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Chapter 15: The Things We Fight For
Chill gusts streamed the tassels of his black cloak out behind him as he looked down from atop his mountain perch. The city of Hogsmeade sprawled out below him — a dense cluster of lights and shadows extending out from near the mountain's foot.
A fleeting silhouette slithered through the countryside, visible only via the shining stars now bright against the dark night sky.
The train was too distant to decipher details, but he could imagine every inch of it and knew it would soon arrive in Hogsmeade.
Time to go.
Turning on his heel, Harry stared back into the cave that had once housed his godfather during the Triwizard Tournament. Long and narrow with smooth walls and a high ceiling, it had once ended in a sheer face of rock.
Harry strode to the back of the cave and paused before that wall. Something sharp dug into his palm as he laid it flat against the rock. There was a soft emerald glow and then the wall was gone.
Grimacing, he withdrew his wand and healed the wound. He had never liked blood magic, but it was the best thing for concealment short of casting a Fidelius Charm, and it required no one's aid.
A square chamber had been carved beyond the warded wall of rock. Far smaller than the Chamber of Secrets but large enough to live in comfortably, the hollow appeared empty.
Harry knew better.
Another room had been erected behind the backmost wall. Smaller and protected by a nasty set of wards, it was more than sufficient to house Riddle's trinkets.
Trinkets, not horcruxes. A week of intense scrutiny had passed before he could admit the truth.
All four objects were enchanted, but none bore any trace of Riddle's soul.
I wonder what they do. Surely something — it was the last thing for him to latch onto; if they were unremarkable, then the heist had been for nothing.
They can't be unremarkable. They were enchanted.
Harry examined the sparkling silver diadem. Legend said its wearer would gain intellect beyond imagination, but he knew that could not be. There were some things outside the scope of magic.
The temptation to try it on was strong regardless, but he resisted. The enchantments were so complex, there was no saying whether Riddle had woven in a curse.
Harry twirled the Elder Wand between his fingers. Perhaps he could find more reliable references to the items and what they really did. He would not make Dumbledore's mistake and grab one in his haste to wield it, particularly if it was of little value. A student was to learn from the failings of their mentor; it was among the first things his had taught him long ago.
Casting a final glance about the cave, Harry spun on his heel and stepped into the shadow of two high columns and a set of wrought-iron gates. Hogwarts castle loomed beyond them and the boar's head hung high above him.
Nearby yew trees sheltered the gates from sparkling starlight and rendered the carved head vague and featureless. It was easy imagining pleading eyes as he stared up at the depicted boar.
Soon.
He was waiting at the Gryffindor table when the returning students streamed through the Great Hall's double doors and filled the space with noise and cheer.
Harry could not help but stare up at Riddle in his high seat through a gap in the crowd as students filed in. There was no telling what or whom Riddle suspected regarding the break-in. It might well be that he thought whoever had robbed him of his artifacts was dead.
If the thief had been anyone else, they likely would have been. Harry himself had not planned on escaping through the window. Only conjured winds and well-timed summoning charms had saved him. It had been madness, resorting to those tricks while falling so freely. Had there been better options, he never would have dared — such a thing was akin to suicide and he was lucky to have survived. It had been a near thing.
But I did survive. He always survived, even when better men died and he wished to take their places.
"Harry!" Lily wore a beaming smile as she slid into the seat across from him. "How was your holiday?"
For all his practice faking smiles, this one did not come easy. "It was all right. I didn't do a whole lot." It had been hard to do anything once he learned the truth. Those trinkets had been his only lead on Riddle's horcruxes.
I promised he would die before I left. It was a promise he planned on keeping for the sake of his mother and a thousand unnamed others, but there was no use attacking Riddle until his horcruxes were gone.
And I don't have much time. Casting a nervous glance at Lily from the corner of his eye, Harry wanted to believe she could resist the bastard's snares, but no one ever did.
