"ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ᴅᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀꜰᴜʟ, ᴛᴏ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴍʏ ꜱᴛʀᴇɴɢᴛʜ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇʀᴠɪᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴠɪꜱɪᴏɴ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇꜱꜱ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴛ ᴡʜᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴀꜰʀᴀɪᴅ." ― ᴀᴜᴅʀᴇ ʟᴏʀᴅᴇ
Chapter Twenty-One: Already Dead
How was he going to get out of here?
Harry's head spun. He couldn't seem to convince himself that he wasn't locked in the cupboard under the stairs. He might have been ten years old again, surrounded by darkness, not quite sure when he'd see light again.
At least the Dursleys tossed them in together. When he spoke to this darkness, no one answered. As the minutes and hours oozed by, he kept talking to himself, though, sometimes humming, pinching himself, just so he knew he still existed.
It wasn't like he could see anything to orient himself properly, even though whoever had thrown him in here had had the mercy to leave his glasses relatively close. Maybe it was some kind of joke since there was nothing to see in a pitch-black void. He'd already found the wall and felt along it. No door. No window. No exit. The only fixtures in the room he'd managed to locate were a jug of water and a bowl with two pieces of bread that felt stale and smelled mouldy. And he didn't have his wand, though he couldn't remember if he'd had it with him when he left Hogwarts. He'd given himself a headache making and maintaining a tiny light wandlessly and to add insult to injury, it only provided a three-inch radius sphere of illumination.
Harry leaned his head against the wall and sighed. The dank, musty air seemed to swallow every sound.
Come on, there's no way it could have been her…
She'd seemed so real. Like if he reached out to touch her, she'd be solid. But every time he'd come close enough, she danced away. In that moment, nothing had mattered to Harry more than getting closer to her, and he had stupidly forgotten that there were Death Eaters in Hogsmeade.
What was it Ruby had said about not following ghosts? He hadn't realised until the apparition (for that was what it truly was, a trick of the light, a figment of his imagination) disappeared into the back entrance of the Sign of the Rooks, and, heart-pounding, he'd opened the door, racing after her, his heart bursting, knowing she'd be waiting for him—
And she turned in the dim, rosy lights of the theatre balcony, and smiled, whispered his name, reached out for him, like in so many dreams. There were lines he already knew, a role he'd learnt by heart.
"Harry?"
It was her voice.
"Mum!"
The minute he'd stepped towards her, her eyes glinted in the light, glittering like twin emeralds, and Harry had understood, too late, as his arms closed around smoke and everything went dark. Then he'd woken up here, ribs bruised (probably from multiple Stunning Spells), encased in this dark room. His only companion was the sound of water dripping from somewhere.
How long had he been here, wherever here was? A few hours? A day? Longer?
No prizes for guessing who had brought him here. Was it Voldemort's intention to keep him locked up until his seventeenth birthday?
As if to answer his question, light seared Harry's eyes for the first time since he'd woken up here. He squinted in the glare and was able to make out a bright parallelogram silhouetted against the floor, fallen out of an open door.
Harry looked up. Seeing felt strange after so long. He felt off balance, palm against the wall for support as he got to his feet.
"Incarcerous!"
He jumped, realising what was happening too late as ropes bound his wrists together. Not that there was anything he could do about it. He didn't have his wand.
"Out," said the man in the doorway, gesturing with his wand in a way that Harry assumed was supposed to be threatening.
His thoughts seemed a little sluggish — maybe that was because he was hungry or because that stale and probably mouldy bread wasn't sitting too well in his stomach. Still, you didn't have to tell him twice. Whatever was out there, Harry didn't think he could stand to be alone with his thoughts in a black box any longer. He shuffled past the guard, the light stinging his eyes as he was shoved up a narrow, steep flight of stairs.
"Where am I?" asked Harry. He had to close his eyes to a squint as the light stung them. There was no answer.
There was an air of nervousness, panic, even, about his faceless guard. Harry didn't know why he felt so calm in comparison. Was the bread poisoned, lulling him into this numb state? Or was he just — how would Madam Pomfrey say it — in shock? A laugh escaped him, and the man hurried him up the stairs even faster.
They emerged into a living room — drawing room, Harry corrected himself under his breath, gazing at the dark purple walls hung with portraits, the grand crystal chandelier hovering above a large, handsome table, the towering pipe organ, marble fireplace, diamond-paned windows looking out at the grounds. Harry stopped and stared. Hazy rays of light streamed through the windows, a soft breeze ruffling the immaculate lawn while white peacocks strutted up and down the long driveway. Golden hour. It felt surreal.
Sunset or sunrise? he wondered.
"Get a move on. The Dark Lord is waiting," snapped the guard, pushing his wand between Harry's ribs.
Harry twitched. That hurt.
And so it was Voldemort, after all. His throat churned with bile as he stumbled forward through the door and into a hallway. He felt like throwing up his last supper. His parents hadn't survived their fourth encounter with Voldemort. Why should he? Yes, his mother's protection still ran in his veins for a little longer, at least, but right now, that felt as fleeting and treacherous a promise as the apparition had been.
"Up!" the man wheezed as Harry turned to peer down the long, dark corridor. He'd never been here before, but for some reason, something about this place really did feel familiar. His hesitation was rewarded with another poke between his ribs, and with nowhere to go, he had no choice but to start climbing the narrow, winding stairs. Harry thought a Stinging Hex would have been a more authentically-pureblood affectation. This Death Eater — if that was his rank — must be half-blood then. Like him.
It didn't matter. He was clearly just trying to keep the engine warm and the wheels spinning by over-analysing everything. If he stopped thinking about this stuff, he'd only be left with the fear.
Master your temper, he reminded himself, staring down at the plush carpeting covering the stone steps. Temper your fear.
It was better-kept than 12 Grimmauld Place, wherever he was, Harry decided, but had less character. He ought to tell Sirius that—
Harry missed the next step as the back of his throat burned again. Sirius. Ruby. Ron. Hermione. Lupin. They'd all have realised he was gone by now.
His vision clouded.
