Chapter Eight: In Essence Divided
The remaining weeks of summer would fly by for Harry. Every morning, he would practice duelling with Sirius, and the rest of the day would be a whirlwind of cleaning and homework. Every evening by dinnertime, Harry would be so exhausted that he actually had to force himself to practice channelling his magic and casting nonverbally.
Not to say those last weeks were devoid of excitement, of course. Indeed, there were several noteworthy events that disrupted the dreary monotony of number twelve, Grimmauld Place — some amusing, others downright terrifying. One such example of the former occurred during breakfast, shortly after Harry's third practice session with Sirius.
Ron had yet to drag himself out of bed, so Harry was sitting around the kitchen table with Hermione, the twins, and Ginny, while Mrs. Weasley busied herself preparing a large batch of scrambled eggs. As the teens were sleepily sipping their tea, Hedwig arrived outside the window, carrying a small parcel. Correctly assuming it was Astoria's response, Harry jumped out of his chair to let her in, in hopes that Mrs. Weasley wouldn't notice.
"Who's that from, Harry?" asked Hermione, a curious expression on her face.
Rolling his eyes at his friend's lack of subtlety, Harry pocketed the letter and attempted to obscure the package behind his back. "It's nothing, Hermione," he responded. "Just something I've been expecting."
"Someone sent you something, Harry?" called Mrs. Weasley from the across the room, a look of concern on her face. "Who? I really don't think we should be opening strange packages. It could be something dangerous — or even cursed!"
"I'm sure it's fine Mrs. Weasley," attempted Harry, but Mrs. Weasley wasn't convinced.
"Why don't we let Bill take a look at it later, or even Alastor — just to be safe," she declared, clearly uninterested in having a debate on the topic.
Hermione gave him an apologetic look, while Fred and George shook their heads in sympathy. Fortunately for Harry, a freshly showered Sirius elected that very moment to stroll into the kitchen for his morning meal.
"What's going on?" he asked, moving to join the teenagers at the table.
"Harry's got a package," answered George.
"And Mum's afraid it's a present from You-Know-Who," Fred chimed in.
Mrs. Weasley set a panful of scrambled eggs and a large plate of bacon down on the table, before stepping back and placing her hands on her hips. "I never said it was from You-Know-Who," she said reprovingly. "I just think it would be safer to let someone check it over before opening it."
"Don't worry, Molly, I can do it," volunteered Sirius, drawing his wand.
"Are you certain?" she asked, her tone making it clear that even if Sirius was sure, she wasn't.
"I may be a little out of practice, but I'm fully capable of handling something like this," he answered confidently, if somewhat testily. Instead of waiting for a response, he waved his wand over the wrapped parcel a few times and gave it a sharp tap. "It's fine," he declared. "It's been shrunken down for transport, but otherwise there's nothing magical about it."
"Maybe Harry's just got himself a secret admirer?" Fred suggested waggishly. Hermione rolled her eyes and spooned some eggs onto her plate, while Ginny wrinkled her nose at the comment.
Harry sighed in exasperation as he peeled away some bacon rinds to give to Hedwig. "It's not that," he asserted.
"Come now, Harry, don't be shy," George said encouragingly. "It's about time you noticed the fairer sex; we were starting to worry about you."
"Oh, come off it," groaned Harry as the twins and Sirius chuckled, the latter patting Harry on the shoulder consolingly.
"So, who is she, Harry?" probed George. "Did one of those older Gryffindor girls finally get their hands on you? Or perhaps even a secret Slytherin girlfriend?" he added, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.
"That's not it!" he insisted, fighting off a flash of irritation. "I just ordered some clothes to be delivered. I don't have my trunk here, and I needed some things."
"Easy, mate, we're just having you on," protested Fred, holding his hands up placatingly.
"Yeah, try relaxing a bit," chimed in the other twin. "You shouldn't take life too seriously, Harry, or you'll never make it out alive."
Harry snorted in spite of himself and went back to eating his breakfast.
