Left to his own devices for most of the day, Harry didn't receive company until late afternoon when the clock in his room chimed for four o'clock. He spent the time wallowing in his own misery. For the first time in his life, he truly considered ending things on his own terms there and then. He'd experienced lapses of depression before, unsurprisingly when he'd had lost too much while so young. Never before had he thought about putting an end to his suffering in the most final way possible.
He lingered in the doorway of the bathroom, almost as if he was already a ghost. Staring at the marble bathtub, he wondered if any of the residents of the manor would know if he tried to drown himself. Despite how miserable he was, how defeated, he could never make that step. Perhaps he was a coward, but he knew, deep down, that he couldn't treat his parents' sacrifice with such disdain. They had died so he could live.
Sighing, he turned from the bathroom, taking his solitary trip to the window. Sunlight streamed into the decadently decorated space. At the small table in front of the window, the tray that appeared with his lunch remained with the empty plate and neatly arranged cutlery. The food arrived while he was in the bathroom so he had no idea how it appeared. He suspected house elves considering that Dobby had once served at the manor. Harry ate everything on the plate, ravenous with hunger. He'd rarely eaten food so fancy before, his experiences so very limited.
Without anything to pass the time away, Harry was left with just his own thoughts. It was a cruel agony of its own design, leaving him to dwell on his defeat and what Voldemort's victory would mean for everyone else. His own future appeared to be one of indentured servitude and he expected everyone else would soon follow. His stomach cramped with guilt and grief as he thought of what would happen to Ron and Hermione now that he had failed them. Hermione would have no place in the world Voldemort wanted to create, being a muggleborn. As for Ron and the rest of the Weasleys, Harry couldn't say. Their involvement with him meant that they would likely be made an example of.
Then there was the fact that Ron and Hermione knew about the horcruxes. That marked them for death. He just had to hope that they had the sense to leave the country.
He wiped at his face, removing the errant tears that had appeared. Usually, he'd begrudge himself any sign of weakness, but he was weak. He had so little left of himself, beaten and broken like a toy. Amid his despair, he also felt bitter anger. Voldemort's words had sown the seed of doubt in his mind. Harry felt betrayed and used, set upon a path of self-destruction that could only possibly end in his own death. All because Dumbledore believed he was the only one who could destroy Voldemort. Harry couldn't even save himself.
It made him wonder if there was ever any hope.
Hearing a click behind him, Harry turned in time to see the door manifesting itself in the wall once more. His heart leapt up, but his scar didn't prickle. He turned from the window, watching warily as the door quietly and slowly opened. Narcissa Malfoy entered, closing the door behind her. She lingered at the door, her gaze assessing the room, checking to see that Harry had indeed eaten his lunch before she approached. Her robes of pale blue silk dragged a little behind her. She cut an aristocratic image, her hair carefully arranged, her demeanour prim and proper.
She kept her distance from Harry, stopping at the table. Her hands clasped together, making Harry look down, seeing her rings glint in the sunlight, diamonds sparkling away.
"I have taken the liberty of having robes tailored for you… along with day and nightwear. I expect you would prefer to wear something other than pyjamas."
Harry's face warmed a little as he looked down at himself, still just wearing the silk pyjamas that had been provided for him. He cleared his throat a little.
"Do you have my measurements?"
"I have a good eye for that sort of thing," Narcissa said softly, "how are you feeling?"
He looked up at her, seeing the faint beginnings of genuine concern in her pale blue eyes. For some reason, it spiked shame through him. He'd said some nasty things about her in the past, some even to her face when they met at Madame Malkins a year ago. So much had changed.
"I don't think I can answer that honestly," Harry said carefully, not lowering his guard as he took a tentative step to the chair where he had sat and eaten his lunch. He rested his hands on the back of the seat.
"I don't expect you to trust me," she said, moving closer herself, robes rustling on the ground, "but I do truly not wish to cause any more harm or suffering to you. Perhaps once, I wished you ill, but that time has since passed."
Harry cautiously peered back at her, looking at her properly for the first time. While she wasn't glaring down her nose at him or regarding him with disgust, she was pleasant-looking. He could see the resemblances between her and her son, her sharp chin the same as Bellatrix's. He gathered that she was in her fifties, her hair still fair and not shot with grey. Some wrinkles lined her face, mostly at her eyes.
