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Chapter 26
"Harry is your Horcrux."
It couldn't be.
"Harry is your Horcux." The soft words echoed again through his ears.
It wasn't possible!
"Harry is your Horcrux." The words sounded almost insistent now.
The words hadn't been intended for him. He hadn't heard any of what went on in the shielded conversation between the two strongest wizards of the age. But those words—the last words Dumbledore would ever speak—had struck T—no, Lord Voldemort, with such a blow that they echoed down the link. The link between the two of them that suddenly was all too understandable.
It all made sense now. Why Dumbledore had wanted Harry to grow up alone and friendless. Why he was never supposed to become too powerful. Why he was never encouraged to study harder. Why he was subtly encouraged into life threatening situations. It hadn't been such an innocuous explanation as Dumbledore not wanting a second Dark Lord. Dumbledore knew, and had known all along, that Voldemort could not die unless Harry did, and had raised him like a lamb for the slaughter. He wanted Harry to grow used to thinking of other people's lives as more important than his, so that when the time came, he would give his life willingly. Or, at the very least, be completely unable to defend himself.
Or so it seemed. Until the last minute. When Dumbledore changed his mind. When he spoke the words that would doom the entire wizarding world, but would save Harry. Why?
It must have been out of…well, love. The power that Dumbledore trusted in above all else, the force that was supposed to save the world. And this was the power that would now destroy it. This was the reason for which Harry himself had committed so many wrongs. And he knew, and could still almost feel, how much more he would have done. He knew, deep within his soul, that there was nothing he wouldn't have done just to see those red eyes gleaming at him with approval.
And as he reflected back on all of the things he had done, the worst part was, while he was utterly horrified, part of him still remembered how much he had enjoyed them. He could still feel the euphoria induced from each casting of the cruciatus curse. He could still feel the glorious sense of vengeance and vilification from the looks on the Dursleys' faces as he ended their lives. He hadn't just done those things for Lord Voldemort. He'd done them for himself. And now he was horrified, but it wasn't an actual reaction to what he had done. He was horrified because he knew he was supposed to be horrified, and horrified that he wasn't actually horrified.
Lord Voldemort hadn't corrupted Harry. He'd just removed the gilding on the surface to show the tarnish and rot underneath.
He wasn't worthy of Dumbledore's sacrifice. He wasn't worthy of Dumbledore's love. Yet he'd had it.
He might have been worthy of Tom's love. Their blackened souls certainly seemed to match well enough. But that, he could never have. It didn't exist. Tom was only a figment of his imagination; a character on a stage. Lord Voldemort was the man who truly existed, and Lord Voldemort did not love.
Harry hadn't changed out of his animagus form yet. In fact, he was hiding on the grounds. While his animagus form had unfortunately been revealed to all and sundry, a panther was designed to blend in within the colors of a forest, and in all the confusion, no one had been waiting for him at the gates of the castle. Blindly following some instinctual drive, he had run into the Forbidden Forest and up the branches of a large tree a good distance within its confines. Now that he let himself think about it, he decided he wasn't ready to change that yet. In this form, the tree was quite comfortable, and it would be very difficult for anyone to find him. That was all to the good, since he certainly wasn't ready to talk to anyone just yet.
"Homenum revelio!" shouted a familiar voice. Harry felt his body shifting and twisting back into its usual shape. That shape was not as used to sitting in trees, and he promptly fell off the branch and landed on the ground with a hard "oomph!" as the breath was knocked out of him.
When he got his breath back, he looked up to find Hermione looking down at him, smiling sadly. "Come on, Harry," she said. "You need to go back to the castle and see Madame Pomphrey."
"How did you find me?" Harry blurted out in response. It wasn't the most intelligent thing he could have said, but honestly, he thought he would be safely hidden at least overnight, and he hadn't put his thoughts together enough for any sort of intelligent conversation.
Hermione pulled a piece of parchment out of her pocket, obviously expecting that it would answer Harry's question. But Harry couldn't think at all, and didn't understand how some old parchment could have shown her where to find him, and he said as much.
