Chapter 17

I Have the Power

Hermione and Ron nearly jumped out of their shoes as they watched in horror. The moment Slytherin's locket clicked open, Harry screamed like a banshee. In excruciating pain, he clutched the golden locket to his chest with his right hand, eyes bulging and mouth wide open, while his body jerked spasmodically on the bed, knocking half of the pillows to the floor. The onlookers thought they had prepared for anything, but Harry's agony far exceeded anything they imagined.

Hermione instinctively jumped to help Harry, only to be restrained by Ron, who yelled over Harry's shouting, "You can't touch him!" She tried to break free of Ron's grip anyway, but Ron held firm and shouted, "Remember what happened in the museum. Don't touch him. Harry told us not to, no matter what."

Hermione knew this, of course, but the sight and sound of Harry writhing on the bed and screaming overwhelmed her. She burst into tears, turning into Ron's arms, who wrapped his arms around her. He attempted to comfort her, but he needed her comfort as much as she needed his. The unbearable sight of his best friend by all appearances dying on the bed in front of him caused his arms to tremble, and the inability to do anything about it ripped his insides apart.

"What's happening to him, Ron?" Hermione half yelled to be heard over Harry's cries of pain.

"The horcrux attacked," Ron replied, stating the obvious, "but Harry will fight back, just give him a chance." Ron stated this with greater certainty than he felt, but Hermione relaxed slightly at the words. As she relaxed, Harry quieted and though his body remained stiff as a board, he seemed to have regained some semblance of control.

"You see," Ron exclaimed, his voice shaking, "he's fighting back. The horcrux got in the first blows, but it doesn't know who it's dealing with."

They held each other for some seconds watching their friend, when suddenly Harry's head jerked left then right, and he shouted, "I HAVE THE POWER." Ron and Hermione jumped at the sudden outburst, but felt heartened by it.

"He IS fighting back," Hermione accepted, not completely convinced before, "He survived the first attack." She wiped her tears away and released Ron.

And so the Battle of Slytherin's Locket began. Ron and Hermione stayed in the room all day. At times Harry relaxed but then tensed violently. He appeared to be conscious, at least not unconscious, but he did not react to any noise or movement in the room. At times muttered words escaped his lips, but Ron and Hermione could not understand them. Dobby popped in and out to check on his master, and to bring Harry's friends drinks and food, which they ate grudgingly. Never had watching a man lying on a bed been so riveting, and they sat on pins and needles.

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As soon as the locket opened, a white-hot knife stabbed Harry in the heart and then twirled inside of it, ripping apart every ventricle. Harry knew he had been killed, taken completely by surprise by the instantaneous attack of the horcrux. The word "pain" could not describe it; this was complete devastation.

The moment before Harry opened the locket, he felt prepared. He had taken a deep breath, and told himself to be ready for anything, especially pain. But nothing could have readied him for the intensity of the pain that followed, ripping through him like lightning. He was aware of nothing, not the fact that he was screaming, that Ron and Hermione were screaming, not even that he had failed in his task. The pain blocked all possible thought for what seemed like hours. In reality, only a few seconds passed.

The blitzkrieg served as an attempt to overrun Harry's defenses so quickly and thoroughly that he would not be able to counter. Taking over the victim's soul would then be child's play. But as the pain intensified, something deep inside Harry rose to the surface, an instinctual desire to survive, and though Harry never would remember how it happened, he regained conscious control of his mind, despite the overwhelming pain. He realized again that a horcrux inside of him wanted his soul, and that defeat of the horcrux would require all of his will and magical power.

Without realizing it, he shouted, "I HAVE THE POWER!"

At this expression of confidence, the tide of the battle turned. Able to concentrate again, Harry focused all of his will on controlling the pain and reaching a standoff with the horcrux. He needed time to regroup.

I am not injured, he forced himself to believe, for he understood that the horcrux could not physically harm him, despite the pain it could cause. My heart is fine. I am alive. I will not die. Thus Harry reestablished a degree of control, his shouting ceased, and the true battle began.

"You are a wizard of great power," the horcrux communicated to him, "for you have withstood an attack which would have destroyed most wizards. I congratulate you."

