The Frayed

Despite Harry's intervention in the latest werewolf attack, it had not deterred the Death Eaters from continuing their own the very next night. It seemed that Voldemort had no intention of letting up in his attempt to instil fear across the country, and though he was loathe to admit it, Harry knew the Dark Lord was succeeding.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

Nonetheless, the fight would continue, even if it was a struggle at best.

The werewolves were single-minded, feral, and lacked coordination when transformed. The Death Eaters, however, had the sense and ability to flee, often before the Order or the Ministry could respond.

It was a growing problem, and yet, a solution had yet to be found and Harry could not help but feel that this war was beginning to replicate the first.

The tension in Britain was palpable and even within Hogwarts, it threatened to spill over. What had prevented it thus far, Harry didn't know, but it was only a matter of time before it did.

Perhaps it was because Malfoy was focused on the task he had been given, or that those who were in support of the Dark Lord were aware that they were considerably outnumbered.

Whatever the reason, the peace within the castle would not last indefinitely.

"The Post is here," Hermione announced as the dozens of owls entered the Great Hall.

She immediately snatched her copy of The Daily Prophet and Harry pocketed his own letters, recognising both Isabella and Gabrielle's handwriting on the two envelopes.

"Anyone we know?" Ron asked.

He'd repeated the rather morbid question every morning for weeks now and it had come to lose all meaning. More often than not, people were being reported missing or found dead.

Several students had been withdrawn from Hogwarts after their families had been targeted, not to be heard from since.

Many families had chosen to go into hiding, and Harry couldn't blame them.

"No," Hermione whispered, "but there is something."

Harry frowned as she placed the newspaper on the table, his eyes widening slightly as he read the headline. More than anything, he was surprised it had taken so long for Sirius to implement such a thing, though there was always a reason.

Politics was a complex weapon, after all.

Minister Black: 'Zero Tolerance on Dark Mark!'

In what some would deem to be a controversial move, Minister of Magic, Sirius Black, has declared a zero-tolerance approach to those found to be branded with the Dark Mark. Those known to have the mark are now subjected to a stringent investigation. The Minister had this to say.

'Let me make it clear. Those branded with the Dark Mark will be considered a threat to our country until proven otherwise and swift charges proportionate to any proven crimes will follow. I would urge any who are marked who were under the Imperius Curse during the previous war to come forward to prove their innocence. Those who have nothing to hide have nothing to fear. That is all for now.'

The Minister's declaration has been condemned by several prominent members in British society including Lord Lucius Malfoy who was scathing in his response to the plans.

'It is absurd and an intentional invasion of privacy. Those of us that suffered more than most during the last war have moved on, have dedicate our lives to serving the people of Britain, and have become philanthropists. This is nothing more than an attempt to turn public opinion against those of us who were forced to act against our will. Black is power-mad, and he does not want competition from those that oppose him.'

Most will agree that this is rather a bold move for the Minister, but one that is necessary during these times. With the regular attacks and the Ministry at a loss on how to combat them, this is certainly a step in the right direction towards a resolution.

Harry snorted amusedly as he finished reading the article and looked towards the Slytherin table where many of the students had put their heads together. They were whispering furiously amongst themselves and Harry could see they were nervous.

"It's about time," he murmured.

Hermione nodded her agreement.

"How many do you think will come forward?"

"None," Ron answered immediately. "We all know the Imperius Curse defence is bollocks. They'll just say they oppose the idea and hide. At least that will make passing things through the Wizengamot easier."

"But it could increase the violence," Harry pointed out. "Without the illusion that maybe some things could be passed that would benefit him, Voldemort will only have one option left, and it's not like he needs an excuse to use it. I just hope Sirius is prepared for that."

"It's something he would have considered," Hermione assured him.

Harry nodded.

At least something was finally being done about the Death Eaters, even if it was unlikely to have a significant impact on their activities. Nevertheless, it was a progressive step forward, which couldn't be said for all of the war efforts.

Despite pondering and discussing it with Helena and Rowena, Harry was no closer to locating where Tom had hidden the Horcrux within the castle. He was in no doubt the man had taken the opportunity to do so the night he'd interviewed for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position.

His ego would not allow him to pass up such a thing.

Still, it was difficult to figure out where it could be.