"Here, I'll resize it for you before you take it upstairs," offered Sirius. "Finite."
The package immediately quadrupled in size, and Harry noticed that while it was now large enough to hold his rucksack and all of his new clothes, there was no way his Firebolt was fitting inside.
"Don't worry, Harry dear. We'll send someone to collect your trunk and anything else you need before you go back to Hogwarts."
"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," he replied, and with one last bite of eggs, he tucked the package under his arm and headed upstairs before anyone else could ask questions. Ron was still fast asleep when Harry entered the bedroom, so he tossed his package onto the bed and sat down to read the letter that accompanied it.
Dear Harry,
I am very glad that you are safe, and I was also quite relieved to hear that you were cleared. Your trial sounded positively dreadful. My father mentioned it again today at lunch, and even he seemed a bit disturbed by it all. He even warned Daphne and me to be extra careful this year. It honestly made me wonder if he's starting to believe you about You-Know-Who.
What didn't make me happy was the way you wrote to me like you don't expect us to still be friends once we get back to school. Is that not what you meant by, "if we don't get to talk," at Hogwarts? You listen to me, Harry Potter, I am not one to throw away friends so easily. If it was all an act and you actually don't want to be friends, then please say so, but I have a feeling this is simply more overprotective nonsense.
I've already told you that I'm not worried about people finding out we're acquainted. I admit it was quite exciting at first, when we thought Aurors or Dark Wizards could show up looking for you at any moment, but that all feels a bit silly now. I think we have a chance to become very good friends, and I'm not going to hide it because I'm scared of what may or may not happen. I wouldn't expect too much from Daphne, though. She's never been one to rock the boat, and with her being in Slytherin, I think it's all too much for her.
Anyhow, I will see you on the first of September. I look forward to hearing about the rest of your summer, which is undoubtedly going to be more interesting than mine is shaping up to be. I've boxed up all of your things for you, except for your broomstick. Daphne wasn't keen on giving it up, but I'll make sure you get it back by the time school starts. I look forward to seeing you on the train.
Sincerely,
Astoria
"Wow, she really let me have it," Harry thought to himself. Astoria could be very kind and sweet, but she clearly wasn't shy about sharing her feelings when she was irritated about something.
Harry tried thinking back to exactly what he had written. He honestly hadn't meant to come across like he was planning to ignore her at Hogwarts; at least, he didn't think he did. What he was trying to convey was that it was okay if she wanted to keep her distance from him. After all, it was easy to be his friend in the privacy of one's own home, but things were bound to be different once they got back to Hogwarts, where everything Harry did was overly scrutinised.
Shaking his head, he set down the letter and thought about what Astoria had said. Maybe she was right; perhaps it was just more of his 'overprotective nonsense', as she so succinctly put it. Personally, he thought Daphne had the right of it, but if Astoria thought his friendship was worth the risk, then who was he to argue? He should probably write her back, though.
"What are you over there smiling about?" Ron asked sleepily, now sitting up in bed.
"Nothing much," replied Harry, before adding, "You missed breakfast, but there might be some left if you hurry."
Now wide-awake, Ron simply grumbled "Bollocks," and raced out of the room, not even bothering to change out of his pyjamas. Harry laughed at his retreating friend, grateful that he was so much easier to distract than Hermione.
oOoOoOo
It had taken him several days of practice, but Harry finally did succeed in feeling his magic. As Sirius suggested, every night he would sit up in his room and levitate an inkwell or some other small object, concentrating hard on finding the supposed flow of magic. It had been a frustrating exercise at first, but he finally experienced a breakthrough one night after dinner. Oddly enough, he had been so exhausted after a long day of cleaning that he could barely concentrate at all, and that somehow made all the difference.
As usual, he was maintaining a Levitation Charm, but instead of straining to feel his magic, his mind was in a state of complete relaxation as it hovered on the verge of sleep. In fact, he was very close to crossing over that threshold when he first noticed the warm, yet quite pleasant sensation swirling in his chest. As sleepy as he was, Harry almost failed to make the connection.