Did that mean they weren't coming for him? That they had no idea where he was? On the one hand, Harry knew he didn't want anyone else getting hurt because of him — not after last year — but their absence made him feel hollow inside. If only—
The guard moved in front of him, wrapping a hand around his binds to keep hold of him. Harry's now-adjusted eyes finally considered his appearance, and he realised he had seen this man before. It had been a long time ago, not in full light, and he had been close to certain death in the Hospital Wing. Remarkably small, balding, moved with a rat-like paranoia; Peter Pettigrew, the Death Eater.
Harry sucked in a gasp of surprise as their eyes met, and Pettigrew baulked at the sight of him, averting his eyes and turning towards the door.
"My Lord," he wheezed. "I have Potter here!"
Pettigrew — yes, Pettigrew had been the one controlling Inferi in Hogsmeade. Had he been the one to kidnap him at the Sign of the Rooks, there all along, lying in wait, ready to finish off the job he'd started for Voldemort fifteen years ago?
But he had no more time to consider this because Pettigrew shoved him through the door, and Harry heard the click of the locking mechanism behind him. The ropes fell away from his wrists. Now, he was standing in a cold, stone room at the very top of the manor house, with windows looking out far along the drive. Harry knew where it was. The very last clue fell into place, but it was too late to do anything about it. He had seen this place in dozens of dreams. The desk was where he knew it would be as he turned to it, and behind it sat Voldemort.
The wind blew hard through the windows, and it was as if the breath of Death himself was tickling Harry's neck. His skin prickled with goosebumps. His scar burned with a searing pain. His heart skipped a beat as he stared into red, fathomless eyes that seemed to glow with their own light in that talc-white face.
"I understand locking one's guests in to be rude, but as you have proven yourself to be quite the escape artist, Harry Potter, I thought it necessary… I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me…"
He smiled. Why did he smile? Voldemort smiled as if he had beaten Harry at a game he was not very good at, and Harry supposed that was true. He could not help but be reminded of his days in Quirrell's office in his first year. Did Voldemort remember them, too? Was he remembering them now?
Harry heard the squeal of a tin along the desk's surface and looked down to see a syrupy, stodgy-looking cake inside it. The rich scent of cloves and walnuts clogged his nostrils. The cake from Albania.
Oh yes. He did. Harry's scalp burned, his eyes itched. He gagged, cupping a hand to his mouth to hide it. Yes, it had been so easy to tell Quirrell anything, for him to coax terrible secrets out of an eleven-year-old boy who'd never had a friend before that very year with a piece of cake and an offer of an open door. Probably all the more satisfying for Voldemort to twist the knife, knowing how much he'd trusted Quirrell, how the betrayal had stung.
Voldemort's eyes were searching his face, flicking back and forth as if he were reading a book. The same smile pulled at his mouth.
"Come now, Harry, you know what they say; poison is a coward's weapon, and I am a man of honour. You must be hungry."
The last part was said with relish.
"No," said Harry, lifting his chin in the air. Whatever happened in here, he would not go down grovelling. "I'm not."
The smile faded from Voldemort's face, even as he fidgeted with the lid behind his long, graceful fingers. "It is impolite to refuse hospitality."
"I said no." He was not that naïve, trusting boy in Quirrell's office, drinking in every poisonous word, following every order. Harry's hand went to sweep the tin off the table.
But something stopped him, hand hovering an inch away. A veneer of peace came over his mind, bizarrely soothing. What was he doing? Maybe Voldemort was right. Maybe he should just eat something. He might feel less irritated. As he looked down at the tin, it seemed a more and more rational argument.
Yes, said a voice, kind and warm, like an older brother he'd never had. Why don't you eat something? Go on, take a piece.
Without thinking, his hand moved the extra inch and dipped into the tin.
Go on, the voice said again. Go on.
No, Harry realised. Something was wrong. He had experienced this before, this strange focus.
The strongly-scented piece of cake was in front of his face. His heart stuttered, his throat closing as it came closer and closer.
Harry shoved back as hard as he could, but there was no give, no escape from the iron grip on his mind. The scent of Quirrell's office was in his mouth now, and the taste of syrup made him cough. He tried to stop chewing, but he just couldn't, the Imperius forcing him to swallow while the part of him that remained conscious desperately tried to spit it out. He gagged again, his eyes watering.
Voldemort laughed, and rage bloomed in his chest. Suddenly the fog lifted. Harry leaned forward, and spat out the syrupy, half-chewed lump.
"You believe you have won some victory, have you not?"
Harry said nothing.
"I see it in your worthless mind… but have it your way, Potter, have your pride as some measure of comfort to cling to in the face of your impending death."
Impending death. The words echoed in his head, slowing his breathing. His hands clenched at his sides. His arms shook.
"You forgot," he said, his voice cold and steady, not his own, not believing his own words even as he said them. "You can't kill me. You can't lay a finger on me. Not even outside of Hogwarts. My mother—"
Voldemort waved a hand as if it could all be discarded. "Yes, I know. A powerful counter-charm. Nonetheless…" The very same hand moved towards Harry; Voldemort must have placed a spell on him, for he was rooted to the floor, unable to defend himself.
"It was magic older and Darker than anything Dumbledore would allow in the curriculum. I can only imagine she came across it in the Department of Mysteries and hid her secret from even her most trusted allies. Yet I had overlooked her simple plot. A miscalculation on my part. But it matters not. The mistake was small, the years infinite. Today, it shall all be rectified."
But why his hand, not his wand— Icy flesh that did not feel like flesh met Harry's face, and he knew, he knew what Voldemort had done, that all was lost, his scar burning, searing, his skull threatening to cleave in two as an animal scream tore itself from his throat, and all the while, Voldemort was laughing. The last thing between him and Death — gone.
"See? A few years lying in wait, only to be rewarded with the Elixir of Life, only to fashion a talisman that would neutralise your mother's charm?" His voice rose with triumph, even as Harry swam in a miasma of pain. The room blurred around him.
