CHAPTER 53: THE DIVIDE DEEPENS
A long, treacherous hill ascended into the infinite sky. The sun descended behind it, casting a mesmerizing wash of pink and orange hues across the horizon. The gradual retreat of daylight stretched the hill's shadows from its lofty crown to Harry's feet, making him feel like he was ascending into a realm of pure enchantment. The sun hung as distant and elusive as a winter moon, and an intense yearning pierced Harry's heart, like a shard of ice.
Fleur. The name resonated in his thoughts, a melodious echo that propelled him onward. Each step felt as if he carried the weight of the world, his limbs responding sluggishly, as if forged from lead. But determination and longing fueled him, urging him to continue. Just keep going, he told himself, one step at a time. Whatever it takes.
With gritted teeth, Harry painstakingly clawed his way up the smooth, cold surface, his fingers and knees scraping against the unyielding terrain. He hauled his body upward, inch by agonizing inch, towards the elusive summit.
The shadows gradually faded, revealing a haunting sight. Lifeless, vacant eyes stared up from beneath his feet, and matted hair clung to his outstretched hands. His palms emerged stained and sticky, dripping with crimson. The white stones metamorphosed into pale, lifeless skin, cold limbs, and rigid fingers. A mound of corpses sprawled beneath him, and crimson trickled between them, forming a macabre tapestry that flowed down the mountainside, akin to spilled ink on polished wood.
At last, he stumbled over the crest of the hill, greeted by the ethereal glow of the setting sun. There she stood, Fleur, bathed in the warm, golden embrace of twilight. Her silver hair shimmered like threads of spun silk, framing her captivating, sapphire eyes and a small, precious smile. The enchanting dress she had worn at the Yule Ball sparkled like molten silver in the fading light.
A surge of warmth enveloped Harry, and the leaden weight that had clung to his limbs dissipated like morning mist. "Fleur," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.
Fleur turned to him, her gaze lingering on the vanishing sun, a shimmering sliver of gold sinking into the depths of night. "Come to watch the sunset with me?" she asked, her voice as melodious as a gentle breeze on a summer evening.
"Of course," Harry muttered, staggering forward as he reached out with one hand, still stained with a deep crimson. "We–"
A sudden and unfathomable chasm materialized between them, cruelly separating the two. He found himself standing on a bed of lifeless bodies, staring at Fleur through fingers tainted with the blood of the fallen. She stood gracefully on the edge of the mountain, her feet resting upon the waning, golden rays of the setting sun.
No... Harry's heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach, and he closed his eyes, a bitter realization dawning upon him. "I know this kind of dream."
Fleur let out a weary sigh. "You're missing the sunset, mon Cœur."
"But you're not gone yet," Harry thought determinedly and forced his eyes to reopen. The dying rays of the sun bled crimson through Fleur's cascade of silver hair. The sea of red, which had spread from beneath Harry's mountain of corpses, frothed and surged upwards.
Harry strained to articulate his feelings past the dense lump in his throat, and the agony that felt like a handful of razors twisting in his chest. "I'm going to lose it in a moment. I always do."
"That's the trouble with sunsets, mon Cœur," Fleur said, her soft blue eyes focused on the blood welling up beneath Harry's feet. The small smile on her lips began to fade. "They don't last forever."
The mountain trembled, and Harry's footing gave way. He slipped down to his waist among the pale, cold limbs, and the red tide lapped at the summit, its heat creeping up to his knees. Despair gripped him, suffocating his heart like the relentless weeds of the Black Lake.
"Goodbye, mon Cœur," Fleur whispered as she faded into the final vestiges of light.
Harry shut his eyes, surrendering to the inexorable pull, and he plunged into the scalding darkness, his descent slowed by the clammy grasp of the lifeless figures. Then, with a gasp, he awoke to a faceful of silver hair. Fleur lay beside him, her head nestled on his shoulder, her warm limbs wrapped around him beneath a tangled web of covers.
Taking a deep breath, Harry reassured himself, "Just a foolish dream." With gentle movements, he extricated himself from her embrace and reached for his wand. "Tempus."
"Cursed luck," he muttered, noting the lateness of the hour.
"Fleur," he said softly, pressing his lips to her forehead, "I have to go."
Her grip tightened. "Non."
"Fleur," Harry pleaded, gently prying her arms from around him, "I'll be back soon."
Her eyes fluttered open, and she blew a stray lock of hair from her face. A mischievous grin played on her lips. "I suppose I need to shower." Her hand slid beneath the covers, and she smirked. "I definitely need to shower."
