Chapter Twenty-One: Unstitched

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The proclamation left Harry astonished. It wasn't that Snape's promise was shocking. He had saved Harry before, after all. Harry was well aware of what the man had done — for the Order, the war, his own mother… But something about hearing Snape say the words, with the vow of his intent behind them, seemed to shock him right to the core. And with it, he felt a slight lifting of the immense weight that had settled on his shoulders. Snape, for all his faults, was clever. Incredibly resourceful. Willing to risk his own life to take down Voldemort, just like Harry. And he had loved Harry's mum, had loved Sara… Harry trusted him, despite the barbs he wore like armour.

And perhaps there was something to be said for a person who didn't care for him but was still adamant that his life was worth something.

"Thank you," he managed, after a momentary silence. He couldn't bear to say anything else, but hoped his words conveyed enough.

And here he paused, realization dawning on him suddenly in a curse-shattering explosion. Of course. Of course. He'd spent too much time lost in self-pity. How else could he have missed it?

"Rookwood," he breathed. "That's what he's after, isn't it? That's what this has all been about! He knows about the horcruxes. He wants to bring back his master."

The rest of it fell into place as easily as breathing.

"He found the location of the ring," Harry said, pacing back and forth across the small flat. He knew the ritual to reawaken them. He's done it in Little Hangleton."

"The rebound of the ritual must have scared him off," Ella said, nodding. "We thought it was the protective enchantments of the horcrux itself, but maybe he didn't get that far. He had to abandon it."

"We?" Harry shot her questioning look, which she waved off.

"Anyway, he had to flee," she said. "And then the place was swarming with Ministry officials, he couldn't go back to get it. When Albus heard, he understood exactly what happened. He…" She paused for just a fraction, her face pained. "He went to get the ring before Rookwood could come back for it. But why was Rookwood at Hogsmeade with all those Death Eaters?"

"Running through contingency plans, I reckon," Harry said. He glanced abruptly at the clock, suddenly burning with desire to interrogate Macnair immediately. Was the word "horcrux" floating around the Ministry even now? But it was nearly one in the morning. He sighed, turning back to the others. "I don't suppose you think he had anything to do with Dumbledore…"

"I doubt it," Ella said, shaking her head. "He probably Disapparated as soon as he reached the village edge."

"So he'll be after the others," Harry said. He glanced at Snape. "Would he know about the others?"

"I don't know," Snape said in his usual drawl. "I was not aware of any of them until today. Rookwood was a heavily trusted lieutenant, of course. But gathering from your ignorance, Potter, Sara was not aware either."

This gave Harry pause. "I didn't see her whole life," he admitted. "Just moments, really. If she knew… well, I reckon she would've shown me, if it was important."

"He could have found out some other way," Ella suggested. "In Azkaban, maybe. Or from Mysteries. Maybe he was there for information. We'll have to talk to Rob..."

"A tenuous connection if I ever heard one," Snape said flatly. "But if any of this is true, he will be searching for the rest."

And here, Ella gave a sudden smile, her face lighting up for the first time all day. "Luckily, I know exactly where all of them are. So we'll just have to beat him to it."

"Well," Snape drawled, "as delightfully fascinating as that is, let us just hope he doesn't have access to the same information."

"He can't," Ella said, though she looked slightly unsure. "Voldemort wouldn't have given away the locations of all his horcruxes like that. They were all closely guarded secrets. And even then, they're seriously well protected. If he couldn't even get the ring, I doubt—"

"Very well," Snape said, looking bored. "You've made your point, Miss Foster. Now as it stands, there are four horcruxes remaining, and he only needs to gain control of one of them in order to transfer that fragment of soul back to Voldemort. The rest would then resume their previous role of anchoring him to life. So if we track down and destroy those other three, well," he spread his hands generously, "then as long as we can keep Rookwood from kidnapping Potter and submitting him to the ritual directly…" He shrugged, as if he considered the rest not worth reiterating.

The weight on Harry's shoulders lessened significantly. He drew in a slightly uneven breath and felt the pressure on his chest recede. Sweet air flooded his lungs, making him wonder how he'd been breathing all this time.

There was still a lot to be done, and it would undoubtedly be dangerous, but the scenario Snape painted now was significantly better than before. As long as they got ahead of this, he wouldn't have to leave Ella. The thought made him nearly giddy. Wandless magic or not, he wasn't afraid of Rookwood. He had faced much worse.

"Brilliant," Ella whispered, seemingly thinking along the same lines. She gripped Harry's hand, squeezing it tightly. He wordlessly squeezed it back, his mind still far away.

"Yes, yes, how absolutely wonderful," Snape said drily. "We can all sleep safely at night, knowing your true love is safe."

