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ACT4CH10 - Horcrux
🕑 Added 2024-02-17 16:04:13 +0000 UTCAs Harry Potter was just about to leave his room to head for Dumbledore’s office, he was surprised to find Daphne Greengrass waiting patiently for him just outside.
“Good evening,” she said cheerfully. “ I had a few questions about your last class, Professor. I thought of catching you at dinner, but you were absent. Perhaps if you gave me a moment of your time, professor…”
“Err, actually Professor Dumbledore wanted —”
“It’ll only take a moment,” she said, her smile widening even more.
“Err, Daphne,” Harry began, looking uneasy. “Are you perhaps really upset right now?”
“For what reason would I be upset, Harry?” she said with an easy smile, approaching him. “For your suicidal attempt to get rid of the curse? For your failure to let me know you were going to try something dangerous again? For vanishing from the Hospital Wing right after lunch hour without anyone knowing any better? Why, whatever would I have to be upset for?”
“Well, I had reasons,” he began, but she was before him at this point.
“I’m certain they must be good ones.”
She wasn’t. He could see that written on her face.
Besides, what would he say? That he was constantly hounded by a sense of someone spying on him from afar, no thanks to the Lament that he had so brazenly taken upon himself? That he had been mysteriously granted the power of Fire, or should he call it, Summer, helping him to beat the impulses of Death and return to his human self? That Luna Lovegood — or an illusion that looked like her, was fucking with his mind despite Death guarding at the gates?
Really, he had just gotten some respite after the horrendous experience inside the Prison of Possibilities. And he still had to deal with Nicholas Flamel and whatever plan Apolline Delacour was cooking. He really didn’t need these extra twists to spice things up.
Remembering bits and pieces of his godfather’s instruction, he crouched slightly and offered her a hand. Daphne presented her hand down to him, imperiously, palm down. This was Daphne Greengrass, and as rebellious as she could be, she was a pureblood princess through and through.
Which meant she loved to be wined and dined and treated like royalty. In her mind, she understood his sudden disappearance, but that didn’t free him from punishment for this neglect, that much was certain. However, she was also magnanimous, and would dole out a meagre punishment, just enough to remind him not to do it again.
Dutifully, he bowed and brought his lips down. This method of earning her forgiveness had helped in the past, especially when he took Fleur, or worse, Hermione’s side after they had a heated argument with his fiancee. And the moment his lips touched her knuckles…
Daphne shivered, and Harry felt a searing heat course from his own body into her. He looked up and was genuinely surprised at the raw need in her eyes. From the rigidness of her body, the clenching of her teeth, and the dilation of her eyes, Daphne appeared on the edge of her control. Harry was suddenly confronted with the mental image of her pushing him back and having her way with her and —
With a strangled screech, Daphne pulled back, pulling her hand free of his, and nearly falling backwards. Their eyes met, from the several feet separating them, and Daphne swallowed.
As did he.
“What…” she breathed, “What was that?”
Harry put on a grim smile.
“Reason for my disappearance.”
“Oh.”
Not a lie, but not a truth, either. He had honestly not expected that to happen. But the moment his lips had touched Daphne’s skin, he had felt Fire surge within him, almost as if something in her had called for it. Unlike Death, that represented the End of all things, Summer was multifaceted. The flames could’ve just joined hands with Death and immolated him to a husk, and instead they had countered the cold essence flooding through his form. And just now, they had sent a rush of vitality into Daphne, a rush that was almost similar to….
He noticed her blushing face.
Yeah, best not to point that fact out either.
“Err… Professor Dumbledore is probably waiting for me. Do you want to wait for me in my dorm until then?”
Daphne looked caught between pretending that everything was fine, and jumping at his offer.
“... Yes.”
No words were said after that.
He had walked all the way to the seventh floor, Harry pausing before the bust of Barnabas the Barmy, and thought about the Prison of Possibilities, willing the door to open. Unlike before, he could sense something answering his thoughts, but it was too far to make a difference. He looked around, and walked back, focussing on the door. And then he spun around to walk across it for the third time and….
…halted.