Harry scanned the room, feeling a twinge of amusement. "I have no clothes..."
Fleur laughed seductively. "Oops."
With a resigned sigh, Harry admitted, "I'm sure I can conjure some."
"Not in the bed, you can't," she whispered in his ear, her voice laden with desire. "So at least I get a show before my shower…"
Harry chuckled. "Oh no, you don't." He placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, then with a soft snap, he transported himself back to Salazar's study.
Salazar chortled. "Where're your clothes, Harry?"
Quickly pulling on a fresh set from his trunk behind the desk, Harry concealed the memory of Fleur's fiery touch through their clothing. "They had an accident."
"An accident," Salazar sniggered. "You might want to take a look at your neck. Had a close run-in with a toothless vampire, did you?"
Harry's cheeks burned as he caught sight of himself in Sirius's mirror. A vivid crimson mark lay just beneath his jawline, and a scattering of smaller, similar marks trailed along his collarbone. A strange sense of pride welled up within him as he stared at them.
"She did that deliberately," he thought, recalling the mischievous glint in Fleur's eyes as her lips had drifted to his neck. "I guess she didn't like that marriage contract stuff."
Raising his wand to his neck, the incantation of a healing spell on his lips, Harry hesitated. Then, with a mischievous grin of his own, he conjured a scarf to cover the marks instead.
Salazar's laughter echoed in the room. "Fond of them, are you?"
"Shut up, you poorly-drawn desk-graffiti," Harry retorted.
"What did you learn at Gringotts?" Salazar's grin remained as wide as ever. "I'm assuming there weren't any nasty surprises, going by those marks and your lack of clothes."
"The fortune of my family was mostly spent by my father in the war with Voldemort," Harry explained. "The vaults I might've been able to claim from connected families don't exist, save for one under your name, but I received the impression it's a meager amount."
Salazar inquired further, "Were there any alliances, agreements, or such? Gold can be earned, stolen, or won, but your word is more important. When given, it must be kept."
Harry nodded. "None."
Salazar patted the head of his serpent. "That's good. You're free to carve out your own path."
"Once Voldemort is dead," Harry muttered.
"Indeed," Salazar agreed. "There's no avoiding that, but you've come a long way from the weak, skinny child who first came into my study and couldn't even recognize his most famous ancestor."
"I'm still not strong enough," Harry admitted. Memories of the fading sunset and the mountain of corpses flooded his thoughts. In his mind's eye, he saw Fleur turning her back on him as the crimson light died. "I need more."
A faint smile graced Salazar's lips. "You will get stronger, Harry. In two years, you've transitioned from a child to a wizard that almost any opponent would have to take seriously to survive. More will come if you need it."
"I will need it," Harry said resolutely. "Voldemort will not stop."
"No," Salazar concurred. "Voldemort will not stop. Tom did not stop. I could not stop." Shadows clouded his eyes when he raised his gaze. "Now it's your turn."
Harry's gaze shifted to the book on rituals, the time-turner, and the stack of notes on horcruxes in Tom's handwriting. "I can't stop. I can't lose."
"Fleur," Salazar whispered, a note of understanding in his voice. "Of course."
Turning away, Harry repeated to himself, "I can't lose."
"I won't tell you to lose, Harry," Salazar said solemnly. "Just be careful what you sacrifice to win."
Top of Form
"I'll sacrifice whatever it takes," Harry declared with unwavering determination, snatching the Marauder's Map from the desk. "Fudge is desperate. If I throw him something that looks like a lifeline, he'll hurl himself after it."
"Fudge?" Salazar blinked. "The Minister for Magic?"
"Yes," Harry chuckled. "I had to explain to Fleur's sister, Gabby, that the Ministry of Magic was not, in fact, run by animated confectionery." He snorted. "Not that you'd notice the difference half the time."
"And?" Salazar pressed.
"Fudge is clinging to power by a thread but seems determined not to let go if he can avoid it," Harry explained.
"The moment this Umbridge woman gives him hope of a lifeline, he will seize it with both hands," Salazar nodded. "Good. Hang him with it. Hang that woman, too. In my day, we would've killed her for what she's been trying to do to children."
"I don't care what happens to Fudge," Harry shrugged. "But nobody will be looking very hard for an unpopular former undersecretary when Voldemort returns and war looms."
And she deserves it. The moment she realizes Voldemort has returned, she'll trade that pink cardigan for a Death Eater's mask. She's a spiteful bigot just like the rest of them.