How? Harry wondered, but he did not know his own question. How what? How did he get here? How would the pain stop? How would he ever—
"And to think the key was so simple as a few drops of blood. I always said Dolohov was overdramatic, but it really was the only way, was it not, Harry? Do you know what to which I refer?"
Voldemort was asking him a question, with those pitiless eyes boring into him. A finger started to peel away from his skin.
"The—" Harry's head pounded. It was all over, wasn't it? He was going to die. "The Slash Curse."
The finger lifted; some of the pain receded.
"I understand that is what Dumbledore called it, yes," said Voldemort softly. "And you remember how, Harry? I expect that you had lost a great deal of blood."
It was a game, then. Harry groaned. He's toying with me. Like a cat before eating a mouse. The mouse might struggle between the cat's paws, but that didn't change the fact that it was already dead.
Already dead. I'm already dead.
His mind flicked back to primary school. Something he remembered the teacher saying — the one whose hair he'd turned blue. An instinct. Fight or flight. Well, he could do neither. What now?
He didn't want to keep playing, but he must. Harry winced. It seemed so hard to remember now, the exhilaration of the catch, the realization that his hand was staining with glossy blood, Malfoy's handkerchief—
Of course. "Malfoy."
It had seemed strange at the time. But he'd lost too much blood to make sense of it.
"One cut. One moment of carelessness," said Voldemort, as if he were telling the most interesting part of a story. "You were all too concerned, as I predicted, in lifting the curse to wonder what was happening to all of that blood. It is a precious substance, and Dumbledore was remiss to ignore what had happened. Do you not think so?"
Harry racked his brain, trying to remember more. The longer he thought, the longer he stayed alive. Two. There had been two. One handkerchief bound around his hand, one hastily shoved into a pocket.
"Wearing a handkerchief with my blood on it around your neck won't make you able to kill me," Harry gritted out. It couldn't be as simple as that. It couldn't. Of all the things that had almost killed him — not this, not now!
More fingers pressed into his cheek, like hot knives parting butter, and he bit back a scream.
"Correct. But I am an accomplished alchemist, amongst many other things. It is far more complex than you can imagine. I see it in your mind. It would take years of preliminary study for you to grasp—"
"What do you want?" spat Harry, pushing past the pain, meeting Voldemort's gaze. "A gold sticker?" The light had grown whiter. So it had been sunrise, then, morning now. His last morning?
No. An awful energy was growing behind his eyes, even as despair gripped him.
Voldemort shot to his feet, tall as a Dementor, the air snapping around him like a sky about to burn with lightning. The fingers were crushing, bruising, rage pounding into his skin, and it was not only Voldemort's, but his, too. His heartbeat kicked up a gear, flooding limbs that couldn't run. A cold sweat broke out on his skin.
"What I want is to see the light leave your eyes!"
You can't have me, said a voice, cruel and familiar. I'm not going to give him what he wants. I'm not just going to give up. I'm not going to roll over and die like that, game over. I'm—
Something choked him on the way up, and Harry's head dipped forward, spewing black, oleaginous smoke. He was only somewhat aware of the fingers now. Everything had gone numb. Voldemort had drawn his wand, but Harry feared it no longer. His vision swirled with black and he felt his eyes burn bright, dark tendrils choking him.
—storm, and wind and tempest, and no man can hold me!
Every inch of skin prickled and burned with shadow, with raw, destructive power, and Harry howled, not human, not animal, but something stranger. He couldn't stop it. He was it. It was him.
Oh, how I've missed you, Harry, murmured the Obscurus, cradling him in the eye of the storm even as it ripped and tore at everything around him.
And he gave himself over to it, knowing it might be for the last time.
"—we know there's been Death Eater activity in Hogsmeade, it's not so far-fetched—"
Ruby watched Sirius jab a finger at Moody, her stomach turned and her attention pulled again to the clock. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Each movement of the hands was a taunt. **Time was running out, and all they were doing was sitting there, arguing. But she knew screaming at everyone to shut up wasn't going to help her case.
"I understand your situation, Black, I really do," said Moody, his nostrils flaring. "But in turn, you understand that you're proposing we risk the entire Order over hearsay from the Malfoy's house-elf and tea leaves! Unless you can come up with a sound, tactical plan for getting in and out of there with minimal casualties, I stand with the assessment I gave you when you failed Auror training— you have all the skill but not the temperament."
By the time Moody had finished speaking, Sirius's face had gone blotchy, eyes popping out of his head, shining with fury. Really not helping his case.
The room was filled with a discomforting silence. Dumbledore stared into the distance, deep in thought. He hadn't spoken since that impromptu scrying session. In fact, she'd have to guess he and Snape were having some kind of silent conversation, although she wasn't quite sure how that worked. Tonks, her hair slowly turning jet black from the roots, glanced between her mentor and Sirius. It looked as if she wanted to say something but could not work up the courage.
"Alastor," said Andromeda sharply. "It would be prudent if we could try to keep ad hominem remarks to a minimum. This conversation isn't going anywhere productive."
Why are they even still having this conversation? Ruby had thought her scrying demonstration would force a decision. Apparently not.
The thought crossed Ruby's mind, deceptive in its brilliance, glittering and unyielding and cruel as a dagger. She hated herself for even thinking it, from daring to speak it into existence, but that was the assumption half the room was operating under. Weren't they? A half-laugh, half-sob choked her throat as she looked up at Moody, meeting that inexorable gaze.
"It's not going anywhere because Harry's a symbol, and everyone knows symbols are worth more when they're dead."
The whole room seemed to look away.
"You've gotten the impression I don't care about the boy," said Moody, still gruff but softer than usual. "That's not true. Rushing in when, in truth, we have no idea if he's even in Malfoy Manor could get everyone in this room killed, and your brother."
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
"I disagree," said Tee.
Why is he here? wondered Ruby, for the fiftieth time. How she had grown to hate that cold, exacting tone, the way his eyes flicked to Dumbledore as if for approval, the way he spoke as if he were analyzing a chessboard instead of a real life and death situation.
"Harry's not worth more when he's dead. Then, he's worth nothing to you." Tee leaned forward, eyes searching the small crowd of drawn, tired faces. "Every time he survives, it adds to his legend. It's the one thing that makes Voldemort look, well, incompetent—" His face twisted at that last word.