Harry murmured his answer aloud, though not loud enough to be heard, "You underestimated me. I am the horcrux destroyer. I have destroyed two already, and you will be the third."

"Ah, but it is you who underestimate your opponent. I can feel your power, that is true, but I can feel your weakness. You have been damaged by your previous battles, and I have damaged you further with my attack."

"I am still strong," Harry answered, "and you are but a part of a soul, not even a half. You cannot control me, for I will not be controlled! We will fight."

Without waiting for a response, Harry went on the attack with a counteroffensive which surprised the partial soul. This time Harry tried not to think as much as before.

Just trust your power. Magic is wanting something to happen and then making it happen, he thought, remembering Dumbledore's words. I want to destroy this horcrux.

His power flowed through him without direction but somehow surrounded the horcrux and confined it to a spot in his abdomen which burned like a bad rash.

It will be over soon, Harry thought, I know what I am doing now.

But it did not end soon, as he could not discover a way to attack the horcrux further. The partial soul repelled each attempt, but the injured horcrux could not mount a counterattack. The combatants reached stalemate.

Throughout the conflict, Harry remained conscious and at times felt the presence of Ron and Hermione, and even Dobby, vaguely hearing voices as if from a great distance. But he could not release his focus or control of his magical force, for if he did he knew the horcrux would attack at once. What should he do? Should he devise a strategy of attack, or should he let go and allow instinct to govern. There had to be something missing, some key to finishing it off.

Early evening arrived, and Ron and Hermione quietly discussed the current status of affairs.

"This is taking a lot longer than last time," Hermione analyzed quietly as she stretched her stiff back, "but I have the feeling that Harry is doing better. Like he is in control."

Ron studied his best friend and nodded his agreement, "It seems like he's the one attacking when he tenses up and shakes. That doesn't seem like he is reacting. It's him taking action. Still, I'm worried. It's taking an awful long time, and I'm not sure how long Harry can last. He's got to be exhausted. Just look at him."

Sweat beaded on Harry's forehead, dripping over his temples, and he appeared to have aged ten years in the few hours of the battle. The two friends made themselves as comfortable as they could for the long watch, having kicked off their shoes and draped themselves over chairs in the room. They prepared for a lengthy wait.

"I wish we could do something to help," exclaimed Hermione with frustration, "this waiting is horrible."

But at that moment, Harry's body tensed again, and the pair froze in anticipation. He began to shake more violently than before, but an expression of supreme determination came over him.

Suddenly he yelled, "IT'S LOVE, RIDDLE! YOU CAN'T STAND IT." His body shook even more, and Ron jumped up and rushed towards the bed.

"This is it," he hurriedly shouted to Hermione, then he approached Harry and like a fan at a football match yelled into his ear, "YOU CAN DO IT, HARRY! FINISH IT OFF!"

Hermione followed behind Ron and closely watched Harry's struggle. She noticed that his face hardened with increased determination at Ron's words.

"He heard you, Ron," she exclaimed excitedly, "I think it helped him."

So Ron continued his words of encouragement, "You're right, it's love, Harry. Love will destroy it. You can finish it now!"

Hermione joined in the cheerleading, "We all love you, Harry. Now you can finish it, and we can all be together again."

Something definitely was happening, and one way or the other, this would be it. Neither of them had ever mentioned the possibility of failure, of Harry being possessed by the horcrux, of becoming a second Voldemort. Harry had reminded them on Thursday of what they must do if he failed, but Ron and Hermione only nodded. They would not verbally promise to do what Harry asked, and he did not force them. It was unthinkable. Harry would not fail.

Suddenly Harry contracted his body slightly and then let out a roar of maximum effort, like an exhausted athlete expending his last ounce of energy for the final play of the game, not worried about retaining any for tomorrow. Ron and Hermione froze in trepidation, grasping each other's hand, not understanding exactly what was occurring. But Harry's body convulsed again, and once more, and then it ended. He slumped into the pillows on his bed, releasing the locket with his right hand, which fell limply to the bed. Ron and Hermione noticed that the aura around Harry appeared to vanish. The battle had ended, but who won?