"What changed?" Harry asked slowly, meeting her gaze levelly. "You are aware that I nearly killed Draco a few months ago."
"Did you mean to do it?" She asked him, her tone losing some of its softness. Harry sighed, shaking his head.
"No. I regretted it the second I saw what that curse did. I… didn't know what it would do."
"Severus explained that you used a spell of his own design," Narcissa said thoughtfully as she regarded Harry closely for a moment, "just as he also explained that had you not retaliated, Draco would have used the Cruciatus on you. In some convoluted way, you actually prevented Draco from being discovered as an agent of the Dark Lord's."
Harry stared at her in surprise, baffled as he realised that she was right. Had Draco actually cursed him with an unforgivable, he would have been arrested. Myrtle had witnessed their fight and ghosts made for decent witnesses as they couldn't be silenced.
"As for what changed, all I can say is that I feel sorry for you."
Harry didn't look away. Instead, he felt a little grateful that she didn't lie about pitying him. He swallowed, understanding why she would have formed such opinions. He had been screaming very loudly while being tortured under their floors.
"He's tortured me before, you know," Harry said stiffly, holding her gaze, "and while he did, your husband laughed and enjoyed the show. I was fourteen at the time."
Her face twitched and she looked away, clutching her hands together tightly.
"You have known cruelty at Lucius's hand, Draco's as well. I have not done much better when I taunted you about Sirius's death. I know my family has hurt you deeply… and I am aware that you have only attempted to defend yourself against our attacks."
She moved closer and Harry didn't move, watching her. He felt confused as she wore a look of guilt while she closed the distance.
"I am truly sorry, Harry," she said softly as she tentatively went to touch his arm. "I know it will not change things, but I want you to know how sorry I feel. No child… should go through what has been done to you. I only hope that the harm ends here."
Moved, Harry couldn't help but accept the compassion shown his way. He ducked his head, staying still. Her use of his first name didn't go unnoticed.
"Thank you," Harry said softly, staring down at the floor, "it doesn't change what's been done, but… it's nice to hear that someone has a conscience."
"Draco does as well," Narcissa said, "he has not told me what he saw of your torture, but he was very shaken. He does not wish you ill either."
Harry sighed, nodding. Her hand dropped from where she had touched him.
"Maybe not, but it doesn't matter how comfortable you make things for me. I can't leave. I'm a prisoner."
Her face fell a little, "yes, you are, and while the walls that contain you and hold you against your will are more literal, we are equally as trapped. Draco… is coming to this realisation on his own. The only difference is that we made this choice willingly, siding with the Dark Lord and his agenda."
Harry took a step back from her, glancing over to where the door was shut. He was very aware that she would never say such a thing in front of Voldemort or her own family.
"Right… your lives aren't your own, I can see that, but surely you knew what serving Voldemort would bring on your family. He's a monster."
Her eyes narrowed at his use of the name, but she didn't rebuke him. Instead, she folded her arms, lifting her chin as her gaze turned cold, losing the softness.
"You forget that I was born a Black, Mr Potter. I am no pariah to my House and maintain that our family has the right to its place at the pinnacle of our society. I will do whatever it takes to ensure that my son achieves the destiny that is his right and, with the Dark Lord's victory, he will have his best chance of success."
"Ambition. How very Slytherin," he said under his breath. "I suppose the biggest difference between us is that I chose the hard way over the easy way. I valued my beliefs over my own life… and suffered for it."
"Admirable as it is to fight for a cause, no fight is won without shedding blood. The only blood you shed was your own," Narcissa said, her gaze softening once more with sympathy. "You have no one to fight for your right to live. No family to protect you… and, I'm sorry to say, it shows."
"And who is to blame for that?" Harry snapped back heatedly, instantly defensive. "Voldemort, the man who you serve, murdered my parents. You can't forget that."
"Because they were betrayed," she said firmly, not backing down either. "Your parents made the choice to go into hiding. They valued your life over their ideals, choosing to place you above the war that they were fighting in. Had they not been betrayed, they would have continued to keep you safe. That is the duty of a parent, Harry. Nothing matters more to a parent than the life and happiness of their child."
Her words settled on him, ringing with a truth that he didn't want to hear. He wasn't even sure what he was arguing against. He didn't want to accept that maybe even his parents might have surrendered to Voldemort if the cost had been his survival. Yet, in his heart, he knew. He knew his mother and father would have done anything to protect him. They laid down their lives for him. His eyes stung fiercely as the realisation set an overwhelming longing in his heart. He turned away from Narcissa as his composure broke right in front of her.