That sensation had grown stronger. The feeling of someone standing outside one’s door. He couldn’t see any shadows or sense anyone, real or incorporeal, but the sensation was there. Like someone was watching him, hating him, like the very fact that he was alive and was drawing breath was reason to hunt him down and kill him in the most horrendous of ways.
Harry let go of the breath he was holding, and turned around, and began walking to Dumbledore’s office. He could always try to get into the Room later. More importantly, if the Room was finally answering to his subconscious desires, did that mean that Death was no longer potent inside him?
Unless he was going about this the wrong way?
He entered the room and found it mostly empty. Fawkes, the phoenix, was sitting on his new golden perch, and gave him a loud, pleased trill. He was just about to give into temptation to stroke his feathers, when Fawkes waddled across the desk and began poking at one of the drawers with its beak. Curious, Harry looked around and found no one in the office, and pulled the drawer open. Fawkes snapped at a pouch, spilling its contents— a mess of sunflower seeds upon the desk and began chomping on them.
Harry chuckled. “Guess you were hungry.”
The phoenix didn’t so much as look at him twice.
“Yeah, go ahead and eat,” he said. “It’s the least I could do for your help earlier.”
“Ah, Harry, how are you feeling, my boy?” came the Headmaster’s voice as he appeared from a side entrance. “I see that Fawkes has already gotten you to do his dirty deed.”
The phoenix burped shamelessly.
Harry laughed. “He has his own charm.”
“Indeed,” said Dumbledore. “Fawkes seems to be quite smitten with you. I’m beginning to wonder if Fawkes is already scouting for my replacement. I’m certain he could do worse, but less sure that it could do better.”
Harry could do without the ego boost, but decided to take it. “Thanks, Professor, but it’s getting crowded already. Already I’ve a half-psychotic elf, and a runespoor to take care of. I’m fairly certain Hedwig would be jealous, so let’s hope that doesn’t occur for a long, long time.”
Really, if his little entourage grew any larger, he’d need a suitcase like Newt. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t so much of a bad idea. So long as he could shrink it to necklace-size.
“It’s not you, Fawkes, it’s me,” he said. “Trust me, Hedwig is really territorial.”
The phoenix trilled amusedly at him.
“I must say, I wasn’t expecting you this early,” said the Headmaster, settling into his chair. “I imagined that after your experience in the Room and suffering through Poppy’s ministrations later, you would be hiding away for some more time. Or perhaps Miss Greengrass had been instrumental in hiding you away, perhaps in one of the broom closets?”
Harry blushed. “Err, no, she too was searching for me all day, and is pissed at me. I’ll have to apologise to her after I go back.”
“Ah, young love,” said the eccentric old man. “And it's understandable. Your engagement is approaching after all, and the recent events have been quite… I must say, concerning.”
Harry gave him a half-smile. “She knows I've my duties, Professor, and that sometimes that means getting into trouble. She will hate it, but she's the last person that will try to stop me from doing my duty, Professor. She's strong that way.”
The Headmaster gave him a knowing smile. “I'm glad. The two of you have found a surprisingly compatible partner in each other. I'll be candid, half the staff was actually betting on you ending up with Miss Granger. Professor Snape included, somehow.”
Harry blinked. He had had this topic brought up by Fleur, and Daphne and Susan too many times to be surprised anymore. But to think that even the Staff would bet on his love life felt surreal.
“... And?”
“Minerva was most disappointed when you arrived this year, publicly dating Miss Greengrass and later on, Miss Delacour. Ah, I received a bottle of Ogden’s Finest out of it. Thank you for that, Harry.”
Harry took a moment to remind himself of the surrealness of the conversation he was having with the Headmaster.
“You… bet against me ending up with Hermione?”
Dumbledore’s moustache quivered. “Miss Granger is many things, Harry, but flexible is not among them. I'm certain you were the best of friends over the years, but from this old man's eyes, I did not foresee things furthering beyond that. I’ll be candid, I had imagined little Miss Weasley making a move instead. Molly would have liked that, I'm sure.”
Harry cleared his throat out loud. He had enough of this topic. “Err, professor, what will happen to Hermione? She is… I mean, she was under the effect of the curse.”
“Forgive me, I was just being curious,” said the Headmaster. “And I understand your worries about Miss Granger, but I'm afraid she chose to act very thoughtlessly.”