And that's something his ego can't suffer. Maybe they were finally getting somewhere. Maybe if they couldn't be convinced to save Harry, then they wouldn't risk losing to Voldemort.
"Well, I'm glad you've found a way to rationalise it," spat Sirius, crossing his arms. Ruby wasn't certain whether it was directed at Moody or Tee.
For the first time in a while, Dumbledore lifted his head, his fingers steepled together in a meditative position. It appeared he had been deep in thought.
"If not with the Malfoys, where else do you think Voldemort has hidden Harry? And if it is truly a trap, the house-elf does not seem convincing bait. If not damming, Narcissa's absence from her beloved Ministry is highly suspicious. I think it more likely that not that he is at Malfoy Manor."
"The Lestranges are also highly favoured—" Moody threw his hands up "—For all we know, right now, he's in the highest cell in Azkaban."
Sirius flinched almost imperceptibly, but Ruby caught the twitch in his shoulders.
But he's not, thought Ruby. I saw it.
A manor house in Corsham, a flash of white hair, and a long drive studded with white peacocks.
"That's Malfoy Manor!" Andromeda had called out.
And if Moody was trying to say she was biased and it had somehow influenced her scrying— well, how could she have come up with that when she'd never seen Malfoy Manor in her life?
And they didn't know how it had felt when she scryed him. Scared. A visceral, mortal fear that ripped through her heart. The last time she had felt that from him — well — that was the time there had been monkshood flowers steeping in Vernon's tea. An inhuman howl rang in her ears. What if… what if they're torturing him? The Order knows what these people are capable of. Why aren't they—
"—Not to mention everything else going on, like the Blood Purity Bill. It might very well be a distraction. Who knows what Voldemort's really planning? We have to keep our heads straight."
Just then, Tee and Dumbledore exchanged a look of disquiet, and Ruby did not like it at all.
"What if we sent only a few people to each location?" asked Andromeda, her voice weary, running a finger down the patterned wood of the chair arm next to her. "That way, we'll have a higher chance of finding him, and once we do, we'll focus our energy."
"It'll take time," said Moody, stroking his chin, "and stealth missions are difficult by nature. But it's the only halfway sensible plan I've heard all evening."
"With the greatest respect, Alastor, we need to hurry. Time is of the essence. If we cannot think of anything better, I will go alone." The way Dumbledore said it, it sounded like a threat or a promise.
So he does believe Harry is in danger, more than Moody does, anyway.
"This is madness — this is — it's playing into his hands!" Moody was saying. "Regardless of what your—" He gestured at Tee "—assistant has to say, and although no one here wants to acknowledge it, the most likely scenario is that Harry Potter was dead this morning! What are the chances he survives twelve hours with Voldemort?"
The words slammed into Ruby like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from her lungs. She wobbled back, the world vignetting, vision encircled with black.
"Are you alright, Ruby?" whispered Lupin.
"Fine," she managed. "I just need some — um — air."
With that, she shoved past whoever was behind her and headed out the door. Ruby didn't know if she could stand to hear one more word of heartless discussion about whether Harry should get to live. Not when each second brought him closer to death.
She paused on the stone staircase, collecting her thoughts. This was how it always was. This was how things had been from the very start. This was how it had been at 4 Privet Drive, and this was how it would always be. There was only one person the other could truly rely on. This was who they were. She would not let him down.
But how?
Malfoy. He obviously wasn't going to help her willingly. Her grip tightened on her wand as she stepped past the gargoyle.
Ruby nearly jumped out of her skin. Anthony, Ron, and Hermione were bunched up in a corner next to a suit of armour to stay out of sight from any other prefects patrolling the hallways, all looking tired and anxious.
"We asked around," said Anthony, a shade paler than usual. "Helena says she saw him last night. I just don't get it. Do you think someone blackmailed him to give himself up?"
"Could've been Imperiused by someone," said Hermione softly.
Ruby rubbed her eyes, a wave of exhaustion washing over her, too. Had the Charms exam really finished only a few hours ago? It was a day from hell. Sometimes, she was sure she'd open her eyes, and it would all be a horrible dream.
"What's going on in there?" asked Ron, glancing up the deserted hallway towards Dumbledore's office.
"Nothing much," said Ruby bitterly. "Just the Order trying to decide if Harry getting to live is a tactical advantage."
"They've got to," said Ron, though those words sounded hollow to her ears. "They wouldn't just leave him with You-Know-Who."
Dumbledore had said as much, Ruby knew. But everything felt so hard to trust after hearing that conversation.
After all, said a nagging, paranoid little voice, he left you two alone with the Dursleys, who's to say he won't abandon Harry now?
Never mind that. Never mind all of that. It was useless. Her veins ran cold with determination. There was only one thing left to do.
"Where are you going?" asked Hermione, jogging to catch up as she headed down the hallway.
"Slytherin Dungeon." Ruby paused. "I need to talk to Malfoy."
The other three exchanged looks as they realised what she was suggesting. Something that they might not be able to go back from. A point of no return.
This was optional for them. Ruby understood it now. She had to go. She was subject to the inexorable pull of their linked fates. But for the others, there would be no shame in them choosing to simply wish her good luck.
"Of course we're coming," said Ron. "He's our friend."
"You'll miss the Transfiguration O.W.L.," said Ruby, and the rest of what was at stake went unsaid.
Hermione scoffed. "Sit in an exam, acting like everything is fine? Besides, it could force the Order's hand, couldn't it — one missing student's one thing, but five? They'll have to come get Harry."
"And we're not letting you go alone," said Anthony, putting a hand on her shoulder, steadying her, the first grounding thing since she had left Dumbledore's office. Her feet were on the ground. She knew what had to be done.
Slytherin Dungeon was dark and quiet. The emerald fire burnt low in the great fireplace, taller than her, and the opulent leather sofas were empty. The peacefulness of sleep hung over the common room, a tranquillity which she could not relate to reflected in the dark water lapping at the windows.
