Chapter Thirty-Eight: His Dirty Little Secret

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Harry practically flew down the corridor. The stone floor pounded beneath his feet, the sound nearly as loud as his heartbeat, echoing in his ears. His cloak flared behind him. In his head, Riddle was uncharacteristically silent.

He berated himself instead. Silent auction. A simple look around the gala would have yielded the answers. And now the minutes were ticking away. The banquet in full swing. Was it too late? If the cup was sold, what then? Could they approach the buyer? Offer more? He had galleons to spare if it came to it. A vault at Gringotts full to the brim. Ella's savings, still untouched. No, they had plenty of money. He and Ella had never craved for a big manor. For lavish things. The flat had always been enough. But who would be willing to give up Helga Hufflepuff's cup? Was there any sum that would be enough?

He burst into the ballroom, the door slamming behind him.

It was quiet. Empty.

The Weird Sisters were lounging at one of the tables, laughing over half-empty plates. They paused to glance at him as he blew past. Across the empty dance floor. Back out into the entrance hall. Empty too, save for a couple stragglers. Several waiters and attendants still stood around the room, but the majority of the crowd had moved into the banquet hall, somewhere toward the back of the manor. He could hear the din of two hundred guests. The clatter of silverware. Muffled voices. Clapping.

He turned, hurrying toward the table where the silent auction had been. Astoria had gestured in that direction. He remembered: just beside the oyster bar. Two attendants stood there. He approached, his eyes darting across the items. There was a dagger, goblin-made by the look of it. Solid silver and encrusted with gems at the hilt. Laid in silk upon a pedestal and contained within a clear protective enchantment. A book that looked at least a thousand years old was displayed beside it. As he stared wildly, one of the attendants touched her wand to the protective sphere until it floated up into the air. She directed it away while the second attendant removed the sign-up sheet that had been placed directly beneath it. He saw a flash of names. Sums beside them.

"Er—" Harry said, staring around.

The cup. Where was the cup?

"The silent auction is over, sir," the witch said apologetically.

"No, but," Harry stammered. It couldn't be. "Where are the other items?"

"Everything else has been moved to the banquet hall. If you bid on something, they are announcing the winners now. Would you like me to—?"

Harry didn't wait for her to finish. He tore across the entrance hall, toward the sounds of celebration; the enticing smells of dinner wafting from the arched doorway at the back of the hall. Doors thrown wide open. He hurried through.

The banquet hall.

He had an impression of a vast room filled with tables. Bright lights. Waiters hurrying to and fro. And at the far end of the room, upon a dais, stood Astoria Malfoy. She was smiling. Speaking. Gesturing. And in her hands—

The cup.

Time froze.

He was running. She didn't seem to be getting any closer.

"...one of the most fascinating items of the night," she was saying, her voice magically amplified. "This goblet used to belong to Helga Hufflepuff herself." She smiled widely. "In true homage to the kind and generous spirit of the Hufflepuff who inspired this contribution, I'm so happy to say Helga's cup has raised an impressive 23,000 galleons for the Rare Blood Malediction Fund. And again, this fund will be divided between several organizations who are committed to finding a cure for this awful group of diseases. So a genuine thank you is in order to the wizard who's making this possible—"

"Thirty thousand galleons!" Harry gasped, suddenly finding himself feet from the stage. "I bid thirty thousand galleons. On the goblet."

There were several audible gasps from the seated audience. Whispers broke out across the room, growing into a fervor. People were standing up, craning to get a look at him.

He was fourteen again, and Dumbledore had pulled his name from the goblet. The entire hall was ablaze with whispers. His name sweeping across the room with reverence. With amusement. With disdain. He felt his face flush.

On the dais, Astoria was simply staring at him, seemingly at a loss for words. She glanced down at the parchment she was holding and back up again, frowning.

"Harry, it's a silent auction," she said quietly as he approached. "This isn't really… and besides…" She seemed torn. Unsure of how to proceed.

And then, from behind him, he heard a familiar voice.

"Blimey, Harry, if you wanted the cup, you should have just asked me."

He whirled. Ron was standing there, grinning widely. Ella and Hermione hovered just behind him, Ella looking beyond amused. Hermione less so.

"It's all right," Ron said brightly to Astoria, who seemed relieved to have both of them there, sorting the matter out. "Let Harry have it, go on. He really wanted to save the day. He loves the spotlight."

Harry felt his face grow, if possible, hotter. Ron clapped him on the shoulder.