“She was acting under the influence of the curse,” Harry shot back.
“The curse could only manipulate probabilities based on what already existed, Harry. It could have pushed the negative thoughts in Miss Granger’s mind in a particular direction, but it could not create new negative thoughts from scratch. It could give her a push and open up vistas to power, but it could not control what she would choose to do with it. Her actions, influenced or otherwise, are her own.”
“But Voldemort —”
“Was able to manipulate her because she was acting out of extreme self-righteousness. Do not forget, Harry. She tried to kill you multiple times, and had she succeeded, she would have led this world down a desolate path. Good intentions or otherwise, it is something I cannot forgive.”
Yes, just like Albus Dumbledore lured Lord Voldemort into the castle by using Harry and the Stone as bait. But Harry knew better than to say that aloud.
Albus Dumbledore took a deep breath. “Miss Granger has been suspended for the remainder of the school year and will be sent home after she recovers. She will have to repeat her fifth year.”
Harry gave him an even look. “I don’t think that will work the way you expect, Professor. Hermione’s obsessed with her education.”
“Then she should've focussed on that instead of trying to blame someone else for her shortcomings or be so caught up in her own sense of right and wrong to lose all control over herself, and threaten the lives of other students in this castle,” said Dumbledore. “We humans have a tendency of choosing precisely the things that are detrimental to us. As I have told you before, in the end, it is our choices, far more than our abilities, that define us who we really are. Miss Granger revealed to us what she is, and I'm afraid it isn't very pleasing.”
Harry kept his mouth shut. He knew that the Headmaster was right in his place, but knowing Hermione, such a thing wouldn’t help her control her attitude at all. If anything, he feared that it would only amplify her negative sentiments about the wizarding world, and make things difficult for her in the future. And after all that happened, he doubted they’d even stay as friends.
Fawkes let out another soft trill, as if consoling him. Harry didn’t even realise when he had begun petting its beautiful plumage. He glanced at the sword of Gryffindor hanging in its beautiful glass casing, and turned to the Headmaster.
“Uh, Professor,” he said. “I was wondering, did you summon Fawkes into the Room back then?”
Unless he had it wrong, it was impossible to affect the outside world from the inside.
Then again, the sword had also answered his call. So perhaps there was something he wasn’t seeing?
“Summon Fawkes?” asked Dumbledore, peering at him through his half-moon glasses. “I do not understand, my boy. I certainly did not summon him anywhere.”
Harry frowned, not sure what to say to that. He vividly remembered Fawkes appearing in the middle of his mindscape when Ignotus was attempting to seduce him into giving himself to Death’s will, and take up the mantle in its entirety. But if Dumbledore said it hadn’t then…
Then it meant that he was going to leave tonight with more questions than answers. It was unfortunate that this wasn’t second year and Albus Dumbledore wasn’t the wise old man with all the answers.
There was one other person at Hogwarts that could potentially help him out, and she was currently asleep in the Hospital Wing.
“Anything you’d like to share, my boy?”
“...No, sir,” he said. Ignotus had shown him too damn much to be comfortable about it, and the last thing he wanted was to share information that he didn’t fully understand. “You uh, you said you wanted to talk to me about something?”
“Yes,” said Dumbledore, pushing back into his chair. “And I am going to have to ask you to keep this matter absolutely secret. Not even Miss Greengrass, Miss Delacour or Sirius Black can know about this.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “I trust them implicitly—”
“I have no doubt about it,” said the Headmaster. “Unfortunately, the issue isn’t about trust, but about security. This is information that I wouldn’t share without the stringest of oaths, and even those have their loopholes.”
“But you’re telling it to me,” said Harry. He blinked. “I see. Because Legilimency doesn’t work on me.”
“Precisely.”
All traces of geniality had vanished from the Headmaster’s face. “All of you portraits hear nothing.”
Harry looked at him, surprised.
“That was a command, Harry. Until I say otherwise, the portraits are quite effectively deaf. But just to be certain…”
He flicked his wand out, casting something incalculably complex. Just tracking the Deathstick’s movements made the world feel almost drab and colourless. Flashes of recent events rushed through his head in a torrent… euphoria merged with despair merged with familiarity and abject betrayal, the impressions were so varied and extreme that he had trouble making heads or tails out of it.