Hermione's face grew concerned as she explained "It's the Marauder's Map, of course. Harry, are you feeling all right? Did you hit your head when you fell out of the tree? How many fingers am I holding up?"
Oh. The Marauder's Map. He knew what that was. Hermione and Ron had long standing permission to go into his trunk and get the Map, or his cloak, if they had need of it. Idly, he wondered if there was any way to hide one's presence from the magical artefact.
"It was my fault, you know." He heard himself blurt out. His feet had somehow started taking him back towards the castle. That was interesting. He didn't remember telling them to do that.
"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed. "I know it probably feels like that now, but it honestly wasn't. You put up a brilliant fight. There were twenty-five Death Eaters there that day, and you took out twelve of them. One of you, twenty-five of them! You were overwhelmingly outnumbered, and you still beat almost half of them! And you might have even defeated them all if it wasn't for…well, me." She bit her lip and swallowed heavily.
Harry, still in that zone where his brain wasn't in conscious control of what was coming out of his mouth, didn't immediately try to reassure his friend. Instead, what came out was, "No, you don't understand. It's my fault. I let myself get caught! I heard the one coming up behind me, and I didn't do anything about it! On purpose! I just let him do it!"
At exactly that moment, his brain caught up with his mouth, and he realized exactly what he'd been saying. For an instant, he panicked at what he had just revealed. But that soon left him. He deserved to be caught out. He almost hoped he'd get the Kiss. Mere life in Azkaban was too good for him.
But Hermione didn't comprehend what he was saying. "Harry, listen," she said. "If you're going to say it's your fault because you didn't win a fight against twenty-five of Voldemort's best followers, then it's just as much my fault as it is yours. After all, I got caught, too, and you might actually have won if I hadn't distracted you. And if you got too wrapped up in protecting me to save yourself…well, I, at least, can hardly blame you."
He briefly contemplated explaining exactly what he meant, what he had done and why he had done it. Hermione was his best friend, but her sense of justice would still see that he got the punishment he deserved.
Then he realized that he couldn't do that. If he was revealed as a traitor, Dumbledore's sacrifice would be for nothing. Worse than nothing, really. Dumbledore couldn't have died to protect someone as awful as he really was. He would have to pretend to be the shining pillar of the light that everyone thought he was.
He stopped walking and gathered Hermione into a hug. "This wasn't your fault, either," he whispered into her ear. "Never think that for an instant. I know you fought as hard as you could, but that was Rabastan Lestrange. One of the most feared Death Eaters ever. He's personally taken out entire squadrons of aurors by himself. And he wasn't alone. You did the best you could, and no one could have asked any more of you."
Whether it was the hug or the words, he would never know, but one of those actions, or perhaps both in concert, utterly shattered Hermione's calm façade, and she burst into heaving sobs. Seeing Hermione cry opened the floodgates for Harry, and they held each other as they cried out their mutual guilt, shame, and despair.
After some time had passed that way, another voice gently interrupted them. "Potter, Granger, it's time to come in now," said McGonagall's thick Scottish brogue. "Madame Pomfrey is waiting for you. Potter, you need a post-Cruciatus potion. I'm sure you must be aching all over by now. Miss Granger, you should be checked over as well."
Harry remembered all too well his last encounter with the Cruciatus, and the powerful, deep-seated aches that had been left in his body. Strangely, they hadn't seemed to kick in just yet. But it was probably still just the shock. He allowed himself to be led up to the hospital wing, dressed in the itchy pajamas, and given a post-Crucio potion and another for Dreamless Sleep.
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The day of Dumbledore's funeral dawned bright and cheery. The sun blazed in the mid-May sky, creating a balmy early summer day. At first, Harry was offended that nature would choose to ignore the loss they had all suffered. But he then realized that if Albus Dumbledore could have chosen the weather for the day of his funeral, this would likely have been it. The sun twinkled down at them just like Dumbledore's eyes.
