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Chapter 23: An End In Sight
Harry's hands were trembling. Wrenching on his cage's bars just dragged him forward and rattling them left his wrists cramped. The iron had been cold once, but no longer. It felt less like he was gripping metal and more like he was scrabbling along rough stone.
Part of him wondered why he struggled with such desperation. Strength was leeching out of him and beyond the bars was nothing but an empty darkness. Why strive so hard just to die out there?
Harry released his grip and shook out his hands. They stung and stank of blood.
Blood? Why did they smell like blood? Had he been gripping the cage's bars that tightly?
Then it all returned. Skulls skipping across stones that had been smeared with blood. Bone shattered so far beyond repair it resembled flecks of dust.
And all of it in the name of Riddle.
Harry balled a fist and slammed it hard against the bars. His hand throbbed, but the feral sound torn out of him was one of rage, not pain.
"Such anger." Red eyes shone through the dark like small spotlights. Behind them came the skeletal husk that called itself Lord Voldemort. "Such a pity it all went to waste."
"I'll kill you!" Harry snarled, tearing at the bars.
"Will you?" Voldemort waved a bone-white hand and the darkness shrank away from him.
Harry did not flinch when he saw the watchers. Bellatrix Lestrange smiled alongside Walden Macnair. They were but two of many. There was Tiberius Nott, Oliver Travers, Antonin Dolohov, and all the other Death Eaters he had dispatched.
Harry met their eyes. They held no power over him. Every one of them had failed to match him and every one had suffered justly.
But then he saw the other faces. Their fates had been less simple; Stan Shunpike, Draco Malfoy, Darren Mulciber, the muggle overseer he had surrendered into Riddle's care.
"You never did believe me, but you see now." There was a tragic smile on Voldemort's pale lips. "You see the cost of victory. You see all those whose dreams have perished for the sake of your ambitions."
Harry stretched, half in an attempt to feign false calm and half in protest against the aching in his chest. "War is war. It's the intent that matters."
"Is it?" Voldemort waved his hand again and the sea of faces shifted. The eyes were no longer hateful, the faces no longer those of his past foes. Hermione, Ron, Neville, Luna, Colin, Fred, George, Mister Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, Remus, Tonks, Sirius, his parents — all these and more watched him with their judging eyes.
The Elder Wand appeared in Harry's hand. Briefly he wondered whether it had broken, but then he realized what was wrong. The golden patterns that had adorned it these past months were gone. It was dark and plain as death. Just the way it had been when all the watchers had been lost.
"Kill them." Voldemort said it the way one might request a drink. "I will free you when all of them are dead." Harry could no more breathe than he could have shut off the sun. "What's wrong, Harry? If intent is all that matters, then killing them to defeat me should be nothing to a hardened man like you. War is war, is it not? This war cannot be won if you fail to stop me. We both know that."
There was a blinding flash of bright green light and a high, cold laugh. Then he was shaking beneath his sweat-soaked sheets as he wrestled with his ragged breathing.
Just a dream, he told himself, just another fucking dream. But this one had been different. It had been many years since its like had plagued him.
Bitterness struck him like a bludger. It was no wonder why. It had been years since he had felt such guilt.
The self-loathing bore down in a relentless bid to crush him, but he drove it back. What was done was done. It had been the lone way forward. The lone path leading deeper into Riddle's ranks. Taking it had been his only choice if he wanted to stop Riddle and that was what he had to focus on.
Harry slid from bed and withdrew the white mask he had worn during the raid. "Geminio." The single mask shimmered into a matching pair. Harry carved fine letters into the replica and stuffed it into his pocket.
No soul troubled him on his descent through the castle or on his trek across its grounds. It was not until stepping through the winged gates and exiting the wards that he paused. He felt foolish for about half a minute, standing there and scolding himself for forgetting he knew nothing about his destination.
Then he remembered the Daily Prophet which had apparently aroused Charlus Potter's ire. There had been a photograph on its front page depicting a ruined manor and showing some of the surrounding scenery.
It was raining when he appeared at a forest's edge, but the water did nothing to douse his relief. There was a reason wizards did not apparate places they had never been before.
Harry double-checked his person and then drew up his hood. Wards buzzed beyond the trees. Furs were thick among them and even those with bare branches bore broad trunks, so seeing what laid ahead was difficult. His only hint was the treetops. Those in the distance reached up higher. Either they were all taller or the ground sloped up between him and them.
Harry withdrew the mask and studied it. He had hoped the wards covered a smaller surface area. Had he been allowed up to the valley's mouth, delivering his message would have been far simpler.
He focused on the valley he had seen in that Daily Prophet. Seldom had he attempted to recall anything in such detail, but Dumbledore had told him a more organized mind could circumvent some limitations. If that was true, his picture needed to be crystal clear and not a single strand of thought could be displaced.
His fingertips tingled when the mask shot off away from him. If not for that he might not have noticed it was gone. Harry opened his eyes, but it was already lost to sight. With any luck it would sail across the valley and through a manor window. That ought to earn it some attention. Not only would it be disruptive, but Charlus at least would understand the difficulties involved in its delivery. Hopefully it would intrigue him enough to read the warning.
Dawn was breaking when he appeared on a mountain overlooking Hogsmeade. Harry found it hard to look away from the sprawl of buildings. High peaks held back the morning light, so street lamps and the glow behind rare windows were the only breaks from darkness in the city. He shook his head. It was just too vast. There was no reconciling it with the village he had known.
He turned his back and strode into the cave he had commandeered. The wards were untouched, the trinkets undisturbed. The bag of gold he had acquired last night looked commonplace among the rest.
His eyes lingered on the trinkets. If Charlus heeded his warning, the security was certain to at least slow Riddle down. If Harry could just locate the place the governors would meet, there might be an opening.