All he could register was an invisible barrier taking form around them.
“Cave Inimicum,” said Dumbledore, pronouncing it as ‘cah-vey-in-mi- kuhm’. “Perhaps the most potent privacy ward out there. It blocks all five senses around the caster, and keeps others from perceiving what’s inside. You would do well to learn this spell, Harry.”
Harry nodded dumbly. He didn’t know what was more terrifying — that the Headmaster could effectively spy on anyone and everyone within the castle at will, or that he didn’t consider such a power as secure enough to talk about whatever was bugging him.
Dumbledore finally gave him a tentative nod, as though deeming him worthy of his time, and Harry released the breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Back in your first year, when you faced Quirrell, I told you that there are ways through which Lord Voldemort can return. But I was not sure of what those paths were. But then… in your second year, you handed me this.”
He took out a familiar old, torn diary with a black leather cover and a large hole tearing through its middle, from within a drawer and placed it on the desk.
“Tom Riddle’s diary,” said Dumbledore. “A memory, by his self-description. Preserved in a diary for fifty years. And yet, a feat of magic that I have, in my long life, never witnessed. A mere memory starting to think and act for itself? A mere memory, sapping the life of a hapless victim that wrote on its pages? No, something much more sinister had lived inside this diary… I’m afraid.”
“....What?” asked Harry, feeling his stomach twist. Whatever he was about to hear wasn’t going to be good.
“A soul,” said Albus Dumbledore. “Or more precisely, a fragment of one. Split from the original using an art so terrible that such knowledge is best left erased from the annals of human history. Such an object has been called a horcrux. The Diary was one. The Diadem too, was another.”
“Horcrux,” Harry murmured, mentally drawing a blank at the term. He had studied a lot of abstract lore, courtesy of sharing an Awareness with the ancient runespoor golem, but nothing related to this came to mind.
“When Tom Riddle visited me to apply for the position of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, he planted the Diadem of Ravenclaw, now tainted with his darkness and made into a horcrux, in the Prison of Possibilities. A fragment perhaps, but there was still enough of a soul within it to operate the Prison of Possibilities as a user. For decades, this soul fragment, by virtue of the curse, has been tampering with the education of generations of students.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. He didn’t know why, but something about this pissed him up. Just hearing about it pissed him off. Knowing that he hadn’t been able to destroy such a thing with his own hands pissed him off.
It sickened him.
Made him want to go destroy something.
“And you know for certain it’s now destroyed?”
If Albus Dumbledore noticed the sudden shift in his tone, he didn’t comment. “Yes. As I told you before, Harry, he lost to his greatest enemy. Hubris. Freeing Ravenclaw’s Diadem from his taint. I must admit, I could not even imagine such a thing ever happening.”
A thought came to Harry.
“Professor, are these… soul-fragments what keeps him from dying?”
Dumbledore gave a sudden wince. “...Yes. I’m afraid that is the case. There is no saying just how many of these… horcruxes exist out there. I myself dabbled quite frequently in Dark magic in my youth, and even I find it surprising that young Tom Riddle was able to get his hands on such twisted knowledge. But after what happened with Miss Granger and Miss Li, perhaps it is not too surprising.”
Harry thought otherwise. It was possible that the young Tom Riddle might have been lured by those same evil texts that drew Li and Hermione’s interest, but he could think of a much better and reliable source to acquire the information.
The Sunken Vault.
And those that supposedly lay beneath.
“These horcruxes…” He began, “just how many of these are there? He couldn’t just have kept creating them endlessly.”
Dumbledore looked like he had tasted a bad egg. “Splintering the soul is a most despicable act, Harry. Just the idea of doing it once is… nauseating. To even imagine doing it more than that…” The man went silent for a moment. “What worries me most is that these horcruxes were aimed, not just to protect Tom Riddle from death, but also as a weapon. The only thing I’m certain of, is that Lord Voldemort gave them… or at least some of them, to his Inner Circle.”
“Like Lucius Malfoy.”