Harry hadn't wanted to attend the funeral at all. He didn't think it was generally considered good form to attend someone's funeral when you had participated in their death, and it could only serve as a reminder of his already oppressive guilt. But no one could ever know that. He wouldn't cheapen the man's sacrifice in that way. Besides, despite all the differences they had, Dumbledore had done his best by Harry in the end. He owed it to the man to attend, and to suffer through it.
As the eulogies were spoken, and multiple references to Dumbledore's dedication to the fight against evil were made, Harry found himself wondering if there would ever be anything he could do to make up for what he had done.
The answer came to him almost immediately. He had to die. Not only because death was an appropriate sentence for his actions, but because his death would help to cleanse the world of Lord Voldemort's evil. As the service continued, his resolve hardened. He would spend the next day saying cautious goodbyes to his friends, and take his own life the following evening. It was the only way he could atone for what he had done.
He decided to speak to Ron first, mainly because Ron was the least likely to realize what was actually going on and try to put a stop to it. Hermione he would save for last, and phrase his goodbye most carefully.
He managed to get Ron alone without making it obvious that he was trying to do so. "It's a nice day, isn't it?" he commented.
"Sure is. Perfect Quidditch weather," Ron replied. That gave Harry the perfect idea for how to say his goodbye.
"You're right, it is," he answered. "How about we go down to the pitch and pass the quaffle around for a while? You can use my Firebolt."
As expected, Ron grinned excitedly at the suggestion, and the two were quickly off. After they'd spent a couple of hours in the bright sunshine, Harry called it off. As the two walked back to the castle, Harry looked into Ron's eyes and said "You know, Ron, I don't think I've ever thanked you."
"For what?"
"Being my friend. I know it hasn't always been easy. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate it."
Ron looked bewildered at this sudden output of emotion, which was generally prohibited between male best mates. Then he decided it must just be a gay thing, and made a joke suggesting exactly that. Harry laughed, and they finished their walk back to the castle sharing good-natured jokes.
Next on his list was Ginny. That conversation he kept fairly short. Ginny didn't know him as well as Hermione, but she could be incredibly perceptive on occasion.
Finally, it was time to say his goodbyes to Hermione. He smiled at her from across the room, noting that today she had used her hairpins to pull her brunette locks into an elegant French twist. Idly, he wondered again who had sent them. It would be nice if he could have a chat with that person before he went, to make sure they would treat Hermione right.
Realization smacked him like a bludger. The hairpins came from Ophelia's Ornaments. He had seen a Slytherin in their year sending off an order form to that exact establishment a few days before the pins had arrived. Given what the girls had said about the expensiveness of the store, it was unlikely that this was a coincidence. Looking back, he realized that this was one Slytherin who had never offered an unkind word to Hermione, or any of the other muggleborns in school. What was the bloke's name? Zabini, that was it. With an odd first name, that started with a B.
Harry quickly checked the Marauder's Map, and found that Blaise Zabini was currently, and conveniently, alone in the library. He practically ran over to catch the boy before he missed the opportunity. Spotting him at a table near the back, Harry approached.
"Zabini," he said quietly, but firmly. "A word, if you please?"
The Slytherin in question glanced up from his book, then did a double take upon seeing who had made the request.
"What could we possibly have to discuss, Potter?" he replied, with a sneer that he hoped would conceal his fear.
Judging by the look on Potter's face, it didn't work. "I think you know," Harry snarled back.
Blaise grudgingly gathered up his things and followed Harry to an empty classroom. When they entered, and had both cast several privacy charms, Blaise sat down in a slump.
"She figured it out, right?" he said. "And she sent you to tell me to back off?"
Harry blinked. He hadn't been expecting that conclusion. "No, actually. I figured it out. I haven't said anything to her. I might continue to not say anything to her. It depends on what you tell me in the next ten minutes or so."
Blaise felt hope gush back into his chest. She wasn't rejecting him! And Potter wasn't rejecting him either—at least not immediately. "What do you want to know?"
"Mainly, what your intentions are. Why you've insisted on the secrecy."
