Chapter 16 : Soul Boundaries
The summer term starts great for Hogwarts' two best students. For Lockhart… not so much.
To put her mind off the dilemma of her newly discovered soul mate, Hermione doubles down on the given task, spelling more bloodied words near the Defence classroom and any other corner of the castle their teacher visits on a regular basis. As hoped, this makes Lockhart the go-to staff member for questions on recent events and involves the man in every rumour about the monster. Including fabricated ones that tell there must be a connection to Slytherin's chamber having been opened this year and the appointment of a well-known dark magic hunter.
It takes barely a couple of weeks before every single student is convinced that all of this is a personal challenge for Lockhart, who gets more and more frazzled with each question about how he is going to defeat whatever lurks beneath the surface.
''It's already been weakened,'' the Defence teacher counters with a blinding smile that doesn't reach his eyes. ''Right after our dear Poltergeist fell victim, I performed a banishing ritual and see, there's been no true attack for a whole month. Word games and noises, pah. Madam Sprout personally assured me that the only student who's been petrified will be fine by the end of the year. Everything is under control.''
They'll see about that. Harry trades a knowing look with his friend while covertly stroking Hera's scales. Although the little snake was ecstatic about their return to Gryffindor tower, she's not as happy about the other noisy Gryffindors that fill the dorms and common rooms again, so prefers to hide under Harry's clothes. Hera has settled for his sleeve-covered arm after realising he never wears a hat underneath which she can curl into his hair.
Harry is glad to put his own mind to work also, for every minute in which he doesn't, phantom fingers press against his side and a hint of warmth touches his lips. The last meeting with his Intended left a deep impression far more off-putting than the ones prior. The open revelation of denied feelings welling to the surface felt so right when curled up against each other. Being apart again, without the bond to addle his judgement, Harry wonders if he went about it the right way. That one spur-of-the-moment decision can't be reversed.
It's not that he doesn't want Voldemort. Harry has been too in touch with his own budding emotions to search for a way to refute them. He can easily allow it to happen too – realistically, tying the Dark Lord down romantically is one of the most advantageous steps to solidify this alliance that Harry could make. By Voldemort's own words, the man has no intention of holding back in drawing Harry in either and the reaction to being told to go their separate ways for the remaining Easter Holidays was informative enough.
However… a nagging little voice of worry that grows stronger with each passing day keeps asking the same bothersome questions over and over: how much have either of them been affected by forces beyond their control? How much does Voldemort resent being influenced?
Personally, Harry has been slapped around by fate and prophecies enough to have begrudgingly resigned to use the paths he's been pushed onto to his advantage. It's proven to be far more beneficial than to insistently wade against the stream. Steering clear of obstacles by adaptation is the answer, not overcoming them through means of destruction.
And yet that's not quite Voldemort's style, is it? The Prophecy foretelling his downfall caused instant defiance, gave rise to an attempt to choke the threat before a word could come true. The approach taken each instance of being told 'no' was to try harder or retaliate. To prove independence.
The previous actions of his Intended, before and on the day of his resurrection, had been quite telling of Voldemort's aim to explore their bond further. Be that as it may, he'd been in control then. Commanded the room as he'd thrown Harry off balance with their very first kiss on the back of Harry's hand. Completely and utterly different from showing up in the middle of a Quidditch match for help.
It was out of character for Voldemort to reach out in a time of weakness instead of dipping into every dark ritual imaginable to combat the Deterioration in isolation. Openly showing the extent of it, how affected mind and magic had become to the point of deeming Harry the only cure… it's disconcerting enough that the fear of backlash grows each passing day that no word from his soulmate reaches Hogwarts. Pleasant memories of feeling safe are rapidly being tainted with the hint of threat. What if his Intended holds a grudge now being of sound mind again? What if Harry's response, a kiss far more intimate than their last and decidedly not given out of the same magically induced dependence, was unwanted?
He wishes to be happy. Predictably, due to a mixture of thrice-darned empathy and a hero-complex he doesn't even try to deny, that means ensuring Voldemort is happy with this too. Not that Harry has any way to check, not trusting his own ability to read between lines enough to attempt sorting this with a Slytherin through written correspondence if Voldemort doesn't reach out first.
Of course, it's a slight problem that the next time they will meet is months away as best, undoubtedly causing the same issues on his soulmate's part as last time. Can Harry trust himself to hold back? To not act rash?
Bit like asking the sun to stop being warm.
Going to Severus for advice on this isn't an option without giving far too much away. And around Hermione, his go-to listening ear, Harry tries to be as tactful as possible by not mentioning the topic of soul bonds for the moment. That doesn't leave many options.