In the seven years he'd spent in the castle, he'd come to know it as well as any. Even the map had failed to give Harry any indication, so the search would continue until it was found.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, noticing Harry shudder from a sudden pulse of magic.

"I'm fine," he said dismissively.

He was, though he was still adjusting to the changes. His magic had inexplicably changed since obtaining the elder wand, and it was taking time for Harry to get accustomed to it.

Often, it would pulse unexpectedly, and although it did not leave him feeling out of sorts, it served to remind him of the changes he was undergoing.

His new form of travel being one of the significant ones.

It had been almost by accident he'd discovered it, even if Harry felt that doing so for the first time had been instinctual for the most part. He'd been training in the room on the seventh floor when it had happened.

He'd been casting a flurry of spells when he'd simply wished to be closer to the dummy, only to find himself transported there through a wave of the cold magic.

In his shock, he'd failed to defend himself and had been sent sprawling by a flailing arm, leaving his nose rather spectacularly broken.

The injury had been worth it, however.

With only a little practice, Harry had managed to implement the means of travel, and could even pass through the protections around the castle, though there were limitations.

He'd tried only once to locate Tom; a mistake he would not repeat.

Whatever protections the Dark Lord had implemented, perhaps the Fidelius Curse amongst many others, had rebuffed his efforts quite violently.

As useful as it was for the most part, the travel was not flawless, and the unpleasant experience of being forced away was not something he wished to repeat.

"Runes," Hermione sighed as she stood. "What are you going to do?"

"I have a second-year class to teach," Harry answered. "See you in Potions?"

"And the Defence Club tonight," Hermione reminded him as she took her leave, followed by Ron who cursed under his breath that he had a divination lesson to attend.

Harry took a moment to finish his breakfast before following suit, relieved that Sirius was doing something, even if he could not help but think it would yield anything of note other than a complete shift of dynamic in the Wizengamot.

That was a positive thing, but in truth, the war had developed beyond being solved through political means. Tom had no interest in diplomacy and it would only end with more bloodshed and death.

"Come Death, come," he murmured to himself, the words only becoming more meaningful the more he spoke them.

(Break)

The Dark Lord's brow was furrowed as he exited the pensieve for the fourth time after viewing the memory that Barty had provided. Potter's magic was like nothing he'd seen nor heard of before. It was as perplexing as it was concerning.

"Did you see it, My Lord?"

Voldemort nodded thoughtfully.

What Potter had done, he could not be certain. He'd seized the werewolf and simply sapped what life had remained within the creature from it without casting a single spell.

"There must be an explanation, Barty," he murmured.

The power the Dark Lord knows not…

"I do not know what it is, My Lord," Barty replied worriedly.

"Nor I," Voldemort returned, "but it means nothing. Potter will die, Barty. Rest assured, he will die soon enough."

Now more than ever, he found himself relying on Lucius's son to provide the needed access. He had to catch Potter unaware, for the boy to be vulnerable when they met again.

For that, he needed his very best, and though he had taken great pain in his consideration and the risks involved, ultimately, he knew they would be worth it.

Now, he merely needed to begin his preparations.

"Send for Severus," he instructed. "I will have need of him."

Barty nodded and left to carry out his instructions, and the Dark Lord took a seat as he continued to ponder his foe.

Potter had undoubtedly inherited a power of sorts, one strong enough that the werewolves were of little concern to him. It was of no real consequence, however. The werewolves were of little threat to any who knew how to defend themselves adequately, and Potter had proven that time and again.

When the boy was faced with the true threat that hung over him, the outcome would not be the same the werewolves had faced.

No, the outcome would be as the Dark Lord had expected all along.

Harry Potter would die and Lord Voldemort would emerge triumphant with none to stand in his way.

Without their saviour, wizarding Britain would see that their resistance was futile, that the Dark Lord was the true power amongst them. Potter was a mere man, and he was so much more.

More than any could hope to comprehend.

They would be reminded.

Every day until Potter fell, they would all be reminded of the power wielded by Lord Voldemort.

(Break)

"Have you found anything?" Draco whispered.

Theo shook his head.

"I don't think there is anything here."

They were currently on the fifth floor of the castle, searching every brick, nook, and cranny they came to in a bid to find a passageway that would lead them out of the castle, and in turn, allow them to return the same way.

