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AFiF 4, Chapter 35: Molten Ivory
🕑 Added 2025-04-13 10:25:36 +0000 UTCXXXV. Molten Ivory
A gentle breeze pressed against Harry’s pale skin. He watched, bemused, as his girlfriend bustled over, her arms wrapped around a box nearly as large as her.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you made me an entire body,” Harry laughed.
Crash.
The wooden box landed neatly atop a pile of leaves. Gabrielle scowled at him.
“Don’t tempt me,” she snapped, “Come to think of it, I should probably have extras made, just in case . . .”
Harry rolled his eyes.
Tall, thin trees surrounded them. They weren’t nearly as sparse as their siblings within the Forbidden Forest, their roots far and few between. In fact, much of what Harry could see resembled simple remains. Dry trunks sat buried beneath ash and leaves.
“You know,” Harry began thoughtfully, turning to watch as Gabby fiddled with the box’s metal clasp, “I didn’t quite take you for the sentimental type.”
The girl huffed, straightening up and turning around.
“So you do know where we are.”
Harry snorted.
“How could I not?”
It’s a bit hard to forget getting nearly murdered by a band of Death Eaters, especially when it’s happening at the Quidditch World Cup.
Gabrielle smiled softly, prodding the box forward with her wand. She eyed Harry fondly.
“I still remember,” she whispered, “You saved my life.”
“I saved my life,” Harry corrected seriously, “And you saved yours. You’re more than just a distressed damsel, you know.”
“I’m well aware. Still, I don’t mind being saved by some prince charming every once and a while.”
She edged closer, her thin fingers combing through Harry’s locks. Harry sank into her grasp, sighing.
“I didn’t know you knew about muggle fairy tales.”
He could almost feel it as the silver-haired girl shrugged.
“I don’t. I guess magicals and muggles aren’t so different.”
A comfortable silence settled upon them for a single moment. White skies stretched overhead as Harry sank further into Gabrielle’s curves, watching curiously as her blue eyes slid from trunk to trunk. Eventually, her lips parted.
“You never told me what happened after I left,” she whispered.
Harry frowned.
“Why does anything have to have happened?”
He fought back the urge to groan as the girl sent him a knowing look.
“I was there too, Scarhead,” she reminded him pointedly, “There weren't nearly as many broken tree trunks and branches in this clearing.”
No, I suppose there weren’t.
“I got jumped by a few Death Eaters,” Harry admitted dryly.
“A few?”
“I dunno, maybe four or five,” he mumbled, pausing, “One of them was blonde, if that helps.”
“Why in Merlin’s name would that help?”
Harry only shrugged.
“I reckon Big D would’ve been proud of my performance,” he smiled to himself, “I really gave them the ‘ol one-two . . .”
He trailed off, snorting as Gabby stared blankly at him.
“Big D’s my cousin,” he explained, “Bit of a git, really, but what can you do -”
“I don’t care about that,” Gabrielle frowned, “I mean I do, but . . .”
The girl shifted uncomfortably, her fingers pressed against the cold metal of his left arm.
“At least you’re alright,” she sighed, twisting her fingers within his own, “And to think, I thought this place would be sweet.”
“You did?” Harry laughed, “Didn’t we both nearly die here?”
Gabby nodded slowly. Harry eyed her curiously, watching as her jaw clenched ever so slightly.
“We met here, too,”
The girl relaxed. Harry grinned as the light returned to her eyes.
“Idiot,” she snapped, glaring at him. The fond crinkles around her eyes ruined the effect, “You should’ve said it from the start.”
She rose to her feet, pressing her lips against Harry’s forehead before stepping towards the box. Her fingers pressed against the clasp.
“Close your eyes,” she whispered softly. Harry did.
Creak.
What could only be the sound of splitting wood echoed through the clearing. Harry fought the urge to peek through his fingers, listening carefully as Gabrielle brought his prize closer.
“Can I -”
“Yes.”