“Exactly, Harry, exactly,” said Dumbledore. “And with the majority of his Inner Circle dead, or in Azkaban… there is no telling who else was instructed to keep these horcruxes safe. Except…”
He opened another drawer, and a snitch flew out of it. The walnut-sized, winged, golden ball flickered all around them, before zooming around Harry like a moth around a flame. Harry raised his hand, and the snitch swooped down in the centre of the palm, and just sat there, utterly content.
“You might not know this, but snitches have flesh memories. They remember who caught them. It’s why even their makers wear gloves,” said Dumbledore. “That snitch… it’s the one you caught in your first-ever Quidditch match.”
Harry peered at the tiny golden ball. As if preening under the attention, it extended its wings out and gave a slow beat. It wasn’t until he really looked at the snitch that he knew that something was wrong.
Something…. Something was wrong. Just looking at it made his vision go grayscale. An uncomfortable stillness lay about it, a calmness so complete that you knew it was a lie, tranquil, like a deep sea that hid beneath it the turmoil of a slumbering demon within. The more he gazed, the more he found that he just couldn’t look away. It felt like hours, though Harry knew it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, and as he continued to stare at the golden ball, he saw something in it. A flicker of movement. A shadow hidden amidst the golden radiance. Not a curse or enchantment, but the longer he looked at it, the longer he became more certain that something was staring back at him and —
“Harry!”
Dumbledore’s words felt like a blasting curse hitting a wall, and he jerked back so much that he nearly fell off the chair. Arms whirling, he barely managed to avoid tipping over and regained his balance, and found the snitch hovering in the air, just out of his reach.
And the entire office had turned grayscale.
Or perhaps —
Harry shut his eyes, and exhaled. When he opened them again, the colours had returned. Had the snitch, or whatever was in it, caused his Death vision to activate on its own? Or were his powers going crazy ever since the advent of Summer’s flame?
Blinking bewilderedly again, Harry stared at his own fists. His wand had come spinning into his right hand, and was exuding black fumes of Death. Even the slightest exposure to that was enough to paralyse someone, magical or otherwise. Breathing them would have the same result as partaking of the Draught of Living Death. And if the fumes touched someone’s blood—
He exhaled, forcibly ignoring that line of thought.
“My boy,” said Dumbledore slowly, carefully. Harry noticed that he had the Elder Wand clenched in his hand. “Are you alright?”
He blinked twice, and exhaled again, letting calmness flood into his system. The instincts of his animagus form was quite convenient that way.
“What… what was that?”
Dumbledore flicked his wand, and the snitch froze in mid-air.
“A fallout of our little adventure inside the Room. And unless I’m very wrong, our sole chance at finding out how many of these horcruxes exist, and potentially where to find them.”
“You mean that is a —”
“A horcrux?” asked Dumbledore. “I cannot say. For all my experience, there is little I have explored when it comes to Abstract magic, my boy. In fact, I dare say that your own experience in such esoteric fields already surpasses my own. All I can do is guess, but my guesses have usually been good.”
“Have a guess then,” said Harry, and Dumbledore laughed.
“What you must understand, Harry, is that people like yourself, Lord Voldemort and Luna Lovegood, have been exposed to realms of magic hitherto unknown and untested. But here is what I think happened, and it is unprecedented, and no one, I think, could have truly predicted this.”
His eyes shone through those half-moon glasses.
“I believe that despite transforming the Diadem into a horcrux, Lord Voldemort was unable to truly utilise the power that resided within. You yourself educated the entire Wizengamot about the Rites of Ascension, and how one must fulfil certain conditions before being granted mantles of power. I believe when Lord Voldemort saw Miss Lovegood and recognized her as a dunamantist, he got greedy and acted rashly. Without meaning to, Lord Voldemort cut off his anchor to Miss Granger, choosing to possess Miss Lovegood instead, believing that her innate powers of Dunamancy would make her the best host imaginable. If only he had understood the precise and terrible punishment that Dunamancy afflicts on its bearer, he would, perhaps, never have dared to possess her mind. But then, if he had been able to appreciate that, he’d, perhaps, never have tried to lay claim on the Diadem either.”
“Naturally, the experience of seeing countless possibilities of the future shoved through his consciousness was enough to destroy it, leaving behind an empty slate.”
“You mean… like Obliviation?”
