Chapter Twenty-Five: Sirius's Reckoning
.
On Sunday, it rained.
Harry sat beside Ella in the empty waiting room of Hannah's office, and she was distant in her silence. And all the while, his mind whirled.
He should have been there, sitting beside her. But he was traversing fields of darkness that seemed to seep out of his mind and pool around him, like shadows gathered. And it didn't matter what Dumbledore had said. It didn't matter what he knew to be the truth, or who he knew he should be. There was a voice lodged deep inside him that he didn't recognize as his own, berating him. Endlessly.
Another horcrux gone, it whispered.
And he didn't know what to make of that. Last week they'd had a plan. A list of steps they could follow to get the situation under control before it spiraled. And now this darkness that surrounded him was chipping away at the path they'd laid out, bit by bit, until nothing remained but fog and shadow and uncertainty. And they were certainly spiraling. Even Snape had been unsettled by it last night, his sallow face turning paler where he stood, all of them crammed into his dimly-lit office, buried far within the bones of the castle.
The room had been every bit as eerie as Harry remembered, with glass jars filled with revolting things lining the shelves along the shadowy walls. Seeing it made the hair on his arms stand on edge, and he'd resolutely focused on Snape's pale face.
"Have you found it?" Snape had hissed, observing them all in the semi-darkness. "I take it you weren't wandering the halls for the sake of nostalgia."
His question was met with silence, no one quite willing to speak.
"So you haven't found it," Snape concluded. He had leaned against his desk, contemplating them. "That makes two this week. I was under the impression that you knew where they were located, Miss Foster."
"I did," Ella muttered, ignoring the jibe. "I don't know why they aren't—"
"I don't suppose," Snape said, cutting her off, "that you are assuming they've already been taken?"
That question, too, was met with silence. They had glanced at each other, faces pale in consideration. In Harry's chest, his heart drummed faster, his palms slightly sweaty.
"Because I surely don't need to tell you all how much worse that would make our position," Snape finished, his voice hard. His black eyes glittered as he glanced between them.
"We don't know that he's back," Hermione had said firmly, glancing around the room. "It's much too soon to jump to assumptions. I've finished reading everything. And there are so many discrepancies between that reality and this one. There are no guarantees the horcruxes are in the same place!"
"That is all well and good, Miss Granger." Snape's eyes had glittered unpleasantly. "But if the horcruxes are not where you believe they are, and they have not already been acquired by Voldemort or one of his agents, then we have virtually no means of finding them. Nor will we be able to trace Voldemort's body until and unless he shows himself. And then we will be unable to get ahead of this situation. I am sure you all understand what that means."
And Harry understood, of course, exactly what that meant; because every missing horcrux, every failure they encountered along the way, was slowly but surely giving rise to Voldemort. And chipping away at his life.
"Ella."
He glanced up, sensing her rise beside him. Hannah was smiling at them from the door that led to the inner office. He reached out, slipping his fingers into Ella's as he followed her through the door. He tried to push his thoughts aside. It wasn't his moment to brood. There was nothing; nothing he could do besides what they were already doing. No, this moment was hers.
She'd be all right, wouldn't she? She'd be all right.
They walked, step in step. Approaching Hannah in silence.
But where were the horcruxes?
Hannah turned and led them through the door.
He wasn't afraid to die. But Ella...
Hannah reached inside the flimsy plastic hazard bag and withdrew the vial of yellow liquid. Beside him, Ella sighed and undid the clasp of her jeans.
"I'm ready for my stabbing," she said, her lips pulled tight into a mockery of a smile.
Would she be all right without him? Or would that smile she wore like armour shatter until even the pieces of it were gone?
He closed his eyes. I'm not going to leave her. I'm not going to die.
You will, a voice inside his head whispered. It sounded bitter and vile, and he hated himself for harboring it. For giving room to these doubts to spread like poison through his soul. You will. You didn't defeat Voldemort then, and you won't defeat him now. You're useless.
I'm not, Harry promised himself. It isn't over.
Only a fool keeps fighting a battle that's already been lost.
"All done," Hannah said brightly, and Harry's eyes snapped open, the echoes in his mind fading in the sudden light. Ella was eyeing him with a frown and stepped toward him as Hannah turned around to dispose of the empty vial. "See you Tuesday, Ella."