But how?
His hope faded. How was just scratching the surface. Beneath it was a whole host of problems.
What would happen if he did gain access to the site somehow? Being let loose last summer had been a miracle. Expecting something similar would be delusional. How did the old adage go? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…
If they apprehended Riddle, what then? Would they lock him up in Azkaban? How long would it be until the bastard freed himself? And if the monster died in his attempt to murder Charlus? It would do no good. Not while his horcruxes remained at large.
Harry grimaced. It always came back to horcruxes. No matter how much espionage he undertook or how skillfully he acted, it would all be for nothing if they were not destroyed.
The Gaunt Shack, the cave, and the Room of Requirement he had searched already. That left Gringotts and Malfoy Manor, where Voldemort had hidden the diary away with Lucius for untold years.
Harry rubbed his temples. Maybe he really would have to break into Gringotts yet again. There would be nothing else to do if they really did catch Riddle.
And what if they're not there? a worried portion of him whispered. What then?
The sun had risen when he traipsed into the Great Hall. Gilded plates reflected bright blue skies and the smell of bread and bacon bowled him over. "Morning, you lot," he said, seating himself beside Marlene and across from Lily. "Beautiful weather."
Lily smiled despite the way her eyes drooped. "It chose a good time," she said. "Today's the last Hogsmeade trip before spring break."
Harry hummed while piling eggs and toast onto his plate. "I forgot about that."
"You just forgot it was a Hogsmeade weekend?" Marlene scoffed.
Harry shot her an affronted look. "I've been busy."
Marlene was undeterred. "Busy doing what?"
Guilt settled like a brick in his stomach and he fought the urge to push his plate away. "Practicing extracurricular stuff, mostly."
"You're going though, aren't you?" Mary asked.
"Yeah," he said, impressed how nonchalant he sounded. "Might as well, I guess."
It really was the perfect spring day, the sort he had so often read about but so seldom seen. The air was the warmest it had been in months and almost all the mud had dried. The snow shone whiter than freshly laundered linen and birdsong tinkled like wind chimes swaying in a gentle breeze.
It was not until their third pass by The Three Broomsticks that there were empty tables. "It's a circus out there," Marlene grumbled as they stepped inside. Harry's stomach rumbled. The smell of stew was strong and his appetite had been lost soon after preparing his plate for breakfast, and that had been hours back.
"Oi!" James was waving at them.
"Come on," Harry told Lily before she could object. "He did take that curse for you when Prince and his group of gits attacked us."
Lily's nostrils flared. "I didn't need him to take that curse for me!" she whispered fiercely in his ear. "I was perfectly capable—" It was only then she realized he had dragged her over to the Marauders' table.
James smiled up at her. "Hello, Evans. How have exams been going?"
"Perfectly fine, thank you very much." She turned a heated glare on Harry. "I'm going to grab us drinks and claim a booth before the rest of them are taken." Mary and Marlene looked back and forth before following in Lily's wake.
"Sorry," Harry said to James. "I've been hoping she would come around."
James just mussed his hair. "I've been hoping that for almost seven years, but I can't blame her. I've been a bit of a prat about the whole thing."
Sirius snorted. "Just a bit of a prat?"
James ignored him. "My mother's waiting for you in one of the private rooms behind the bar."
Harry's hand paused halfway through straightening his cloak. "Your mother?"
James showed both hands as if to prove nothing was hiding in them. "Don't ask me, mate. I haven't a clue what it's about, she just told me to harass you about it and make sure you meet with her."
"It's not like I have much choice, do I?" Harry had meant for it to come out light and intrigued, but his inflection was too grim.
James crooked a sheepish smile. "Not really."
Sirius held up a glass in mock salute. "If it makes you feel better, none of us ever have much choice when it comes to dealing with Aunt Dorea."
Madam Rosmerta ushered him behind the bar without preamble when he told her what his business was, and soon he found himself standing outside a door leading into private rooms he had not known existed.
There he paused and pondered why he was so unsettled. No answer came, and so he sighed. If war had taught him anything, it was how much better it was to do something rather than to live in fear of it.
Two men stood guard inside the room. They were each standing in a shadowed corner. If the distance and false sense of privacy had been meant to ease his nerves, Dorea had miscalculated. One of the guards was grimmer than a gravestone. Harry would be hard pressed relaxing in his presence.
"My lady," he said once seated.
"Good." Dorea looked up from her fingernails. "I see James has taught you manners." Harry opened his mouth but decided speaking would be unwise when his options were to lie or to insult her family. A knowing smile flickered across the First Lady's lips. "Not likely, is it? Oh well. I'm glad the pair of you are on better terms, at least."
"Me too," Harry agreed. "I like James when he's not… well…"
"I believe my husband calls it being an arse." Dorea cocked her head as if considering how her harsh words tasted. "It's a bit crude, but I think it fits my son well sometimes, don't you?"
"I… wouldn't put it like that."
"Certainly not in front of me, I'm sure." Dorea flashed a second smile. It was warmer, but short-lived. "I would love to exchange niceties and see how many times you paused or wrestled with your words, but I'm afraid my purpose is more direct this time."
Harry adopted his best impression of Kingsley's placidity any time they had been forced to deal with dignitaries. "May I ask what your purpose is, my lady?"
"My purpose is to keep James safe over spring break." She looked him up and down. It was not the critical examination of a tailor judging fits and colours. It was the way Harry had evaluated new recruits on their first day of training. "I wondered whether your assistance might make doing that less stressful for me."
"Guilt is to the spirit what pain is to the body."
— David A. Bednar
A special thank you to my high-tier patron, Cup, for her generous and unwavering support.
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