"Come on, Nott, we're running out of time."

Draco was becoming as desperate as Theo had felt before Potter had accosted him. How long the boy planned to wait before putting an end to this misery, Theo could only guess.

The longer it was drawn out, the worse Draco was becoming.

He'd never admit it, but Theo was certain he'd heard the boy crying in his bed only a few nights prior.

He understood what awaited them should they fail. The Dark Lord had made the consequences clear.

Neither would live to return to Hogwarts after the summer break if they did not find a way into the castle from the outside.

"I'm going to check the seventh-floor again," Draco sighed, his hair looking lank in the torchlight of the corridor.

Theo said nothing, merely pleased to be out of his presence, though he once more found himself wishing that Potter would find him again and tell him that his living nightmare was over.

He snorted at the thought.

Theo could scarcely believe his life was in Potter's hands, and yet, he often found himself dwelling on how they had been discovered and why the Gryffindor was so willing to help him.

Was it a trick?

It mattered not.

Regardless, at worst, Theo would either be killed by the Dark Lord or by Harry Potter if the boy did not remain true to his word, neither outcome being particularly appealing to the Nott heir.

(Break)

Albus peered over the top of his spectacles at the man sitting opposite him. Severus had always prided himself on maintaining his composure, even in the most dire of circumstances.

In this moment, however, he could barely do so, his eyes filled with concern as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"There is no good to come from this," he murmured. "What he is planning…"

He broke off as he shook his head.

"Do you believe it will work?" Albus asked.

"I cannot say, but he is willing to risk it which means he is quietly confident. Even if it fails, he has his second option. Both will yield unpleasant consequences."

Albus nodded.

"Then perhaps it is time for you to…"

"No," Severus cut in firmly. "No. I must see this through."

Albus wished the man would see reason, but it would not be so. Severus was set on following the path he had embarked on some fifteen years ago and would not be deterred from it.

"What are the possible outcomes?"

Severus released a deep breath.

"If the first ritual works as intended, he will have them back," he answered simply. "If it fails, they cannot be brought back as they were. That is when he will attempt the second. I have yet to decide which would be worse."

"And what of you?"

"I am to be used as a conduit to link all of our minds. If the first ritual goes wrong… I do not know what will happen to me. I expect I will become like them."

"And if it does work?"

"Then it is possible they will have had unfettered access to my memories and the Dark Lord will kill me."

Albus shook his head.

"Severus…"

"What choice do I have?"

Albus offered the man a look of sympathy.

"You can stop."

"We both know that I can't. He will find a way to get to me."

"Not if you flee, Severus. I have no doubt you could do so successfully and remain hidden."

"And live as a coward? No, I won't do that."

"You would sooner die?"

"If necessary," Severus answered. "I made a promise to myself that I would do whatever it took to end this, to see that she gets her justice. I could not bring myself to face her if I did not keep my word."

Albus nodded his understanding, the raw emotion Severus spoke with leaving no room for compromise.

"What do you think is going to happen?"

Severus shook his head.

"It is unexplored magic and foolishly dangerous," he sighed. "No matter what happens, he will have power tools at his disposal. Neither outcome is a good one."

"Indeed," Albus murmured, "and I do wish you would change your mind. Surely there is something that can be done?"

"I do not think so," Severus murmured as he stood. "I will see it through. If I die, Albus, the boy is to know nothing of any of this. He is to be told nothing."

Albus acquiesced the request with an inclination of his head and he watched as Severus left the office.

His lot in life had not been kind to him. He'd made some poor choices in his youth, and as far as Albus was concerned, he'd all but repented for them. Severus, however, would never see it that way.

To him, there was nothing that would absolve him of the guilt he'd carried for so long.

Not even his own death would be enough.

(Break)

"We must be missing something," Draco whispered as he dragged a hand through his hair. "My father says the castle is full of hidden passages and we've found none."

"What about the seventh floor?" Theo asked.

Draco shook his head.

"The Dark Lord is insistent that there's one there, but I cannot open it."

"Maybe it was found and blocked off," Theo suggested.

"Maybe," Draco conceded. "We have to find something, Nott. We're running out of time."

"Don't you think I'm aware of that?" Theo snapped irritably. "We are going to die if we don't."

"Do you think he will really kill us?"