Once Harry felt it — really felt it — he had trouble understanding how could have possibly failed to notice it before. It was like opening his eyes for the first time. Everything seemed to be connected — he could actually feel his magic flowing like a river from his body, down his arm, and through his wand.
As an experiment, he tried to force his magic to flow faster, but if anything, his attempt actually impeded the flow. Intuitively understanding his mistake, he once again relaxed himself and tried to picture the flow of magic as if it were an actual river. He envisioned a dam with a large sluice gate, which was currently allowing a modest amount of water to trickle through. In his mind, he slowly raised the gate and watched in awe as the little inkwell steadily rose towards the ceiling.
"This must be what Sirius meant by telling your magic what to do," he thought. "You just have to learn the right language."
Harry laughed to himself and willed his magic to flow freely, only this time the inkwell shot straight upwards and shattered against the ceiling, leaving a black stain that he hoped no one would notice.
"Damn," he breathed, though he was honestly too giddy from his success to actually care. He found a few of the larger bits of the broken inkwell on the floor, and deciding it was worth a shot, he felt for his magic and muttered "Reparo" under his breath. Tiny pieces of glass instantly zoomed towards him from all corners of the room, forcing him to duck, but once he uncovered his face, he saw the perfectly intact — albeit empty — glass bottle on the floor.
The grin on Harry's face that evening would have made even the Cheshire cat envious, but he wisely decided to stick to practicing with Lumos until he learned better control. A few days later, he was up in his bedroom doing that very thing when Ron and Hermione unexpectedly entered.
"Harry, what are you doing?" squeaked Hermione, slamming the door behind her.
"Oh, hey. I'm just working on controlling the flow of my magic. Here, watch," he said, and the light at the tip of his wand burned a brilliant white before gradually dimming, until it was hardly visible.
"Are you mad?" she exclaimed. "Weren't you just on trial for using magic outside of school? Harry, you're going to be in so much trouble!"
"Calm down, Hermione," said Harry. "The Ministry can't detect magic in wizarding houses like this — there are way too many enchantments. Sirius told me days ago, and I've been practicing like this ever since."
"What? Are you sure?"
"He's right, Hermione," confirmed Ron. "Dad explained it to me once. I guess they expect the parents to enforce the rules, but I think my Mum's the only one who actually cares."
"Well, that's just...just...completely unfair!"
"Fair or not, now that I know, I'm going to take advantage of it," declared Harry, as he made his wand glow so brightly that they all had to shield their eyes.
"Oi, enough already!"
"Sorry," Harry laughed as he extinguished his wand.
"Well, I'm glad you're managing to do something constructive with that knowledge, at least, but why are you working on that now, of all things?" enquired Hermione, who was still blinking away the spots from her eyes.
"Oh, I'd never actually felt my magic before. I didn't even know I was missing anything, until Sirius mentioned something about channelling your magic. I honestly had no idea what he was on about."
"Really?" asked Hermione, clearly intrigued. "You mean you've gone through four years of magical education without actually learning to control your magic?"
"It sounds bad when you say it like that, but yeah," admitted Harry. "Looking back, I felt something whenever I summoned my Patronus, but hardly ever with normal spells. I've only just got the hang of it, but the couple of spells I've tried since I figured it out have all worked loads better than before."
"That's incredible, Harry! It'll be fascinating to see how much you can improve. I'm sure it'll really help you with your O.W.L.s, too!"
"You're probably right," agreed Harry, and then the three of them fell into easy conversation until it was time for bed.
He considered telling them about his daily training sessions with Sirius but ultimately decided to keep them private. It wasn't that he wanted to hide things from his friends; it was just that he enjoyed finally having some one-on-one time with his godfather, and he didn't want to give that up. For reasons Harry couldn't quite articulate, it felt like everyone else knowing would make his time with Sirius feel less special. He justified it by telling himself that he'd be spending plenty of time with his friends at Hogwarts, where he might even teach them some of what he'd learned that summer.
oOoOoOo
Cleaning the house turned out to be much more of an adventure than any of them would have ever anticipated.