Hermione ventured to touch Harry, and this time Ron did not detain her. She cautiously pressed her fingers to Harry's arm, and when no shock occurred, she grasped his hand. Harry weakly squeezed hers and opened his eyes, sweat pouring from his hair and face.

"It's over," he whispered, "it's gone." He closed his eyes and lost consciousness. Hermione crawled onto the bed, with her back against the ornate headboard, and she lifted Harry's head on to her lap, running her fingers through his soaked hair.

"That's right, Harry. It's over now. But how many more times can you do this?" She lifted her watery eyes towards Ron, whose own eyes filled with worry. "Isn't there some other way, Ron?"

Ron shook his head. "I don't know. I don't think so. That's what's so scary."

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Had Harry been a student of muggle warfare, he could have analogized this battle to those of the First World War - trench warfare. Each side pushed only to be pushed back - effort exerted by both combatants with no reward for either. The horcrux had weakened, Harry could feel it, but so had he. This turned out to be a war of attrition, but which side would crumble first under the pressure?

During one of the lulls in the battle, the horcrux again communicated, "This is madness, Harry Potter. It will be a terrible waste when I at last prevail. You are a worthy opponent, but can you not see the hopelessness of your position. You cannot harm me, and eventually you will weaken. I am not of flesh and blood; I will not weaken. Years I have waited, Harry Potter, I can wait a few more days. But together, we could be formidable, great beyond greatness. Think about it, Harry Potter. You can end this pain."

So great was Harry's turmoil that he considered the offer seriously. Why should he fight such an uphill battle? Even if he prevailed over this horcrux, two more awaited him. He never wanted to suffer this again. Why not join forces with this horcrux? Who could say what would happen? If he agreed to the merger, the horcrux would not replace Harry's own soul; they would meld into a new soul. Maybe he would not turn evil. Maybe the new soul could control its evil impulses. It made sense, didn't it?

Be reasonable, Harry, he told himself, You know you cannot win in the end.
In the background, Harry heard Ron and Hermione talking, though he could not understand them. But the image of his two friends emerged in his mind as if they stood right in front of him.

"You are deceiving yourself, Harry," Hermione's image argued, "You can't control a horcrux. You will turn evil, and you will be unstoppable. Do you really want that?"

Harry's head jerked back and forth in frustration. He did not want that, but he needed to end this suffering. Sweat dampened his shirt and poured off his face.

The Ron image added, "You have come too far, Harry. Now is not the time to give up. Don't lose your will to fight. Don't forget about everyone who loves you."

Love, Harry thought as the images of his friends dissolved. Dumbledore says that is the power he knows not. Images of all of the loves of his life appeared and dissolved in front of him: His mother and father, Sirius, Dumbledore, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and finally together, Ron and Hermione. This was his strength, he understood; this is what Tom Riddle never had. Power recharged inside of him, and he knew he could attack one last time, that he could end it.

As a battle cry, he shouted, "IT'S LOVE, RIDDLE! YOU CAN'T STAND IT."

Thinking of all the people he loved, Harry attacked once more with a fury unknown to the horcrux, whose defenses weakened. He pushed on the horcrux's walls as hard as he could, and when he weakened, he thought he heard the voices of Ron and Hermione encouraging him, urging him to finish the job. Roaring one final brutal push, he felt the walls crumble, and he enveloped the partial soul with the love in his heart and his magical power. The horcrux could not exist in such an environment, and suddenly it vanished. Harry knew the battle had ended, and for the first time in who knows how many hours, he relaxed. He collapsed.

Slipping into unconsciousness, he felt a caress on his arm and a familiar hand holding his. With the residue of his consciousness, he opened his eyes to see the worried face of Hermione.

Don't worry, Hermione, he thought, and then aloud he whispered, "It's over. It's gone." Unconsciousness claimed him.

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As Hermione held Harry's head in her lap, wiping the sweat off his face with a towel, she studied him closely. The color in his cheeks receded and a paleness overcame him. His breathing became labored, and Hermione sensed that something was not right. She moved Harry's head onto a pillow and pulled out her wand. Though healing magic exceeded the scope of a Hogwarts education, she knew a few basic diagnostic spells. Immediately she knew that Harry was not well, in fact much worse than that.