"Yeah, it's just as spooky as I expected," muttered Ron, nearly tripping over the skeleton of Tedros the Tedious as they followed her towards the dormitories.
They were just lucky no one was up. Sometimes people kept late hours.
"Stay close," Ruby muttered, moving towards the stairs leading to the dormitories, her hand on her wand. It should be safe.
The sound of running water made her stop dead in her tracks, frozen on the last step. Her blood ran cold. Someone was still awake. Not so lucky, then. Her eyes locked on the gloomy corridor, she reached for her bag, fumbling with the zip, hand patting around until she touched the silky fabric of the Invisibility Cloak, handing it off to Hermione as noiselessly as she could before leaving that last step.
Just wait for them to go, Ruby told herself. Any minute now, the water would shut off. But as she crept down the hallway, she heard something else. Not water. A voice. She glanced back. The others were hidden under the Cloak.
She walked forward, tilting her head this way and that like Hephaestus did sometimes, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. A… not insignificant number of her Housemates had Death Eater parents. Did they know something about Harry, this person in the bathroom? It was coming from the boys' side, too. The voice grew clearer and clearer as she drew closer, right until she stood before the door, pressing her ear against it. It was still hard to hear over the hiss of the tap.
"…got to get it together… you… so, so stupid… sick of this… "
She couldn't hear. Maybe she could just ease the door open a little bit. With her heart in her throat, Ruby put her hand on the doorknob and turned it as quietly as she could, opening it as much as she dared. Only half an inch, but it was enough to see the occupant clearly.
"… had no idea that's what he wanted… he's probably dead and it's all your fault… you've killed someone…"
Draco Malfoy's hands clawed at either side of the sink, scrabbling for purchase on the smooth porcelain. Fat, glossy tears streaked down his face as he gasped and heaved into the basin, and Ruby managed to stifle her gasp of surprise, but her hand faltered on the doorknob, and the release of torque sent it flying back into its neutral position with a loud click!
He spun towards the door, and their eyes met. Ruby wedged her foot inside before he could slam it closed. With one hand firmly on the door, she pulled open one button so that the pale, faint streaks of the curse scars from their duel showed.
"Not now, Malfoy," she said, glaring up at his pale, tear-streaked face and shoving the door at him. "You owe me this one."
To her surprise, Malfoy relented, stumbling back enough for her to squeeze through. A creak told her that the others had followed her inside as Malfoy shuffled a few feet away to slump to the ground with his back to a shower stall, looking as miserable as a wet cat, rubbing his eyes with the sleeves of his robes.
Ruby said nothing for a minute, her throat dry and tight. She was waiting to cry her tears.
"You did have something to do with that cursed Snitch, didn't you?" she asked finally, leaning against the sink he had been standing in front of and switching off the tap.
Malfoy's gaze did not leave the bathroom tiles in front of his feet. "Yeah. But it was Theodore who gave it to me. I didn't know. I didn't know it was cursed!"
So she had been right all along. But the admission only filled her with disgust.
"Harry's at Malfoy Manor." When she said it, it was not a question, but a statement, and Malfoy did not deny it. And then— "Is he alive?"
Malfoy continued to stare at the floor, his Adam's apple wobbling.
"Answer me!" she spat. "It's the least thing you can do!" Bile rose in her throat, bitter and thick.
"M-Maybe. I don't know. They've said something happened. That's all I know." His voice wavered, his eyes shining with desperation. "I promise. That's all I know."
Her heart burst with anguish. No. He couldn't be. He couldn't be dead. If there was a chance he was alive, she had to save him before that chance was lost.
She thought of what she had overheard and remembered something, something Dumbledore had said to her. Something she did know, firsthand.
"Killing is not so easy as the innocent believe. Don't you think? Makes two of us now."
Malfoy flinched as if she had slapped him in the face, his hand plastered over his eyes as if to shield himself. Ruby advanced, her shoes clicking on the tiles, the sound of water dripping from somewhere punctuating her steps.
"You can fix it, Draco," she said, not believing a single word, kneeling down to be eye-level. "Whatever you've done, you can make it right. You're not a killer, and you don't want to be."
Who was she? Who was this person who whispered silvery and treacherous words? Was she Dumbledore? Tom Riddle? A horrible amalgamation of the two? Ruby would have liked to say that she didn't know this person, but truth be told, she was only what Aunt Petunia had always said, deceitful and sneaky.
"You don't get it, Potter," he said, head jerking up from between his knees with a distraught expression. "I can't help you. He'll — he'll kill me!"
Ruby's eyes narrowed. If there was one thing Malfoy feared, it was the consequences of his own actions. Same as how Harry said he'd started blubbering and being all helpful in the dungeon hallway. Same as how he'd acted all helpful after Harry caught the Snitch.
"If you don't help me," said Ruby, "Harry's going to die. Do you really want blood on your hands?"
Malfoy let out a short, broken laugh. "You think you're going to rescue him? Save him from the Dark Lord? You're more stupid than I thought."
"Not her," said Ron, pulling off the Invisibility Cloak to reveal himself, Hermione, and Anthony. "Us."
"You brought Weasley and Granger here?" asked Malfoy, blinking in disbelief. "And Goldstein?"
His expression was something between utter bemusement and sheer panic as he stared between the three of them, trying to make sense of what was going on.
"Are you mad, Potter? You know outsiders haven't—"
"—set foot in Slytherin Dungeon in seven centuries," Ruby finished. Well, she'd already broken so many. What was another House rule?
"You know what, it doesn't matter," said Malfoy, shaking his head, trembling a little. "You're all going to die if you go there. He might be already dead, but you don't have to be, too."
Don't say that!
"Yeah mate, living with the guilt is your thing," said Ron acidly.
"I didn't mean for any of this to happen," snapped Malfoy, seeming embarrassed at the prospect that all four of them had seen him sobbing as if his heart would break. "Doesn't mean I have to risk my neck—"
"Bloody coward," said Ron under his breath.
Hermione crossed her arms. "Well, the good news is, Malfoy, you don't have to risk your neck to help us fix it. Just tell us anything you know that could help, like how to get past the wards, and we can all forget about this conversation."
