CHAPTER 13: ANCHORED IN EXISTENCE

The chamber was adorned with an intricate display of pages, each one bearing Tom Riddle's impeccably written script, meticulously sprawled across the stone floor. These writings were meticulously held in place by translucent glass orbs, their presence emphasizing the significance of the dark knowledge they contained. High above, Harry perched upon the tip of the tongue-shaped bridge, gazing intently at the contents beneath.

Salazar, his voice reverberating with curiosity, spoke from the shadows. "There's a wealth of detail here," he observed, his eyes never leaving the scattered pages. "If Riddle didn't personally perform these dark rituals, then he must have witnessed them, or, at the very least, received a highly detailed account from someone who had."

Harry, his brow furrowing in concentration, sifted through the pages with unwavering focus. "The theory behind creating a horcrux," he began, "is explained in greater depth than what's in the book." He referred to the text beneath the shimmering purple glass weights. "It's far more intricate than one might imagine."

Salazar leaned in, eager to hear more. "Go on," he urged.

"Much like your earlier suspicions," Harry continued, "horcruxes are formed by inflicting the very thing the creator wishes to avoid upon another. It's a disturbing act, where a wizard or witch of extraordinary willpower can rip away a fragment of their soul and tether it to another object. However," Harry added, his voice tinged with a shiver of revulsion, "Riddle has made a noteworthy amendment to the book. He contends that the 'soul' is merely a symbolic construct, serving as an emotive focus for a profoundly intricate spell. According to him, nothing is physically torn asunder in the process."

Salazar's expression darkened as he considered this revelation. "And what about the object itself?" he inquired.

Harry's gaze remained fixed on the scattered parchment. "The text doesn't specify," he replied, "but I presume it can't be just any object. Riddle's notes frequently mention instances of failed attempts, indicating that it's a highly selective process. It's becoming increasingly apparent that this knowledge was pieced together through a gruesome process of trial and error."

A heavy silence descended upon the chamber as the two wizards contemplated the implications of this dark art. Salazar's final question hung in the air, pregnant with dread: "So, what, in your estimation, could serve as a suitable vessel for a horcrux?"

"Riddle believes that the objects chosen to become horcruxes must hold great importance or value to the creator," Harry elaborated. "Without that profound connection, the infusion of a fragment of their soul would be unsuccessful. Once a horcrux is created, it's meant to be nearly indestructible, with only two known substances capable of destroying them—basilisk venom and fiendfyre. However, Riddle speculates that magical elements of a similar nature, but with intentions opposing their creation, might also be effective."

Salazar's curiosity grew as he leaned forward. "And how does Tom propose they function?"

Harry's eyes remained locked on the pages as he continued to decipher the dark secrets. "Tom envisions horcruxes as anchors, something to tether the creator's soul to the mortal realm. He perceives the soul as a magical manifestation of one's self. With powerful magic and an unyielding will, a person can endure as long as their sense of self persists. According to him, the magic of a horcrux imparts an object with a reflection of the creator's entire being, their intent and essence. This bond is strong enough to preserve their existence, even if their physical body is obliterated. Riddle posits that creating a horcrux requires one to fuel their intent with an unwavering desire to remain alive—a life in exchange for a life."

Harry paused, his throat tightening as he considered the implications of such dark magic. "He is disturbingly certain that using the Killing Curse is the key to creating a horcrux, as it demands an undiluted intent to end a life."

Salazar gazed at Harry with a mix of admiration and concern. "You may not necessarily appreciate my saying this, Harry, but you possess the same innate aptitude that my wife, daughter, and Tom himself had. It's a rare gift, the ability to grasp these concepts so swiftly. You shouldn't be burdened by shame for having a talent that Tom, although misusing it, was also gifted with."

Harry contemplated the weight of those words. "I suppose it's a compliment," he mused. "Just because Tom excelled in a certain area and misused it doesn't mean I should be ashamed of my own proficiency in that same field."