His hands managed to find the window sill, arms shaking as his emotions took over. He heard Narcissa's soft sigh behind him, hearing her robes rustling as she came after him. His vision swam as his tears rose up, unbidden. He let out his breath, closing his eyes the second he felt Narcissa's consoling hand rest on his shoulder.
"You're a brave young man," she said gently as she rubbed his shoulder, her thumb marking a circle where she comforted him. "I'm sure your parents are very proud of you, but they would also want the best for you. Seeing you hurt and suffering… no parent would ever want that."
"No decent parent," Harry muttered quietly. Narcissa sighed and hummed in agreement.
"Indeed. Now, please try to get some rest. You need as much rest as possible to heal. I'll arrange for some robes for dinner tonight. You will be dining with us again."
Her hand remained on his shoulder for a few moments before she took her leave. Harry remained at the window long after she had gone and locked him back in the room, alone. As he stared bleakly out through the glass at the mockery of his incarceration, he realised that he missed the contact and the company of the witch. She left with him the faint scent of blueberries and the ghost of her compassion, lingering as a gentle touch on his shoulder.
After the disastrous events of the previous school year, Draco's relationship with his once favourite professor was shambolic. Through his own petulance and frustrations, he'd slapped away Severus Snape's helping hand. Memories of many arguments and accusations burned in the foreground of Draco's mind as he sullenly listened on the current report that Snape delivered. The professor had been forced into hiding following his public murder of Dumbledore, responsible for the kill that had been Draco's mission to carry out. He spent time between his own business and attending to the Dark Lord at the Manor. Each and every time he had visited, he completely ignored Draco, acting as if he wasn't even there.
His report was dull and uninformative. Vague suggestions of what he thought the Order of the Phoenix would do in reaction to Potter's capture. He had nothing meaningful to report since his cover as a spy had been blown out of the water. Draco could sense that the Dark Lord was growing impatient, his nostrils flaring. Yaxley pointedly covered a yawn from where he sat at the Dark Lord's immediate left. Snape, still at the place of honour at the right, concluded his report.
Silence followed as eyes glanced around, flittering nervously between the Dark Lord and Snape.
"Your deductions tell me very little, Severus. I could have gleaned far more interesting intelligence from my prisoner in the guest rooms. His mind is woefully defenceless due to your aborted attempts to teach occlumency. I do wonder… what uses you still have now you are a spy without information and without a cover."
Yaxley and a few others smirked darkly in response to the Dark Lord's criticism. Snape inclined his head towards the Dark Lord, his eyes narrowing as he shot a derisive look over to Yaxley, picking up his leer.
"My Lord, when we at last secure the Ministry and the seat of power, I will be able to continue my position at Hogwarts," Snape said carefully, sitting forwards a little. "Something that I understand we are very close to achieving."
The Dark Lord considered him silently for a moment.
"Control of the school will be paramount… as will be revising the current curriculum. I do not wish to hinder the magical development of future generations as Dumbledore sought to do with his coddling. I will, however, be willing to oversee previous alignments with the current staff. Minerva McGonagall, for instance, is an exceptionally talented witch and an experienced teacher. Were they to fall in line, I see no reason why they cannot continue to teach."
"My Lord, I fear that you will not receive willing cooperation from all the staff, not when you are currently holding Potter as your prisoner," Snape said heavily.
"On the contrary, Severus. I believe Potter makes for the perfect bargaining chip. In fact, I intend for him to finish his education along with the rest of the students at Hogwarts."
Murmurs sounded down the table. Draco leaned forwards a little, trying to not look at Snape as he did. The Dark Lord surely wouldn't let Potter within reach of his allies where they could attempt to smuggle him to safety.
"Hogwarts will be the source of our power, my friends. Taking the school ensures that we have the children of all wizards and witches in the country under our control. Through them, we control the families, for no one will dare risk the lives of their children. Potter may not have a family of his own, but he serves as a very powerful tool – a message to assure concerned parents that if I am willing to give my supposed nemesis a chance of a comfortable life, I will do the same for their children. He will have a future if he obeys me… and the same will be true for all."