Dumbledore’s moustache quivered. “Incorrect, or rather, inadequate. Perhaps, a complete erasure of personality is a more apt description. The knowledge, the intellect, it is still there, as if, I believe, the soul. I’m certain it could tell you all sorts of secrets of Necromancy and Dark magic, but at its core, is the mind of a baby, innocent and utterly unaware of what kind of effect that knowledge could have on the actual world. Needless to say, it makes it something to be… carefully managed.”
Harry eyed the snitch again. He knew what it was. Or at least, he knew something that was quite similar to what the Headmaster was describing.
The massive runespoor golem crafted out of orichalcum, the custodian of Salazar Slytherin’s Sunken Vault — Ananta Shesha, was something similar. All this time, he had merely assumed that it was an enchanted golem that was fed with all the information residing in the Library, with some kind of auto-updating function.
Back then, Harry had compared it to the Lar of House Black. But the Lar was an entity created out of Family Magic — divine providence. Salazar had the MIraculum Operarius drawn on the floor of the Vault, but he lacked a Family Magic of his own. Could it be that the golem’s sentience was less an outcome of intricate enchanting, and more of….
He eyed the snitch warily.
Something to look forward to the next time he visited the Vault.
Harry sighed. Just when he thought he had crossed a hill, there was a mountain behind it.
“So, the horcrux is still intact,” he said at last, feeling an alien displeasure rush through his mind at the thought. “But it no longer has the genocidal temperament that Voldemort thinks is his winning personality?”
Dumbledore gave him an amused smile. “Quite so. I am not certain why or how, but the destruction of the consciousness got the soul fragment… shall we say, detached from the Diadem as a whole. I can only speculate that while the fragment requires an object to anchor itself, the consciousness plays an integral role in keeping it anchored.”
Harry sat in thought for a long time, or perhaps seconds. It was very hard to be sure of things like Time at this point.
“And you decided that a snitch I caught in my first-ever match would be its ideal container?”
“Oh no, my dear boy, that was less of a choice on my part, and more of a necessity. Despite the destruction of its consciousness, the horcrux… assuming we can even call it that, is still connected to Lord Voldemort. Right after it erupted out of Miss Lovegood, it kept zooming towards your fallen form, as if it were attracted to you.”
Harry wondered if he had imagined Dumbledore’s voice faltering near the end.
“But this Voldemort didn’t even know me. He was… different. Why would he be… you know?”
Dumbledore looked away at the window, playing with his wand in his fingers. “I can only speculate that it had something to do with the curse. Perhaps a remnant of the curse still lives on, and acknowledges you as the Defence Professor. It might’ve lost its purpose, its identity, but not its connections.”
Harry felt a shiver down his spine. “So if someone else becomes the Defence Professor…”
“Will the horcrux get attracted to them? It’s entirely possible, yes. Again, this is beyond my expertise, Harry. I know of no way to keep it restrained within the Snitch. I utilised basic Contagion to tie in the Snitch’s association with you with the horcrux’s attraction, and used it to bind them together. Should you resign from the position, the bind goes off…”
“The horcrux goes free, and neither of us can do a damn about it,” scowled Harry. “Why not just destroy it?”
“We could,” said Dumbledore matter-of-factly. “But I’d rather not. That horcrux right there, is still connected to Lord Voldemort. Perhaps the most benign of all his horcruxes, complete with his knowledge of Necromancy and the Dark Arts. Perhaps, we could study it and find a way to track the other horcruxes through it? What do you think?”
Harry took a moment to register the surreality that Albus Dumbledore was deferring to him for what to do about Lord Voldemort’s tethers to immortality. And just half a year ago, the man had point-blank refused to give him information about the Dark Lord in the first place.
Harry flicked his wand, cancelling the freezing charm on the snitch. The golden ball flew at him and began zooming around his head like a mosquito.
Yeah, this was going to be a pain in the neck and a half.
“Guess I’m not dropping the job then.”
The Headmaster smiled. “I was hoping you would say that.”
Comments
Connor Christiansen
Now that section with Fawkes grooming Harry as Dumbledores replacement is almost word for word from "The Lie I've Lived" by jbern, a fucking excellent story that never got the sequel it deserved.
dragongod0117
Hermione is going to be a pain in the ass next year.