"See you then." Ella stopped in front of Harry and peered into his face, but she said nothing, and for that he was grateful. Together, they stepped back through the empty waiting room and out onto the street.
The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, and they turned, walking along the facade of the red-brick building that housed Hannah's office until they reached the small alley alongside it and slipped inside. Ella paused there, stopping feet away from the Apparition Point and turned to look at Harry, drops of water slipping silently into her hair.
"What's wrong?" she asked softly. "You looked a bit ill in there. That's my job, you know."
He shook his head. "It's nothing."
"Come on," she persisted. "What is it? Is your arse aching in sympathy?" She managed a smile.
"Is yours aching?" He frowned.
"Only a little bit." She shrugged. "It'll stop soon enough."
"That's good." He forced a smile, though he feared it didn't even touch the edges of his eyes. "You're so brave, Ells." His voice cracked slightly over the words. "I'm so proud of you."
"You're sweet. But I'm not doing all that much." She took a step back, further into the alley, and watched him, her hands clasped behind her back. Seemingly teetering on the edge of whatever it was she really wanted to say.
He found he didn't want to hear it. He didn't want an inspirational pep talk. He didn't want her reassurances that everything would be all right. Not when he should be reassuring her. It filled him with guilt enough to choke on.
"We'll find it today," she said instead, and her voice was steadfast. Sure of its truth.
"How do you know?" He couldn't help the note of uncertainty that crept into his own words. "We haven't found the others. Why should this be different?"
"Less variables," she said, her tone unwavering. "Anyone can get into the Room of Requirement, after all. Even Bellatrix's vault. But Grimmauld Place…? No, I'm positive, Harry. It's there."
"Even if it is…" The words caught in his throat and he drew in a shaky breath. Ella waited, watching him in the silence.
"Even if it is," he tried again. "Even if we get this one. Then what? The others are missing. Voldemort is—"
"He's not here!" she said sharply. "Do you see him, Harry?"
"No," he whispered.
"If he were back right now, do you think he wouldn't come after you?" Her tone was fierce.
"He could be recovering," Harry said reasonably. "Building up his strength. Plotting how to destroy everything we've built, El."
"So we'll have to destroy him first. If that's the case." Her eyes shone.
"By destroying me." His voice was hard. Empty. The pain in his heart had remained there, too heavy to shift even with the bitter words that had become his truth.
"Harry…"
"I'm not afraid to die," he whispered, the pain squeezing just a bit harder. "But I don't want to leave you."
She glanced away, though not before he saw the flash of tears in her eyes.
"Don't say that."
"I'm sorry." He felt hot shame in his stomach, but he couldn't seem to push it away. "I just want you to be prepared. Ella. I know you like to imagine the world is better. Less cruel. But if this all doesn't go well, I want to…" He trailed off, uncertain. What was it he wanted, exactly? For her to go on? To defeat Voldemort in his place?
No.
More than anything, he wanted her to be all right. No matter what happened.
"Ella—" he began, but she turned before he could say another word.
"Stop." Her voice was steady, her teary eyes glinting with determination.
"Look," he tried again. "I—"
"No." She shook her head fiercely. "Stop it. I know this is hard for you. I'm sorry you're struggling with this, Harry. I wish it hadn't happened. But I'm not just going to let you die."
"You may not have a choice," he said softly. "If it comes down to me or Voldemort."
"What if I stopped taking my shots?" She stared into his eyes, her voice hard. "What if I said I didn't want to do this anymore. It's hard, you know. What if I just gave up?" She took a step toward him, her voice never faltering. "Would you let me do that, Harry?"
"No," he mumbled. "No, I—"
"Would you let me stop?" She stepped closer still, until her hands were pressed against his chest. "If I said I wanted to give up, would you be all right with that?"
"No," he said, his voice stronger. "Of course not. But it's different. It's—"
"It's not different at all." She smiled sadly. "What's the difference, Harry? Tell me."
"There's not going to be an evil wizard that comes back if you stop," he said firmly. "No one is going to get hurt. Except for you."
"And you." Her words were steady.
"And me," he admitted, his heart clenching.
"And?" she pressed.
"Your family," Harry said softly. "Your friends."
"A lot of people." Ella glanced away. "So I'm going to fight for them. That's what you need to do."