''Hey Quirrell?''
To the librarian's credit, the man barely stiffens when Harry throws the invisibility cloak off and starts pacing the office. ''The door didn't open,'' he crabbily points out, clearly disliking the added element of surprise.
''Oh yeah, I looked up some illusionary spells,'' Harry waves away. ''To make my visits less noticeable than they already were. Anyways, have you heard from Voldemort recently? Since Easter?''
''As usual,'' comes the clipped response. ''Mr Potter, are you searching for anything in particular or will you leave me guessing?''
Harry sighs impatiently and takes his regular chair, planting both elbows on the desk. ''He searched me out over the holidays. I thought… I had expected to hear from him after. Some things happened and I kind of hoped…'' he trails off, resting his head heavy in his hands. ''Did Voldemort ever share his views on soul marks with you?''
If the question throws him off, Quirrell doesn't show it, putting the book he'd been reading away. ''Only in broad terms, briefly. We did not exactly have heart-to-hearts if that is what you are asking. I was always very aware of being his servant, not his friend. He did not disclose his intentions for the bond the both of you share.'' When Harry makes an aggravated noise, he adds: ''If it helps, my Lord holds these bonds in high regard.''
Frustration and fatigue is forgotten in a flash as Harry raises his head. ''Truly?''
Quirrell tilts his head a tad to the side. ''Did he not in your previous life?''
Wondering how to skate between truth and omission, he decides on: ''In that time, Voldemort was rather vocal about considering any emotional connection a weakness. Exactly because of that could he be defeated. He kept underestimating how much people could care about each other, be it friends, family, or lovers. I never asked whether that was the same for soul bonds, but I can't imagine he would have had a different opinion.''
''Perhaps you should have asked. Mr Potter, what is the key difference between relationships of any other kind as opposed to one between soul mates?''
''I… don't understand the question,'' Harry confesses. ''The only answer that comes to mind is simply 'the soul bond' but that'd just be a different way of phrasing.''
''And yet, that is the answer. To state it a bit differently: these given marks are unique to mages, a representation of magic's will. A gift and predetermination both. The Dark Lord values magic above all else. Isn't it a natural consequence then, that he'd not scorn such a connection? Most friends are chosen freely without any higher approval, family is given by chance alone, else our kind would never be related to Muggles... Any kind of relationship formed with people other than one's soulmate is not touched by magic. Some people – and I very carefully speculate my Lord is one of those – hold the belief that solely a union with a soulmate is worth acknowledging at all, as everything else goes against our nature as mages.''
''Then why the silence towards me?'' Harry mumbles, more to himself than to Quirrell.
The other clears his throat and for some indiscernible reason, looks a bit unhappy. ''May I ask what happened during the holidays? His letters to me have been to-the-point as usual, I noticed no change.''
Would Voldemort flay him for speaking of the Dark Lord's ill response to being parted? They were indeed not friends… However, Harry had started to consider the librarian a friend, the only one he had with a semblance of personal experience with Harry's Intended. Taking the gamble and hoping for forgiveness as he could not ask for permission right now, he very briefly and clinically painted the reason for Voldemort's visit.
He didn't mention the depth of the Dark Lord's desperation nor how the man hadn't been able to keep his hands off Harry, but did end the recounting with: ''When thinking back on this meeting, I was unsettled by his sudden... dependence and admission of it. Especially when it was this that brought us closer. I can't help but wonder if I did right by him. We had to go our separate way soon after without having a chance to talk, so I assumed he might write. When I didn't hear anything for weeks, I started wondering if I did anything wrong or if I'm just overreacting.''
''Pardon me for being straightforward… Mr Potter, you don't have much experience with relationships, do you?''
Harry might spontaneously combust. Hopefully he isn't tomato-red. ''Erhm, no. My last relationship was a grand thirty-ish years ago and quite the disaster,'' he painfully admits. ''Do... do you?'' Quirrell doesn't exactly seem the romantic type, spending his twenties holed up in Hogwarts and roaming Europe in search of Dark Lords. Harry wonders what the Death Eater's soul mark is... if he already has one.
The answer is accompanied by a wistful smile. ''I was married to my other half for ten wonderful years.'' A sadness never shown before fills every crevice of Quirrell's face. Ten years… As the librarian mentioned being only twenty-nine years old when Harry at last asked during one of their previous chats – it's surprising he's been married at all, let alone for such a long time.
''May I ask what happened…?''