"There is a glimmer of hope in all of this," Harry spoke with a hint of optimism. "The soul isn't an everlasting, immutable entity. Tom believes that both willpower and one's sense of self slowly deteriorate as a person ages, achieves, and simply lives. The binding anchor eventually weakens, but it can only do so when the creator's intent begins to wane."

Salazar contemplated this newfound knowledge. "So, should Tom successfully attain his ambitions, it might ultimately become his downfall," he pondered. "I wonder, though, whether one can recover from casting such dark magic. The sheer intensity of intent required to perform it, the act of inflicting something you abhor upon another just to escape the clutches of death... It exacts a terrible toll on a person, more than one might initially realize."

As Salazar delved deeper into his thoughts, shadows seemed to gather in his eyes. "Perhaps that's what happened to Tom," he continued, "twisted by the malevolent intent of his own soul magic, until nothing remained of his dreams and desires except an unwavering determination to endure."

An escape from the abyss of death. Harry's foot idly tapped the rough scrawl that marred the final pages of the text. Tom Riddle's broken quill tip protruded from the page, enclosed by a circle of dark ink. "Lord Voldemort," Harry whispered softly, the name carrying an eerie weight. "Perhaps that's exactly what it is."

"What about the book?" Salazar inquired, his curiosity undiminished. "What does it reveal about all of this?"

Harry extended his hand and conjured the book into his palm. "Tom has meticulously corrected most of its contents," he began, turning his attention to the remaining unaltered section. "But there's a small part he didn't bother to amend." He read the text aloud, his voice tinged with a sense of foreboding. "It's a cautionary note. The author speculates that creating multiple horcruxes or employing the Killing Curse frequently afterward might lead to a powerful mental association. In certain circumstances, this association could inadvertently give rise to accidental horcruxes because the creator's magical intent becomes intertwined with their relentless desire to endure. The text discusses it as if it were a form of self-healing. Once a horcrux is created, the creator might move on, and as they achieve other aspirations, the horcrux weakens, ultimately leading to the loss of their immortality once their dreams are fulfilled. However, in the absence of other genuine goals, an obsession with immortality itself could fester. Then, under the rarest of circumstances, if the stars align in a twisted fashion, an accidental horcrux may be born. A bond might develop between the accidental anchor and its owner, potentially resulting in the development of an obsessive interest or, in the case of living beings, the manifestation of similar characteristics and skills."

The realization struck Harry like a bolt of lightning, the connection between the text and his own experiences painfully clear. "The very same knack," he muttered, his voice trembling. The sensation of sharp, ice-cold fingers tightened around his stomach, sending a chill down his spine. Harry took a series of deep breaths, attempting to regain his composure, and mentally pictured the circle of dark ink on the page. But this time, Tom Riddle's quill tip remained embedded, and the ink oozed out, mirroring the dark events that transpired with the diary.

Salazar regarded Harry with concern, his gaze unwavering. "What's troubling you, Harry?"

"In my second year, when Riddle's shade opened the Chamber and I discovered I could speak Parseltongue," Harry recounted, his voice heavy with the weight of revelation, "I asked Professor Dumbledore why Tom Riddle and I were so eerily alike."

And the truth struck like a bolt of lightning. "And he knew. He's always known," Harry seethed, feeling a fist of ice clench within him, its frigid grip seeping into his very blood. A metallic tang lingered on Harry's tongue. "He's always bloody known!"

Determination burned in his eyes as Harry continued, his words laced with Parseltongue. "He told me he believed I'd absorbed a small piece of Voldemort's power when I was marked with this scar," Harry hissed, the sibilant tones flowing effortlessly. "He claimed it made us similar and gave me the ability to speak to snakes."

Salazar's voice oscillated between Parseltongue and English as he responded, "He lied to you. My blood magic cannot be transferred in such a manner. You must possess my blood for the magic to function. The absorption of magical power doesn't occur like that, or there would have been wizards trying to steal one another's power left and right. He's aware of the horcruxes. He knows that you are one. He's always known."