"It isn't the same. I am fighting for them. For all of them. I—"
She shook her head firmly. "You don't know that. You've decided that dying is the only thing you can do to save everyone, and you don't even know if it needs doing! You're not responsible for the world, Harry."
"But if it does—"
"You're not doing this alone." She pushed against his chest, the force of her anger rocking him. "We're all right here, Harry! Look around!"
He said nothing, his arms clenching into fists at his sides. There was a tightness in his throat that seemed to stretch straight down into his chest, sinking its claws right into him. It was hard to look into Ella's blazing eyes, but he couldn't seem to look away either.
She blinked, and the fire in her gaze was gone. When she spoke again, her voice was shaky. "You need to keep walking, Harry. You can't stop looking for answers. It isn't like you. What good is saving us like this?" Her voice broke slightly over the words, but she pressed on. "We're all fighting this together. And if there's a… sacrifice that needs to be made… we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, OK? And whatever happens, it'll be all right. Because we've all done our best." She reached out and grasped his hand, her warmth seeping through him. "We don't give up in this family."
And he felt something break within him. Something heavy and hard that had been lodged around his heart. He wrapped her in his arms, burying his face in her windblown curls as the knot in his chest loosened. As if she had taken a chisel to the stone that had grown within him, so slowly and silently that he hadn't realized it was there at all. Until it all came tumbling down. Her hair felt wet beneath his cheeks, but he held on to her, and she hugged him back with an unrivaled fierceness. Her arms around him were more real than the dampness of the rain and the biting cold. And the looming future ahead. In that moment he wished only that time would stop, and they could stand there forever.
"I think this is what Dumbledore was trying to tell me yesterday," he told her softly, as they walked back down the empty pavement. "But I was too stupid to listen. Or you've just said it better."
Ella shrugged, offering him a small grin as she brushed at her swollen eyes. "You were always rubbish at listening to Albus."
"I don't think so." Harry frowned.
"Whatever you say." She pulled him along, until they were well and deeply hidden in the shadows of the small alley. "Are you ready for this?"
He smiled, the motion easier than it had been in days. "As ready as I'll ever be."
"Good. Don't forget those stupid Ds then." And she grabbed his arm and turned, pulling him along into the tightening darkness that squeezed his chest and pulled the air from his lungs. When it cleared, they glanced up at the looming facade of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. It looked particularly foreboding in the thickening downpour.
"Made it, have you?"
Sirius stepped out from beneath the cover of the doorway and grinned, pushing his damp hair out of his eyes. "Why, for fuck's sake, are we meeting in this shithole?"
"Bit of a long story," Harry said, grinning despite everything at the sight of his godfather. He wondered how it was that Sirius always managed to look like he'd just stepped off the set of a Muggle romcom, even now that he was in his 50s and his hair was decidedly graying. "Invite us in and we'll tell you all about it."
Sirius sighed dramatically. "If you insist. But if this house collapses on us, I'll be most displeased with you."
"No you won't," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "You'll be bloody thrilled."
"Don't you know it." Sirius grinned and stepped back, pushing the worn black door aside and allowing them entry into the dank, decrepit house.
It was dark and silent, and there was a stale and musty smell about it, as if the mold within had grown mold. For one horrible moment, Harry was reminded of Rookwood's dilapidated shack — the boggart, the broken Ella, the whole lot of it — and he momentarily froze on the threshold as the painful memories swam before his eyes. But they had a job to do. A horcrux to track down and destroy. So he pushed the unpleasant thoughts aside and stepped into the long corridor that served as Grimmauld Place's entry hall. Beside him, Sirius raised his wand, and the old gas lamps sputtered to life, casting sharp shadows along the rotting, dusty walls. Behind him, Ella softly pushed against the door until it closed with a snap, and the shushing of the rain fell to silence.
Sirius turned to face them, the flickering glow of the lights casting his profile into sharp relief. His face was unreadable, his eyes sunken into shadow. Somehow, he seemed decades older than just minutes before. Perhaps it was simply the horrible, peeling wallpaper. The torn rug beneath their feet. The absence of the buffer the Muggle street provided.
The house almost shimmered around them, feeling terribly unreal.
"Here we are, Grimmauld Place. As requested." The laughter was gone from Sirius's voice.