Harry opened his eyes. A gleaming silver hand sat atop a velvety cushion. Aside from the color and texture, it looked almost identical to any odd human hand. It even had veins - though, Harry noted, they were glowing a baby blue colour that was anything but normal.
“You’ve no idea how many hurdles I had to hop to get this,” Gabrielle whispered, watching Harry with utmost care, “Papa helped, too.”
Harry blinked in surprise.
“He did?”
“He did,” the girl nodded, “Maman wasn’t all too pleased about it, but papa has his own honor code. He was never going to leave you armless.”
I suppose that’s reassuring.
“You said Fleur and Anaïs designed it, right?”
Gabrielle nodded.
“I made a few modifications, though,” she muttered, “It was an awful lot of arithmancy, and actually building it was something I wouldn’t even be able to do fifty years from now.”
“Is that where your dad came in?”
Once again, the girl nodded.
“He didn’t build it himself,” she told him, “Not even he could make something like this.”
What?
Harry stared at the silver hand with newfound interest. For the most part, it looked like the metal one he possessed at the moment -
So what makes you so special?
Harry leaned closer, allowing the silver and metal wrapped around his left arm to dissipate. Taking a deep breath, he pressed his wilted stump against the hand’s base.
Nothing happened.
“You need to activate it,” said Gabrielle fondly, leaning forward, “Here.”
She gently pressed her wand against his skin, muttering under her breath. A thin gash marred his skin. Harry watched as she coated her fingers in his blood before pressing them against the molten hand.
Woosh.
A faint wave of air flew in a circle around the arm. Harry watched, intrigued, as the arm glowed softly, humming all the while.
“Go on,” Gabby whispered from his side, “One more time.”
Harry did as he was told, pressing himself against the base once more. This time, the arm connected. Harry watched, transfixed, as the hand practically latched itself onto his arm, glowing furiously. When it dimmed, Harry found himself sporting an arm indistinguishable from his own flesh and blood.
“Woah,” he whispered, unable to hide his awe, “It just - how?”
“A series of clever enchantments,” Gabby smiled, “It can’t come off - not unless you really want it to. It behaves like a normal hand, too - gets hot and cold and grows fingernails, too.”
Harry snorted, flexing his fingers.
“It feels stronger than a normal hand,” he noted.
“It is. Much, much stronger.”
She watched as he reached for a stone by their feet, crushing it to dust with ease.
“It can support your body, too,” she told him, “If you were holding onto a ledge or something, it’d be absurdly easy to pull yourself back up.”
“Huh,” Harry smiled, “I really hope I never need to use that.”
Although I’d love to sign up for a pull competition now. Maybe a one-handed one . . .
“That’s not the real show-stopper, either,” Gabrielle’s gentle voice pulled him from his mundane thoughts, “Do you know what it’s made of?”
Harry shrugged, laughing.
“Gabby, it literally just feels like flesh, blood, and bones.”
But the girl only leaned closer, pressing her fingers into his new hand.
“It’s goblin-wrought silver,” she explained excitably. Harry felt his eyes bulge.
“Goblin-wrought - what?”
He couldn’t help but stare at Gabrielle, who was practically jumping up and down with excitement.
“You know what that means, right?” she asked hurriedly.
Harry nodded.
It’s literally indestructible.
“It absorbs anything that makes it stronger, doesn’t it?”
Gabrielle nodded.
“You could literally slap a Killing Curse aside like it was nothing,” she whispered, “Or soak it in Fiendfyre to make it more powerful. After it’s eaten a few particularly powerful magics, you could probably use it to destroy artifacts altogether.”
“Imagine that,” Harry breathed, “There’s a whole hoard of basilisk fangs back in the Chamber of Secrets, too. I could have this thing working wonders in no time.”
Still breathing hard with excitement, he leaned forward, wrapping Gabrielle in his hands. The girl leaned closer, pressing her lips against his neck.
“That’s one problem solved, isn’t it?”
Harry laughed for what felt like the hundredth time.
“You’ve more than solved it, Gabby,” he grinned, “This - this is amazing.”