"Ron," she called urgently, "something is very wrong. Harry's breathing is poor and he barely has a pulse. Go right now, get Madam Pomfrey and bring her here. NOW!"

Sensing the gravity in her voice, Ron did not ask questions. He made sure he had his wand and raced to the front door of No. 17 Grimmauld Place. As soon as he passed the antiapparation zone, he turned and apparated to the front gate of Hogwarts, not worrying whether muggles may see him. He raced the half mile up from the front gate to the front door of the castle without slowing down, adrenalin rushing through his veins. A few students walked the halls, half an hour before curfew, and shocked expressions followed Ron as he bolted up the stairs two at a time on his way to the hospital wing.

"Madam Pomfrey, Madam Pomfrey!" he shouted between gasps for air, "You've got to come with me. It's Harry. He's badly injured."

The healer had been tending to minor hex residue on a second-year girl, when she heard Ron's plea. Immediately she ran to her office to grab her medical travel bag and rushed to the fireplace.

Grabbing floo powder, she instructed Ron, "Floo to the Hogshead Inn. We'll apparate from Hogsmeade."

Meanwhile Hermione and Dobby kept close tabs on Harry.

"PLEASE get here soon, Madam Pomfrey," she pleaded, as Harry's breathing became more irregular and his pulse weaker. "What are we going to do, Dobby?" she cried.

"Dobby does not know, Harry's Granger, elf magic will not help Harry Potter. Harry Potter must not die." Dobby hopped from one foot to the other in despair, but all he could think to do was dab Harry's face with a cold towel.

Madam Pomfrey and Ron would not arrive for at least fifteen minutes, Hermione calculated, and Harry's condition continued to deteriorate. She caressed his hair and cheeks, her hands shaking from fear, when suddenly Harry's body slightly trembled. He stopped breathing. Hermione laid her hand on his chest for several seconds; his chest did not move; he lay on the bed completely still, his arms and neck gradually relaxing. She waved her wand to check for a pulse but found none. Harry Potter had died.

Without access to any magical remedies, Hermione cast her wand to the floor and jumped on Harry's bed, straddling Harry's stomach. She had never learned proper CPR technique, but she had seen firefighters do it, and she could think of no other action to take. She pounded her right fist as hard as she dared on Harry's chest, and then pumped his chest with the ball of her right hand, her left hand pushing on top.

Feeling no change after several seconds, she again pounded on his chest, yelling, "DON'T DIE HARRY POTTER!" Her eyes bulged wide open, and her hair escaped their bindings, pointing in all directions.

With the second thrust to his chest, Harry's body convulsed, and his lungs gasped for precious oxygen. His heart beat again, and after his second or third breath, he convulsed again, vomiting over himself and Hermione's arms and blouse. Never had Hermione been so happy to be vomited upon, and tears of relief flowed from her eyes.

"GET HERE SOON, MADAM POMFREY!" she yelled.

Dobby had frozen at the unknown site of muggle medical procedures. At first he thought Hermione pounded on Harry in sorrow for his death, and the elf had pointed his finger to blast her off of his master and hero. But instinct informed him that Harry's Granger would not hurt him, and Dobby realized that she desperately was trying to revive him. When finally Harry took his first breath, Dobby jumped so high in the air that he fell over upon landing. His concern returned when Harry vomited, but he took this to mean that at least Harry was alive. With a wave of his hand he vanished the vomit from the witch and wizard.

Hermione pressed her ear to Harry's heart and heard it pumping weakly but regularly. She moved her head to his shoulder and sobbed, releasing all of her emotions.

"Don't ever do that again, Harry! Never!"

Moments later Ron and Madam Pomfrey rushed into the room, and seeing Hermione sobbing on top of Harry, Ron feared the worst.

"Hermione, is he . . . ?

"He's alive" Hermione cried and ran into Ron's arms, "but he died for a minute."