"He doesn't give a toss about your father or mine. If we don't get him what he wants, he will kill us, but for now, I'm going to bed. We will go over the fifth floor again tomorrow."

"Fine," Draco agreed.

Daphne watched as the boys made their way to their dorm and found herself in a state of disbelief at the common sense they were showing. To have such a conversation in front of the fireplace, even at such a late hour was reckless, and it only served to confirm her suspicions.

Draco and Nott were up to something on behalf of the Dark Lord, which involved finding a hidden passage within the castle.

Such a revelation did not bode well for any, and Daphne knew it was not something she could keep to herself.

Potter.

The only person she could trust with the information was Harry Potter. He would ensure she was not dragged into a mess she did not wish to be a part of.

Still, it was concerning, to say the least.

There was only one reason the Dark Lord would require a way into the school and that was to use it for his own nefarious deeds. No, that couldn't be allowed.

The very thought of the man roaming the halls here filled Daphne with dread, and as far as she knew, she was the only one aware of the ploy to see that happen.

(Break)

"Good work," Harry praised as the rest of the team landed around him. "That will do for tonight. Get yourselves showered; I'll clean this lot up."

The others didn't need telling twice. Despite the worst of the winter weather having passed for the year, it was still wet and muddy and would be for a few weeks yet before spring finally came.

Nonetheless, it was much better than the perpetual snow showers and icy conditions they'd had to contend with prior to the Christmas break. Why the Quidditch season began in October, Harry didn't know.

With a shrug, he set about the task of gathering and cleaning the equipment the team had been using for their drills, and by the time he was done, the others had finished, leaving him alone to shower in peace.

Quidditch truly was one of the few things he was able to enjoy in life and he was pleased he'd chosen to continue playing the previous year. It would have been so easy to walk away after Katie had been killed, though the girl would have been furious for him doing so.

He smiled as he was flooded with a plethora of memories from his first year, all the way through the third that he'd been part of the team. It had changed so much since then, but when Harry thought about it now, the memories no longer elicited a feeling of bitterness within him.

Playing with Wood, the Chasers, and the twins were amongst the best times of his life and memories he would always cherish.

Katie would be pleased by that.

All she had wanted for Harry was for him to be happy and Quidditch once more did that for him. It gave him something to focus on beyond the war, the Horcruxes, and Voldemort.

It was his reprieve, his momentary escape from all the things that plagued him.

Turning off the shower when he'd finished washing the mud off himself, he reached for his towel and wrapped it around his waist before returning to the changing room, pausing as he sensed another person nearby.

Casually sliding his wand into his hand, under the guise of searching for something in his bag, he swept it across the breadth of the changing room, frowning at the familiar curtain of blonde hair that belonged to a surprised Daphne who was pinned against the wall by his magic.

"You know, I've thought many things of you, Greengrass, but you never struck me as a pervert," he chuckled.

Daphne looked at him in a mixture of embarrassment and horror and Harry chuckled once more as he released her from his hold.

"I wasn't spying," she defended herself, her cheeks flushing. "I need to speak with you."

"And you thought the best way of doing so was to sneak into the changing rooms?"

"It's important," she returned defiantly.

Harry frowned as he cast several privacy charms and even locked the door to ensure they were not overheard.

"That sounds ominous," he murmured. "What is it?"

"Malfoy," Daphne sighed. "He's up to something with Nott."

"I have no interest in knowing what Malfoy and Nott are up to together. That's their business," Harry quipped.

"Not like that!" Daphne growled, narrowing her eyes as Harry grinned at her. "They're trying to find a secret passageway into the castle for him."

Harry felt his own expression darken.

"I know."

"You know?"

Harry nodded.

"I do," he confirmed. "I am dealing with it. Voldemort will not set foot in the castle."

Daphne breathed a sigh of relief.

"What are you going to do?"

"The less you know the better. You already know too much."

Daphne nodded her understanding.

"I had to tell you," she murmured.

"Why not Dumbledore?"

"Because I'd only trust you," Daphne answered sincerely.

Harry chuckled as he returned to his bag and began removing his clothes. He was pleased that she felt she could trust him, even if she had been rather off with him since they'd returned to Hogwarts back in September.

He understood, however.

