involuntarily as if someone had tied strings to his eyelids and yanked them up. He found himself staring up into a face surrounded by a large mass of bushy hair. There was a hand over his mouth that prevented him from screaming – and breathing.
"Harry's it's me!" said a voice, which Harry soon recognized as Hermione's. His forehead felt damp, like he'd just stepped out of the shower. Hermione slowly took her hand off his mouth and he lay there, looking up at her in exasperation and breathing heavily.
"Hermione, what are you doing here?" he demanded quietly, noticing it was still dark outside. The dream was already fading away, leaving nothing but soft murmurs and cackles in his mind. He reached for his glasses. "What time is it?"
"It's five – but that's not important," Hermione said impatiently, sitting down on his bed. "I just thought of something."
"And it was so urgent that you had to wake me up at five?" Harry asked, feeling extremely disgruntled.
"Yes, it was," Hermione said firmly.
Harry's curtains were suddenly swept aside and Ginny was there, dragging a grumbling Ron behind her.
"This better be good," Ron grumbled as he fell face-first into the foot of Harry's bed.
"It is, now move over," Ginny growled, shoving Ron's feet to one side as she climbed up to sit next to Harry.
Harry looked from her to Hermione and back to her in bewilderment. "What's going on?"
"We think we've found a Horcrux," she whispered.
"A Horcrux?" Ron said, lifting his head up.
"Not so loud!" Ginny hissed.
"No, it's all right, I cast a Muffling Charm," Hermione assured her.
"A Horcrux?" Harry repeated in disbelief, his dream completely forgotten. "You found a Horcrux?"
"We think we found a Horcrux," Hermione corrected.
"How?" Ron asked incredulously.
"It just sort of…came up," Ginny said, shrugging. "Hermione and I were thinking about the fake locket, and, well…remember when we were at Grimmauld Place two years ago?"
Harry nodded stiffly.
"I remembered that one day, when we were cleaning the place up, that we found some weird things in one of the glass cabinets. There was a box full of Wartcap powder and this creepy music box, stuff like that. And there was a locket. None of us could open it so we chucked it."
Realization dawned on Harry. "You think…that might've been the real locket?" he asked slowly. He reached over Ginny and opened the drawer under his bedside table. He lifted the fake locket out of the drawer and held it up.
"But we can't remember what we did with it," Hermione said softly. "Sirius might've thrown it out."
Damn. "But how would Sirius have had it?" he asked.
"Not Sirius," Ginny said, shaking her head. "His family - his brother, specifically."
"R.A.B., Harry," Hermione elaborated. "Sirius' brother's name was Regulus. And he was a Death Eater."
Regulus Black. Sirius' brother was R.A.B.?
"He died young, remember?" Ginny said. "He might've had a change of heart and tried to back out, taking the locket with him, but he was killed before he could destroy it."
"How would Regulus have been able to get the Horcrux in the first place, though?" Ron asked. "You-Know-Who can't have been telling just anyone where he hid them."
"Well, maybe someone let it slip. But there's only one way to check, isn't there?" Harry said grimly. Taking a deep breath, he called out, "Kreacher!"
There was a blinding flash of light, a loud cracking noise, and a sudden weight on Harry's knees.
"Harry Potter sir!" squeaked a familiar voice.
"Dobby?" Harry said dubiously.
"Filthy Mudblood is near Kreacher," another voice hissed.
Well, there's Kreacher.
"Shut up, you," Ron snarled.
"Dobby, why are you here?" Harry asked. He could now make out the small shapes of the two house-elves, both of whom had hold of the other's ears as they stood on Harry's knees.
"Kreacher is being naughty, sir, so I is watching him!" Dobby said, giving one of Kreacher's ears a sharp tug.
Kreacher screeched something incoherent as he bit at Dobby's elbow, prompting Dobby to flail his little feet at Kreacher's stomach.
"Silencio," Ginny muttered, waving her wand at the scrabbling elves, while Hermione murmured, "Petrificus totalus."
Kreacher's hands snapped to his sides, but as he still had hold of Dobby's ears, Dobby fell forward with him, yelling noiselessly. Hermione freed Dobby's ears and moved Kreacher off Harry's knees.
Dobby stepped over to stand in front of Ginny, looking sheepish.
"Finite incantatem," Hermione said, pointing at Dobby.
"Dobby is sorry, sir," he said shamefacedly. "Dobby is supposed to be watching Kreacher, sir, because he is always hiding and not doing his work."
Sounds like Kreacher, Harry thought darkly. "Thanks, Dobby," he said, managing to give the downcast house-elf a smile. Dobby beamed back at him. "Er – if you don't mind, we've got to talk to Kreacher for a moment."
Dobby nodded enthusiastically. "Of course, sir. Dobby will leave Harry Potter and his friends now."
There was another loud crack and Dobby was gone. Harry took a deep breath and turned to Kreacher, who was scowling at him.
"Kreacher," Harry began, carefully keeping his voice devoid of emotion, "Go to twelve, Grimmauld Place and get Slytherin's locket immediately. Bring it to me as soon as you find it. Don't make any attempt to communicate with anyone other than me." His eyes hardened as he watched the crazed hatred burn in the house-elf's eyes. "I know you know what I'm talking about and I know you've hid it in there, so there's no use lying. Finite incantatem. Go."