Draco glanced upwards, thinking of where Potter was being held in the Manor. Did he have any clue of the role he'd have to play? Potter wasn't stupid, much to Draco's personal surprise. He appeared able to suppress his reckless ways in order to survive. But would he be able to put aside his fight and betray his friends? The Weasleys especially would view his surrender as a betrayal and act of cowardice.
The meeting didn't last much longer. Most left to return to their homes and covers, making their farewells. Draco's father took his leave, disappearing to sulk in the drawing room where he would likely request another bottle of elf-made wine. Draco remained in the dining room, making small talk with Vincent's father. Crabbe Senior was at least more of a conversationalist than his son. It didn't hold Draco's attention for long, though he was soon spared as the Dark Lord approached, Nagini hissing softly on his shoulders.
"Draco, go fetch our guest. He should be ready for dinner."
It was only half way to the Aquila suite that Draco realised that he had been eager to leave, even if it meant performing his unwelcome duty. Now that he wasn't debasing himself with serving Potter's basic needs, he felt a little self-pride return. Escorting a prisoner was still a role that was beneath him, but it was better than being a caretaker. He reached the guest rooms, unsealing the door and the spells that kept the prisoner in place. This time, he didn't prepare himself with a deep breath of trepidation. Now that he knew what to expect on the other side of the door, he didn't feel the same dread.
Potter even replied when he knocked.
"Still here."
Draco opened the door, mildly surprised to find Potter fully dressed. Glancing over his shoulder, Potter stood in front of the mirror, fastening the collar of his robes. Although, they were technically Draco's robes. A pair that he wore for his sixteenth birthday celebrations during the Easter Holidays a year ago, no less. Black with silver fastenings, they suited Potter's complexion, making his eyes stand out more strikingly.
"Sorry that I'm soiling your robes again, Malfoy," Potter remarked once he had finished doing up the clasp. Draco noted that his hands had stopped shaking. "Your mum had to make some adjustments."
The common use of 'mum' felt odd and alien. Draco dismissed it, stepping up to Potter, clutching his wand at his side.
"You're expected downstairs."
"Figured," Potter said though not without a shine of fear entering his gaze. He did appear noticeably calmer than he'd been that morning. Draco suspected that his mother was responsible, especially if Potter was referring to her as his 'mum'.
"I'm here to take you down to the dining room now that the meeting with the Dark Lord is over."
Potter stilled at the information before a furious look pulled at his previously lax and neutral expression. It was a look that Draco was all too familiar with. Anger and hate burned in his green eyes, giving them that feral edge which usually warned that his violent temper was at the brink of erupting. Potter then controlled himself with what appeared to be great effort, resting his hands at his sides where he stiffly turned to look at Draco.
"Alright then," Potter said dryly as he crossed his wrists over at his front, lifting them. "Do what you have to."
Draco allowed him the concession as he spelled black cords around his waiting, bruised wrists. Potter lowered his wrists, giving them an experimental tug.
"This is the same spell he uses," he observed, "did he teach you?"
"A little something I picked up from my aunt. Come on, Potter. We're not leaving the Dark Lord waiting."
Once Draco managed to usher Potter out onto the landing, he shut the door behind them. He took Potter's arm, leading him off down the corridor. Potter didn't resist, just as he had before, instead curiously looking around and taking in his surroundings. Draco had to admit that Potter was impressively sharp and perceptive, making him wonder once more about all the Dark Lord had said about his upbringing. It was true that Potter was hardened, toughened into a fighter who didn't quit or know when to quit. He possessed a constant level of danger, unpredictable and possibly even a little unhinged.
When they arrived in the dining room, the Dark Lord stood alone, his back turned to them where he waited at the closest end of the table. Trepidation shot from Draco immediately and, from how Potter stiffened at his side, he wasn't alone. The Dark Lord raised his hand, flicking his fingers to beckon them over. Potter moved without urging and Draco could hear his quickened breathing next to him. For some reason, he became very aware of Potter's closeness and the feel of his bicep under his grip.
The Dark Lord then turned, his red eyes gleaming in the candlelight as he surveyed Potter first before turning his attention to Draco. Bowing, he responded as expected.
"My Lord."
Satisfied, the Dark Lord's eyes pinched in the corners, a subtle sign of his pleasure.
"Very good, Draco. I shall take Harry from here."