"It's all right, mate. I haven't got 23,000 galleons. I was going to borrow it off you until Robards promoted me."

Then he pushed Harry onto the stage where Astoria recovered and thanked them both with genuine gratitude. Speaking loudly, boldly, until the whispers stilled. And then she finally, finally reached out her hand.

And handed him the cup.

They returned to their table. He hadn't really considered that they had one, but there it was, off in the back corner of the room. He slipped into the empty seat beside Ella and nodded politely to the other occupants: Sue Li, Oliver Rivers, and two others he didn't know. There he sat, awkwardly, hovering on the edge of escaping. One hand firmly gripping the cool metal of the cup. Carrying on strained conversations, for he could say nothing of value in this room of prying eyes and sharpened ears.

Just "Yes, Sue, it was a bit of a stunt," and "No, Oliver, actually Ron was waiting for me to make a dramatic entrance, we planned the entire thing," and "Yes, of course, it's a wonderful charity, Beatrice, and it's so nice to meet you as well."

Two whole hours of the mess, because Hermione said that no, they absolutely could not leave the banquet early. Categorically could not. How would it look? So he waited, forced himself to sit, to still. To ignore the restless energy that surged through him. And the entire time, his hand clenched the handle of the cup so tightly it was numb by evening's end.

It seemed to pulse. A heartbeat. A cool, metal heart throbbing just so against his palm.

Perhaps he imagined it. Perhaps it was just the trembling echo of Astoria's magically amplified voice. Or the thrum of a hundred murmurs. The footsteps of the waiters and patrons that hurried loudly past.

He didn't think he would breathe free until it was over. He yearned for silence. For the cool night air, and the unburdened company of his friends. But when they wended their way down the stone steps at last, the first voice that whispered in his ear was Riddle's.

[He gave it to you.] His voice was emotionless. An observation more than anything else.

[He did.] There were a hundred people surrounding them on the stairs. Hurrying past. Still pausing to look at Harry at every opportunity. He let Ella grab his arm. Lead him through the crowd.

[You didn't trick him.] Riddle sounded a bit morose now. [You could have taken it.]

Harry said nothing.

[You were… kind.] Riddle seemed to choke over the word. As if it were some foreign concept.

[Sometimes that's what you need. Kindness.]

He briefly closed his eyes. Riddle looked unsettled. Unsure. For the first time, Harry saw a glimmer of something in his eyes that wasn't pure hatred or fury. Consideration, perhaps.

[Sometimes,] Riddle allowed. [The appearance of kindness. But you, Potter, were genuinely kind. To Draco Malfoy, whom you despise.]

[I don't hate Malfoy,] Harry said honestly. [I… feel bad for him.]

[He is pathetic,] Riddle agreed.

[He's human.] Harry held Riddle's gaze in the dark, empty void. [You were human once. Don't you remember it?]

[I remember pain, Harry Potter. And pain is weakness. That is why Draco Malfoy gave you the answers. He was weak.]

[No.] Harry shook his head, finding strength in his surety. [It's the opposite.]

Riddle had no answer for that. No biting remarks for once. He stood there, sullen, quiet. It was too quiet. Even the voices of the other partygoers had faded away now that he strained to hear them. Ella's pressure on his arm, too, had diminished. He opened his eyes.

They were deep in the garden of Malfoy's manor. In an unobtrusive corner with a tree towering overhead. Ella, Ron, and Hermione stood nearby, all giving him worried looks of the sort they'd save for someone's deathbed.

"What?" he said uncomfortably.

"Were you talking to him, Harry?" Hermione asked in a very serious voice. "The horcrux?"

Harry glanced between them, the feeling of discomfort rising as he met their eyes. He nodded. There seemed no point in lying.

"What's he want?" Ron asked aggressively.

"Nothing, really."

They exchanged a look. A very nervous look.

"It's fine, all right?" Harry said. "Don't worry. I have it— him under control."

"How often do you talk to him?" Ella said quietly, and he couldn't help but notice the way her hands twisted together anxiously. The way she bit her lip, as if refraining from saying more.

He hesitated. "Not often... Sometimes."

"Harry!" Hermione said, admonishing him. "I don't believe this. You can't be forming a relationship with this— with him. I thought you were doing Occlumency. Blocking him out!"

"I am! It's mostly me telling him to shut it. I'm not forming any— No listen," he insisted, when they continued to look at him like he'd lost his bloody mind. "It's all right, I swear. There is no relationship. I want him gone." He paused, considering them. "And I have an idea for that. But I need help… maybe, Hermione?"