A few quills and rolls of parchment are shuffled around on the desk for no other reason than busying slightly trembling hands. ''The perfect love story. Childhood friends who knew we were destined for each other before attending Hogwarts, where we were both sorted into Ravenclaw. Married right after graduation and determined to spend our lives helping others. I went into education, choosing Muggle studies in hopes of getting closer to the maternal side of her family – Sage was a Half-blood and on good terms with many of her relatives – whereas she made potions and tinctures to help mage and Muggle alike despite my careful warnings about being discovered. We had different views on the dangers Muggles could pose, you see, but she was optimistic in proving me wrong.''
A pit of dread forms in Harry's stomach. He's seen too many victims of Muggles to know how this story ends.
''One of Sage's own cousins spilled the secret to a friend and customer, bragging about the 'real magic' when the woman loaded praise onto my wife's ointments. Word spread without either of us knowing. One otherwise regular Wednesday, I opened the paper at breakfast and read about her death – a tiny article of a 'tragic accident' involving Muggles on page eight of the Prophet.'' Quirrell abruptly presses his lips together, turning away.
Harry averts his eyes as well. ''You quit Muggle Studies, then?'' he presumes, talking pointedly to the desk.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see the Death Eater mutedly shaking his head. After taking another few moments of silence, the man says: ''Not immediately. From the moment I read the article and found out the murderers had barely gotten a slap on the wrist due to being stuck in two different systems of justice, I was set on revenge.''
A deep breath, and any shakiness is replaced by ice. ''I read enough crime novels to realise pulling attention to myself right after her death was the last thing I needed. I kept my head down for the remainder of the year, a gruelling five months in which I used every spare minute to finalise my plan. Followed every trace of rumours about the whereabouts of the Dark Lord who hated Muggles as much as I and had means to punish them I could not yet begin to imagine. When I took my sabbatical under guise of wishing to get more hands-on experience, Dumbledore held no suspicion about my true goals.''
''Could you enact your vengeance?''
''I would never have received the full story of Sage's murder, had I not. Nor would I have stayed away so long. We were… thorough,'' Quirrell hatefully hisses. Harry understands the sentiment too well.
''I did wonder what your reward for hosting Voldemort was. He hinted it to have been the Stone, but…''
''The Dark Lord is extremely generous. He promised me death upfront and life afterwards. The former was already enough for me, which is why I did not complain when plans surrounding the Philosopher's Stone changed.''
Certainly more generous than a certain Dark Lord he once had known, who'd appeared to consider servitude a reward in itself. An arrogant attitude out of which many a traitor had been born. To counter the same happening at some point, Harry reassures: ''He's not forgotten about repaying you. Voldemort told me he'd need to think of a different reward now he's abandoned the Stone.'' Of course, no boon could ever ease Quirrell's pain, but hopefully Harry could give some reassurance about there still being a future to look forward to, one in which the man was appreciated. He considers asking more about Quirrell's life or the justice enacted, but loss is still a sore topic for Harry after all these years. He shifts the focus more firmly to the future: ''I also intend to keep my word on letting you study the Stone once I retrieve it. If you extract some of its Life Elixer while doing so, that's none of my business.''
He carefully lifts his head again, glad to find Quirrell in perfect control of his emotions once again. ''You're something, Mr Potter…'' he says, lips quirking minimally. ''Allow me to give you some advice to potentially ease your mind: the Dark Lord is subtle with praise yet will let you feel any misstep like a hot knife. A lack of communication is also a lack of Howlers. Last time he cut communication with you was only for the purpose of needing time to collect himself and have a moment of undisturbed introspection.''
''So I shouldn't assume the worst,'' Harry concludes.
''That would be my humble counsel. If your worries continue, you may of course take the high road and write him yourself.''
''I'm sure he's busy…'' he evades, for why annoy Voldemort with prying? An answer to Harry reaching out isn't what he's searching for anyways, for that wouldn't show whether the Dark Lord actually wishes to communicate or whether it would be a courtesy response.
''As he knows you to be also. May I ask after your current plans?''
Reckoning Quirrell has exhausted all possible advice to give, Harry fills him in on the broad strokes of the painting that is slowly coming together by his and Hermione's hands. The next step will be to cause a scene distracting enough for Harry to sneak away to the Third-floor corridor to check out the first traps guarding the Stone – mostly to determine whether there's been any changes, though he leaves that reasoning out of his explanation. And what better way than to combine their plans by having this commotion be the next petrification that Lockhart so loudly proclaimed won't occur? The only question remaining is which victim to pick…
''I wish we could petrify Smith,'' Harry mumbles when he and Hermione are in their plotting room of requirement. ''It's a blessing that he and I never share a class with Malfoy at the same time, I've caught the little git looking at the both of us in the Great Hall too often. I forgot how damned nosy Malfoy was at eleven. Maybe he suspects something is off as I never interact with Smith. Here's to hoping Malfoy's curiosity is weaker than his self-preservation, his parent sure didn't appreciate his meddling with me. Hermione, you listening?''