As Draco released Potter's arm, he felt a wrench in his chest. Alarmed, he looked over and met Potter's gaze. At the sight of the fear, the wrench became painful. Potter hunched his shoulders forwards, his jaw tensed, visibly expecting to be hurt. The Dark Lord then clasped Potter's shoulder, fingers digging in as he dragged him towards him. Potter then turned his face away from Draco pointedly as the Dark Lord then pulled Potter in pace with him, taking him towards the throne-like chair at the far end.
Draco turned stiffly away, moving to stand opposite until he had orders to do otherwise. The Dark Lord hadn't dismissed him and he knew it wasn't an oversight. He was meant to be there and witness whatever would unfold. Draco walked in step, following the Dark Lord on the other side of the table where he brought Potter to the seat that he had occupied the night before, the same that Severus had sat in during the meeting.
"You may speak. I can sense that you have something to ask of me."
Draco saw the rising flush on Potter's otherwise pale face as he was directed into the seat by the Dark Lord's firm grip. He risked a small glance up to where Draco watched, standing still and at attention.
"You already had people in the Ministry. Now that you have me and there's no one to really oppose you, why haven't you taken over? What's stopping you?"
The Dark Lord's smile was broadening, clearly enjoying himself as he kept hold of Potter's shoulder. There was something very wrong with the way he touched Potter, something that offset a hard-wired fear in Draco as he could see the predatory gleam building in the Dark Lord's eyes. He'd seen it before in the chamber below when Potter's screams turned animalistic in nature.
"Nothing, Harry. In actual fact, my plans are in motion as we speak. Your capture has ignited mass panic. Those who haven't fled the country will be given the chance to surrender and serve… and those who resist? Well… I think you know what will happen to them."
Potter winced, turning his face away from the Dark Lord, pain flashing across his features.
"Will the same happen to muggleborns and those you consider less than worthy?" Potter asked hotly. The Dark Lord loosening his grip on Potter's shoulder, smoothing the fabric with care.
"I foresee a change in structure without our society, but I value all magical blood, Harry. The circumstances of a person's birth is not their fault. All who choose to serve will have a place in our empire."
"Even muggles?" Potter dared to ask, his jaw tensing as he did.
"Yes, even muggles. Something will need to be done about their numbers, but able-bodied workers are always useful in the machine of a flourishing regime."
Potter didn't hide his disgust, his entire frame tense where he swallowed down his apparent nausea.
"It's… sick. You're talking about genocide like it's a convenience," Potter said thickly, shaking his head. "There are millions of men, women and children in this country alone."
"It is not the first time millions have been slain for a cause," the Dark Lord said softly, "I know this upsets your soft heart, Harry, but I am not so hindered. Their lives mean nothing to me… merely sheaths of wheat to be cut down. You know full well what happens to those who stand in my way."
Potter made a wild leap up from his feet, panic and fear contorting his face. The Dark Lord anticipated the effect his words would have and caught him by both shoulders. Potter struggled, face flushed where his eyes were dewing with tears. He really was upset… over muggles ?
"You're a monster!" Potter shouted, breathless. "Get off me!"
The Dark Lord brought his mouth down to Potter's ear. "I will forgive your outburst, but try to run again, and I will put you back in chains. Understand?"
Draco's hands ached where he gripped them tightly behind his back. The wrenching in his chest worsened as he saw the raw distress on Potter's face. His eyes then found Draco and he saw the visible terror of a helpless soul, trapped under the heel of his tormentor.
"Yes," Potter whispered, his voice shaking.
"Yes what?"
The Dark Lord's hands shifted, wrapping around Potter's neck. He jumped, flinching in fear, but then a look of molten hate burned in his eyes. His jaw tensed again, face flushing where he was being slowly throttled. By some titanic force of will, Potter held on, not wheezing and struggling to breathe. He just… held his breath. All the while, his eyes were turning bloodshot, veins popping in his face. He glared at the Dark Lord, mouth twitching, until he expelled his strangled breath.
"Yes, Lord Voldemort ."
The Dark Lord's hands lifted and Potter heaved in a breath, coughing. Draco knew that the Dark Lord wasn't after his name, especially not the one that they were forbidden to speak, but he drew away all the same, leaving Potter to recover. Potter brought his shaking hands up to his neck where there were already marks forming.
"I will allow it," the Dark Lord said as he swept down to take his own seat. "Draco, let your family know that we are ready."