The harsh reality hit Harry like a tidal wave. "I'm a horcrux. I'm what's keeping Voldemort alive," he muttered, his hands trembling. The glass paperweights, one by one, shattered into a mist of white. "Why me? It's so bloody unfair. So utterly unfair."

Harry tossed the "Secrets of the Darkest Arts" to the ground, his voice tinged with resignation. "I have to die. The diary is gone. When I'm dead, so is Voldemort."

Salazar's scowl deepened. "I will not allow it," he hissed vehemently. "You are the Heir of Salazar Slytherin, not a sacrificial pawn for lesser wizards. We'll find another way or forge one if we must."

Harry slumped onto the cold stone, his voice heavy with the burden of his thoughts. "How many will have to die before we find that way? There's no point in hoping. It's better to just get it over with."

Salazar's voice remained resolute. "As many as necessary. We do not know how many horcruxes Riddle has created aside from you. Your death may merely safeguard his dreadful secret."

Harry sighed, the weight of his knowledge pressing down upon him. "I can't tell Dumbledore that I know about the horcruxes."

"No, you cannot. We can't predict how Dumbledore will react," Salazar warned. "He might be searching for other horcruxes, or he could be trying to keep you alive as long as possible. However, the moment you become a liability, he might take drastic measures. People have done worse things in the name of the greater good."

Harry's gaze remained fixed on the slim crack joining the stones between his feet. "I'm not a match for Albus Dumbledore," he admitted. "Voldemort might be, but I don't think he's going to be of much help. It seems I'll have to walk a path apart from either of them."

Salazar offered a glimmer of hope. "I will ponder this dilemma," he assured Harry. "Perhaps a solution will present itself."

With a sigh, Harry whispered "Tempus," tapping his wand on his wrist. A few minutes to eleven. His heart sank as he realized that he had kept Katie waiting. "Katie..." he groaned, knowing he had made her wait. "The Marauder's Map," he continued, "shows Katie waiting for me in the entrance hall."

Summoning his resolve, he encouraged himself, "Smile, Harry. It's not Katie's fault. Make sure she enjoys her date. It might be how she remembers you."

Katie, wrapped up in a warm duffel coat and a colorful scarf, greeted him with a beaming smile as he joined her near the entrance. Her hair was neatly tied up, her lips painted in a vibrant red, and her dark eyelashes accentuated her bright eyes. Harry tried to fix his robes and hair, but they stubbornly returned to their disheveled state.

"Harry," Katie exclaimed happily, "I was beginning to worry you weren't coming."

Harry, with a hint of nerves, replied, "Well, I'm nervous, but not that nervous."

Harry couldn't help but think about his earlier anxiety, but now, in Katie's company, he felt a sense of calm. No point in being nervous, no point in being anything but present in the moment.

Katie's arm looped through his, and her warmth made Harry feel more at ease as they walked together, their thighs occasionally brushing against each other. "So, where are we going?" Harry asked.

"Madam Puddifoot's?" Katie suggested.

"The place with all the pink?" Harry attempted to picture the sporty and casual Katie in the frilly, heart-filled establishment. "Really?" he asked, hoping she'd reconsider.

Katie grinned mischievously. "Yes, do you mind?"

Harry, relieved, responded, "Not if that's what you want. Although it doesn't really seem like your kind of place."

Katie laughed. "You're absolutely right, Harry. It's definitely not my cup of tea. But I did enjoy the brief look of horror you wore."

"So, you don't want to go?" Harry sighed, letting out his suppressed feelings. "That's a relief. You know, it actually ranks higher than Snape's office on the list of places Gryffindor boys never want to find themselves."

Katie responded with a chuckle, "All girls like a little romance, but that's not my style. Let's go to the Shrieking Shack instead. Afterward, we can meet up with Angelina, Alicia, and the Twins."

Harry agreed, leading the way to the Shrieking Shack, with Katie bouncing alongside him, her grin never fading. Loose strands of her hair escaped her bun and dangled in front of her eyes.

"I love this place," Katie remarked, her gaze sweeping around. She pointed to a dent in the wall that Professor Lupin had left. "That's new."