"Marietta…" He scanned the map, tracing his eyes across until he caught her name near the Owlery. "My first breadcrumb." Harry stuffed the map into his pocket and sprinted for the steps. "I'm leaving!"
"I'm a painting, not blind," Salazar called after him.
Harry banished the water on the bathroom floor with a flick of his wand and cast the disillusionment charm over himself as he hurtled into the corridor. He sprinted down the hall, slid down the rail of the stairs to avoid a pair of students, and then cast a cushioning charm on the next set of steps before leaping to the ground floor. Pain lanced up his legs, and Harry staggered, clenching his jaw, forcing his feet onward past the classrooms until he skidded to a halt inside the entrance to the Owlery.
"Who else is about?" Harry checked the Marauder's Map but saw only Marietta's name hovering over his. "We're the only two."
He prowled up the steps to the Owlery itself. Marietta's red hair bounced along near the window as she hummed a soft, fast tune, and her owl fluttered its wings, hopping along her wrist.
"Focus and intent. Like the mind arts," Harry thought as he slid his wand from his sleeve. "Imperio."
His magic formed an unbreakable connection, and Harry felt his will seeping into Marietta's thoughts. His intentions swirled into her mind, merging like a crimson tide mixing with water, until all that remained was his unwavering will.
Marietta released her owl and briskly made her way past Harry and down the steps. On the Marauder's Map, he tracked her direct path to Umbridge's office.
"Perfect," Harry thought. "And now to wait…"
He removed the spells concealing himself and returned to Gryffindor Tower, flashing a smile at the Fat Lady as she permitted him entry.
Neville, Ron, and Seamus were hunched over one of the tables, earnestly bombarding Hermione with questions, to which she responded with a roll of her eyes, absentmindedly playing with a slim, silver chain around her neck.
Harry spotted Katie, Alicia, Angelina, and the twins nearby. He squeezed into a chair next to Katie. "Hi!" He peeked at her Transfiguration essay. "That doesn't look very interesting."
Katie pouted. "It isn't." She wiggled around in her seat to drape her feet across Harry's lap. "Do it for me?"
Angelina sighed under her breath, and Alicia folded her arms. Fred and George offered Harry sharp nods.
"Enough, you two," Katie scolded. "You're leaving at the end of this year, and Harry will be my closest friend."
Harry wiped away a pretend tear. "Am I not already your closest friend?"
"No," Katie teased, patting him on the cheek. "You're not cute or female enough."
"Well, that seems a bit sexist," Harry remarked. "Do you want help with your essay?"
Alicia smirked. "With NEWT-level Transfiguration? That's sweet of you, Harry, but Katie's one of the best in our year."
Harry rolled his eyes and conjured a single black butterfly. "Are you sure?" He directed the butterfly to land on Katie's face.
"Get it off, Harry!" She growled and swatted at it until it burst into a wisp of black smoke. "Did you conjure that from thin air?"
"Yes," Harry replied. "Figured it out last year."
"I remember," Katie scowled. "You covered the table with them at lunch. They couldn't fly properly."
"That was then," Harry grinned and conjured another pair. "What shall I turn them into?"
"Earrings," Angelina suggested.
"A boyfriend for Katie," Alicia teased.
Katie twitched and shot Alicia a glare. Harry caught Alicia's eye, then transformed both butterflies into large spiders and dropped them into her lap. She shrieked and swatted them onto the floor, prompting Ron to swear from the far side of the common room.
Harry laughed, summoned the spiders, and transfigured them into a pair of glass earrings shaped like broomsticks. He placed them in Angelina's hand. "All yours."
Angelina poked them with her wand. "Will you turn them into spiders if I put them on?"
"Not if you're nice," Harry replied with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
Alicia edged back into her seat, muttering a quick apology. Katie nudged Harry's elbow and cast a hopeful look in his direction.
Fine, Harry thought, relenting. He conjured another couple of pairs of earrings and held them out.
"Now you can all have matching Quidditch earrings," he said with a grin.
Katie plucked both pairs from his hand and tossed one set to Alicia. "These are really good, Harry."
"Thanks, I made them my—" Harry began.
However, their light-hearted banter was abruptly interrupted by a distinct and irritating cough that cut through the hum of the common room. Umbridge emerged, brandishing the DA list in one pale, stubby-fingered hand, flanked by a pair of Aurors.
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Longbottom, Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley," she said with a simpering tone. "You will all be accompanying me to the Headmaster's Office."
"What for?" Ron shouted, a mixture of confusion and defiance in his voice.