“It’s special, too,” she whispered, “Did you see the palm lines and the veins?”
Harry nodded slowly, inspecting them again. They looked identical to those on his right hand.
“They’re my hairs,” said Gabrielle softly, “We used it as the basis to seamlessly connect the hand to you.”
Harry stared curiously at her, his fingers pressed gently against his false veins.
“How does that work?”
Gabrielle leaned closer.
“My hair attracts people, doesn’t it?” she said simply, “This is similar. There are loads of runes to alter the interpretation into something more physical, so that the hand is physically attracted to you -”
“And your hair can do all that?” Harry frowned, struggling to hide his skepticism.
“They can,” the girl whispered, her cheeks tinted pink, “So long as I allow them to.”
Harry stared at her confused.
“What does that even -”
Oh.
Harry smiled.
“Love based, isn’t it?” he grinned knowingly. Gabrielle blushed furiously, “As long as you feel - what is it, attracted to me -”
“It’s not that simple,” the girl snapped irritably, “And, for what it’s worth, it does go both ways. If you stop - stop -”
She paused.
“If you ever change your mind, the arm will probably fall off.”
The girl wouldn’t meet his eyes. Harry stared at her, hooking his fingers under her jaw as he pulled her closer.
“Fortunately for the both of us, that’ll never happen,” he whispered gently, pressing his lips across her forehead, “This hand will be proof of that.”
Gabrielle smiled, and the world around them melted with Harry’s heart.
-(xXx)-
“Someone was looking for you, by the way.”
Harry frowned, glancing up from his bottle of butterbeer, which remained untouched; the glass was far too dusty, even for Harry’s own low standards.
Low standards due to the Dursleys, not because I’m cheap.
“Theo, where are we exactly?”
His friend stared at him from across their battered table, his lips thinned.
“Hog’s Head,” he barked eventually, “It’s a bar in Hogsmeade -”
“I know that, idiot. How else could I have met you here -”
“Well then why did you ask?”
Harry sighed.
“As I was saying, someone was looking for you,” Theodore Nott continued, reaching for Harry’s butterbeer. He took an exaggerated swig, “A ghost. The Grey Lady, I think they call her.”
A flicker of intrigue slipped beneath Harry's skin.
“Helena,” he whispered softly, “I haven’t seen her in ages.”
I should probably say hello.
Harry straightened up.
“Did she say anything?”
Theo slowly shook his head.
“Wouldn’t even talk to me,” Nott sighed, “Just asked Daphne when you were coming back.”
Daphne.
“Did -”
“Yes,” Theo snickered, “I told her. She’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
Harry let out a sigh of relief. Nott leaned closer.
“Of course, that gives us time to go over a few things.”
“There’s more?” Harry asked, bemused, “I thought you told me everything during the funeral?”
“I could say the same,” Nott grimaced, eyeing Harry’s left hand. Grinning, Harry held it up, twisting his pale fingers beneath the sunlight that poured through the scratched-up windows.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Harry murmured, “Gabrielle made it for me.”
“She did?”
“With a bit of help. It’s made from goblin-wrought silver.”
A touch of intrigue lit within Nott’s eyes. It was accompanied by worry just a few seconds later.
“I’d keep that private if I were you,” he warned seriously, “Goblins - they don’t think about ownership the same way as we do.”
Harry frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“In their eyes, things are owned by their makers,” Nott explained. He stared at Harry’s arm, “I’ve no doubt whoever made that thinks it’s theirs.”
Harry snorted.
“That’s - that doesn’t even make sense,” he whispered, “They sold it. Hell, I’m pretty sure Gabby’s family had to pay an absurd price for this -”
“Of course they did,” Nott hissed, “Goblin artifacts are absurdly rare; nothing short of a fortune will get you even their most lowly of creations.”
He paused, eyeing Harry’s hand.
“And I can tell you right now, that little trinket is at the very top of their ladder.”
Surprise coated Harry’s expression.