No one but Dumbledore, who was too busy ruling the world to see what was going on.
"Did you hear what happened to Potter's family?" Lily's words sliced through his thoughts like they were slender silken strands.
Oh, Merlin. Was he already too late? His eyes roamed down the table and sought his father out. There. A familiar nest of raven hair was bent low above the scarlet tablecloth. It appeared the Marauders were having a whispered conversation.
His heartbeat slowed, though only by a fraction. "What happened?"
"Their manor was attacked," Lily informed him.
His heart renewed its pounding. "Attacked? By who? What happened?"
"No one knows," Marlene whispered. "They were holding a gala for New Year's like they always do. The stories are all over the place, but most agree that a large group attacked in the middle of the party."
"The Prophet says their ballroom was destroyed," Mary murmured. "There were pictures released showing that a huge chunk of the manor was just… gone."
"It caused quite the scandal," Marlene added. "The Lord Governor was furious that those pictures were leaked."
She prattled on about the drama, but Harry's attention was elsewhere.
The Potter home, attacked? The ballroom ruined? A chunk of their manor torn away completely?
He threw a hateful glare at Riddle while the bastard was distracted. There was no change in him. One would never know his trinkets had been stolen or that he had been out killing, but Harry had no doubts. Few wizards were powerful enough to lead attacks on warded pureblood homes, and fewer still could wreak destruction like what his friends described.
But why the Potters? Harry's heart fluttered. Could he know about the hallows? The Elder Wand burned inside its holster.
It was unlikely, he decided. Riddle had been ignorant of them back in Harry's world, and there the tales had been widespread. Here, he had not seen a single copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, and when he had mentioned the Peverells to Lily she had never heard of them.
No, the attack was unlikely to have concerned the hallows.
So what then? Had it been a random bout of terrorism? It was possible; the massacre on Samhain had been a transparent grab for attention that proved Riddle was not above those sorts of strikes. But that one was different. It had been much safer and far less grandiose. What am I missing?
"Harry?" He looked up at the sharpness in Marlene's voice; something dark and grim was slashed across her face.
She's not quite back to normal. There were too many pressing worries for him to feel guilt or self-loathing over this one. "Sorry, I was just surprised." He bit his tongue and reigned himself back in. "How many dead?"
Marlene reached down to smooth her skirts. "A few dozen."
Once, that number would have crushed him, but now he had perspective and so he exhaled his relief. Hundreds went to balls like that; it could have been much worse. "And the Potters? I see James, but what about the others?"
Lily threw a quick glance down the table. "The only other ones alive are his parents, and they're both fine."
"Most of the deaths were minor nobles," Marlene explained.
"There were a lot of injuries," Mary said with downcast eyes. "Most of them survived, but… some were bad."
Marlene's nod was sombre. "Rufus Scrimgeour lost a leg."
Harry nearly choked. "Isn't he in charge of the venators?"
"Lord Consul, yes. There are rumours he might retire. They say he'll walk again, but on a fake leg and with a limp." Compassion splayed across her face as Lily chewed her lip. "It's… not exactly ideal for a man in his position."
Underneath the table, Harry clenched his fists. I'll bet anything that was Riddle. It might well have been his goal — a broad, well-publicised attack to mask his real intentions.
No. Maiming a high-ranking official was petty work for Riddle. Unless he hoped Scrimgeour's wound would spread terror better than the man's demise?
No, that's not like him.
No answers came to Harry as they ate, and his friends were weary by the time they left the hall and strode towards the marble staircase.
"Oi! Kalloway!" His friends halted alongside him as he looked around.
James Potter, of all people, was coming near with his hands held out in supplication. The other three Marauders lurked a ways behind him.
Harry's fingers flexed; he could feel every inch of the Elder Wand resting in its holster and fought the urge to summon it. "Potter."
It seemed only to occur to James just feet away from him how awkward this encounter was. His hands fell back down to his sides and he shifted restlessly from foot to foot. The same way I do. "Can I… uh, have a word?"