A broad, gleeful smile spread across Umbridge's face. "We will be discussing your expulsion, Mr. Weasley."
Katie grabbed Harry's arm, her voice barely above a whisper. "Harry..."
Harry patted her on the cheek and whispered back, "I suppose we'd better go and find out what this is actually about." He cast a long, significant look at Hermione, who chewed her lip but ultimately nodded.
In a line, they followed the echoing sound of Umbridge's clicking pink heels and the ringing of the Aurors' boots up to Dumbledore's office.
Harry's stomach churned, his heart pounded, and a cold thrill trickled through his veins. Nearly there…
"Wait here," Umbridge commanded as she disappeared upstairs with her escort.
Harry leaned in closer to his friends. "Don't say anything. Not a word."
"But she has the list," Neville squeaked.
"Someone must've betrayed us," Ron muttered. "We'll soon see who it was; Hermione's jinx will make it pretty clear."
Hermione gnawed her lower lip and rubbed at the dark rings beneath her eyes with the back of her hand. "We're in so much trouble."
Harry offered a glimmer of hope. "The list is dated. At the moment, there's no proof we've done anything but sign up the day before joining became illegal."
Ron's expression shifted from worry to admiration. "Clever."
Top of Form
"It might not be enough," Neville said with a worried tone. "There are Aurors here; it must be more serious than just an illegal club."
Harry concealed a small smile. "Much more serious. But hopefully they're here for Dumbledore, not us."
"Come up, children," Umbridge snapped from the top of the stairs.
They ascended into the Headmaster's Office, which was adorned with spinning and twirling silver instruments on the shelves. Fawkes perched over the desk, his beady eyes trained on a bowl of sherbet lemons.
"The Minister will be here shortly," Umbridge announced. "He will pass sentence on these miscreants and expel them from this institution for good."
"I'm here, Dolores," Fudge declared as he stepped from the fireplace. "Dumbledore."
"I'm afraid that you have me at a loss, Cornelius," Dumbledore replied, standing up and sliding his chair back beneath the desk.
"Oh, I'm sure I do, Dumbledore," Fudge gloated. "We'll deal with Potter and his co-conspirators after we get to the heart of the matter."
Harry took this as a positive sign. "If we're not the heart of the matter, then Fudge thinks he's found his lifeline."
"Of course, Minister," Umbridge simpered. "At the suggestion of one of Hogwarts's more conscientious students, I discovered this." She presented the DA list to Fudge but held onto it when he attempted to take it. "I've been aware of this group for some time, but I did not even begin to suspect what we were truly dealing with."
"Dumbledore's Army?" Fudge gasped. "Army?"
Dumbledore remained unruffled, his expression unchanged.
Harry held his breath, recognizing that Dumbledore wouldn't attack Fudge and the Aurors, especially with Voldemort lurking in the shadows.
"Exactly, Minister," Umbridge continued with a wide, self-satisfied smile. "It's obvious what has been happening here. Potter and his friends have been recruiting to assist Albus Dumbledore in subverting the minds of young witches and wizards. He's been filling their heads with his nonsense and lies while he schemes to steal your seat."
"Well," Fudge mused, spinning his hat in his hands. "Well. You four will have to be expelled for your part in running a clearly illegal organization."
"Illegal?" Dumbledore interjected, shooting Harry a quick glance. "This list is dated from before the relevant educational decree was passed; its existence is not proof of anything at all."
"I suppose that hardly matters," Fudge conceded as he released the list. "Your crimes are far worse, Dumbledore."
Umbridge seized the list and tucked it away inside her cardigan.
Harry smothered a triumphant feeling. "Marietta convinced her it was more important than just a list."
"My crimes," Dumbledore pondered. "My crimes, Cornelius?"
"You've been plotting against me," Fudge exclaimed. "Raising an army to overthrow the Ministry by manipulating the Boy-Who-Lived and your students."
Harry couldn't help but think, Oh, now I'm a victim rather than a villain. Wonderful.
"I have indeed been plotting against you," Dumbledore admitted.
"That's a confession," Fudge blustered. "You will be taken into custody, formally charged, and then sent to Azkaban to await a trial."
Harry couldn't help but think, Well, that's more than Sirius got. And it ought to keep Dumbledore away for long enough.
"That sounds awfully tedious, Cornelius," Dumbledore said. "I can think of a very long list of things I would rather spend my time doing. Are you sure you want to insist on this foolishness?"
Fudge sputtered. "Foolishness? Foolishness?"
"Dawlish," Umbridge snapped, her face turning a mottled crimson.