"Remember, if Harry dies in there, whatever you've done, it's on your head," said Anthony, looking more serious than Ruby had ever seen him. "Do the right thing."
Malfoy shuddered. He seemed to be struggling with himself, eyes screwed shut, bottom lip wobbling under his teeth.
"Fine! It's your funeral!" His eyes shot open, mouth wet, nearly rabid as he tilted his head to the ceiling and called, "Dobby!"
A sound like a firecracker cut through the bathroom, echoing against the tiles. The house-elf from earlier today stood before them, looking ever so slightly peeved.
"You're the one that came to warn me," said Ruby under her breath. But she suspected Malfoy didn't know that.
"What does Master Draco require from Dobby?" he asked, gazing dolefully at Malfoy. Ruby could not help but wonder if this type of summons happened often.
"Aren't there Anti-Apparition Charms on Hogwarts?" asked Hermione, stepping a little closer.
"And at home, too," said Malfoy, pulling his knees under his chin. "But he can get you in, if that's what you really want." Now he looked at Dobby. "You can't tell anyone I called you here to do this."
Dobby turned, seeming to finally notice that the room was otherwise occupied, and extended his hands out to them solemnly.
"Alright then," said Hermione. "Let's go rescue Harry."
Malfoy made a sound of scorn, but it was drowned out by the rush of wind in her eyes and ears and that awful feeling of compression that she was only just starting to get used to. When her limbs felt right again, it was clear that they had left behind Draco Malfoy and Slytherin Dungeon and that they were now standing elbow to elbow in a dark closet in some other place entirely. Someone brushed an arm past her, feeling for the door, but the sound of muffled voices from beyond it stilled them.
"—nearly wrecked the whole house… better keep a lid on him, Wormtail… more trouble than he's worth."
A nervous chuckle followed.
"You know how hard those things are to dispose of, eh, Lucius?"
"What's he talking about?" whispered Anthony, who was sandwiched between her and the shelf. His metal arm pressed uncomfortably against her ribcage.
Ruby's heart skipped a beat. They were in Malfoy Manor! She crept closer and pressed her ear against the cool, smooth surface of the door so that she could hear clearly.
"I cannot confess to having personal experience with such creatures," said Lucius, with distaste in his voice. "And now the Dark Lord insists on keeping it here—"
"What's it?" Anthony again.
Booted feet echoed down the hard floor. Whoever was on the other side of Ruby tensed.
"The Dark Lord finally looks upon you with favour, Lucius, and you repay him with resentment," the new voice drawled. Ruby thought she heard Wormtail squeak.
"I am glad you are pleased, Bella, but I do not want that thing under my roof any longer!"
"You must not lose your nerve. He shall be dealt with soon enough."
Steps again, three sets, receding from the closet and fading into silence.
"It must be Harry they're talking about!" breathed Ron.
Everything within her sang with joy. He's alive, he's alive!
"Dobby," whispered Hermione, from directly behind Ruby, "do you know where Harry is?"
Was Dobby even still here with them, or had he Apparated elsewhere after carrying out Draco's orders? Ruby wasn't sure until she dared to ease the door open, letting a little of the light in the hallway leak into the closet.
"Clear?" asked Hermione, peering over Ruby's shoulder.
She couldn't see much from here, but as far as she could tell, it was. Ruby opened the door a little more, and Dobby squeezed past, beckoning for them to follow, large green eyes shining in the low light. Slipping out of the door, Ruby placed her feet carefully, rolling toe-to-heel, so that her steps did not echo on the shiny, hard floor. They crept along the hallway single-file, fingers trailing the walls, holding their breaths. Ruby's heart thumped hard in her chest, the blood rushing in her ears. Her skin prickled as the sound of voices again floated towards them and Hermione clutched at her, hands clawing with fright. Dobby held his skinny arm out to warn them off going any further, then put a finger to his lips.
There were people behind the door just a few feet down. They exchanged silent glances, faces etched with cold anxiety. Ruby pressed herself as flat as possible against the wall, turning her head towards it.
"—the Order has no idea Potter was brought here, of course."
Lucius Malfoy's voice again. Could they risk creeping past the door? If they were quiet enough, and they were talking loudly inside, perhaps.
"Regardless, returning to the Ministry is out of the question," said a voice Ruby had not heard before, clear and icy. It must be Narcissa Malfoy, then. She curled her gloved hands into the fabric of her robes.
"…many still remain loyal to Dumbledore."
"That is for the Dark Lord to decide," said a haughty voice, the same one she had heard outside the closet. "Hearings for the Blood Purity Bill — your bill — begin soon, and you must be present, Cissy."
"And Draco will be home from school soon," said Narcissa scornfully, "with this thing still here! Why doesn't the Dark Lord just take it elsewhere?"
Anthony was right. What was this it they were so afraid of, and what did it have to do with Harry? Was it some sort of weapon?
As Narcissa and the other witch argued, Ron nudged Anthony, and Anthony nudged Hermione, and Hermione nudged her. Ruby looked at Dobby, and he nodded. No one had to speak. They all understood that was their chance. One, two, three, quick steps, and Ruby was on the other side of the doorway. She held her breath as they all made it across, one by one, and the arguing only rose in volume, obscuring them completely.
"Where to now, Dobby?" whispered Ruby.
Just then, a figure appeared at the end of the hallway. Ruby's blood ran cold. One hand fumbled towards the Invisibility Cloak, but it would not cover all of them. Anthony and Ron had already drawn their wands, pointing them at the wizard, who was stalking towards them, yellow grin flashing in the light. He was not wearing a Death Eater mask, and Ruby saw his malevolent eyes narrow under his mop of straw-coloured hair. His tongue darted past his lips, licking his thin mouth.
"Don't!" said Hermione, tugging on Ron's arm and staring at the door behind which Narcissa and the other woman were still arguing. "They'll hear!"