"What?" she asked, her face quite unreadable.

"This is going to sound a bit odd, but a horcrux is a shattered soul, right?"

"Right," Hermione agreed slowly.

"Right, well, is there a way to put it back together?"

"Put it back together," she repeated slowly. "Is that what he wants?"

"Maybe." Harry waved a hand. "It doesn't matter. Look, we've all been looking for a way to destroy it. A way that doesn't kill me, too. But what if we didn't have to? What if we could just merge the rest? Then no more horcruxes. That'd just leave Voldemort."

Ron flinched.

"Don't you see?" Harry insisted, ignoring him. "This could be it. The answer."

"Harry, even if we managed that, we'd be sending this piece of soul straight back to Voldemort," Hermione said. "Have you considered that? This piece has lived in your mind and knows everything about you. What would Voldemort do with that information?."

"What does it matter?" Harry threw up his hands in frustration. "Hermione, Voldmort knows we're after him. He can find us anytime. What big secrets are we hiding? That I fancy treacle tart for breakfast?"

"He's right," Ron said. "Get the bloody horcrux out of Harry and then off You-Know-Who. Why not?"

"And if Harry dies because we gave Voldemort an advantage?" Hermione looked unconvinced.

"If we don't get it out, I'm going to die anyway," Harry said softly.

"Oh, Harry, stop—" Hermione began.

"At least this way I'll have a shot."

Silence fell, abrupt and heavy. Hermione looked aghast. Ron, excited. He glanced at Ella, who wouldn't quite meet his eyes. He reached for her, his hands searching for hers.

"I'm sorry," he said, hoping the words would reach her. "I wasn't trying to hide it, not really. It's just, I'm rubbish at Occlumency. You know." He glanced between them. "You all know. I didn't… didn't want to worry you."

Ella squeezed his hand in silence.

"He just talks occasionally," Harry added. "Bloody annoying git. But he… is willing to merge. If we can do it."

"Why?" Ella said suddenly. "You have a whole plan to kill him after. He's in your head, right? He must know. What does he gain?"

Harry hesitated. "He… can't kill me without destroying himself. But—"

"Fucking hell," Ella said, her voice rising. Her sudden anger drowned out Ron and Hermione's exclamations. "You promised him some showdown, didn't you? Just you and him?"

She glared, an uncharacteristically fierce look, and his half-formed response fell apart on his tongue. Ella turned away, cursing profusely.

"Well," Ron said, a bit awkwardly. "If Ella kills Harry first, I s'pose we don't need to worry about this, then."

"Oh, don't worry," Ella snapped, still determinedly staring at a bush at the edge of Malfoy's garden. "It doesn't matter that Harry's a stupid git. The only way to put a horcrux back together is remorse. Why don't you ask him if he's feeling remorseful, Harry? Go on."

"She's right," Hermione said. "He'd have to really feel the pain of the things he's done, Harry. Feel pain for the people he's killed, and truly regret it. That's the only way to save his soul. But the pain… I just don't see him attempting it. Unless…" She paused. "The Voldemort in your mind is somehow… different?"

Different. He considered that.

"He saved me from the crane," Harry said. "When it collapsed. He gave me a warning before it hit me."

"What?" Ella turned back around, looking shocked.

"That's how I got us out of the way so fast. If he hadn't… well, we might not be here."

Hermione considered that. "He was probably just saving himself, wasn't he? If you die, he dies, too."

"Yes, that's what he said," Harry admitted. But still… there was something. Something he couldn't quite voice. A feeling.

Hermione nodded, her expression curious still. "But, Harry, either way, it's Voldemort who'd have to be remorseful. The Voldemort that still resides in his own body, so it's not this soul fragment you'd have to convince."

"Oh." Disappointment surged through him, unbearably overwhelming. He noted, dispassionately, that a small part of him had really started to believe, to convince himself, that he'd be able to make this Horcrux-Riddle feel.

But Voldemort?

"So it's a no go?" Ron said, sounding disappointed.

Harry said nothing. His hands clenched tighter around the cup. The metal was still cold despite the many hours he'd spent holding it.

"Harry…" Ella stepped to him. She gently took hold of his hands and pried the cup from his grip. The cold numbness in his fingers faded. "We're going to figure this out, all right? Together. All of us. Let's just… get rid of the cup, and then we'll circle back to this."