One of the Aurors, a nondescript man in a grey coat, shifted his footing and reached for his chest.
"Don't be silly, Dawlish," Dumbledore said with a smile, treating the man as if he were an errant first-year. "I remember you being an excellent student, and I'm sure you are a fabulous Auror, but raising your wand against me would not be wise."
"Do you intend to duel the Minister, myself, and two Aurors?" Umbridge demanded.
Dumbledore's eyes hardened. "Only if you are insistent upon continuing with this madness."
"We're not intimidated," Umbridge spluttered.
Fudge's knuckles whitened around the brim of his hat. "Now, see here—"
Dawlish's hand shifted another inch, and Dumbledore's wand appeared, releasing a series of blinding white flashes. Harry discreetly slipped his wand into his hand as Dawlish went flying. He quickly tucked it away and held his breath, blinking away the bright green spots swirling in his vision. Glass shattered, and pieces of silver instruments clattered to the ground. Dawlish, the other Auror, Umbridge, and Fudge sprawled across the wooden floor. Fawkes trilled and peered down at them from the edge of the desk.
Dumbledore tucked away his pale wand. "They will wake soon."
"Will you go back to the headquarters?" Ron blurted out.
Grimmauld Place. Harry smothered a grimace. "He better not, or I'll have to find a way around him again."
"No," Dumbledore shook his head. "I will use this chance to take a little holiday. I might go visit the countryside or perhaps catch some sea air."
"What do we do?" Hermione asked.
"You stay here, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. "Even if I am not the headmaster, the castle's wards make it one of the safest places in Britain. Besides…" He stepped over Fudge's limp form. "I have little doubt that I will return to being headmaster soon enough."
Harry observed Dumbledore closely, noting the intensity in his bright, electric-blue eyes. A faint connection formed between their thoughts, but Harry quickly batted it away.
"You have made good progress," Dumbledore nodded. "Continue practicing, please; it is more important than you can imagine."
Fawkes trilled, leapt from his perch into the air, and clasped Dumbledore's left hand in his talons. Dawlish began to stir.
"One moment, Fawkes," Dumbledore said with a wink. He retrieved the bowl of sherbet lemons from his desk, and the phoenix warbled in response. In a flash of red fire, both Dumbledore and Fawkes vanished.
Harry settled into one of the chairs placed next to the wall, surrounded by shattered glass and debris. A quiet, soft satisfaction swirled beneath his ribs, although he kept the smile off his face. But not for long; trying and failing to capture Dumbledore means Fudge probably isn't going to last the week.
"Where is he?!" Dawlish staggered to his feet and drew his wand. "Proudfoot!" He cast a gentle white spell on his partner.
Proudfoot stirred with a groan, hauling himself upright against the ruined bookshelf. "He couldn't have Apparated. Check the stairs."
Dawlish dashed from the room, wand at the ready. Proudfoot helped Fudge to his feet and retrieved his dented bowler hat. Umbridge dusted off her cardigan, clutching the list, then snatched her wand from the floor.
"Return these children to their dormitories, Dolores," Fudge instructed. "We will discuss the situation at length in your office when you return."
Umbridge tittered. "I'm sure they can make it back on their own, Minister."
"Very well then." Fudge ushered them toward the door. "Off to bed with you four. Let this be a lesson that not all figures of authority are to be blindly believed in."
Harry uncurled from his seat and picked his way through the broken glass.
Fudge caught his arm. "I'm sorry about all that nonsense in the Prophet, my boy. Dolores has mentioned you haven't corroborated any of Dumbledore's absurd claims, but the papers tend to get carried away. Rita Skeeter made up all sorts of rubbish; it cost my friends their careers in some cases."
"Thank you, Minister." Harry eased his arm free and paused at the door. "I appreciate your apology. All is forgiven."
"Water under the bridge, my boy," Fudge beamed. "Hopefully, you can have a nice quiet year without any more of this nonsense."
"Yes, Minister." Harry concealed a smile. "Good luck with the Wizengamot."
Fudge's expression faltered, and he fiddled with the rim of his bowler hat. "Yes. Well. I fear Dumbledore has managed to turn them against me. Still, the fight's not over yet. Dolores will do her best to discover what he's been up to here before it's too late."
Perfect. A small smile curled on Harry's lips. I'd probably be top of her hit list anyway, but let's make sure.
"I wish Professor Umbridge luck, then," Harry said, catching her eye and giving her his best imitation of Fleur's small smirk. "She'll need it, knowing Dumbledore."
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