"Yes, my lord," Draco said as calmly as he could as he turned to leave. He had never felt more eager to leave a room in his life as he heard Potter's wheezing at his back. He didn't want to dwell on the battle of wills he witnessed, nor on how Potter had won.
Gaze downcast, Harry studied the empty plate in front of him. His stomach felt as if he just consumed a live snake from how much it was twisting. He noticed Narcissa's open concern across from him and from how alarmed she appeared upon arriving in the room with her son and husband in tow, he gathered his neck had already bruised. Eating a full-course dinner after being strangled hadn't been a fun experience, his throat becoming more and more swollen as time went by.
He tried telling himself that it had been worth it in not giving Voldemort what he wanted. Yet, in his resistance, Harry couldn't work out what he'd achieved. He only hurt himself in the process. After exposing Voldemort's true levels of villainy, Harry hoped in vain that it would spark some sort of epiphany in Malfoy. Surely he couldn't want billions to die just so he could live like a king? Rather instead, the other young wizard just looked sick with fear. And that was the problem. Everyone in the building, Harry included, was terrified of Voldemort.
While Harry had discovered earlier that Narcissa and her son weren't as evil and monstrous as he liked to believe, Voldemort continued to prove that he was just as evil. He was truly inhuman and had no ounce of remorse whatsoever. His soul was as blackened and twisted as they came, butchered at his own hand. He revelled in his power, feasting on the fear he caused. Harry watched him from under his hooded eyelids, his stomach bunching in disgust as he was forced to eat and pretend along with the others at the table.
Someone knocked on the door to the dining room. Wormtail hurried over to answer at Voldemort's curt order. From the confused looks across the table, interruptions weren't common. Harry lowered his spoon, glancing over to Voldemort, galled to see that the monster was smiling, clearly pleased by what the interruption signified. Wormtail admitted in the person on the otherside of the door, a man in long Death Eater robes with dull blonde hair. He sunk in a bow at once.
"My Lord…"
"Ah, Yaxley, I hope you have good news for me."
Harry hadn't heard of the name before, his eyes narrowed warily as the man straightened. He vaguely recognised him from being present during the attack on Hogwarts.
"Yes, my lord. We have him."
"Is he here?" Voldemort asked, moving to stand.
"Yes, my lord. We have him ready for you in the drawing room"
"A guest like the Minister of Magic should not be kept waiting. We will join you in a moment."
Yaxley went to leave. Harry stared at the open doorway, his heart racing. Voldemort hadn't been bluffing, it appeared. He looked over to Voldemort who had drawn his wand. Without warning, black cords shot out, snatching Harry's wrists. He yelped out in surprise then pain as his arms were painfully wrenched behind his back. He had no time to brace himself as Voldemort swept over to him, grasping him around his neck as he had done before. Hefting Harry up on his feet, he dragged him unceremoniously from his seat.
"Forgive us. Such business cannot wait."
Harry caught Narcissa's alarmed look before being wrenched forwards. The amount of wine he consumed felt like a very bad idea as Harry's head swam, dazed from the drink and the casual violence. He struggled to not trip up on his own feet. The drawing room was at least seemingly opposite the dining room, meaning that the walk wasn't too long. Harry registered the opulent surroundings as he was dragged into the handsome room. There were comfortable seats set up around the space in front of a huge fireplace where a mirror hung. Harry saw himself briefly in the reflection before he was suddenly pushed down to the ground. His knees hit the marble under him painfully.
Fingers gripped his hair and yanked his head back, forcing him to look up. Breathing heavily from the pain, Harry tried to focus on what he was being shown. His mouth hung open in disbelief as he locked eyes with Rufus Scrimgeour.
The man had clearly been in a fight. His robes was torn, charred in places. His hair was a tangled mess of coppery curls, blood darkening the back where he'd been injured. His face was cut up, a gash marring his cheek. His eyes were wide with matching horror to Harry's own. The Minister had been shoved on his knees as well, hands also tied behind his back. He looked up to where Voldemort stood, fear entering his gaze along with mortified recognition.
"You… it's you…" His hoarse voice was rougher than it had been when he confronted Harry at Dumbledore's funeral. "Voldemort."
"A Minister brave enough to speak my name? Do wonders cease?" Voldemort said with a short laugh punctuating his questions. He released Harry, stepping around to approach the Minister. The Death Eater, Yaxley, moved back respectfully. Scrimgeour stared upwards, wary and resigned. "Yes, look at me, Minister. As your predecessor failed to comprehend until it was too late, I am alive and very real."