''What?'' she absentmindedly asks, head jerking as she is pulled from deep thoughts.
''Mind somewhere else?''
''No… no, it's fine. Petrifications. Right. You want to attack who? Malfoy?''
''Mione…''
She crosses her arms, brows furrowing in a way that make her look fifty years older than the slip of a girl she is. ''I thought I could move on and forget all about my stupid mark,'' she professes with a deep sigh. ''It's not working. I keep having this gnawing guilt that has only worsened over the weeks. What if Regulus' magic is withering and he doesn't even know why? It's not… it's not the right thing to do, is it?''
Harry puts their notes aside for a moment. He'd not considered that they were both worrying so much over their respective soul bonds, as Hermione had been pretty clear about wishing to distract herself from it. He feels bad about not noticing her struggles – in retrospect, his friend has been more absentminded lately. As he mulls over what to answer, the silence is only broken by the blubbering of the myriad of potions they're brewing in the Room of Requirement to support their schemes.
''My intention was not to pressure you into following a path you don't want. I'm not stopping you from doing what you think is right. You know that, don't you?'' he seriously asks.
She shifts uncomfortably. ''I know. You're the one who told me in the first place to carefully consider what to do with this new information. Still, you went through all this trouble of asking your godfather about taking me in and I also really want to become part of your family. I only worry about what happens after… Will telling them break the proceedings off? Will going through with it take any decision about my future out of my hands? Is it fair to Regulus to hide my identity when he's clearly been searching all over? I don't know what the best course of action is. Keeping my options open maybe isn't possible either when I start off with omissions before ever properly speaking to him…''
Harry forgot that long-term thinking and recognising consequences is far more difficult for children than it is for adults. Although his friend is far ahead of their peers, her insistence to continue on as normal during Easter break could be based on not fully being able to instantly think decisions through. Feeling responsible, Harry gives Hermione his full attention, trying to come up with a solution to this dilemma. She's right in either way they pick having too large a possibility of drawbacks. He's never much been one for compromises, fond of taking the all-or-nothing approach, but that does not seem to be what the girl needs right now.
''Write Sirius,'' he advises in a stroke of clarity. ''As head of the Black family and the one who ultimately adopts you, he has as much a right to know about how this may affect the family as Regulus does. Only like this, you won't have the added pressure of confronting your Intended at the same time. My godfather may of course still decide not to go through with the adoption for the sake of his brother, but you can do the right thing without needing to immediately think about the future of your soul bond. If all goes well, you could find an ally in Sirius to gently break the news to Regulus later too.''
''Won't that just shift the decision to your godfather?'' Hermione hesitates. ''I don't wish to saddle him with my problems.''
''You can still discuss with him what to do and reveal. Being Regulus' older brother, I'm sure Sirius has more insight in my uncle's potential reactions than either of us. Plus, it's a way to tackle your problem in two steps instead of one.''
''Just like we're doing here at Hogwarts,'' Hermione muses. ''First Lockhart, then the Stone, then the Wand of Destiny. One step to tackle the next.'' She breathes a little easier. ''Okay. Okay, I'll write him. Thank you, really. Now then,'' She shifts the topic like only Hermione can when putting her mind to it, leaving one issue firmly behind to fully concentrate on the next. ''You were trying to decide on whom to petrify?'' She glances up at a blindfolded Hera, who is peacefully sleeping on top of Harry's head, threaded in his hair like she always does as soon as they enter the 'hidden den' the little snake loves so much.
''Right. I made a list of possible targets. If you have any others to add…'' he says, shoving the parchment over to Hermione.
All this planning to fake attacks on the 'impure' really presses Harry's nose on just how few Muggle-borns live in the castle. Having a Muggle-born as a best friend - one very active about the rights of the oppressed no less – it had always seemed as if those born and raised in the Muggle world were extremely prevalent. Looking closer, he realises this is not at all true: apart from Hermione, the only peers he knew for certain to have two Muggle parents were Justin and the Creevey brothers. Without much other evidence to go on, some of the attacks have to at least look authentic enough for everyone to keep believing this is Slytherin's monster hunting the unworthy. As such, he spent a great deal socialising, gathering information by asking older students about how they spent the holidays. As a result, he found a scarce handful more with purely Muggle families.