The wizard laughed, his words unintelligible. Emerald light seared past Ruby's ear, scorching her face. She froze, feet rooted to the floor. A centimetre to the right, and she'd be dead. And he was raising his wand again—
"I don't care what you say," Ron whispered fiercely, raising his, too. "He's trying to kill us!"
"No—"
"Harry Potter's friends must run!" shouted Dobby, and Ruby felt a jerk and then herself being pulled down the hallway, footsteps stumbling after her. She managed to look back for a second, catching a flash of Anthony's dirty-blond head behind her, hearing the wizard's crazed half-cackle, half-yell as he sprinted after Ron and Hermione, who had gone down the other hallway, running like mad. The door behind them swung open, and three more figures emerged to join the pursuit.
"Dobby, we have to go back," Ruby managed to get out as he pulled her along at a surprising speed for such a small creature. Whoever that wizard was, he'd made his intentions clear; he wanted to kill them. "We can't leave them!"
"You must get to Harry Potter!" cried Dobby before picking up speed.
"Wait," said Anthony, jogging to catch up, his face full of concern that she didn't deserve. "I'm going to go after them, okay? We'll meet you back in the closet when you get Harry."
Ruby was sorry. She was sorry she had dragged them all along with her. She was sorry she had ever been cruel or short or jealous with Anthony, who was now risking his life to save Harry's. She was sorry she had been so vague about the vision in Ancient Runes to Harry. Perhaps if he'd known it had something to do with Voldemort, he might not be here. She was sorry she'd snapped at Harry every time he asked her about what had happened with Mordred in the dungeons last year. She was sorry she had been a bad friend to Parvati and Lavender. She was sorry she had lied so much. She was sorry she had made so many mistakes, and right now, she felt like a colossal waste of effort.
"Anthony—" Ruby started, but he was already gone, disappearing into the gloom of the hallway. There were only winding steps before her, now, Dobby hurrying up the carpeted stone and glancing back every so often to check that she was following. Firelight flickering in sconces lit their way. This part of the manor was quite silent. There was only a house-elf, and a girl, and a door looming ahead of them.
She felt sick. The door was looming closer. If Harry wasn't behind it, alive—
No. She mustn't think of anything else but what she needed to find.
Just then, a shout resounded through the manor, a man's voice— "DOBBY!" —and Dobby disappeared from the step above her with a quiet pop. Now, Ruby was all alone. She gripped the bannister like it was a life buoy and she was drowning in the waves, her legs impossibly heavy as she lifted them to the next steps.
The door loomed wider, closer. Her palm was against the cool, smooth wood. She tried the handle. It was unlocked. Sucking in a breath and making her wish, she pushed it open. A warm summer night's breeze floated around her, and Ruby was at first not sure what she was looking at in the dark room. There were three stone walls and one of sky; velvet night pricked all over with white stars, the crescent moon glowing silver over the dark grounds. There was only an empty fireplace and a desk in the room, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to see the dark-robed figure against the blasted-out wall as it turned towards her, lit only by the weak moonlight. Every vein in her body ran to ice as the figure pulled back its hood.
Ruby had only seen those eyes in the flesh before but once in her life. Red and pitiless, shining with their own light. A cold sweat sprung up on her skin; she drew her wand, pointing it at him as if it would do any good, her whole body trembling. The door was right behind her, but she could not go, could not escape. He had seen her. Death had marked her.
Voldemort tipped his head back, laughing softly.
"Yes, Ruby Potter, keep that wand pointed at my head, by all means, if it makes you feel better at all."
Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. Her blood was deafening in her ears.
"Where's Harry?" she finally managed, but her voice was not loud enough to project, torn away by the wind as Voldemort crossed the room, sitting behind the desk. He waved a hand, and three astral lights hovered in the room, casting blue-white halos, and then signalled for her to approach. She had the horrible sense of déjà vu of her first time in Dumbledore's office.
What did it matter? She was already dead. Ruby moved towards the desk, her wand at her side, the piercing red gaze following her all the while, a self-satisfied smile growing under it. His head rested on his hand as he gazed at her, gazed through her, finger tapping against his mouth. Close your mind, she told herself, but she did not know how. Temper your fear, she thought, but it could not be tamed. Her heart thumped against her chest, but there was nothing she could do, she could not fight, could not run. She was caught in the trap and could not even gnaw her leg off to escape.
"You know, you remind me of your mother." Voldemort sounded almost casual. Amused. "She once stood before me in front of this very desk, looking at me as you do now."
He leaned forward, the cold light shining on his marble-white face. Ruby saw him clearly now. He only looked a little like Tee. The planes of his face had been carved, as if from stone, the mouth over-red, cheeks flushed with a perverse healthiness. The Elixir of Life? But Flamel had not looked so. Perhaps he was another type of abomination.
"She could have stopped all of this," he said, smiling. "I asked her to join me. Your father, too — by extension."
"No," said Ruby, finally finding her voice. Where was Harry? "You didn't. You're lying. She was Muggle-born!"
"And I bastard boy, Muggle foundling." The smile that played at his mouth grew yet crueller. "Now you are wondering about your brother… I see it in your mind… that is why you have come… I suspected you would… you believe he lives."
"Of course he does!" said Ruby angrily. "Our mother—"
Voldemort held up a hand. "You think her some great genius, doubtlessly that is what Dumbledore has told you… But it is not so… If her power was so great, she would have been able to save herself… She bought your brother a few years, perhaps… But the fact remains that your mother is dead, rotting in the ground… and so is her protection."
The words stuck like a dagger to the heart, bleeding and burning. So Lily Evans' scheme had finally come undone, the last thread holding it all together broken and frayed.
"No," she said. "No, you're lying!"
"No?" Voldemort's eyebrows rose in an expression of false concern. "No? Scry him, then, Seer. He is not far. Prove me wrong."
She pulled out the salamander glass, sparkling in her palm as the flame burst to life— please please please — but she saw only darkness. Her mouth shook, her limbs grew cold and trembled, and for the first time since Harry's disappearance, her eyes flooded with hot tears. He's already dead, then. Already dead.