Greengrass would not wish to be associated with him outside of anything to do with the Defence Club. Anyone acquainted with him could be in danger, as proven by what had happened to Katie.

"Are we going to turn me getting changed into a spectator sport?" he asked with a grin.

"You locked the door," Daphne returned, her gaze unwittingly roaming over his exposed torso, her eyes widening before snapping back to his own. "You have a lot of scars."

"I have a lot of enemies," Harry snorted. "It comes with being me."

Daphne shook her head, evidently doing her utmost not to look again.

"You're still here," Harry pointed out amusedly.

"The door is still locked."

"Have I not taught you enough to unlock it yourself?"

"That's a fair point," Daphne conceded as she removed her wand, her own lips twitching in mirth. "Maybe I let you teach me too much, Potter. It could have been the perfect excuse to stay," she called as she left.

Harry chuckled to himself as he got dressed and followed suit only a few moments later where he could see Daphne entering the castle in the distance.

It was a strange dynamic that existed between them.

They bantered back and forth from time to time, bordering on flirty behaviour from them both, but it never crossed an invisible line they seemed to toe with the utmost care.

First and foremost, she had come to him for her tutoring, but that had developed into something of a friendship, even if Harry didn't quite understand it.

Daphne was aloof, calculated, and ambitious in her own way, though now more than ever, Harry knew she was a good person. It had been quite the risk to come to him with the information she had, and yet, she had done so anyway.

It was a testament to her true character, and though he'd already been aware of what it was she'd told him, he didn't appreciate the gesture any less.

The same couldn't quite be said to one of the letters he'd received that morning.

Still, it was not something he could ignore.

(Break)

She hadn't wanted to return to England, but with nowhere else to go, Isabella had little choice. The final part of her school year was to be dedicated to self-study in preparation for her exams.

She had hoped she'd be allowed to remain at Durmstrang, but the new headmaster was rather keen to be rid of the seventh-year students.

He was somehow more paranoid than the wayward Igor Karkaroff who had not been seen nor heard from in almost two years.

Isabella pulled her cloak around her shoulders. It wasn't cold here in comparison to Durmstrang, but she did not wish to be seen, even if she was in an unfamiliar place.

"I am working on it," a voice sounded from nearby, pulling her from her thoughts.

Isabella was startled by the appearance of Harry Potter, though her surprise quickly turned to relief. The boy was the only thing that stood between seeing her family live through the coming war, after all.

"Thank you," she whispered as she wrapped her arms around him.

"Don't thank me yet," Harry said grimly. "There's no promises that this will even work. For now, I suppose we should get you somewhere safe. Does your mother know you are back?"

Isabella shook her head.

"I told no one."

"A smart move," Harry assured her. "That means I'll only need to get her out when the time is right Come, I haven't finished preparing the safehouse for your family, but there is somewhere you can stay for the time being."

Isabella nodded and accepted the hand that Harry offered, feeling the breath pulled from her lungs as he apparated them away.

When she was standing on her own two feet once more, a wave of confusion washed over her as she took in her surroundings, her thoughts muddle and incoherent.

"Just a minute," Harry requested as he drew his wand.

With each piece of magic he cast, her mind became clearer, and Isabella found herself rather impressed with the level of security.

"Do not remove your wand or attempt to attack me in any way," Harry said firmly. "The protections here will not take too kindly to that."

"Why would I want to attack you?" Isabella asked with a smirk.

Harry shrugged.

"It happens more often than I'd like. I thought it was best to warn you, just in case you get the urge. That tends to happen with people who spend too much time with me."

Isabella laughed as she shook her head.

"I think you're quite safe with me, Harry Potter. I'm a Healer, not much of a fighter," she reminded him. "Is this your home?"

"It is," Harry confirmed.

"It's very nice," Isabella complimented, "and by the sea. I'd love to live by the sea," she added with a longing smile.

"Well, you will be for the foreseeable future," Harry replied, joining her as she gazed out of the window.

Isabella nodded, sniffing suddenly as a tear broke free.

The past several months had been trying at best. She'd spent her days worrying about her mother and brother, and whether it would be too late to save them.

Now, in what she could only hope to believe to be was a place of safety, she felt something akin to relief, bolstered by Harry's self-assuredness.

"How do you cope with it?" she whispered. "With all of it."

"Because I have to," Harry answered simply.