Harry nodded in silence, briefly wondering if Sirius and Ella found the long and narrow hall suffocating too. It was as if the walls were slowly pulling together, squeezing him tightly between.
"I reckon we're in for a complicated conversation," Sirius said, glancing between them. "Is that right?"
"That's right," Ella said, speaking up from where she still stood by the door when Harry remained silent. She let out a measured breath, as if steeling herself. Harry supposed that she was. "Sirius… have you ever heard of a horcrux?"
Sirius frowned. "I don't reckon I'm going to like this conversation one bit."
"No," Harry mumbled, finally finding his voice. He cleared his throat and blinked, and the walls receded back to their dark and narrow edges. "You won't." He sighed. "Can you show us the drawing room?"
The drawing room, much like the hall below it, was dark and damp and musty, and had drawn to a staggering halt somewhere on the verge of falling apart. Its cracking walls and torn carpet were practically pleasant to look at, though, compared to the naked horror on Sirius's face. Harry found it easier to look there. To let his eyes get lost in the cracks, the loose and rotted threads, the bits of peeling wallpaper. Decades of dust and scuttling spiders. Anything was better than meeting Sirius's eyes.
"You're not doing this," Sirius said finally. His voice was hoarse. Broken, like the house. "You aren't sacrificing yourself for this, Harry. Not again. You hear me?"
"I— No one's said—"
"As if I don't know what you're thinking." Sirius took a step toward Harry and squeezed his shoulder. "As if you aren't already…" He cursed violently and turned away. Harry followed his gaze, his eyes settling on the dusty cabinets in front of the mantelpiece. They seemed to loom in the silence.
Beside him, Ella took hold of his hand. Her fingers were warm around his. "Harry will be fine." Her voice was firm. But he already knew that she was strong. "We'll sort it out, Sirius. We always have before."
Sirius said nothing, his gaze still locked on the cabinets. His fingers twisted around his wand.
"Gotta kill that locket first, though," Ella added. She glanced at Harry, who nodded. "We're hoping you can help us."
"Damn right, I'm going to help." Sirius turned back around, his wand gripped tightly in hand. "We're going to murder the fucking thing And then we're going to have a talk abut your priorities." He paused, contemplating Ella. "How do you destroy it?"
"A few ways," she said, taking a tentative step towards the fireplace. "Basically, it's got to be damaged beyond magical repair. So something like Fiendfyre would do. Or basilisk venom. Nearly all the horcruxes in the other world were killed with basilisk venom."
"Right," Sirius said. "Well. Let's go find one of those. I'm sure my mother bred one or two in the basement. She always did love murderous pets."
Harry managed an actual laugh.
"No need," Ella said, amused. "We've got something better." And she pulled the sword of Gryffndor out of her tiny purse.
Sirius raised his eyebrows.
Ella shrugged. "Neat trick I learned from Hermione. Anyway, it's absorbed all the venom from back when Harry killed the basilisk in second year, so we'll just stab it with this, and we should be all good." She smiled, more brightly than the situation warranted. "Who's ready to murder a locket?"
"I"m ready," Harry said. And as he spoke the words, he realized they were perfectly true. He was tired of searching and failing. He needed to find the locket. They had to make progress today. Otherwise this was very much the end of the road. And he wasn't sure where it could go, after.
They attacked the cabinets with a wild fierceness. This was no glittering vault with shelves towering to the ceiling. No cavernous room of abandoned things that stretched on and on and on. The cabinets were simple. Small, really. The things within them were murderous and deadly, but expected. And containable. Ella was right, he realized, as he picked his way through heavy tomes and snuffboxes and spider-tweezers, all seemingly doing their best to deter them from digging further into the depths of the cabinet. Ella nearly laughed in excitement when several ancient scrolls tried to wrap themselves around her arm, squeezing tight enough to cut off circulation before Harry cursed them into oblivion.
"Nearly there," she gasped, shrugging away their remains and digging fervently deeper into the cabinet. "It's gotta be here…. gotta be... yes!"
And to Harry's utter horror, she reached elbow-deep into the cabinet and then withdrew, from its cluttery depth, a large golden locket. She slammed it down, hard, onto nearby credenza and turned to them, grinning so widely she looked a bit mad. "Found it!"