It was all for nothing, then. Her legs gave under her, and an inhuman wail escaped her, overcome with anguish, tears dripping on the stone floor. Harry was gone. Nothing mattered and nothing would ever matter again. Voldemort should just kill her now, so they could all sleep under the ground together at Godric's Hollow—
Voldemort was approaching, steps slow on the stone, a wolf approaching his mortally-wounded prey to deliver the killing stroke.
"So here you are, abandoned by your Order… forsaken by the great Dumbledore… Perhaps I could find use for you… or will you be stubborn like your mother?"
She looked up at him. In that instant, he did not look cruel; perhaps he thought he was doing her a kindness. But there was nothing left in her to appreciate it, nothing left but hatred and spite as her fingers curled against the stone floor in the room where Harry must have died a few hours ago. How could he? How could he think that she would feel anything towards him but searing, blinding rage? Did he truly not understand what he had done? That he had… she did not bear to think it.
No. Voldemort wanted a trophy. He wanted the last Potter as proof of his victory.
Well, she could still deny him that. It was the only bit of power she had left, the only card up her sleeve.
"Yeah, I'll join you," she said bitterly. "I'll join you when Hell freezes over!"
The cruelty was back again, twisting Voldemort's stone features. His lip lifted in a sneer, flashing white teeth, and Ruby felt herself being hauled roughly to her feet, the warm tip of his wand between her eyes. The phoenix feather within it was brother to the one in Harry's wand. Did it know her? Her heart beat fast, like a rabbit about to have its throat slit, her eyes bulging, throat dry. Was this what had happened to Harry, too? Or had he been tortured? She supposed he would be able to tell her soon.
"Funny," said Voldemort, sounding anything but amused. "Exactly what your mother said. Avada—"
Ruby shut her eyes.
But the second word never came, for the door sailed off its hinges, and she felt Voldemort tense as a familiar voice rang out.
"Release her, Tom."
Her eyes flew open. Dumbledore was standing in the doorway. She felt the hard, cold embrace of the floor, her head slamming against the stone as Voldemort dropped her like a forgotten toy, all his attention turned towards Dumbledore. The sounds of fighting rang out from downstairs; the Order must have arrived, Ruby realised as she pushed herself up into a sitting position, still dazed. She could only see Voldemort's back as he advanced on an unmoving Dumbledore, wand trailing blue sparks like an arcing socket.
"A rescue mission," he murmured. "How predictable."
Ruby blinked. Her vision still swum with stars. Where was her wand?
"I can manage to kill two birds with one stone, Tom; this may all end tonight," said Dumbledore, colder than Ruby had ever heard him before. The wand in his hand glittered pale in the astral lights that still hung in the room.
Voldemort snarled, and Ruby flinched as a jet of green light shot past Dumbledore, who barely seemed to notice it, with a terrible, empty-sounding whoooosh. "Do not call me that! That is not my name!"
"Isn't it? Yes, I recall—" Dumbledore held a hand up, pre-empting the interruption "—you fashioned yourself a new name, one you knew every wizard would fear to speak. But you are no bogeyman, merely flesh and blood, mortal as any of us."
But he knows about the Horcruxes, thought Ruby, her eyes searching the floor for her wand, getting to her knees. Oh, I see. He doesn't want Voldemort to know that he knows.
A curse arced past Voldemort like a throwing knife, drawing blood on his cheek, as if to prove it. He touched it and his white fingers came away stained red, a red redder than any blood Ruby had seen before. She bit her lip. Her wand was between Voldemort's feet.
"Do you truly believe that?"
A column of flame burst from Dumbledore's wand, but Voldemort parted it, bifurcating into two streams splashing against the stone wall on either side of him, searing Ruby's skin with heat and lighting up the night. Another Killing Curse rocketed towards Dumbledore, this one stopped by the stone tile before him flying up to form a shield. The two wizards moved in a violent dance, each curse flooding the room with the light of an explosion, Voldemort trying to drive Dumbledore towards the door, Dumbledore trying to drive Voldemort towards the blown-out hole beyond which was a long, sheer drop to the grounds below. Ruby's heart seized each time the room glowed green, each jade firework seeming to come closer and closer to its target as Dumbledore conjured defence after defence, until Voldemort stood inches from the yawning gap. All of a sudden, Dumbledore called, "Run, Ruby!"
The last thing in her mind was to obey his command; useless as she was in this fight, it felt wrong to abandon him here, to fail her self-assigned mission — but then a tall figure appeared in the now-doorless arch, clutching a struggling, dark-haired boy to her chest, one of his legs dragging at an odd angle, the point of her wand bruising a red spot into his neck.
"No one," she announced, "will be running anywhere."
It was the same haughty voice from downstairs, Ruby realised, but now she could put a face and a name to it, Bellatrix Lestrange, glowing furious and triumphant in the light. Her eyes passed over the boy again, and her heart skipped a beat. But it was not Harry. The little hope within her snuffed out.
T. M. Riddle dug his shoulder into Bellatrix's chest, twisting to no avail. Odd, it seemed. He was taller than her, and should have been stronger, too. His dark eyes glinted with a strange, almost drug-addled haze, head lolling.
"And you, My Lord," she said, now looking directly at Voldemort, "will explain."
spooky voice: "To be continued in the next episode!" (wherein I explain what the hell just happened and sentence myself to writing more duels)
A/N:
Obligatory yes, I know this is a week late, but I have a good explanation excuse this time. I had to kill some of my darlings (5k worth of them actually). I always have a pre-written outline of how the year finale chapters go down way in advance (because of all the fiddly little moving pieces and I know they're going to be monsters) but on my first proper draft I decided to play fast and loose, and, you know what, I learnt the lesson I should have already with the Christmas chapter: past me and her play-by-play outlines know best. (There goes my grand plan of finishing this fic before the new year).
And for those of you reading on AO3 (I got a comment about this a while ago actually), I bet you were wondering why this fic still has the Obscurials/Obscurial Harry Potter tags when we haven't seen shadows since TNG (I think) and the actual Obscurus in way longer and if I just had it there to pad the tags out. But go back and look at Chapter 5.6/93 and something I never addressed after it should make sense now. jazz hands: Foreshadowing!