Harry took the opportunity to test his restraints, pulling his wrists against the tight cords. It was no use. There wasn't anything he could do to stop the inevitable. His small movements caught Scrimgeour's attention. Harry stilled, meeting his gaze, swallowing painfully.
"I have no feud with you, Scrimgeour. You are simply… in my way. You made an attempt to stall my efforts in achieving what is mine by right, but such attempts were too little and too late. You were never an adversary of mine, simply… an inconvenience. I will, however, do you the honour of killing you myself."
Harry's heart rapidly raced, cold awareness rooting his attention to Scrimgeour in front of him. The man held onto his gaze as if it was a life line. Harry didn't do him the disservice of looking away. He didn't like the man, thought him a coward and just as incompetent as Fudge, but the man didn't deserve to die alone.
"For what it is worth, Potter," the Minister hoarsely rasped, not blinking, "I am sorry."
Harry witnessed the precise moment when his life ended. Green light bathed them both before striking Scrimgeour down. His eyes which had been focused and so alive one second appeared vacant and dim the next. He flumped forwards, strings cut. Just a dead weight.
His apology lingered in Harry's ears. He stared out where the man had been before being murdered. No tears came to him, no grief… just a hollowness where the remnants of his innocence once lived. It was all gone.
"Rufus Scrimgeour will be resigning tomorrow," Voldemort said after seconds of painful silence. "In his place, Pius Thicknesse will be taking over as Minister. It will take a little time to reform the Ministry, but make no mistake, Harry, as of this moment, victory is mine ."
Unbeknownst to Harry, his loved ones had gathered at The Burrow to hold a vigil for him. Most of those gathered felt it to be a memorial service, sharing sentiments and eulogies as if he was dead. For those, they mourned the Boy Who Lived, the last hope against the darkness that threatened to doom them all. Hushed discussions into the night brought up evacuation plans as they faced the reality that they were on the precipice of defeat. The Ministry had all but fallen under Voldemort's control. It was only a matter of time before the axe fell on. If they were not out of country by then, they would find themselves trapped in a tyrannical regime.
One where Hermione would lose her freedom and possibly her life for simply existing.
Unlike most of the mourners, Hermione remained steadfast in her belief that Harry still lived. She knew, in her heart, that he lived. Furthermore, there was even proof once the Ministry made an attempt to settle his assets, claiming that his death was 'intestate'. Not only did Scrimgeour anger the goblins with trying to steal from their client, but it turned out that Harry did have a Will and it was still sealed as he wasn't yet dead. Hermione had no idea when Harry had drafted up a Will. He never mentioned it, but then, she hadn't had much of a chance to speak to him between Dumbledore's funeral and picking him up from his relatives.
For most, however, they didn't see the news of Harry's continued survival as a good thing. It just meant that he was being subjected to a long and likely painful death. Perhaps he wasn't dead, but he was lost.
For Hermione, that just meant that they had to find him. She took to her books for there had to be some way to locate a missing person. Magic couldn't be without answers. It hadn't let her down before, so why would it now? She heard the arguments from Lupin and Kingsley, their voices raised on occasion as they disagreed before Bill or Arthur stepped in. Kingsley believed that they couldn't possibly find Harry before it was too late, but Remus had his own opinions. He would be damned if he gave up on Harry. Hermione agreed. It had only been four days. They had to give Harry as much time as possible. If anyone could survive in Voldemort's clutches, it was him. Harry would not stop looking for a way to escape.
No one knew Harry Potter like she and Ron did. They didn't know how stubborn he was and how brave. He put up with Umbridge torturing him, survived his own execution, and defeated a beast of mythical proportions with just a sword. Those were just a few of his achievements. Harry might not be the paragon of perfection as he was being made out to be in the obituaries printed in The Daily Prophet, but he was a survivor. Harry would never give up.
Hermione watched out the window in the small kitchen of The Burrow, drying up plates by hand rather than with magic. She'd had enough of the tears, retreating away to help Molly with the clean-up. The next day had originally been planned for Bill and Fleur's wedding, but they decided to postpone it. Their decision hadn't gone down well, but they had rightly pointed out that it was too dangerous to have them all gathered together where Voldemort could easily marshal up his Death Eaters to eradicate them all. Instead, they were planning to travel to France and get married there where it would be safe. The invitation was an open one. The Delacours offered them all asylum when the time came.