"Should— should you just be touching that?" Harry said, eyeing it nervously. It seemed to be twitching where it lay, the green jeweled "S" on its dusty top shimmering. And looking at it froze his chest from somewhere deep within. He imagined he could feel the cold seeping from it, though he didn't think he actually could.
"Yeah it's fine." Ella glowered at it. "Look at it twitch. It knows what's coming. Bloody thing."
Sirius stepped around her to get a closer look, unceremoniously tossing the large medal he had been holding. Harry caught the words "Order of Merlin" before it vanished somewhere into the pile of discarded things they had made on the dusty floor.
"Regulus died for that." Sirius's face was hard. "I should stab it for him."
They watched it lie there, wobbling. Perhaps it was afraid.
"I reckon," Harry said quietly, a cold certainty slipping through him, "I've got to do it." He stared at the locket, his eyes drawn to the shimmer of the jewels. The emerald "S" upon its golden casing seemed almost alive. Serpentine. "It has to be me." He was the bloody Heir of Gryffindor, after all. There could be no argument. No walking away from his destiny.
He glanced at Sirius. "Is that all right?"
"For now." Sirius crossed his arms, his eyes rather hard. "Do it then. But that doesn't mean you're free to chase down Voldemort and kill yourself trying. You hear me?"
Harry nodded, his eyes trailing back to the locket. Perhaps, if he destroyed this one piece… if he destroyed all the pieces, he wouldn't have to. But he wasn't quite so naive as that. His life had never been that simple.
Ella wordlessly handed him the sword. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes, but even she said nothing. He hefted the weapon, the weight familiar. He was twelve again, pulling it out of the Hat, and the basilisk was out for blood. And he had stabbed the basilisk. And now he would stab the horcrux, just like he had stabbed the diary, and the basilisk's venom had made it all possible. How fitting it all was. A perfect bloody circle.
"You can tell it to open," Ella said quietly. "In Parseltongue."
He nodded. He hadn't needed her to say it. The jeweled snake atop its casing had been staring him down since the locket had touched the credenza. Like a living, breathing thing. And wasn't it? It seemed to quail beneath his gaze, the locket shaking against the dusty wood. Until the whole room echoed with its rattling.
He raised the sword.
"Hold on." Ella laid a hand on his arm, and he turned to look at her, lowering his arms again until the heavy weapon brushed the dusty floor. "The locket won't exactly fancy being stabbed."
"I didn't reckon it would…" His grip around the hilt of the sword tightened. Behind him, the rattling grew louder. "But I don't expect it to be easy."
"Right," Ella said carefully. "Well, when Ron stabbed it, last time, it showed him, er—" she paused uncomfortably. "It showed him you and Hermione kissing."
Harry stared at her blankly.
"The horcruxes… You can't let it get going. You have to stab right away, all right? They feed on your deepest fears. They're like… like mini Dementors. Ron was afraid about you and Hermione—"
"There is no me and Hermione," Harry said, with some confusion.
Ella ignored him. "And he paused for too long. And Horcrux-You told him you and Hermione didn't need him, and you were better off without him."
"Harsh," Sirius commented, crossing his arms as he looked on.
"Well, that's a load of crap," Harry said with a frown. "I'm sure Ron thought so too."
"Well, no," Ella admitted. "He was seventeen, Harry. He was afraid she loved you. It really shook him."
"But Hermione and I would never—"
"Of course not," she said quickly. "But that was his fear. It saw right into his soul and found it, and it preyed on him. And for you…"
She trailed off, her words hanging heavily between them. Harry nodded, tightening his grip on the sword as feeble jokes of a Horcrux-Ella kissing a Horcrux-Daniyel or Robert flitted through his mind. They were gone soon enough. He wasn't fool enough to think the locket would show him something so naive.
The things that kept him awake at night were much heavier.
"Open," he hissed, squinting at the emerald "S" that so resembled a serpent, as the locket rattled so strongly he feared it would slide off and tumble to the floor. At his snarling hiss, the rattling ceased, and the golden doors swung wide with the smallest of clicks.
There were two glass windows inside, and within each cavity, swam an eye, blinking up at him. It was gory, gruesome. Floating there, in a pool of bloody red. As if Voldemort had simply gouged them out of his face, these eyes that he had worn once. When he was simply Riddle. He cringed, raising the sword, until its tip lined up with both windows. He would do it, now. Because the room was dimming around him already, and he could feel the magic gathering. He would do it, before it took hold.