Harry looked at her curiously. "Do you know the real story?" he inquired, intrigued by what she might know about the infamous haunted house.

"No, everyone just knows it's haunted. I didn't know there was a real story," Katie confessed.

Harry offered, "I can tell you if you'd like."

Katie cleared the debris from a three-legged chair and gestured for Harry to sit on one side. He obliged, and she took the other half, wrapping an arm around his waist for balance. "Tell me," she urged.

"A while back, there was a student at Hogwarts who was a werewolf," Harry began. "Every full moon, he would come here to transform, sneaking out of the castle using a secret passage. The werewolf was fortunate enough to have three friends who didn't care about what he was. To help him, they decided to become animagi."

Katie, intrigued, inquired, "How would that help?" She cast a glance at the claw marks on the walls.

Harry explained, "Werewolves aren't dangerous to animals; their bite only affects humans. However, the transformation is said to be excruciatingly painful, so to keep him company, they transformed into animals and joined him here."

Katie absorbed this information, her eyes widening in surprise. "Did nobody ever realize?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. That's more or less the whole story as I know it."

Curious, Katie asked, "How did you learn about this place?"

Harry responded, "Do you remember Professor Lupin?"

Katie nodded. "Yes, he was a really good teacher, but he resigned because... Oh. He was the student."

Harry continued, "He told me about it last year."

Katie's curiosity led to another question. "Who were the other three, then?"

"Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and James Potter," Harry replied, his voice faltering slightly as he mentioned his father's name. He looked away, his expression marked by a grimace.

Katie, understanding the significance of the revelation, squeezed his shoulder and offered a supportive smile. "Thanks for telling me the story, Harry. It must mean a lot to you."

Harry nodded. "In a way."

Katie shifted closer to him, seeking warmth under his arm. "I come here almost every time I visit Hogsmeade, but I never knew what it was actually for."

"What did you think it was?" Harry asked.

Katie chuckled. "I always thought it was a hoax. I never saw any ghosts when I came here."

Harry grinned. "Well, now you know."

Katie, taking advantage of his taller stature, snuggled closer. "It's good you're taller now. You can keep me warm."

Harry agreed, noting the chill in the shack. "It is a little cold. The shack doesn't have much insulation, either."

Katie beamed and edged even nearer to Harry. Suddenly, a loud snap echoed through the room, and they tumbled to the floor.

Harry brushed off his robes, then extended a hand to Katie with a sheepish smile. "Oops. I think that was Professor Lupin's favorite chair."

Katie's giggles filled the room as Harry helped her to her feet. "We've broken part of one of Hogwarts' most iconic buildings," she observed, still chuckling.

Harry, not too concerned, replied, "Professor Lupin won't mind. He started the demise of the chair himself."

They examined the remnants of the shattered chair, but Harry hesitated to repair it with magic. He wanted this moment to remain imperfect, a reminder of their laughter and shared clumsiness.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

Katie nodded and freed her hair from its bun, shaking it loose. "That's better," she commented with a grin. "Sorry, Harry. I'm happy to wear makeup for you, but I'm not tying my hair up until at least the third date."

Harry's face flushed, the realization dawning. "Why would she wait—oh," he thought, feeling the heat creeping into his cheeks. "Wow."

Desperately searching for the right words, he stammered, "Careful. I might try and hold you to that."

Katie's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I will if you don't," she playfully challenged.

Harry decided to surrender with grace. "I think I should concede defeat now."

Katie laughed and intertwined her hand with Harry's, their fingers locking together. "Well, I'm not sure you can go any redder in the face anyway," she teased. "Let's go to the Three Broomsticks. We're out of chairs here."

As they walked toward Hogsmeade's most popular pub, Harry embraced the moment, taking in the soft songs of the birds, the gentle breeze, and the forest's fragrant air. Their steps marked their passage over the frosty ground, echoing their growing connection and the promise of new beginnings.