As filthy as the house was, they had actually managed to make significant progress — especially once Hermione had insisted that the three of them use magic to clean (whenever Mrs. Weasley wasn't supervising them, at least). They simply assumed Fred and George were already doing the same, since the twins were actually of age. Most of the excitement actually originated from unexpected infestations of magical creatures, not to mention the litany of Dark artefacts and cursed objects stored within the Black family home.
Doxies and disturbingly large spiders were bad enough, but they also came across a small infestation of bundimuns — greenish pests that somewhat resembled fungus with eyes — hiding in the corner of the formal dining room. There was also what they assumed was a boggart knocking around inside an old writing desk in the drawing room, but Mrs. Weasley insisted they leave it be until Moody could take a look with his magical eye.
There were also a few close calls with items that were wrongly assumed to be inanimate, including the set of purple robes that tried to strangle Ron, and one particularly unusual silver instrument, which suddenly grew spider-like legs and attempted to puncture Harry's skin before scurrying off. Even more sinister was the seemingly innocent music box that nearly lulled all of them into a magical sleep, until Ginny snapped out of it and quickly shut the lid.
At one point, Ron had accurately described what they were doing as 'waging war on the house', as opposed to simply cleaning. Most of these little incidents were taken in stride, as they injected some excitement into what was an otherwise mundane, and exceedingly boring set of tasks. There was one incident, however, from which no humour could be found. It occurred with just under a week left until their return to Hogwarts, and naturally, it involved Harry.
It all started when the teens were assigned the task of cleaning out an old curio cabinet. The shelves mostly seemed to be filled with uninteresting items, such as old family photos, rusty daggers, and other assorted trinkets. As it was, Harry had just set to inspecting an ornate silver box when his scar began prickling again. He ignored it at first, as it wasn't an unfamiliar sensation, but after the third instance he sat the box down and decided to take a break.
Glancing over at the others, he saw that Hermione and Ginny were observing Ron, as he struggled with a small object of some sort.
"I'm telling you, Ron, it's not going to open that way," said Ginny, sounding somewhat exasperated.
"It might if I could get a grip on the bloody thing," Ron replied through gritted teeth.
His scar still prickling slightly, Harry moved over to get a better look at what the others were doing.
"What's he doing?" he asked Hermione, nodding towards Ron.
Rolling her eyes, she replied, "He's trying to open up some old locket he found. It's obviously not working, which is probably a good thing considering how dangerous some of this stuff has been."
"Right, I give up. Here, you try it," declared Ron, passing the locket over to Harry.
The locket felt heavier than Harry expected. It was oval shaped, somewhere between two and three inches long, and was obviously made from solid gold. The outside edges were decorated with fine ornamental carvings, but what drew Harry's attention the most was the glittering green S in the centre. It was comprised of several small gemstones, which Harry assumed were emeralds, poised in such a fashion that it closely resembled a minuscule snake.
"It's an odd thing, isn't it," Harry said to no one in particular, as he examined the peculiar locket.
"Well, are you going to try and open it or not?" asked Ron.
"You fought with that thing for ages and couldn't get it open. Why would it be any different for Harry?" scoffed Ginny.
"I dunno...it's Harry," he replied with a shrug.
The boy in question wasn't listening to their conversation, however, because he was still focused on inspecting the locket. "Do any of you hear that?" he asked, holding it up to his ear. The other three turned to him in confusion, mirroring his own expression.
"You don't hear it? Here, listen properly," he said, passing it to Hermione. "It's making some sort of sound, but it's quiet — almost like it's whispering."
Hermione held the locket up to her ear while Ron and Ginny leaned in. The three of them seemed to share a look with one another before turning back to Harry.
"I don't hear anything, Harry," Hermione said uneasily.