Isabella turned to look at him, and it was difficult to miss his own tiredness, the grim expression speaking volumes of all he'd been through.

"I'm sorry," she offered. "For putting this on you. I should be able to fix it myself, but I don't know what to do."

"You think I do?" Harry returned with a chuckle. "Most of this, I'm making up as I go along."

"Well, you're not doing a bad job of it from what I've seen."

Harry deflated slightly.

"I've made my fair share of blunders," he sighed. "I think I'm just muddling my way through each day as it comes. How can you prepare for something when you don't know what it is you'll be facing?"

"I hadn't really thought of it like that. In a way, it's like being a Healer, I suppose. You just never know what's coming."

"True," Harry observed. "I think I've seen enough Healers in my time, and more than enough of the other things," he added with a chuckle.

"Sick of me already?" Isabella quipped.

"Not yet."

"Not yet?" she pressed, quirking a brow at him.

"Well, I never intended to have anyone living here. I suppose I should be grateful that I'm at Hogwarts."

"I bet you'd be harder to live with than me," Isabella retorted. "You're probably messy and walk around in your underwear."

"I do," Harry confirmed unashamedly. "Maybe you should try it, it's quite liberating."

"I can promise you will not find me walking around in your underwear, Potter," Isabella deadpanned.

Harry narrowed his eyes at her.

"Funny."

"I have my moments," Isabella replied as she looked towards the sea once more.

"Would you like a tour?" Harry offered. "It's probably best you know where to go and where you should avoid."

Isabella nodded as she tore her eyes away from the beach below.

"Are you wearing perfume?" she asked, catching a hint of something floral.

"No," Harry denied with a frown before rolling his eyes. "I was intruded on whilst in the changing rooms after Quidditch practice."

"Do girls do that often to you?" Isabella queried.

"No, never."

Isabella hummed as she eyed him sceptically.

She had no doubt Harry had his fair share of admirers.

"Well, whoever she is has good taste in perfume," she commented. "Not that it suits you. I can only imagine the Dark Lord's reaction if he caught wind that his greatest enemy wears perfume."

Harry laughed heartily, his eyes alight with mirth as he led her from the living area.

"There's a rumour that wouldn't do me any favours. There'd be Death Eaters stalking every known perfumery in the country. Well, I'm sure Malfoy already does."

"Probably," Isabella agreed. "I never liked Lucius."

"I doubt even Lucius likes himself," Harry replied with a shrug as he gestured for Isabella to enter the first room they came to which was the kitchen. "There's always food but let me know if you need anything else. The basement is through that door," he added, nodding towards the door on the far side of the room. "You won't be able to get in there."

"Secret room?"

"Something like that," Harry replied with a grin.

Isabella shook her head and followed him back into the hallway.

"There's a small library in there," he explained pointing to the door opposite the kitchen. "A bath in that one and a parlour through there. I'll show you to your room."

Isabella was impressed.

Harry was only sixteen and though from a prominent family in his own right, had already built himself a home that seemed to reflect him perfectly.

"You do have your own bathroom attached to your room," he informed her as he opened the door into a large bedroom complete with a desk, a vanity table, and even a balcony that looked over the coast. "My room is down the far end of the hall, and the others are just bedrooms and a study you can use next door."

"Thank you," Isabella murmured gratefully.

Harry offered her a nod.

"I would urge you not to leave if you can help it," he sighed apologetically. "I'll come by a few times a week to make sure you're okay, and I will leave you an emergency portkey that will take you to a safe location. You're safe here, but it is better to be safe than sorry."

Isabella nodded her understanding.

"Did you speak to Theo?"

"I did," Harry confirmed. "I was sceptical, but when I managed to get him alone, he agreed to help me under the condition that I helped you and your mother. He surprised me."

Isabella smiled.

"Theo isn't like my father. He doesn't want anything to do with the war."

"Well, if all goes to plan, he won't have to," Harry assured her. "Once I've got the house ready you all can stay in, I'll make my move. It will happen quickly, but I will let you know. Oh, and don't try to bring anyone else here. It would be most unpleasant for them."

"I have no intention to," Isabella promised. "I'm just so relieved and grateful you're helping me, even if I can't work out why."

"You helped me," Harry reminded her. "The night we met in Knockturn Alley."