Angelina, Alicia, and the Weasley Twins occupied a table pushed against the side wall of the inn, immersed in the boisterous atmosphere. Shouts, cheers, and the hum of conversation washed over Harry like a tidal wave.

The sheer volume of it all made Harry wince. "Loud," he muttered.

Katie tugged him towards the table, her enthusiasm unwavering. Angelina took a pair of chairs from the table behind them, brushing off the protests of a group of third years. "All we need now is the keeper," she remarked.

A twin, likely Fred since he sat closest to Angelina, chimed in with a broad grin. "It's a good thing Wood's left to join the big leagues. He wouldn't be happy with this."

George agreed, "Indeed, brother mine. He'd be outraged."

Fred chuckled. "He'd be the only member of the team not dating another teammate."

Katie ventured into the crowd at the bar, leaving Harry with the twins and the others. Harry joined the laughter, reminiscing about Oliver Wood and his unique approach to team bonding. "We'd get a very long lecture about squad relations," Harry joked, "then he would've forced us all to be married so we couldn't separate and harm the atmosphere of the team."

Katie, returning from the bar with firewhiskey, navigated the crowd expertly, each hand laden with three small glasses. The twins regarded her with astonishment. "How'd you manage that?" Fred inquired, as though she'd just performed a miraculous feat.

Katie nonchalantly explained, "Well, the drinking age is seventeen. I might only be a fifth year and sixteen, but I'm sitting with three sixth years who are nearly of age. I guess they just assumed I was, too."

Fred, however, pointed out, "What about Harry? He's an ickle fourth year."

Katie came to Harry's defense, declaring, "He's not ickle."

Angelina and Alicia couldn't contain their laughter, and Harry, not eager to be the center of attention, pretended to be deeply interested in the table's grain, willing the heat to fade from his flushed face.

Katie, equally flustered, explained, "They never asked. I guess they assumed that if he can defeat a Dark Lord as a baby, he can manage alcohol."

Alicia, still grinning, playfully teased, "Are you sure you can manage him, Katie?" She waggled her eyebrows mischievously.

Katie decided to divert attention away from Harry's age. "I guess I'll be keeping the rest of these, then." She distributed a single whiskey glass to Harry and each of the Weasley twins, setting the other three glasses in a line in front of herself.

Angelina raised her hands in mock surrender. "We'll behave. Harry doesn't want to see a drunk Katie on his first date."

George chimed in with humor, "It would put even the most lovesick of suitors off."

Alicia, with a gleeful gleam in her eye, recalled a past incident. "I remember when Alicia was given a whole case of elderflower wine because the shop lost her ordered bottle, and the three of us drank it on New Year's Eve. I took the candle you stole from the Great Hall, and you got so angry you tried to transfigure me into a goblin."

This memory sent Angelina into fits of giggles, gasping for breath. Katie, her face a deep shade of crimson, defended herself, "I didn't! I only threatened."

Alicia, still laughing, corrected her, "No, no. You tried very hard, but you were using a breadstick from the kitchens instead of your wand."

Angelina reminisced about the humorous yet inebriated Katie. "And you were certain that it was your wand. Alicia ate it in front of you, and you burst into tears because you thought you'd never be able to do magic again."

Katie, still embarrassed, muttered, "I don't remember doing any of that."

Alicia, with a teasing smirk, recounted the tale. "Of course, you don't. It was a thirteen-bottle case, and you drank seven of them. You fell asleep in the middle of crying about your breadstick, and we had to carry you back to bed."

Angelina chimed in with a warning for Harry, "Never let her drink too much. She's very funny drunk but an absolute disaster to deal with. We have a hundred more stories from that night alone."

Katie, deciding to call their bluff, puckered her lips into a small pout and declared, "Well, keep them to yourselves, or I'll drink all these."

Unperturbed, Angelina crossed her arms and challenged, "Go ahead."

Katie, not one to back down, lined up the three glasses and downed their contents in quick succession, then placed them in a neat row in front of her, wearing a triumphant smile. "Done."

Fred and George simultaneously voiced their concern, "Uh oh, we're in trouble now."