“This?” he asked, waving his hand again, “It’s brilliant, don’t get me wrong - but it’s just a hand.”
“An indestructible prosthetic that’ll eventually be able to destroy just about anything,” Nott’s brow rose, “Goblin wrought-silver is absurdly rare, Harry. It’s reserved for Goblin royalty.”
“And wealthy wizards,” Harry added. Nott frowned.
“Considering how rich you’d have to be to afford it, it’s basically limited to wizarding royalty as well.”
Harry stared at him.
“That rare?”
“That rare,” Theo nodded, “I reckon only the Blacks and the Malfoys could buy something like that without a second thought.”
The Blacks . . .
“But the Blacks are all gone, aren’t they?” Harry frowned, “Shouldn’t the family be - I dunno - over?”
Nott slowly shook his head.
“Goes to the daughters of the Black family,” said Nott morosely, “Which basically means it goes to Malfoy -”
“It WHAT?”
Theo jumped, glaring daggers at him. All around them, the shady patrons of the Hog’s Head briefly turned to inspect them.
“Quieter, idiot!” Nott snapped, “But yes, Malfoy’s mum was born a Black. I’m pretty sure that’s the whole reason his father married her to begin with.”
“But if it all goes to Malfoy, why haven’t we heard about it?” Harry frowned, “You and I both know Draco wouldn’t keep quiet about something like that.”
“Because he’s an indirect heir, I imagine,” said Nott thoughtfully, “Indirect heirs can claim new lines once they’re emancipated, which basically means their seventeenth birthday.”
Harry groaned, leaning into his chair.
“Maybe I should try to fight for it,” he suggested, “That family’s old as hell. There’s no way they don’t have information that could help us with - well -”
“With just about everything at this point,” Theo sighed, “You’ve got Grindelwald, Voldemort, and the Violet Witch to worry about now.”
“And the other Acolytes,” Harry muttered, “And the Death Eaters, and about half of France.”
Probably the Scarlet Prophets, too. They didn’t seem very pleased to see me last time.
“Ignoring your absurdly long list of enemies,” Nott sighed, “Why in Merlin’s name would you be entitled to the Black fortune?”
Harry shrugged.
“Sirius Black and my dad were best mates, weren’t they?”
Nott snorted.
“You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”
“I think he was my godfather.”
He looked up to find Nott staring at him.
“You think?” he asked pointedly, “Why?”
“Bella - Bellatrix once told me that if Sirius was still alive she thinks he’d have been the one to raise me,” Harry said, “Legally speaking, the only way he’d have uncontested custody of me over the Dursleys would be if he were my godfather.”
“That makes sense,” Nott admitted softly, “That . . . that’s - fuck.”
“This is good though, isn’t it?” Harry said, leaning closer. Excitement flooded his being, “We can use this.”
“I don’t know,” Nott frowned, “Being named his godson isn’t the same as being named his heir.”
“But?” Harry supplied hopefully.
“But,” Theo sighed, “It’s definitely something. If you could one of the Black daughters before to recognize that Sirius Black intended to leave you his belongings then you - you -”
“Yeah?”
“It’d probably be enough,” Nott whispered, grimacing, “But it doesn’t matter, Harry -”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Draco’s born on the fifth of June,” he explained, sounding tired, “He’ll be emancipated before you.”
Amusement trickled through Harry’s veins. He stared at Theo as though he’d grown a second head.
“Theo, you fucking muppet - I’m emancipated.”
“You - you what?”
“The Triwizard Tournament, remember?” Harry grinned, excitement growing in his chest, “I’ve been emancipated for months -”
Theodore’s jaw dropped.
“Harry,” he whispered breathlessly, “Harry, do you know what that means?”
“What, we have to find one of Draco’s aunts and Imperius them?”
Nott laughed.
“Harry, do you even know who Malfoy’s oldest aunt is?”
Harry slowly shook his head.
“No. Who?”
“Bellatrix, dumb ass. Bellatrix Lestrange.”