Harry could feel Lily tense behind him, but he remained calm. "Sure."
James mussed his hair and looked anywhere but at Harry. "I was… uh, hoping for somewhere more private."
Harry made a sweeping gesture indicating his acceptance and followed James down a side corridor and through a tapestry depicting a fiercely raging storm, along a dark and twisting tunnel, and into a low-ceilinged room that was long and narrow.
"I'm sorry about what happened at your family's party." Harry had not meant to say it, but the words slipped out against his will.
It was a dark room, but he could see the way James shifted once again from foot to foot. "I… thanks. It… wasn't pleasant."
Sympathy fell like a brick into the pit of Harry's stomach. How many times had he heard new recruits refer to their first battle in sombre tones like that? "I know we don't see eye to eye, but I don't wish that sort of thing on anyone. I hope all your friends and family are all right." Squinting through the darkness, he could see just how lost his father looked.
It hit him like a bludger, there in that dark room. He still could not hate James — not after how he had gone to his mother, not after Samhain, not after the month of harassment Harry had endured. I still want to like him. He wanted it more than anything.
Anything but killing Riddle and returning home.
"We're mostly all right, it just… made me think, you know?" James snorted before Harry could respond. "Stupid. How could you know?"
"I understand better than you might think." He could feel James's stare appraising him, could feel and empathize with the silent need for some form of companionship. Sometimes Harry felt like he had left himself behind on a hundred blistered battlefields. The most trying part of war had been learning to be hard. It was a lesson he hoped James would never learn. "I don't know what your mother told you about me, but you're not the only one who's been through a melee."
"She wouldn't tell me anything, but I believe you." There was a restless silence. "You… seem like the type."
Harry grimaced. "I'd thank you, but it's not something to be proud of."
"I'd be proud if I did better." It was a whisper, likely not meant for his ears, so Harry bit his tongue. Some things could not be taught with words. "I want to make peace."
That surprised him almost as much as the attack on Potter Manor. "Peace?"
"Yeah." James's robes rustled under the onslaught of his fidgeting. "Some things make you think, you know? They make you realize that stupid shit like playground spats aren't worth a damn." His father's bitterness grew so strong, Harry could almost feel it. "Besides, cursing you won't make Evans like me."
"No, it won't." But acting like this might. "I don't hate you, Potter. I don't even dislike you. I snapped on Samhain. I'm not sorry, but it should never have happened. I knew it wasn't worth it, I just couldn't stop."
"Let's just… forget about all that." James moved closer and held out a hand. "From the beginning?"
Warmth so fierce it almost melted his rage and worry surrounding Riddle blazed inside him. "The beginning," Harry said and clasped his father's hand. "Harry Kalloway. It's nice to meet you."
"James Potter. Always a pleasure meeting a bloke that looks half as good as me."
Harry laughed. It was easy forgetting how much older than these children he was. Usually the reminders were unpleasant, but sometimes they showed him something bright and pure.
This is what I fight for. Harry seized the warmth and laughter both, clutching them like a starving man might grip a loaf of bread. This is why I'll take down Riddle, no matter what it takes.
Someone sneezed nearby and Harry's head jerked up. Having become so invested in his work, he had almost forgotten he was in a public place. Looking up and out the nearest window, he saw the sky outside was no longer dark but was filled with flakes of snow that were falling fast.
Riddle really had come through with a written note to Madam Violette, who had prescribed Harry a month's worth of dreamless sleep. Dark bags no longer hung beneath his eyes, but he still felt exhausted.
It was a different sort of weariness, the sort brought about by straining almost endlessly without results.
The best way forward was to destroy the horcruxes, but where were they? There were no leads.
Harry's eyes dropped down to his expansive stack of notes. They contained everything he knew about the Riddle from his own world; from his time at the orphanage, to his Hogwarts years, to his stint at Borgin and Burke's, to his disappearance, and finally to his reign as Voldemort.