Hermione dips a quill in ink and adds another few names to his short list. Thankfully, they'll only need one, but the four Harry marked are not ideal, either in their important exam years or members of Quidditch teams or other clubs without decent backups. He truly doesn't wish to be disruptive to anyone's accomplishments. It still hurt to have lost all chances of that first Quidditch cup when restricted to the Hospital Wing in his first first year at Hogwarts. He's glad to see his friend adding names from third- and fourth years students. ''I did a bit of digging into school records under the guise of a History of Magic project to find a few more with no relation to any known mages,'' she explains.
Once the next victim has been selected, Hermione borrows Hera for the next attack and claims not to feel well near the end of Herbology class to be excused – in part to give Harry an alibi 'just in case'.
Her planning could not have been more perfect, for when he arrives at Defence Against the Dark Arts with the rest of his classmates – never having been out of sight for even a moment – he's just in time to witness Lockhart's perplexed expression as he looks down at the petrified body of Annabel Entwhistle. The third-year student lies flat on her back athwart the threshold to the classroom, a wad of paper in one hand and a round hand mirror on the floor next to the other, as if it slipped out of her grasp seconds ago.
Hermione truly has her scary moments, being able to imitate the position Harry had found her in, once.
Unsurprisingly, Defence is cancelled that day, as well as any other classes. With half an eye on the Marauder's Map all afternoon, Harry waits for the anticipated teacher assembly that will keep both the Headmaster and a fretting Severus occupied long enough. Armed with cloak, map and wand, Harry purposefully hides from curious eyes and uses his newfound illusory trick to slip back out of the Gryffindor common room all students – prefects included – have been confined to for the remainder of the day.
One would think a three-headed gigantic dog would leave a clear impression irrespective of how many years have passed. When faced with Fluffy for the third time in his life, Harry thinks his mind erased just HOW colossal Hagrid's favourite pet was to protect his own sanity. Unideally, the Cerberus is wide awake and restlessly sniffing up Harry's scent from the moment he enters. That it stands centrally on top of the trapdoor means it'd be useless to put the dog to sleep right away as well.
~Big threat,~ Hera hisses, curling tightly around Harry's arm. ~I protect!~
Oh yeah, that'd be lovely to explain, leaving a petrified three-headed dog behind… He checks the blindfold for a brief moment, as she has slowly began finding ways to wriggle it off whenever thinking Harry is in danger. ~Don't,~ he warns. The hiss sounds too loud even for his own ears, and he tightens the invisibility cloak while leaping out of the way of a large paw smacking the spot he'd just stood in. Loud rumbling from all three heads that swivel around wildly is unpleasantly accompanied by dripping saliva. Fang's slobbering doesn't hold a candle to this, Harry thinks with a grimace.
''One more step,'' he encourages the monstrous dog, the sound once again making it charge forwards to the source, a charge too narrowly dodged. It's a weight off Harry's thumping heart to finally put Hagrid's flute to his lips and blow a mockery of a tune. His musical skills haven't improved in the slightest, but as the only audience is a dog out to rip him to pieces, Harry can't care less for the false notes he produces as long as they get the job done.
Brown eyes droop, the gargantuan hairy body sways, and soon Fluffy's rumbles are only an indication of deep slumber. To be on the safe side – he won't make the same mistake he and his friends had last time – he keeps playing even while moving towards the trapdoor and opening it. It's a relief to be proficient enough with charms to cast nonverbally, for the door looks so heavy that he wouldn't have been able to open the thing without using both hands. As is, a quick levitation spell on the solid metal ring easily takes care of the heavy lifting. How he loves magic.
The darkness that awaits below is promising, and a ball of light that carefully floats downwards illuminates notorious creeping vines. Devil's Snare.
It's not a guarantee that all rooms beyond will hold the same traps, but reassuring enough that the Stone isn't hidden through vastly different means than Harry is familiar with – Quirrell having been asked again to provide a troll had been his sole evidence so far, but trolls could be used in various ways. Seeing with his own eyes that both Hagrid's and Sprout's protections are in the place they should be, Harry doubts there'll be anything that's impossible to handle, even if it turns out that some of the teachers used different enchantments to stave off intruders.
Content with his research, he returns to Gryffindor Tower, though a glance at his map shows a disconcerting scene: when reaching the fifth floor on his way back, Harry spots a small group of names rounding a corner dangerously close to the Portrait of the Fat Lady:
Albus Dumbledore. Minerva McGonagall. Severus Snape…
Cornelius Fudge
AN: Quirrell has such a pitiful wiki page really and most of the info on him is speculation at most (including his age and the story behind his turban) so I thought it only fair to give him a bit of backstory for that 3D-effect, ya know?