“WHAT THE FUCK -”
“WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP!” a hag roared from two tables down, brandishing a large metal rod, “I’M UP TO HERE, I’M UP TO FUCKING HERE -”
“C’mon,” Theo groaned, dragging Harry out by the wrists, “I told you to be quiet, you dope -”
“Theo, I could probably be Lord Black by the end of the week!” Harry whispered, “Hell, I could probably be Lord Potter too -”
“That’s an objectively terrible decision, and not just because you’d be dragged into all sorts of political rubbish.”
“I’m not actually going to do anything,” Harry rolled his eyes, “I don’t give a fuck about the Wizengamot or any of that. I just want access to their vaults and their libraries -”
“And their properties, too,” Nott added seriously, “Now that you’re legally an adult, you won’t have to stay at the Dursleys. They won’t be able to stop you from using magic, either.”
Harry’s heart raced, his eyes practically bulging in their sockets.
“The Blacks have mansions all across the globe,” Theo whispered, “And they're from France, Harry.”
“Theo.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m getting that lineage if it’s the last thing I do.”
“What, did the properties sell it?” Nott laughed, “The Potters probably have a few nice properties across England, you know -”
“And how many in France?”
“Right,” Theodore sighed, grinning, “I thought that’d be the kicker.”
The pair stumbled out through the narrow entrance of the Hog’s Head, stepping into the knee-deep snow. Harry threw his hood over his head once more, following Theo into the bustling village.
“That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about, though,” the brown-eyed boy muttered, “I’ve been looking into Blood Magic.”
“Have you now?” Harry snorted, “I thought I told you about the stone?”
“Yeah, you did,” Theo glared, “Many times. You also mentioned that it was a plot engineered by Grindelwald’s Acolytes -”
“An insignificant detail, really.”
“- so when that inevitably blows up in your face, I thought it’d be nice to have a backup plan ready,” Nott supplied, “Anyway, I found a book that you might find particularly interesting. One on resurrection.”
Harry froze, yanking Nott back.
“You - did you bring it?”
“No,” Nott yawned, “It’s from our family library - I couldn’t if I tried.”
Harry groaned.
“Well, what did it say?”
“A lot, actually,” Nott admitted, “Most of it was absurdly complicated. There wasn’t any mention of the Truisms, either - whoever wrote it clearly thought the reader would know all three of them.”
“Who was the author, anyway?” Harry frowned.
Nott shrugged.
“No idea. It’s handwritten though, so they can’t have publish it officially. My grandfather gave it to me.”
Harry frowned.
“Do you think he knows?”
He watched as the pale-skinned boy shrugged.
“I don’t know,” the boy admitted, “I think he knows I’m interested in Blood Curses - I’ve been doing too much research as of late for that to not be the case. I don’t know if he knows about Astoria, though . . .”
Theodore led them through the thick snow, making a point to move closer to the village outskirts.
“Anyway, the book mentioned about a half dozen different ways you could supposedly resurrect someone -”
“Supposedly?”
“Well, I obviously don’t know if they actually work,” Nott frowned, “And more importantly, they all require that the person you’re trying to resurrect isn’t actually dead.”
Harry’s brows furrowed.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Theo?”
“Probably something like Voldemort, I reckon,” he supplied, “Someone who’s akin to a wrath. It’s probably meant to return someone who was once flesh, blood, and bone to that state.”
“So body regeneration, basically.
“Pretty much, yeah.”
Harry sighed.
“Go on.”
“Right. The first method is the most simple. You’ve got to make a potion with your enemy’s blood, the bone of one of your family members, and the flesh of someone in your servitude.”
Harry groaned.
“Astoria doesn’t even have enemies.”
“I doubt that matters,” Theo yawned, “It’s a matter of interpretation, really.”
“Fine,” Harry frowned, “If you think that works, we should probably get to preparing in case we ever discover the third Truism -”
But Theo slowly shook his head.