"I know your heart," the locket hissed, in a terrible voice that vibrated through him. "And it is mine."
"You wish," Harry hissed right back. "You fucking wish."
He took aim. His hands were steady. He was a Senior Auror, a hardened war veteran. When it came to destroying dark magical artifacts, experience was the one thing he didn't lack.
"I have seen your dreams, Harry Potter. I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible…"
As if it could possibly know the depth of his fears. Or thought, for even a moment, that it could take him, break him. Didn't it know how broken he already was?
And he plunged the sword straight into the glass windows with all the strength he possessed.
There was a metallic clang as the sword crashed into the locket, its silver tip scraping against the glass. It seemed to echo through the entire room, like a bell keening. The sword jerked in his hands, the impact shuddering through him. He had only a moment to register that it had not broken the glass. And then, in the instant before he was hurled back across the room, he saw Riddle's eyes gleam scarlet.
The air around him swelled with a rushing roar, loud enough to drown out Sirius's and Ella's yells as the room fell into sudden darkness. He slammed against the floor, his back scraping against something hard and sharp, and pain stabbed into his neck and elbow. He gasped, trying to catch his breath. And then, leering above him, he saw the terrible face of Voldemort. But with Tom Riddle's eyes.
"Do you think you can destroy me, Harry?" it jeered, and the voice was familiar now. No longer the horrible hiss of the locket, but the horrible sneer of Voldemort. "How many times has it been?"
The apparition of Voldemort pressed closer as Harry struggled to his feet. His terrible shape looming out of the dark. And all Harry could see was that bloodless face. Those gleaming eyes. And the locket, glistening on the floor at Voldemort's feet.
No… it was his feet. They were anchored in it, Voldemort's shape floating above it like some ghastly caricature of a ghost.
"How many times, Harry," it sneered, "have you failed to kill me?"
Harry didn't respond, his eyes searching for the sword. It was there, a glint of silver. Some fifteen feet behind the ghost of his greatest enemy. He stumbled toward it, pushing the pain aside. Nearly falling in his haste to reach it. His eyes searching for Ella or Sirius in the dark.
But all he saw was Voldemort. That terrible face inches away no matter where he looked. The Horcrux-Voldemort was somehow matching Harry's every step, as if each footfall he took was premeditated. Written out across some map within the locket's empty halls.
And then the sword was there, his hand closing over the cool silver hilt. He drew it up, turning to face the horcrux once again. And Voldemort was smiling.
"Lunacy," it hissed, "is doing the same thing over and over again, Harry, and expecting a different result."
Harry said nothing, his fingers squeezing so tight he was sure the sword would leave an impression against his skin. It wasn't real. He knew it wasn't. This Voldemort, who was not Voldemort.
But wasn't it Voldemort, if it held his soul and wore his face?
The Horcrux-Voldemort laughed, his eyes narrowing. The handsome brown of Tom Riddle's gaze shifted to the red, empty slits that had marked the Voldemort he'd known. And then, suddenly, more shapes appeared. Blossoming out of the locket like those silly Muggle blow-up decorations, except a hundred times more terrifying. Surrounding him, until he saw nothing but their faces every way he looked, and their accusing whispers grew to a rumble around him. There was Daniyel, Sirius, Ella. Cedric Diggory. Countless others. All people he loved. But their faces were twisted. Grotesque.
"He tortured me, you know," Daniyel hissed, circling him. "I nearly died. All because he thought I was you. While you were hiding out in Muggle London, stealing my life."
"You killed me once already." Sirius leered at him. "I died for your stupidity. Your rashness. How long will it be before you're careless enough to do it again?"
"I'm dead, Harry." Cedric's voice was condemning. "My parents never moved on. All because of you. All because you asked me to take the cup." And his eyes were hard, and cruel.
"And I'll be next," Ella said beside him, her voice accusing. "Because of you, Harry. Because you're too afraid to die."
He cursed, turning away, and found himself face to face with Horcrux-Voldemort once again.
"Are you afraid I'll take her from you?" Voldemort jeered, as Harry uselessly swung the sword in his direction. The silver blade sliced straight through, leaving no mark. As if slicing through air.