"That was nothing."

"Well, when you meet so few people willing to help you, it means a lot," Harry countered. "I wasn't in a good place then and acted quite stupidly."

"I think you handled what you were going through quite well," Isabella returned. "You could have just given up and then, well, I don't know what the state of the country would be. It's you who is making the difference where it matters, Harry."

"It's me he wants," Harry chuckled humourlessly. "Speaking of which, I'd best get back to Hogwarts. I have to teach in the morning. Is there anything you need?"

Isabella shook her head.

"No, I'll be fine until you come back," she assured Harry before pulling him into a tentative embrace. "Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."

He offered her a final smile before he vanished in a cloud of black smoke and Isabella shook her head.

Harry was so casually brilliant. Even at the age of fourteen and fighting fully grown witches and wizards on the underground duelling circuit, he'd been brilliant.

He was simply one of those rare talents who was unwaveringly dedicated to magic, and it was something that Isabella admired.

She may not be much like her father, but she admired ambition as much as any in her family.

Nonetheless, it was strange to find herself here.

She and Harry had been writing to one another regularly enough over the past couple of years, but to find herself living in his house was an odd outcome she had not expected.

(Break)

"Are you ready, Severus?"

He nodded, clearing his mind as best he could as he glanced around the room before peering into the enchanted mirror in front of him.

The mute and unresponsive Death Eaters had been carefully assembled; they too having been placed before a mirror that was connected to his own. It was an intricate set-up, compiled by the Dark Lord himself through his own brilliance in the Mind Arts, Arithmancy, and several clusters of Runes which would be fuelled by powerful conduits.

What this meant for Severus, he didn't know.

It truly was an untested ritual he would be undergoing and that alone made him nervous.

Releasing a deep breath, he nodded as he uncorked several potions he had painstakingly brewed for this very purpose. Having removed dozens of his own memories that would see his intentions exposed, he'd need to bolster his ability to focus and to endure what was to come, for what good his efforts would do.

Severus could not help but think that something, or many things, would go awry in the moments that would follow.

It was nerve-wracking, to say the least.

"Then I will begin," the Dark Lord announced and began setting about the task at hand.

It was several moments of murmured incantations and the activation of the many runes carved into the wall and floors before Severus felt something, though when he did, it quickly became burdensome.

As the connection between him and the broken Death Eaters was formed, a plethora of broken memories flooded his own consciousness, most broken and lacking clarity, but the sheer number began to overwhelm him quickly.

It was as though a violent storm had blown into his head, and his own thoughts became lost among those that were not his.

Severus grimaced as he attempted to focus, to set to work on pulling together the frayed, innumerable tendrils of coherent thoughts of the destroyed minds he was connected to.

His efforts, however, would be in vain.

It took all of his concentration to ensure his own mind was not torn asunder in the storm, and yet, he could feel his own thoughts and the intrusive memories of the others tearing through him.

He could taste blood, could feel it pouring from his nose and ears in a steady, morbid stream as the magic grew only stronger.

How long he managed to remain conscious, Severus didn't know, but as he was finally overwhelmed by all he was enduring, a dozen or so bloodcurdling screams filled the air; his own amongst them before his mind and body finally caved and the darkness took him.

When he woke an inordinate amount of time later, he was on the floor surrounded by broken glass and his vision swimming as his head pounded agonisingly.

"My Lord," he managed to croak weakly.

He heard the distant sound of approaching footsteps, the shards of mirror crunching beneath them. It was the crimson-red eyes filled with disappointment that met his own as he was pulled into a sitting position, supported by the Dark Lord.

"It failed, Severus," the man whispered dangerously.

"I'm sorry, My Lord."

"As am I," Voldemort sighed as he placed his wand under Severus's chin.

Severus swallowed deeply and braced himself for the inevitable, only to frown as the Dark Lord stood.

"It seems as though we must attempt the other option," he declared. "Get your rest, old friend. I will have need of your brewing expertise."

Severus nodded as he fell back into a laying position, knowing he'd only been spared because the Dark Lord still had a use for him.

Nonetheless, he could not help but think it would have been something of a relief if he'd been killed, though it would have been wholly unsatisfactory to pass when the Dark Lord yet lived.

No, he could not die yet, not until he knew his former master's end was beyond doubt.