The healer immediately began waving her wand over Harry, muttering to herself. In seconds she opened her bag, magically enhanced so that it contained an entire pharmacy, and snatched two potions which with skill and experience she poured down Harry's throat.

Through her sobs, Hermione managed to explain, "His heart stopped. He stopped breathing. I didn't know what to do, so I tried CPR, but I didn't really know how to do it. The second time I hit his chest, he started breathing. He almost . . ."

"He's alive, but just barely." Madam Pomfrey informed them, "The potions should stabilize his condition. If you had not acted as you did, Miss Granger, I fear I would have arrived too late." The two friends heaved a sigh of relief while Madam Pomfrey continued assessing Harry's condition.

At last she concluded, "I find no internal injuries, other than the bruise on his chest. This appears to be a case of extreme exhaustion, though I have never seen any exhaustion so severe." She eyed the Head Girl and Gryffindor Prefect accusingly and asked, "So are either of you going to inform me of what happened to Mr. Potter?" Neither spoke for several moments.

Finally Ron responded the only way he could, "I'm sorry, Madam Pomfrey, but what we have been doing is highly secret. We cannot talk about it with anyone."

Hermione nodded her agreement, struggling to bring her emotions under control, adding, "We can tell you that Harry has been through a severe struggle, and he most certainly should be exhausted. Will he be OK?"

"Yes, I believe he will," the older witch replied, her stern expression softening, "but he must have complete rest for a week at the least, probably longer. The potions I gave him will cause him to sleep for quite some time, perhaps as much as twenty-four hours. I am reluctant to move him at this point, and this room appears to be suitable for rest," Pomfrey decided taking in her surroundings, "I will want to check on him every day. As Mr. Weasley could not provide me with the address, one of you will need to accompany me. Naturally, if Mr. Potter should show any signs of weakening, you are to contact me at once. Perhaps we can move him to Hogwarts in a couple of days."

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Ron and Hermione sat together in the sitting room exhausted from the emotions of the day. Dobby tended to Harry, although nothing truly needed to be done as Harry slept peacefully. The house elf shooed them out of the bedroom and told them to sleep, as he had prepared a room for each of them. Despite their exhaustion and the lateness of the hour, past midnight, neither desired the comfort of a bed just yet.

They remained silent for a considerable time reliving what had happened.

"I really thought it was going better this time," Ron mused, running a hand through his long red hair, "I mean it took longer, but it seemed like he was more in control."

"Goes to show that we can't tell what he is going through. I'm sure he isn't telling us everything," Hermione surmised, slumping into the sofa, completely exhausted. "Did you see how reluctant he was to do it this time? For Harry not to dive right into something is not like him. He KNOWS how horrible it is."

"Well, he did it. He destroyed another one," Ron concluded, not feeling much consolation.

"Yes he did, but there are two more, Ron," Hermione shuddered, "How is he going to destroy two more? I don't think he can survive that." She inhaled deeply to control her emotions, as she had cried more this day than she normally cried in a year.

"Who else could do it, Hermione? I know I'm not strong enough, and it's not a matter of 'giving it a try.' If the horcrux wins, then You Know Who's soul takes over. We'll have another dark lord to deal with!"

"Say 'Voldemort' Ron, if I can do it, so can you." Hermione softly chided, but added, "I couldn't do it either. Only two wizards have destroyed a horcrux, Harry and Dumbledore, two of the most powerful wizards ever to live." She noted Ron's questioning gaze. "Oh yes, Ron, Harry is about as powerful as they come. Look at what he is doing in classes this term. He's mastering new spells, not easy ones either, without even trying. We have to concentrate with all our might to do them half right, and he's got it figured out in five minutes. He's always had the ability, but now he is learning how to use it, and to control it."

"At least you can do the spells; I'm having a terrible time this year," Ron admitted morosely, draping one leg over the arm of his chair, "but you're right about Harry. He's reminding me of Dumbledore more and more, the way he does advanced spells without even the proper wand movement. He just kind of flicks it, mutters the incantation, and boom, it's done. Doesn't help my confidence any."