Blaise gulped. His intentions were pure, and he truly believed his reasons for secrecy were valid, but would Potter understand? Gryffindors, after all, believed in love conquering all and all that bullshit.
"My intentions are simple. We have been exchanging letters along with my sending gifts so that she can get to know me better. I intend to continue doing this until after we graduate. At that point, I will tell her who I am. If she will allow it, I will begin officially Courting her. If all goes well, we will wed."
"That's pretty serious."
"I am never anything less." Blaise answered soberly.
"Then why all the secrecy?" Harry demanded.
"I will be entirely honest. It was partly out of selfishness. I did not know if she would give me a chance, or dismiss me immediately because of the snake badge I wear. I also did not know if you would give me a chance to approach her, given that same badge. This way, she may get to know me, the person, before judging me entirely by my house. But it is not entirely that. While I do not care at all for blood prejudices, many in Slytherin do, and were I to make romantic gestures towards her openly, my House would retaliate. I do not care that they would attack me—I would feel it worth it. But it is her that they would go after, for they would know that to be the way to pull me from her side. I would not risk her safety in such a manner."
"Do you love her?"
"It is hard to say, as we have only communicated through letters. What I know of her, I love, and I have observed her carefully all through our Hogwarts years."
"Do you have any intention to hurt her?" Harry stared straight into Blaise's eyes, and decided to risk a slightly Dark compulsion spell. "Tell the truth," he commanded with the force of the spell.
Blaise's eyes widened, obviously recognizing the magic for what it was. "Never," he whispered fiercely. "Even if things do not work out between us, I will never wish her ill."
Harry relaxed, and smiled. "Then I wish you all the best," he said, clapping Blaise on the shoulder. As he went to leave the room, he looked over his shoulder. "Oh, and Blaise?" he added. When the other boy looked at him questioningly, he finished, "Take good care of her." With that, he left the room, to have his last—and most difficult—conversation of the day.
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"Harry is your Horcrux."
He felt the knowledge echo down the link he shared with the keeper of his soul, felt the other's shock, and felt the link reflexively close down.
"Harry is your Horcrux."
The words would not cease echoing in his mind.
How could he have been so stupid? How could he have not realized what had happened? It was all so obvious, looking at it in hindsight. Harry's ability to speak Parseltongue. The mysterious link between them. How his possession of Harry in the Ministry of Magic had changed the link because of the brief reunion of two pieces of his soul. He was supposed to be a magical genius. How could he have failed to see what was right in front of him?
Sighing, he supposed the real question now was what he was going to do about the situation. He had to get Harry back into his possession as soon as possible.
Would it be possible to save the situation? Perhaps he could convince Harry that he hadn't actually meant it; that it had all been an act, simply to ensure that Dumbledore would fall for it. That really would be ideal. They could complete the ritual, which would grant them both increased power, and ensure that Harry could never stray from his side. And he could have Harry back at his side on the battlefield, and back in his bed at night.
It might not work. It probably wouldn't. Harry would probably hate Tom for everything he had done. It was really too bad that Harry had "overheard" the knowledge that he was a Horcrux. Now that Harry knew, he would be even more suspicious of Tom's motives.
Suddenly, a horrible thought occurred to him. Harry knew about the Horcrux. Harry had just had his universe turned upside down. Harry was undoubtedly in a state of total despair. And Harry had just regained his motivation to do anything in his power to destroy Lord Voldemort.
He wouldn't.
Tom almost smacked himself, and would have if it wasn't such uncouth behavior. Of course he would. Despite Tom's best efforts, he was still a Gryffindor. In a panic, he reached across their link. He couldn't get much—Harry was undoubtedly blocking it—but it was enough to reassure him that Harry was still alive.
That could change at any moment.
In the next instant, he was apparating into Hogsmeade, shifting into his animagus form, and pelting toward the castle at full speed.
He arrived at the Chamber and shifted back, and, still panting, yelled, "Salazar!"
The spirit appeared before him. "Tom?" he said, surprise evident in his voice. "What brings you here?"