Kreacher glowered at Harry for a split second before disappearing.
Harry slumped back against the wall and breathed out a long sigh. "Now, we wait."
He felt a small hand slip under his covers and cover his tightly clenched fist. He uncurled his fingers to interlace them with hers. Hermione and Ron sat side by side at the foot of his bed, leaning against the bedposts. Tacit questions hung unspoken in the air, questions Harry would've given his Firebolt to know the answers to.
Is it the real Horcrux?
How do you destroy it?
What happens when it's destroyed?
They didn't have to wait long for Kreacher's return. He reappeared before Harry with a sharp noise like a gunshot, something gold and glinting clasped in his long fingers. Veins stood out on his thin little arms as he jerkily raised his hand up.
Harry narrowed his eyes as their gazes met; Harry's full of grim determination, the elf's brimming with loathing and rage.
"Hermione kept telling us to be nice to him."
"She was quite right, Harry. I warned Sirus when we adopted twelve, Grimmauld Place as our headquarters that Kreacher must be treated with kindness and respect."
Harry held out his hand, which Kreacher dropped the locket into. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione learned over to look at it, comparing it with the fake one.
"That's it," Ron said, squinting. "That's the one we saw."
"Is it a Horcrux?" Hermione whispered.
Harry frowned down at it. The thing was, he didn't know; his scar didn't hurt at all, and the locket felt like any ordinary locket. But the ornate S was there, engraved in the front, and if this wasn't it, he didn't know what was.
"I dunno," he said truthfully. "But I'm going to destroy it." He slid off his bed without waiting for a reaction, padding out to the center of the room. He slipped the fake Horcrux in his pocket and deposited the real one on the ground, a few feet before him.
A hand grabbed his arm, and he turned to see Hermione behind him, her eyes filled with worry. Over the top of her head, Ron's face mirrored her concern. Ginny stood beside him, her jaw clenched tightly.
"I have to do this," Harry said quietly.
"Why don't you make Kreacher do it?" Ron suggested darkly, glancing back at the old house-elf. He stood hunch-backed on Harry's bed, muttering inaudibly under his breath.
Hermione let go of Harry's arm as he turned to face him. "Kreacher, go back to the kitchens," he said, trying to keep as much distaste out of his voice as possible.
"Filthy brat," Kreacher hissed maliciously, eyes narrowed to slits. "Kreacher hopes the boy dies." He vanished without another word.
"You should've made him do it," Ron growled.
"No," Harry said, shaking his head as he turned back to the locket. "I have to do this." He motioned for the other three to step back, and Ron and Hermione did after a moment's hesitation. Ginny darted forward and flung her arms around his neck.
"Be careful," she whispered in his ear before slipping back into the shadows.
Harry studied the locket on the floor, blowing his cheeks out. Several of the books he'd read had given him a variety of spells designed to destroy and tear things apart. Of the ones he had practiced, he liked the Exploding Curse and Destructor Jinx best. But he was more confident with the Exploding Curse, especially after he had used it to reduce a large rock to a fine pile of ash.
He tried to push away the apprehension of now knowing what would happen as he raised his wand. Why should it be any different from Riddle's diary? That hadn't affected him at all. But it might've been the basilisk venom –
Stop, he told himself sternly. He felt Ron, Hermione, and Ginny's eyes on the back of his head.
Well. Here goes nothing.
Taking
a deep breath, he pointed his wand at the shimmering gold locket, and
shouted, "Abolerevitum!" (1)
A crackling jet of orange light burst from the tip of Harry's wand, with so much force that it made him stagger back. Curtains rippled as the curse streaked past, straight toward the Horcrux. But just as it was about strike, the locket began to glow a faint, eerie shade of blue. And the curse, instead of hitting the locket, spread around it in a gleaming orange ball, as if the Horcrux itself was attempting to repel it.
The strain in Harry's arms was building up to a point where it became painful; it was all he could do not to drop his wand. His spell was constricting around the locket, the orange pulsing around the blue. There was a faint howling in Harry's ears, like the wind was rushing in, and he felt cold – so cold… And then a voice spoke, dim and echoing, as if coming from centuries back in the past…
You dare confront me, worthless scum? You would dare to face Lord Voldemort? I'm afraid it won't be so easy…
The pain hit suddenly, like the proverbial anvil had just slammed into his head. He barely kept hold of his wand as he fell to his knees, eyes screwed shut as something tore into his head, ripping aparat his skull like his scar was the seam of his body, unraveling his skin, shredding him to worthless pieces. And there was laughter – cold, high-pitched laughter, lancing through the chaos, adding to the shrieks and screams that built up in volume and intensity. The pressure ws unbearable, excruciating –
There was an enormous flash of white light. Harry's wand fell from nerveless fingers as he pitched forward, lying motionless on the floor.
(1) Abolerevitum is the made-up incantation for our made-up spell, the Exploding Curse. Derived from the Latin aboleo, to destroy.
Up next: Some enthusiastic students learn that love potions are one thing, and Ginny Weasley is quite another.
A review of just a single line
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