Harry didn't chime in as Ella let out a relieved laugh. His mind was still whirling furiously, sorting through the possibilities. Ella knew where they all were. They could track them down immediately. Tomorrow. Maybe even tonight. The thought was reassuring. He would face his own demon after. But before even that, there was another place he had to go. He had to see, just to make sure…

"I need to visit his tomb," he said aloud, surprising both Ella and Snape, who turned to look at him. His stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought, but he persisted. "Recheck the wards. Make sure nobody's been by. "

Ella's face grew pale. "You want to go there?"

"I have to." It was with a heavy trepidation that he reached for his cloak, and when he spoke again, his voice didn't sound like his own. "I need to see it. I need to make sure… he's still dead."

He couldn't go on otherwise. He had to make certain. Even if it meant going there. Now. In the dead of night.

But night was the most familiar time for him to go to Shadow Hogwarts.

He had never really seen it in the light.

The idea of it was ridiculous. Trekking to Russia in the middle of the night when his body still ached and throbbed from the morning's battle. It was mad. Even his fifteen-year-old self might have thought twice about it. But even so, Harry would have preferred to go alone. That idea, however, had been shut down immediately.

"Are you out of your mind?" Ella had said plainly, after he attempted to bid her and Snape goodbye and slip out the door. "You're not going to Shadow Hogwarts alone."

Even Snape had deigned to contribute. "I'm inclined to agree, Potter. This is a foolish plan. As much as it suits you."

In the end, they had both accompanied him. It didn't take much effort. He was a Senior Auror, directly beneath Robards himself; he had the authorization required to make an international portkey, stamped with his own magical signature. It didn't entail a trip to the Ministry. Didn't even make a dent in the National Portkey Monitor. To make it even simpler, he knew the exact location of Shadow Hogwarts. It had been burned into the memory of his bones. Into the makeup of who he was. When he closed his eyes to whisper the incantation and cast about for its outline in his mind, it slipped to the forefront in a breath. As if it had been waiting for him to call upon it all this time.

"It's ready," he said, when the blue glow of the portkey faded away, leaving Ella's tattered boot waiting innocently in his hand. Snowy had destroyed its companion months ago, but somehow the other half had remained. Its final journey would be its longest yet.

"You can still back out," he added, looking at them both again. "There's no need to go running off to Shadow Hogwarts with me. I'll just take a peek and come right back."

"Shut it, Harry," Ella said firmly, sounding all of sixteen again. "We're going." And he had the good grace to give up and accept defeat.

They reached out, holding on to the boot, and Harry closed his eyes and placed the tip of his wand to its rounded toe, activating the portkey.

The world blurred.

It was feeling more than seeing; his eyes were still closed, the swirling of color around him barely leaving an impression across his lids. But he could feel it — the moving and speeding through distances too immense to count; the blurring and bending of the world.

And then his feet were slamming into solid ground, and Ella and Snape were crashing into him on either side, and he was falling to his knees, swathed in unbearable cold. The air was so icy, it burned.

He blinked, opening his eyes to the eternal winter that seemed to cloak this place like a shroud. The sky caught his eye first. It flickered, dancing with swirls of color. The Aurora. He hadn't seen it since Iceland, in much happier times. Seeing it splashed across the sky now sent him headfirst into memories. He saw it playing across his mind like a Pensive — Ella rushing into his arms, her cloak hurriedly clasped over the soft cotton of her pyjamas as she grinned up at the sky.

"Finally!" she had breathed as he lifted her up and spun her around, her hair and cloak flying. "There it is! The bloody thing!"

They had chased it for ages. Had spent half the previous night sitting outside their small rented cabin, waiting for it to light up the sky. Hermione had sworn it was above them, had waved around her wand until the air was painted green, but the sky had been resolutely lit up by nothing but the moon. That night, they stopped at a small inn outside Borgarnes after three anxiety-inducing hours of driving by Ron and tottered into the tiny building with relief. They hadn't expected to see it. Not when they glanced up at the cloudless sky. Not when Hermione waved her wand again, her hair flying madly in its green glow.

But Ella had spotted it; had seen a whisper of it as she stepped to the window late that night, untangling her freshly-washed hair. Her squeal of excitement had forced his hand halfway to his wand before he saw the green shadows lighting up her face. And then they were off, throwing cloaks on haphazardly as they darted out into the late October chill, knocking on doors in wild excitement until the others joined them. Ella's hair still a mess of wet curls as she rushed at him, grinning in mad excitement.

Finally.

It wasn't the best Aurora. It wasn't bright green, or particularly strong. It didn't look anything like the photos Hermione had shown him nor the images he drew in his own mind. They had to squint to see it, even.

But it was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen.

Robert had been the one to snap the photo. They'd developed the film in the potion later, watching the lights dance across the sky as Harry spun Ella round and round, her hair swinging. The sky glowed green on paper, brighter than it had been in the moment as the color bled across the glossy finish. It was just as beautiful as he remembered.