A clatter behind Hermione had her nearly dropping the plate she was drying. She turned, letting out a sigh of relief when she clapped eyes on Remus. He approached, raising an apologetic hand for startling her.
"We're heading off," he told her in a hushed voice. He smiled sadly at her use of a tea towel over a wand.
Hermione nodded, setting the towel down. She glanced over in the direction of the window. With everyone else outside, she finally had a chance to ask Remus an important question – outside the earshot of those who would very much frown upon what she had discovered in her clandestine research.
"Remus, before you leave, there's something I need to ask," she said quietly, her eyes falling on the silhouette of Ron out in the garden. "Actually, it's more that I need your opinion on something… something about Harry."
Remus stiffened at his name, but he nodded, moving closer as she spoke.
"What is it?"
"Do… do you think that it's possible that Harry is a horcrux?"
She kept her voice as quiet as she could. As she voiced her suspicions, Remus's eyes widened in the semi-gloom of the early evening. Since she and Ron had revealed to the rest of the Order what special mission Harry had been assigned to, Remus surprised them by knowing full well what horcruxes were and what it meant. She didn't know why his knowledge was such a surprise when he had been their best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Something about Voldemort's decision to take Harry alive didn't match up with his intentions towards him in the past. Hermione tried to speculate what reasons he would have and settled upon it being something to do with his scar.
Then the pieces fell together – on that very day.
Remus rested his hand on the kitchen counter, steadying himself.
"Merlin…" He murmured. "You really are the Brightest Witch of your age, aren't you?"
Hermione searched his face, seeing his shock and realisation as his eyes flicked back and forth. She waited, knowing that he was thinking, piecing it all together just as she had.
"If… if he is," Remus said eventually, licking at his bottom lip, "then you realise that he is keeping him alive. If a part of Voldemort's soul resides in Harry, it will be tethering him to life. Harry… will have to die in order for Voldemort to be killed."
Her heart clenched at the bluntness of his words, but she knew he was saying it aloud for his benefit as well as hers. They had to confront the facts – even the unpleasant ones.
"We would have to destroy all the other horcruxes first and I can't see how that's a possibility now that Voldemort knows that we know."
Resignation dulled Remus's gaze. He sighed. "That is true, I suppose."
"I think that Voldemort is keeping Harry alive for a reason other than to just… hurt him. Very little has prevented him from trying to kill Harry multiple times. If Voldemort believes that Harry harbours part of his soul, he would protect his life at all costs."
"Keeping him under lock and key," Remus added, looking at her meaningfully. "Voldemort will be keeping Harry under very secure conditions. From what you told us about the measures he and Albus encountered, he very much does not want his horcruxes to fall into his enemies hands. That will include Harry."
Hermione's imagination flashed up images of bars and chains, nausea curling in her stomach. She very much didn't want to picture the sort of conditions that would qualify as 'secure'. Voldemort was not bound to be a nice jailor.
"But this is the best hope we can ask for right now," Remus continued, resting a hand on her shoulder, "if Harry is a horcrux, that's one hell of a bargaining chip he has at his disposal. He has a much better chance now that his life has value more so than his death."
"I think so too," Hermione breathed out, so relieved that Remus agreed with her. "I also think we should… keep this suspicion to ourselves."
Remus's expression settled into a grim line. "Quite," he then offered her a smile, "thank you for trusting me with your thoughts, Hermione. Nothing will ever change how I feel about Harry, whether he has a bit of darkness within him or not. Considering what I am, that would be rather hypocritical, wouldn't you say?"
He squeezed her shoulder and let go. "Try to get some rest. You'll do Harry no good if you're exhausted. I'll see you soon."
Hermione watched him leave, feeling a little of her stress and fear lift off her shoulders. Turning, she went to observe his departure through the window. She looked over to where Ron stood with his family, sighing. She didn't know how to brooch the subject with him. They weren't talking after an argument about her leaving the country to save herself from 'doomsday'. She wasn't going anywhere until they had Harry back.
Remus and Tonks disapparated. The Weasleys turned one-by-one, making their solemn return back inside. Hermione picked up the towel, letting out a long breath.
"Wherever you are, Harry, I'm never giving up on you."