"Yeah." Harry nodded, the disappointment still crashing against him, like some cold and seething sea.

"Here." Hermione reached out a hand for the goblet. "I think it's best if we take it. Harry's already got one horcrux, and…"

"Right," Ella agreed quickly. "We shouldn't keep them together."

"Plus, you lot all had a go at the locket. I reckon it's our turn to knock one out, mate," Ron added. "Hermione, would you like to do the honors?"

Hermione looked up from her close examination of the goblet and frowned. "It might be complicated. The sword is still out of commission and we can't risk Fiendfyre again."

"So you want to go down there?" Ella asked.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I think we need to make a trip down to the Chamber."

"Of Secrets?" Ron grinned. "Excellent. It's been way too long since we've had a proper holiday. Hermione, didn't you say you wanted to go caving?"

"Spelunking," Hermione corrected.

"Right, well, get your cave shoes, we're off to see a giant dead snake. Maybe you ought to bring your mum, does she do fang extractions?"

Hermione shook her head, looking faintly amused. She glanced around the gardens. "I'll owl Minerva in the morning. We should go, it's getting late."

"C'mon, Harry," Ella said gently, when Ron and Hermione stepped away. Her anger had faded. "We should go."

"Yeah, all right."

He didn't protest their plans. Why should he? He simply let her lead him through the gardens. Back to the path. Outside, to the outbound apparition point. The shadows around them grew ever darker. It hardly made any difference when he closed his eyes.

Riddle's face, when he found it, was expressionless. His eyes dark and empty.

[Remorse,] he whispered. [So mundane. So typical. A gallant schoolboy fantasy. You do not wish to dirty your hands, so the villain should destroy himself by feeling regret? No. I do not feel regret. I do not feel remorse. I did what was necessary. Do not delude yourself into thinking you can influence me. It is you, Harry, who is growing darker. How fitting, that you should become a traitor.]

[What are you talking about?]

[The cup,] Riddle hissed. [My goblet. Your useless friends will destroy it. And yet I remain trapped here with you until you finally act on your foolish desire to throw your life away. You would choose death in your stubborn righteousness. You would end us both. And for what? Your friends will not destroy me. You will die for nothing. Unable to protect them in the end.]

The words left Harry cold. Helpless. It was one thing to carry the knowing that he was ready to die when the moment came. Quite another to have Riddle pull it from his mind. Riddle, who could read his every thought and heartbeat. Who could definitively confirm what he already knew to be true; he would give his life. And the others would be left to destroy Voldemort alone.

[It doesn't have to end,] Harry said, thinking words he didn't quite believe anymore. [You could still learn to feel remorse. You could convince him… can't you do that?]

Riddle gave him a condescending look.

[Don't you want to save your soul?] Harry asked softly, grasping at straws now. [What will happen to you otherwise?]

[I do not need to save my soul, Harry Potter. Even if you destroy me, Lord Voldmort will never die. Now leave.]

He was thrown back abruptly, Riddle's apparition vanishing from sight. He stumbled, tripping over his feet, and his hand slipped out of Ella's.

She turned, merely watching him. They were feet from the apparition point. Ron and Hermione had gone already.

"He's angry," Harry said, no longer bothering with pretenses. The question in her silence was obvious. "Furious. I reckon he really wanted this."

"Too bad," Ella said. She reached out and helped pull Harry to his feet. "He's angry, huh? So am I. Oh, don't you see, Harry? He's trying to isolate you. To divide us. But we're stronger together. That's the only way we can beat him. Together. C'mon." She pulled him to the apparition point. "Let's go home."

She turned on the spot, pulling him along with her. The world compressed and swirled. It titled. It pushed and pulled at him from all sides and grew sheer, and fast, and dark; Ella's hand squeezing his the only constant in the compressing darkness.

And he could see it so clearly; the bright strength she wore like armor. She was a beacon of it, shining. But beneath, she was afraid. Unwilling to face the reality that hung above them. Lowering slowly, like a curtain on the play of their lives. And the scenes were slipping by, too fast now. The horcruxes counting down, chipping away at his life. He only hoped he'd be there for her, until her own battle was through; because despite her sweet words that he wished to cling to, this last burden he could only face alone.

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A/N: I meant to write this one the last chapter, but ahhh forgot. I love writing Astoria, she is so delightful. I actually have a little canon-compliant Draco/Astoria where I explore her infertility issues on the road to Scorpius, if anyone wants to have a gander. You can find it on my profile. It's called: "When it Rains."