The sky above him now was nearly alight with swirling greens and blues. So bright, he thought it would make a Lumos a formality.

For all that, he preferred the pale shadow of his memories. That one had danced across a friendlier sky.

He stumbled to his feet, pulling Ella up beside him to join Snape, who had retained his footing. He glanced around, his eyes dropping from the lights to brush the edges of the dark shape ahead. It was a shadow; a void, its tallest towers reaching for the sky. The enchantments of before had long fallen away, baring the face of Shadow Hogwarts to the night. Voldemort had defended it once with the strongest magic at his disposal. So strong, he could not Apparate within its boundaries himself. That was gone now. Broken and peeled away until nothing but memory remained. The air still tingled though, even years later. The magic here had rooted in the earth. Had been spelled into the air.

The ground was coated with a thin blanket of snow, like his every dream and memory. For a moment, he was back again, and the forest of his nightmares danced across the one before him. The trees doubling. Tripling. His heart pounded a frantic rhythm against his chest. Beside him, Ella shuddered. Certainly she remembered it too; perhaps she felt it in the depth of her chest as much as he did. But there was no going back now. They were here, and the thing they had to do loomed ahead, like a sharp-edged mountain. And there was nothing for it but to push on. The task was waiting, no matter how much the forest bled with his memories.

He pulled his cloak tighter in the sudden chill and forged ahead, Ella's hand clasped firmly in his. Snape followed.

The air was painfully cold; harsh against the aches of his body, which resisted at every step. The snow was thin but hard, almost icy. It cracked beneath their boots, the sound sharp in the still night. Besides them, the place was empty. There was no rustling in the trees that surrounded them, no hooting, nothing. Perhaps it was the dark aura that hung about the castle, thick with the memories of every battle and drop of blood spilled upon this ground. Whatever the reason, they were the only living souls in this place.

They neared the castle in silence, Ella's hand slightly sweaty within his despite the cold. She didn't speak, and he took his cue from her, his heavy mind still swirling through their conversation of before. If he was still alive, Voldemort could come back… No. No, he couldn't think of that. He gave his throbbing head a slight shake, dispelling the thought. Ella squeezed his hand and he glanced up to see her eyes on his. She smiled softly. The smile didn't quite reach her eyes, but her lips quirked up all the same. He could almost read the words of reassurance she left unspoken, and he preferred them in silence. If she spoke them, he might well break, and he couldn't bear that now.

They were nearly at the gates — a beautiful thing of wrought iron and glimmering ice carved out of intertwining snakes — when Snape let out a harsh gasp and there was a soft thud behind them. Harry whirled to see him kneeling on the ground, his teeth bared in a painful grimace as he clutched at this left forearm. It took him only a moment to understand what was wrong, the realization flooding him with relief before he felt a fleeting stab of guilt.

"I'm sorry," he said, stepping back towards the kneeling man. "The Ministry's set up wards to prevent Death Eaters from returning. It's activated by the Mark…" He trailed off, slightly uncomfortable. Snape didn't say a word. "It can detect trace remains of the magic," Harry added to fill the silence, "even if it's faded. It's meant to be a failsafe, for protection…"

"I am aware," Snape hissed, struggling back to his feet. "Stop rambling, Potter. And no, my Mark has not returned, if that's what you're too delicate to ask." He staggered toward them, and Harry tried not to let his relief show in his face. Still, the wards should have rendered any Death Eater incapable of moving. But Snape had always been hard.

Snape pushed past them in silence, stalking resolutely towards the icy gates. He raised his wand, tracing it over the metal before, with a sharp jab of his wand, they flew open.

"Stop dawdling and get on with it," Snape spat over his shoulder, the words coiling with an undertone of pain. And then he was through. In the resounding silence, Harry and Ella followed.

The ice crunched beneath his feet as they approached the castle, the snow growing deep enough to yield. Weighing down the edges of his cloak. Icy where it seeped through the cloth of his trousers to touch his skin. He pushed ahead, the sharp cold mattering as little as the futility of his situation. It just was. Just like his life was, and always had been, a battle to keep Voldemort's darkness at bay. There was no changing it. No stepping away from it. The only thing he could do was keep walking, and never mind the unbearable cold.

The shadow of the crumbling castle grew, until its face blocked out the sky. They slipped inside, walking down familiar passageways that had been carved into his mind from a hundred painful dreams. The sounds of their steps echoed across hollow walls, twining with the occasional hiss of pain. But Snape's walls were as unyielding as those of the castle, and Harry and Ella kept their silence. They merely forced ahead, the stones trembling beneath their feet, their wandland throwing crumbling walls into sharp relief.