“It’s loads more complicated than what I explained,” he said slowly, “There’s loads of enchanting, and the ingredients need to be of symbolic significance - the blood of your enemy has to be forcefully taken, and so on. Besides, the runic work alone is decades beyond anything I could even dream of achieving.”
Harry gritted his teeth.
“Bella might know,” he dreamed aloud, “She might help us.”
Nott frowned.
“Like she helped us with the Truisms?”
Harry sighed.
“She tried. She even gave us the first two -”
“But not the third. That’s like giving us a broomstick without the broom, Harry. What the fuck are we supposed to do with a stick?”
“Yeah, alright,” Harry rolled his eyes, “So we’re not using that, are we?”
“No,” Theo shook his head, “Probably for the best. From what the book described, the body you’d end up with would be beyond monstrous. I don’t think Astoria would be a big fan of being bald.”
Harry winced.
“She’d probably skin us alive,” he nodded, “Skipping that one might just be for the best.”
“The second one involves taking a host,” Nott continued, “You basically give your body to the spirit. They get your body, and you . . . well, I don’t really know.”
Harry frowned.
“They don’t die?”
Theo shook his head.
“I don’t think so,” he grimaced, “The book wasn’t very clear. But they’re not exactly awake or conscious. I think they become something similar to the spirit, only less . . . sentient. Just barely alive, if you will.”
“Do they become like Voldemort?” Harry asked curiously, “A wrath of sorts?”
“No,” Nott frowned, “But it’s similar, I think. The book said they become ‘a fraction of themselves’, whatever that means.”
“That’s what Voldemort’s wrath is, I think,” Harry muttered. Nott turned to him.
“What do you mean?”
Harry paused.
“Back in the Chamber of Secrets, Emily - Voldemort told me she had broken herself into parts. That’s what the diary was. That’s why it was so alive.”
Nott hummed thoughtfully.
“That makes sense,” he admitted, “I think it’d be a bit like that, actually.”
“Like Voldemort’s wrath?”
“No, like the diary,” Nott corrected, “Imagine if her diary was a person. I think it’d be something like that.”
Harry grimaced.
“What, so if you wrote on your skin they’d talk to you?”
“No, you muppet, obviously it won’t be exactly the same,” Nott sighed, “What I’m trying to say is that a small part of them would linger in that body. Clutching onto life by the fingernails.”
“Sounds miserable,” Harry frowned, “How do they finally die?”
“They can’t,” Nott grimaced, “Not until the spirit that they gifted their body to dies.”
Harry nodded slowly, squashing his discomfort.
“So we get someone to offer their body to Astoria,” he frowned, “And how exactly does she take control? Do we have to teach her possession?”
That’s a trick I wouldn’t mind learning.
“Again, it’s a lot more complicated than I’m making it sound,” Nott admitted, “For one, the host needs to have an overpoweringly strong emotional connection with the spirit.”
“They need to love them?”
“I think so,” Nott said thoughtfully, “I thought hate might work to begin with, but this sort of magic seems particularly linked to love. I’m not sure hatred would do the job.”
“What else?”
“Just like with any other sort of possession, the spirit needs to adjust the host’s mind to best fit themselves,” Nott added, “Like what the diary did to Ginny, remember?”
“Yeah,” Harry whispered, his chest tight.
Like what it did to Gabby.
“That sort of thing takes time, lots of it.”
“It didn’t for Gabby,” Harry muttered, “It took the Witch in Violet about five seconds.”
His expression fell into that of pensieve worry. Nott, clearly noticing what ailed him, spoke up.
“The only person Gabrielle loves is you and her family,” he noted, “She’s not really at risk of anything. The whole ‘love’ aspect makes sure of that.”
Harry nodded slowly.
“I know,” he whispered, “Just a bit stressful.”
“You don’t say,” Nott sighed, “Oh, and one more thing - the spirit can’t know what’s happening.”
Harry frowned.
“Go on.”