Everything was dated as precisely as he could remember. The trick now was working through these notes and deciding what must have changed and what those alterations meant.
The Order of Merlin had conquered Britain midway through Riddle's third year, so events at the orphanage were likely unchanged. There could still be a horcrux hidden in that cave and Riddle may still have owned the diary.
But there was no award for him in the trophy room, and no strange records concerning the 1942-1943 Hogwarts school year.
Worse still, there was no way of knowing whether he had gone to kill his father. Muggle records were trickier to track and there had been no sign of Marvollo's ring in Riddle's office.
It was like being back in that cramped tent again, jumping from forest to forest along the English countryside and pondering horcruxes with Ron and Hermione.
Ron and Hermione… Just two more reasons Riddle had to die and Harry had to get back home.
Releasing a long and laboured breath, he shoved his stack of notes aside. I'll just have to track them down.
The cup and diadem were clean and had not been hidden. That leaves the locket, the diary, and the ring. Harry was confident there was no snake — Nagini had not appeared until her master's resurrection.
Which one should he go after first? The locket would still be in that cave, if it was hidden like it had been where Harry came from. I could go looking, but if it's really there, I won't be able to get it alone.
There was no telling where the diary was, and the ring had been enough to trip up Dumbledore. Had that just been his lust for the Resurrection Stone?
Harry wiped sweaty palms against his trousers. He was all too aware how close his heist had been. If those were the sorts of things guarding Riddle's trinkets, what kinds of traps would protect his horcruxes?
I'm just thinking in circles.
The other route was proving Riddle guilty — proving him a terrorist, a predator, a tyrant, and a murderer.
But how?
That had stumped him worse than horcruxes.
Enough of this. He would not waste more weeks staring at a set of clues. Something will come to me.
Until then, he would shift his focus. This was a golden opportunity for him to strengthen himself — Harry had more free time than he had known in years and an entire library at his disposal.
He had to be strong enough to beat this Riddle, then go back and handle Voldemort.
"Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."
A glance up at the nearest clock told him that would have to wait. Breakfast's end was fast-approaching and classes would soon follow.
His eyes flicked up towards the staff table when Harry entered the packed Great Hall. There was no sign of Riddle. What are you up to, you bastard?
"Harry?" Marlene asked the moment he sat down.
"What's up?"
"Have you heard any stories about Governor Muhindo?"
Lily buried her face in her hands. "Marlene, Harry is the worst person you could have asked that."
"Oh right, sorry."
"I think I've read the name somewhere, actually," he mused aloud. It was blissful, picking through his bank of memories in search of things not tied so tight to Riddle. "Wasn't he the leader of an African tribe back during the Conquest?"
Marlene shot a smug smirk at Lily. "See?" Turning back to Harry, Marlene went on. "He was a part of the Magical Batwa people."
"That's right. I read about him not long ago. The continent was split. The Western Sahel and Maghreb had sided with the empire. There was a power struggle on the Cape and most of South Africa did the same. Egypt and a few countries scattered near Zanzibar stayed out of it." He wracked his memory. "The rest of the continent was crippled by infighting. Territories around the Congo were caught between all sides and torn up bad. Muhindo's tribe wanted to fight until the last man, but he betrayed them and led a massacre of his own people alongside the opposing tribe and an army sent up from South Africa."
Marlene was nodding eagerly. "That's about all I can remember; that and the odd report about him since, plus some kind of nickname."
"Msaliti." It had intrigued him when he had come across it; Harry had learned to study what men called their leaders. "It means 'Betrayer' in Swahili."
Lily was frowning at him. "Since when did you become a historian?"
"I've been reading more about it lately. Being clueless gets frustrating." The real reason had been in pursuit of Riddle's past.
"You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view… until you climb into his skin and walk around in it."