"Stop wasting my time with pleasantries! Harry is in danger, and I cannot reach him while he is within the castle!" he shouted.
"Danger?" Salazar frowned. "What do you mean? Who threatens him?"
"He threatens himself!" Tom yelled back. "Now stop wasting my time and alert the castle! Harry must be protected!"
Explanations would be coming, but any Slytherin knew that they could wait when action was needed, and Salazar was the original Slytherin. "§Arietta,§" Salazar hissed.
"§Yes, mummy?§" the snake, now the length of a good sized car, replied.
"§Your nest mate is in danger. Go quickly, spread the word to all the serpents in and around the castle. Find him and protect him!§"
"§Nest mate!§" she yelled, and slithered away like lightning.
Next, Salazar sent out a call for Rowena. Unlike the others, she could actually move about the castle, and would be best able to act.
A young blond woman drifted into the Chamber. "Salazar, why would you call me now?" she intoned softly. "Don't you know there is a young Phoenix who must not be allowed to burn himself this evening?"
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Salazar could not help but smile grimly. "I should have known you would already be aware of the situation, Rowena. By all means, go, and guard our young Phoenix."
But the young woman had drifted away before he even finished speaking.
"Now that that is settled," Salazar drawled, turning his attention back to his descendant. "Tell me why you believe that Harry Potter is in imminent danger of killing himself. I suspect it has much to do with the sudden demise of Albus Dumbledore, and I suspect that you also play a role."
Tom frowned. He would not be commanded by anyone, not even his ultimate ancestor.
Then he remembered the danger. Harry might very well seek out Salazar, and if Salazar was to have a chance of persuading Harry not to take his own life, he would need to know the full story. Conjuring a chair for himself, he began to tell the tale…
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Harry walked through the grounds of Hogwarts, enjoying the peaceful night air. If any night had to be his last on earth, this one was a lovely one for it.
He decided it would look better if it appeared that he had not committed suicide, but had instead been killed. No one would want him to waste Dumbledore's sacrifice, after all. So his plan was to find an extremely venomous snake and ask it to bite him. People would likely assume that the snake had killed him on Lord Voldemort's orders.
He walked through the forest for a while before he spotted a serpent.
"§Good evening,§" he hissed at it.
"§A lovely evening it is, Master,§" the serpent replied.
"§You are a beautiful snake,§" Harry told it. "§Are you, by chance, venomous§?"
"§Extremely so, Master,§" it answered. "§My bite will kill a man within two minutes.§"
"§Excellent§," Harry whispered. "§Then I have a task for you.§"
"§A task?§" it hissed excitedly. It liked biting annoying humans.
"§Yes. I order you to bite me.§" Harry managed to make the sentence come out calm and firm.
The snake reared back, and Harry thought it was preparing to strike. Then he heard its horrified gasp.
"§Bite Master? No! I was following Master to protect him! All snakes have been ordered to do so. We will not hurt Master!§"
Harry sighed. He should have realized Voldemort would have already taken action to protect his Horcrux. That plan obviously wasn't going to work.
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Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were sitting around the fire in the Gryffindor common room, attempting to work on their homework. It wasn't going very well. It was just so hard to concentrate on essays after all that had happened, but apparently McGonagall, as acting Headmistress, had decided that a return to schoolwork would be just what the late Headmaster wanted, and would keep their minds off their grief.
"Does anyone know the counter to the terrefacio spell?" Ginny asked the group.
Hermione sighed. "Harry would know. He just used that spell, you know…the other day."
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.
Ron broke it. "Where is Harry, anyway? I haven't seen him since this morning."
Ginny chimed in again, "I don't know. I saw him early this afternoon, and we had the oddest conversation."
Hermione looked up at her. "Really? We had sort of an odd conversation today too. What did you talk about?"
"He told me that he was happy I was his friend, and that he enjoyed spending time with me."
Ron, who had gone back to his attempt at an essay, looked up. "He said something like that to me today, too." He frowned, wondering what that could mean.