Harry looked towards the two redheads, who both shook their heads while looking almost apologetic. Was he really the only one who could hear it?
"Well, I think we should get rid of it," stated Hermione, dropping the locket into the sack they were using to discard potentially dangerous items. "A piece of jewellery that whispers to you can't be good, even if Harry wasn't the only one who could hear it."
"Right, and let's not forget that last time there was a voice only Harry could hear, there was a bloody basilisk in the walls," remarked Ron, causing Ginny to pale slightly and step away from the sack.
Hermione slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Was that really necessary, Ronald?" she hissed.
"What?" he asked cluelessly, but she simply rolled her eyes and went back to cleaning out the cabinet. Still not sure what he had done wrong, Ron shrugged at Harry and got back to work himself.
Still feeling a bit perplexed, Harry stood there for a moment gazing at the sack of discarded items. He understood why it made the others uneasy, but he really would've liked a chance to investigate the locket further before they chucked it. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that the locket was whispering to him, even though he couldn't quite make out what it was saying. Suddenly glancing upwards, he noticed that Ginny was still looking at him with a concerned expression.
"Are you all right, Harry?" she asked hesitantly.
"Of course," he replied, giving her his best reassuring smile before moving to join the others. Ginny didn't seem entirely convinced, but she chose not to pursue the matter further.
The four of them continued to clean for the next hour and a half, occasionally being granted a few moments of distraction by Fred and George, who had been assigned to a different room. Another regular visitor was Kreacher, the old house-elf, who kept sneaking into the room to try and liberate some of the items they'd binned. That only stopped after his fourth attempt, when Sirius happened to be in the room at the time and ordered the elf away.
By the time lunch rolled around, they had nearly completed their task and were all in good spirits, except for Harry, who had become increasingly frustrated as the day wore on. This was mostly due to the regular twinges of pain in his scar, but also because he could not get his mind off the mysterious locket. There was just something about it that Harry couldn't let go. He'd become much more adept at feeling magic over the past week, and he was almost positive that his was actually attempting to pull him towards the locket — or was it the other way around?
Making up his mind, Harry made himself appear busy when Mrs. Weasley called them down for lunch.
"Are you coming, Harry?" called Hermione over her shoulder.
"Yeah, I'll be down in a minute," he replied, continuing to fiddle with the stuck drawer in a nearby end table. "I just want to see if I can get this open first."
Hermione nodded and followed Ron out the door. Ginny looked like she wanted to say something, but instead she trailed out after the others without speaking. Harry gave them a few moments to get out of earshot, then crossed the room to the sack where they'd been depositing the junked relics of the Black family. Foolishly, he was on the verge of reaching inside with his hand, but he caught himself in time and instead took out his wand and muttered, "Accio locket."
The trinket flew up out of the sack, and Harry deftly snatched it out of the air by its golden chain. He could still hear faint whispering coming from the locket, which, oddly enough, seemed even louder than before. An odd sense of fulfilment came over him as he ran his fingers over the inlaid emeralds, almost like he was being reunited with a long-lost friend.
Harry thought back to the comment Ron had made about the basilisk and was struck by an idea. He ran his index finger along the ornate letter S; it really did resemble a snake.
"Could it really be that simple?"
Squinting slightly, he gently rocked the locket back and forth in his hand. The soft, flickering glow of the gas lamps helped to create the illusion that the inlaid S was actually moving, so Harry's mind had no difficulty imagining a bejewelled serpent slithering back and forth along the golden surface. Leaning in closer, he took a calming breath and intentionally spoke Parseltongue for the first time in over two years.
"Open!"
There was a soft click, and the locket swung open. Instead of photographs, however, the interior of the locket contained what appeared to be two mirrors. Harry peered inside, expecting to see his own green eyes reflected there, but instead, he saw a completely different set of dark, handsome eyes looking curiously back at him.
"Ah, Harry Potter..."
"How do you know who I am?" he hissed in reply, maintaining the conversation in Parseltongue without even realising it.