Fred explained to Harry, "Firewhiskey is potent stuff. It's meant to give you a buzz no matter how much you drink, but the more you do, the stronger and longer the feeling."

Harry looked at the three empty glasses Katie had downed, then back at his own glass. He inquired, "How strong is it?"

Katie cheered Harry on, saying, "Don't worry, Harry, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em." She pushed his glass back in front of him.

The Weasley twins linked arms and drank from their own glasses. Fred explained, "Not that strong, just a little bit of cheer."

George added, "Unless you drink several, brother mine, then it's triple the effect!"

Harry contemplated the glass filled with the amber liquid. Katie encouraged him, insisting, "It doesn't hurt. You'll feel great."

Angelina chimed in, "One's fine."

Alicia nodded in agreement. "Three's trouble, but one's nothing."

Harry raised the glass to his lips, feeling the searing liquid slide down his throat like liquid fire, which then settled into a warm, comforting glow in his stomach. He commented, "Actually, after the fire bit, it's not bad."

Katie, moving closer to him, placed her hand on his thigh. "See, it's a good buzz."

Curious, Harry inquired, "And three?"

Katie gave his leg a gentle squeeze. "I probably shouldn't have drunk three. Triple the buzz, but it messes with your head a bit too much. Just be nice to me, and I won't bite." She leaned in close to his ear, her voice low. "Much larger chance of me tying my hair up today, now."

Harry chuckled and let the pleasant warmth spread through him. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Katie," he whispered back, his voice carrying a hint of mischief.

Angelina and Alicia couldn't contain their laughter, while Fred and George enjoyed the spectacle and the effects of the firewhiskey. George playfully commented, "Definitely can't call you Harrikins now."

Harry asked, "How long does this last?"

Fred answered, "Not long. For us, less than half an hour. For Katie, maybe a couple of hours."

Alicia suggested, "We should head towards Honeydukes. Fred promised us chocolate, and Lee's probably waiting there by now."

Angelina chimed in, "And we'll give Harry and Katie some time, so Katie can tie up her hair."

Katie, her face flushed, jokingly retorted, "Go away, you quaffle-hogging whores."

Alicia and Angelina burst into laughter once more, rising from their seats and squeezing past Harry. As she leaned in close to Harry's ear, Angelina whispered, "Keep her cheerful. Katie's an extremely emotional drunk, but lovely as long as she's happy."

Alicia added with a smile, "Of course, being Katie and being drunk means just about anything could upset her. She once cried for ten minutes because she dropped her sandwich when we went to the kitchens after celebrating Lee's birthday."

Katie shook her head and beamed, insisting, "I'm always happy."

The twins, leaving for Honeydukes, thanked Katie for the firewhiskey before departing.

Katie then wrapped an arm around Harry's waist and, with a playful squirm, made her way over his lap to retrieve her coat. Harry stood up and helped her slip her arms into her blue duffel coat, and she suggested, "Let's go wander."

Harry obliged, asking, "Where shall we wander?"

Katie's words left Harry feeling a mix of emotions he hadn't experienced before. She wrapped her arm around his waist and told him, "I don't mind. Happy to drift about as long as I'm with you."

The lump in Harry's throat grew, and he turned his head away, blinking back the moisture that threatened to form in his eyes. No one's ever said anything like that to me before.

Katie, noticing his reaction, glanced around before giggling and leading him down a side alley. She began coiling her hair atop her head, gazing up at Harry and biting her lip. Harry's mind raced with thoughts and questions, but before he could voice them, Katie broke into laughter and revealed her jest. "Just kidding. It's too cold out here, and I'm not that sort of girl, just playing about. Takes more than three firewhiskeys to get me on my knees, Harry."

Harry hid his relief and a tinge of disappointment, pretending to consider her proposition. "We can always go back for a couple more?"

Katie saw through his attempt and shook her head, tugging her hair back down over her scarf. "Nice try. I'm only teasing, though. Well, this time, I'm only teasing." She grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him away, bouncing down the street as she urged him to follow.

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