Hermione suddenly went ghostly white. "He wouldn't…" she said slowly. "Would he?" she looked over at Ginny.
Ginny suddenly understood what Hermione was implying. As one, the two witches sprang up from the couch and bolted towards the boy's dormitory, and a still-confused Ron hurried along behind them.
They got to the sixth-year boys room quickly, and Hermione started throwing things out of Harry's trunk.
She got to the bottom rather quickly, but unfortunately, it didn't help. The Map was gone.
"Hermione, Ginny, what's going on?" Ron yelled. "Why are you tearing through Harry's things like madwomen?"
"Harry blames himself for what happened to Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said.
"And he had private conversations with each of us today, in which he basically told us goodbye," Ginny added.
Ron gasped, finally getting what they were implying. "But Harry wouldn't do something like that!...Would he?"
Hermione's face set into a mask of grim determination. "We'll make sure he doesn't. We don't have the map, so we're just going to have to search the hard way. Ron, you take the fifth through seventh floors, Ginny, you take floors one through four, and I'll search the grounds."
They split up and began their search, praying they would find their friend on time.
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As Harry returned from the Hogwarts grounds under the protection of his invisibility cloak, he saw Hermione running outside like the devil was behind her, frantically screaming his name.
So she'd figured out what he was planning to do. And she'd probably told other people to help search for him. He'd have to be careful to keep his cloak on, and he'd need to get it over with quickly, before anybody found him.
He headed first to the house elves' laundry room. His new plan involved a scrap of Slytherin robes. He would throw himself off the Astronomy Tower, clutching that piece of robe, and hopefully it would look like he had grabbed the cloth in a struggle with an assailant who pushed him off the tower.
He got to the top of the tower, and put one foot on the edge of the window, when he heard a voice say, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. You'd leave an awfully big mess, and it would take months to clear out the resulting infestation of whilli-roos.
He turned around slowly, and was not surprised to find Luna Lovegood staring at him.
"Luna, please, you don't need to see this," he pleaded.
"See what?" she said pleasantly, as if they were discussing what film to take in that evening. "The nargles tell me that nothing interesting will happen here tonight."
"Luna, I have to do this," he tried again. "I can't explain why, but please, just trust me, it has to be done."
"Oh, I know why," she said, still just as calm. "You have a lackkissol attached to you, and you think this is the only way to be rid of it. You're probably right, but is it really so bothersome that death is better than its company?"
"Luna, I don't want to do this with you here, but I will do it, one way or the other," he warned.
"No, Harry, I don't think you will," she said simply, still smiling.
"I'm sorry, Luna. I tried to warn you. I'm going now. Please don't look down after me." With that, Harry stepped up onto the window ledge. He drew in his breath, steeled his resolve, and leaned slowly forward until he felt his feet slip.
Only to find himself thrown right back into the tower.
"I told you you wouldn't," Luna said.
Harry gaped.
"Helga told you the magic of Hogwarts is strong, especially for a child of Her blood. She won't let you harm yourself." She smiled beatifically at him.
Harry stormed out, shoving right past her. So serpents wouldn't bite him, and Hogwarts wouldn't let him harm himself. He'd just have to do it another way.
He gave up on finding a way to do it that would look like it wasn't suicide. He just didn't care anymore. He only wanted to end it.
He walked out onto the grounds, and kept walking until he felt the end of Hogwarts' wards. He took off the invisibility cloak, so that his body would eventually be found.
He grabbed a rock from off of the ground and transfigured it into a sharp steel knife. Maybe sometimes the simple way was the best.
He placed the blade between his wrists, and pressed his wrists together. The blade dug in cruelly.
Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Horcrux of Lord Voldemort, and the Heir of Gryffindor, lay motionless in the night, as the scarlet blood poured freely from his veins.
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Please don't kill me! I've made a good start on the next chapter, and it should be up within the week!
Remember, for every death threat you make, 1 galleon gets diverted from the Association for the Salvation of Serpents to the Writers Anonymous Nurturing Group to pay for our therapists!