It was a muggle quote his mentor had been fond of. Dumbledore had often cited it when discussing Voldemort and Harry had taken that to heart.
"Is there anything else you know?" Marlene asked. "Someone wrote me about him not long ago because I have a relative in Africa who writes about their history. I tried owling her, but she hasn't gotten back to me."
Mary made a face. "Who's been asking you about Africa?"
"Never you mind."
"I don't know much more," Harry admitted. "Muhindo always said the reason he turned was because he didn't want another Russia. Some think he was just sucking up to the empire. Their arguments got stronger once he became the region's governor. There were some civil wars, but I haven't read much about them yet."
There were actually all sorts of myths about Muhindo, but he believed few of them. No man could walk through storms of curses like they were simple raindrops, nor bring down city walls barehanded.
But people always like to spread tales about their heroes.
He was grateful for the canopy of pine needles during his class on warding. It was a practical lesson and they were working on a scheme set across a clearing not far into the Forbidden Forest. Long, grizzling years had hardened him against the cold, but there was no acclimating to being caught out in a blizzard.
So much snow had fallen that trudging through it left their whole class late for spell creation. The professor — a stern old wisp of a man with hair more white than grey — was in a foul mood all lesson long, but it was not as though he could place their whole class in detention.
Lunch was a welcome break, but he found himself tensing when he drew near the Gryffindor table. Hazel eyes tracked him from beneath a tangled mess of raven hair, and two pairs of arms waved for his attention.
"What's going on?" Lily whispered in his ear, studying the Marauders with a stare so fierce, their robes ought to have been singed.
"We've made peace," he murmured back. "Potter and I had a chat. I think he'll be different going forward."
Her scoff and upturned nose told him what she thought of that, but Harry disentangled himself from her and took a wary seat across from James. "Potter?"
All four Marauders looked like a venomous snake had plopped into their midst, but James appeared to steel himself. "Sirius and I were wondering if you could help us out tonight."
Harry had been spooning a thick stew onto his plate, but his hand paused and left the ladle hovering above the steaming pot. "Help with what, exactly?"
James opened his mouth, then faltered. There was a sheen of sweat across his brow and his cheeks were blazing.
Sirius crossed his arms and huffed. "Oh, for fuck's sake, James, just swallow your damn pride." James just ducked his head, so the Black heir sighed and turned to Harry. "We were hoping you'd show us a few things. Nothing crazy, but maybe whatever you did with the air back on Samhain? That shield you conjured? Just some stuff like that."
The biggest bullies in the school want me to teach them magic? His first instinct was to deny them.
He bit down on that impulse and considered it properly.
Sirius had shown maturity out on the grounds a fortnight after Samhain, and James…
"We've made peace," he had told Lily. What sort of message would it send her if he refused James out of hand?
"All right." There would be no harm in showing them a shred of what they asked for. "But I want something in return." That seemed fair, given their collective history.
A purple flush came over James's face and his mouth yawned open, but Sirius gripped his arm and he ducked his head again. "What are you after?" the Black heir asked.
Harry weighed risks, rewards, and realistic expectations. He could track Riddle with the Marauder's Map or have them do it for him. It was the best way he had to prove the bastard guilty, but the Marauders would never agree to that idea — plus, there would be questions.
"A favour at a later date," he decided. "You're allowed to say no when I ask for it; I just want it considered."
James relaxed perceptibly. "We can do that." The words rushed out of him, strangled and embarrassed.
Harry nodded. "There's a hidden room behind that full length mirror on the third floor."
"We know about it," said Sirius.
"All right. Meet me there at nine o'clock."
"Don't be a stranger," Remus told Harry as he stood to leave. "You're always welcome here."
His heartstrings twanged. "I'll take you up on that sometime." It was enough to make him smile, as light and uplifting as a glimpse of sunlight in the heart of winter.
"There is some good in this world, and it's worth fighting for."
— J.R.R Tolkien
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