"Oh Ron, you're a fine wizard. Don't go comparing yourself to Harry!" Hermione lectured, "He's one in a million, just like Dumbledore. I have trouble with our practical work this year too, I just work harder than you do."

"Back to Harry," responded Ron, anxious to redirect the conversation away from his deficient study habits, "What are we going to do when we find another horcrux? There has to be some other way."

"I don't know, Ron," Hermione answered with a yawn, her exhaustion showing, "Let's talk about it tomorrow."

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Madam Pomfrey pronounced a significant improvement in Harry's vital signs the next day, though he had not yet awakened.

"Is he in a coma again," Hermione inquired, knowing that last time Harry lay unconscious for a week.

"No, he is just sleeping," Pomfrey answered while putting her equipment back into her travel bag, "I would expect that he'll wake up some time today, perhaps tonight at the latest. However," she wagged her finger, "do not think that his regaining consciousness is a sign that he has recovered. He will be extremely weak for some time to come, certainly a month, perhaps several months." The pair must have appeared disbelieving to the healer, for she took a moment to put the final items away and then motioned for them to sit.

She pulled out the mahogany chair from under the desk for herself, and explained, "Mr. Potter is one for the books, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. This case is no exception. As I mentioned yesterday, I have never seen nor heard of a case of exhaustion causing the patient to die on the spot, as Mr. Potter most surely would have without the fortunate intervention of Miss Granger. Most people's bodies involuntarily shut down when approaching the limits of exhaustion. True they may push themselves to a great degree, and if not treated promptly, exhaustion can cause serious difficulties. But rarely if ever does a person exert himself to the point of causing his own death." Hermione and Ron listened intently, not surprised at Harry's ability to exceed normal conduct.

Madam Pomfrey continued after a pause to sip some water provided by Dobby, who also paid close attention, "A typical victim of exhaustion will require a week or two to recover, while in more extreme cases a month or more may be necessary, and that is with the assistance of certain potions. We will start with those potions in a day or two when Mr. Potter has improved." The healer picked up her robe from the hook where she had placed it, and took one last look at her patient before taking her leave. She shook her head in astonishment.

The day passed slowly, and Ron and Hermione took turns staying with Harry, the other either napping or reading. Late that afternoon, a Saturday, Harry began to move in the bed, and Ron quickly called for Hermione so that they would be there together when Harry finally awoke. Some ten or fifteen minutes later, Harry regained consciousness, demonstrated by a low purring moan of pain. He turned onto his back, eyes still closed, and moved his hand to his head, moaning more loudly. Hermione grabbed a vial of potion that Madam Pomfrey instructed should be given as soon as Harry awoke.

Finally he opened his eyes to the semi-dark room, noticing two blurred figures to his right. Instinctively he reached out for his glasses but his hand hovered in midair, as he missed the night stand where his glasses sat by several feet. Ron quickly grabbed them.

"Here you go, Harry. How are you feeling?"

Harry's reply cannot be repeated here, but his vulgar expression perfectly described his condition.

"Here, drink this," Hermione instructed, cupping Harry's head in her left hand while bringing the pain-relieving potion to his lips with her right.

A few seconds later, Harry's color improved, and he grunted, "That's a little better. At least I can think now." He still rubbed his aching temples. Focusing on his friends for the first time, he gave a reasonable facsimile of a smile. "Well, that was fun, wasn't it?"

"Oh Harry, it most certainly was not fun!" Hermione chastised him happily, "I've never been through anything less fun." Harry nodded his agreement and crashed back onto his pillow.

Hermione sat on the bed, holding Harry's hand, while Ron half sat at the foot.

"I'd appreciate you not doing this again, Harry," Ron joked, trying to keep the mood light, "Watching you sleep is not exactly exciting entertainment."

"At least I don't snore like you," Harry retorted, and his two friends smiled that Harry retained a sense of humor. "How long?" he asked.

"It's Saturday night, so a little over a day," answered Ron.

"That's not so bad, is it? Was a week last time."

"Not as long, Harry, but much worse. We'll talk about it later," Hermione reassured him, "Do you want some water?" The young wizard nodded, and the Head Girl brought him a glass. Harry was back, but was he whole?