“I don’t exactly understand it,” Nott admitted sheepishly, “I don’t know to what extent either, but the spirit has to be at least relatively unaware. The body is a gift - a testament of their eternal bond. To tell them of the gift is to seek their affections rather than to bathe them in yours, or at least that’s what the book said. They can not know.”
Harry nodded slowly.
“And I imagine there’s all sorts of Runes and Arithmancy?”
“And enchanting, but it’s loads easier than the other one. With a bit of help, we could probably pull it off in a few years.”
I suppose that’s something.
“So,” Harry said, straightening up as they neared the three broomsticks, “Just to check that I’ve understood you -”
“Yes.”
“- we need to teach Astoria how to possess either Luna or Daphne and let her practice on them, and then we’ve got to convince one of those two to basically die for her without telling Astoria.”
“Yeah, pretty much,” Nott nodded, “The body’s decent, though. The host's body is corrupted to look like the spirit’s original form. Astoria would look like - well, like Astoria.”
Harry groaned.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but that’s the second best idea yet.”
“You seriously thought the first ritual was better?”
Harry snorted.
“No, you muppet, I’m talking about the stone.”
Nott rolled his eyes. Harry ignored him, clambering towards the village center.
“You know, if you’re trying to convince me to stop chasing after Grindelwald’s stone, you’re doing a terrible job.”
“I still think that’s a terrible idea, to be clear,” Theo said, hurrying to follow after Harry, “Even Trelawney could see that this won’t end well -”
“Don’t even get me started on seers,” Harry spat irritably, “Luna’s been driving me up a fucking wall.”
Nott frowned.
“She has?”
“Oh, I forgot to mention - she’s been having visions. That’s how I knew something would go wrong during the Yule Ball.”
Nott stared at him, bewildered. Harry frowned.
“What?”
“I - I dunno,” Nott admitted, “Maybe you should ask her about the stone?”
Harry scoffed.
“Absolutely not,” he hissed, “She’d give me some half-assed clue that ends with me getting nearly killed. She’s been spouting all sorts of rubbish lately -”
“Have you considered that she’s saying what she sees will lead to the best possible outcome?”
Harry paused, frowning.
“That’s not how seers work.”
“Which you would most definitely know.”
“Exactly. Now, if you’ve got any other resurrection ideas, I’d love to hear them.”
Theodore rolled his eyes.
“The two I mentioned earlier were the only ones that were even remotely feasible.”
“How can you be sure?” Harry frowned. Nott shrugged.
“Do you have a Sorcerer’s Stone? Because I don’t.”
For what felt like the hundredth time, Harry groaned.
“Whatever,” he mumbled as the Three Broomsticks loomed closer, “At least I have the Black inheritance to look forward to.”
“Thank Merlin for that,” said Nott snarkily.
Harry ignored him, watching as a familiar blonde haired girl watched them from outside the pub’s wooden walls. A pleasant smile spanned her lips.
I suppose I can look forward to this, too.
-(xXx)-
Darkness loomed in the corners of a familiar manor. Glowing red eyes loomed closer, illuminating a pasty pale face covered in cracks.
“You’ve failed me, Bella,” Emily whispered, her four-year-old frame looking rather eerie amidst the lack of light, “My diary is nowhere to be found.”
The girl sank back into her withered throne, eyeing her most loyal of servants. Bellatrix Lestrange kneeled before her, her mind clearly restless.
Her thoughts are consumed.
“Speak,” Emily snapped irritably, “What plagues your mind? What have you chosen to prioritize over what was mine -”
If it was the boy -
Bellatrix leaned closer, pulling her hood from her face. Her skin was pale and cold.
“I have something much more valuable,” she whispered. She looked as though she were going to be sick, “Knowledge that will change everything.”
Curiosity consumed Voldemort. She leaned closer, her eyes flickering vividly.
“And what exactly is it you have to say, Bella?”
The black-haired servant opened her mouth as Harry woke, panting heavily.
Comments
Aiden
How is Gabbys hair in the hand? I thought Veela hair couldn’t be cut. Greta chapter though and the hand is sick 👍