"But I don't need to, do I, Harry? Because I will take you. I will kill you. And even if I do not. Even if you manage to succeed… Then we will only die together."
He was gasping now, trying to work up the strength to swing the sword once again, bloody useless as it all was. Because for some Merlin-forsaken reason, Voldemort would not die.
And it was true. It was all true. He was a failure. He was just one mistake after another in the shape of a hero for no goddamn reason. And no matter what he did, Voldmort just would. Not. Die. And how many more people should die first, just so that he could live?
"There is no way out for you."
Voldemort was drawing closer, leaning over him. It was like staring down a storm. He could feel himself being torn apart, and yet he couldn't look away.
"And then she, the one you claim you love, will be all alone."
The others were fading, vanishing into the black. Until only the shapes of Ella and Voldemort remained. Though their accusing whispers were still ringing in his ears. Voldemort drew up behind Ella, reaching up with one arm to drape it across her chest. Pulling her against him.
"All alone to mourn you," Voldemort whispered, as Harry drew back in horror. "All alone to give up. Too weak to fight off the onslaught of her own body. As if Muggle medicine could save her."
He pushed her carelessly away, contempt blazing in his eyes. "Don't worry. She will join you soon enough."
With a wordless roar, Harry swung the sword once again. But Voldemort simply grabbed it right along the blade and pushed it aside. His other hand firmly closed around Harry's throat. And there, it felt profoundly solid. Harry gasped.
"Did you think this sword would defeat me?" Voldemort jeered. "You don't deserve this sword, Harry."
The sword had fallen from his weakening grip. His fingers were grasping at Voldemort's immovable hand, trying to pry it from his throat.
"You didn't earn it," Voldemort whispered in his ear, his breath ice cold.
He was struggling to breathe. Suddenly, everything was burning.
"You are nothing. Nothing to challenge me."
Is this how it felt to die without air? Like every breath burnt his lungs?
The darkness around him was blazing to red. He would surely die. Voldemort would suffocate him, or burn him alive. Something clawlike was digging into his arm, nearly ripping apart his shoulder. And wasn't it so fitting — the "Great Harry Potter" falling to the shadow of the man he'd run from his whole life. Terribly unprepared as always. Rushing in, so sure of how things would go. And unable to lift a hand to save himself when they all played out in ways he'd never expected. Because he was a fool. Perhaps it was the shame and guilt that would do him in first.
There was a terrible scream. And in the endless moment it took him to realize that it was Horcrux-Voldemort, the shape before him vanished into wispy smoke and the room flashed to a blazing orange.
"HARRY! C'mon!"
And he realized that the hand digging into his arm belonged to Sirius.
"Move!" Sirius snapped, his voice barely audible over the fire raging around them. And Sirius dragged him, hard, away from the fire, which seemed to chase after them. It was turning into a pack of fiery beasts before his eyes. Ravaging their way across the room.
He saw a flash of Ella's hair and then the front window shattered, glass flying everywhere. He felt a piece slice into his cheek before Sirius pushed him forward, and the air abruptly turned frigid. And they were tumbling, down, down, through rain that felt like ice on his skin. Sirius whirling through the air beside him. Until they crashed against the unkempt grass below, which felt softer than it ought to. And he was staring up at traces of fire and smoke escaping into the air through the broken window of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place while rain coated his glasses, and the house before them shuddered and moaned.
And then, as his stomach sank, there was a horrible, rumbling roar, and pieces of brick and stone and mortar shot violently into the sky, avoiding crushing them only because of Ella's hastily cast Shield Charm.
Beside him, Sirius climbed to his feet and stood, staring at the charred remains of what had once been his ancestral home. Silently, Harry and Ella rose up beside him, staring open-mouthed at the damage. At the debris all over the lawn, and the broken edges of Number Twelve, where they still touched the Muggle houses on either side. Still smoking in the drizzling rain. The Muggle houses were shuddering, threatening to collapse. And all the while, the patter of raindrops was accented by a backdrop of screams, which seemed to be growing louder.
It was going to be a nightmare to clean this up. A bloody nightmare.
"Well," Sirius said finally, still taking in the remains of Grimmauld Place. "I've always wanted to do that."