"I have seen you, Harry Potter; your magic calls to me," the sibilant voice replied. "I can sense your desperation...Yes, I am afraid your situation is even more hopeless than you believe. You will never be able to protect them...not unless you join with me."
"Who are you?"
The voice laughed cruelly before responding.
"Have you not guessed? You should already know the answer, Harry Potter. After all, I am you, and you are me..."
"I don't understand."
"You do not have to. Join me, and together we shall destroy your enemies. Join me, and you can save your friends from certain death."
Every rational part of Harry's psyche was screaming at him to run away, that everything about the situation was wrong, but months of stress and worry had worn him down. It only lasted for a second, but in that brief moment of weakness, Harry couldn't help but picture himself, bolstered by the power of an unknown benefactor and cutting down scores of Death Eaters, while his friends stood safely out of harm's way.
Suddenly, the dark eyes within the locket turned a piercing, scarlet red, and with a high, cold laugh, a plume of dark smoke burst out of the locket, knocking Harry backwards onto the floor. Holding his hand up to ward off whatever had come out of the locket, Harry looked up and saw a pair of red eyes glowing from within the smoky cloud, which was slowly coalescing into the shape of a man. Recognition lanced through Harry like a bolt of lightning. He had made a huge mistake.
"Now, do you understand, Harry Potter? Our destinies have always been entwined," hissed the disembodied spirit, who — somehow — was also Lord Voldemort. Before he could even begin to respond, swirling tendrils of black smoke darted out of the cloudy mass towards Harry, completely engulfing him.
The pain was indescribable.
His skull felt like it was being split by a red-hot axe, right across the spot where the scar resided on his forehead. Harry couldn't be sure whether he had endured it for hours or mere seconds, such was the nightmare in which he was trapped. It was as if his entire being was being surrounded by a malevolent force — encircled by the deadliest of serpents, with no possibility of escape.
"Submit, Harry..." ordered Voldemort, his voice seemingly coming from both within and without. "Submit to me, and you shall have the power you desire...Submit, and the pain will stop..."
"No!" shouted Harry in his mind. "I have to fight it..."
Harry wanted to fight, but the pain was unbearable — almost as though he was being ripped in two. A large part of him wanted to defy Voldemort, like he had so many times before. Even so, there was another part of him, deep inside, that somehow longed to join the Dark Lord. With every second that ticked by, that small, dark portion of his being struggled even harder to tear itself away and join its master — or was it re-join?
It was too hard. Harry had been fighting for so long — his entire life, really. He couldn't be expected to fight forever, could he? Perhaps it was better this way. His will slowly receded, and cruel laughter rang throughout his essence as he felt his consciousness slowly slipping away. Darkness was mere moments from claiming him when several people burst into the room.
"Harry!" they all called out, repeating his name over and over.
The girl with the red hair was openly weeping. Why would she do that? Didn't she know this was the way things were supposed to be? Two more redheads — boys, this time — were trying to hold a third back, while the older man frantically waved his wand.
"Harry, please! Please, you've got to come back to us!" cried the brown-haired witch.
Something about the girl sparked a familiar memory from within him. A troll? No, a hippogriff...Hermione!
The fog obscuring his vision lifted slightly, and the faces surrounding him came back into focus.
Ron! Sirius! Most of the Weasleys were there, too!
How could he even think about giving up, when the people he cared about most were counting on him? Harry's heart swelled with emotion as he looked into the faces of his friends — no, his family — while they begged him to come back to them, to fight for them.
All of a sudden, the serpentine presence enveloping him loosened its hold. There was a brief moment of relief, which was swiftly replaced by the most excruciating pain he had ever been subjected to in his fifteen years of living. The agony went beyond the realm of the physical; it was as if both his mind and body were being slowly ripped apart, bit by bit, until there was nothing left. The scream that left his mouth was matched only by the one he felt within himself, and as one final, violent slice of pain cleaved through his skull, Harry Potter went limp, and knew no more.