Harry paused before the courtyard, firmly gripping his wand to conceal his shaking hands. His head throbbed as the cold wind stirred up, brushing against his face. Chilling him to the bone. Beside him, Ella drew in a sharp breath. The last time they had stood here, this courtyard was painted red.

"Come on." Ella's whisper was barely more than a breath. "Almost there. And then we can be done with it." She slipped her fingers through his — a tingle of warmth — and nudged him forward. Into the icy courtyard beneath the painted sky.

He tried not to notice how her hand trembled, too.

The courtyard was a testament to memory. A time capsule memorializing the last battle it had seen. There was no snow here, as if the magic that had sunk into the stones had simply melted it away. Broken cobblestones stood before them, littered still with rubble. With shreds of limestone that had crashed down from the walls of the castle amidst volleys of spellfire. The walls loomed, riddled with gaping orifices that stared at them like empty sockets. To their right, the remnants of a vast balcony were scattered across cobblestones cracked by the impact of its falling. The sight filled Harry with rage. A flash of anger at Rockwood. He had nearly killed Ella, back when these battle wounds were fresh. And now he was back, taunting them again. Seeking to bring back the greatest enemy the wizarding world had ever known.

His head throbbed again, more painful now as his anger coursed through him. But he pushed it aside. He wouldn't stand for it. Not again. He would cut this plan of Rookwood's off right at the roots.

He strode forward, out onto the stones. They seemed to thrum beneath his feet, the echoes of magic too ancient to beat into compliance. Snape let out another painful hiss, and Harry saw him bare his teeth in a grimace, a flash of white beneath the glowing sky. They were all hurting tonight.

There was a tomb in the center of the broken circle that had once held the magic of the Union. In the very spot where the platform had stood. The one upon which Harry had lain. And Voldemort had died. Now, he lay buried in its shadow, beneath a monolith of black granite and mortar that chained him to the earth. Weighed down by forces of magic and gravity, as if the hold of Death alone weren't enough.

And was it? Would Death let Voldemort slip free once again? It was that very thought that weighed Harry down as he walked. That turned the icy stones to sand beneath his feet, pulling him down until every step cost twice the usual effort. Ella was beside him. Snape at his back. But he was alone but for the chilling wind. Just him and Voldemort's shadow.

As it should be. He was a fool to ever think it could be different.

They were feet from the dark shadow of the tomb. At this distance, he could nearly see the carvings on its edges, cast into sharp relief by the lights dancing overhead. He paused, drawing in a sharp breath. Just another foot or two now, and he would see what he came for. What remained of it. But no matter how he had steeled himself, he wasn't sure he could take another single step.

"Get on with it, Potter," Snape hissed at his back, and Harry turned to see the man behind him, barely standing. His face was pale, ghostly in the light. His eyes wide and rimmed with pain. It filled him with cold reassurance. If Snape could barely keep his footing, then Rookwood would be in for a cruel awakening if he set foot in this place. "Set your damn mind at ease so we can go."

Harry nodded, silent, and turned back to the tomb. To the icy reassurance of Voldemort's body. He raised his wand, its light glittering across the ice that coated the dark stone as he prepared to slide the heavy cover away, and then he froze. In his chest, his heart seemed to burst, its sudden frantic beating thundering in his ears. Beside him, Ella let out an anguished moan.

"No," she managed. "No, no, no…"

Her voice faded into the air, like a keening melody. Like a soundtrack to this night, which hadn't done him in yet, but it would. It would, before it was over. And Harry staggered forward, his palms pressing against icy stone as he grasped at its jagged edges. He sensed Ella on his right. Snape on his left. Their voices unintelligible as he stared, down, through the cracks that marred the heavy stone cover of the tomb. That had split it nearly in two, baring its empty contents to the night.

He was gone.

The horrible truth of it unobscured by the shadows which had melted away from the light of three wands.

He was on his knees. He didn't remember falling. Could barely feel the cold against his skin. And a sudden pain blazed through him, tingling through his body. Through his soul. His mind plunging into shadows he had only ever dreamt of.

Of course. Of course. He was such a bloody fool. Drowning in the clarity of the dream that he'd failed to understand just a few short weeks past.

This was a sacred place. How had he not recognized it in his nightly wanderings? And two hearts stood beside him.

How could he not have understood?

And he was looking down. Down into the earth. Into the broken tomb of black granite and mortar, with cracks all through its heavy casing.

And there was no body. No skeleton. Nothing but empty stone within.

He was too late.

And that realization was more than he could stand. He let out an inarticulate yell, kneeling on the icy ground as the pain in his head mounted to a blinding pitch, throbbing through his whole being until it narrowed. Until it formed, unfailingly, with painful familiarity, into the shape of a long forgotten scar.

And then it burned with all the fury of twelve years forgotten. And the lights in the sky flickered. Faded. Winked out across a growing canvas of black.