A Promise Kept - Chapter 45 - The Burning Flesh of the Dead

The Burning Flesh of the Dead

“I would like to begin thanking Wilhelmina for all of her help throughout the last school year. I cannot put into words how grateful I am that you came out of retirement to be here.”

Professor Grubbly-Plank offered Sirius a smile, and the other members of staff applauded politely in turn.

Initially, she’d only agreed to stay on until Christmas in Remus’s absence, but had opted to finish the year, giving Sirius time to consider his options moving forward.

Replacing his fallen friend was the last thing he wanted, but Wilhelmina was determined to return to her retirement, and he certainly could not begrudge the woman her wishes.

“I am sure you will all join me in welcoming Professor Hagrid officially as a member of the teaching staff. Of course, he will be taking over the role of our Care of Magical Creatures instructor.”

The man beamed with pride, and Sirius was pleased to see that his appointment was met with unanimous approval.

Sirius could think of no other more qualified than Rubeus to teach the subject, and the debacle of the opening of the Chamber of Secrets was long behind them now.

More importantly, the governors had approved, so all was above board.

He could only wish the same harmony existed among the members of the Wizengamot, who was still yet to elect the representative of the ICW. If anything, the debates only became more heated, and it wasn’t as though the ICW itself was pressing the issue.

To them, Britain had spent the past decades at the very top of international politics with Albus serving as the Supreme Mugwump, and now, the country was problematic.

Officially, no word had been uttered about Voldemort, but the ICW was not made up of fools. Albus’s murder and the subsequent Azkaban breakout was more than enough for them to deduce that something was very wrong in Britain, and as before, they would rather distance themselves from the impending fallout.

Cowards and ungrateful swine.

That’s what they were collectively.

Men like Charlus Potter and his own grandfather had come to the aide of those on the continent during Grindelwald’s uprising, had bled and died for people they’d never met, but the ICW had not done the same, nor would they do so this time around.

No, Britain would once again face the threat of Voldemort alone.

“Have we received word of when the OWL and NEWT result will be released?” Minerva asked. “I need to update my class lists for next year.”

“Any day now,” Sirius assured her. “I would expect no later than a week.”

The woman nodded appreciatively.

“Are there any other pressing issues?”

When none spoke up, Sirius nodded.

“Then please, enjoy the rest of the summer. I expect the coming year to be a trying one. Wilhelmina, may I have a word before you leave?”

The others exited the office, and the stout woman remained behind.

“Is there something else I can do for you, Headmaster?”

Sirius smiled fondly and shook his head, handing her a wrapped gift.

“A holiday for you and your husband as a thank you for your work here,” he explained. “It is a six-month magical cruise where you can both explore the creatures and plants you’ve not had the opportunity to do so. I’m sure Herbert will enjoy it as much as you.”

“That is very kind of you, Headmaster.”

“Sirius,” he corrected, “and you more than earned that. Again, from both me, and Hogwarts, thank you.”

“You’re most welcome.”

She left the office and Sirius sank into the chair that had once belonged to his predecessor.

He allowed his gaze to wander to the painting of Albus Dumbledore, who beamed at him, yet, remained steadfast in his silence. He’d not said a word since appearing a few months after his death and had all but become a part of the furniture.

“Anything, Dilys?” he asked.

The former Headmistress come Healer shook her head.

“Nothing, Headmaster.”

“No news is good news, I suppose. Phineas?”

“The Vance woman was there earlier, and the boy has been in and out, as usual.”

Sirius frowned.

Despite not being at school these past weeks, Harry had still been visiting Britain sporadically. What he was doing, Sirius did not know, and he suspected Lily was equally aware of his ventures here.

They’d agreed that there would be no more secrets between them, and yet, Harry seemed to be hiding something, or perhaps he was merely familiarising himself with Britain.

No, the boy was undoubtedly up to something, but until he came clean with Sirius, there wasn’t much to do be done, and Lily already worried about Harry enough without adding to it.

“He is too young to be in the meetings!” she protested.

“We both know he should be there. The others won’t like it, but Harry deserves to be kept in the loop about everything the Order is doing.”

She had reluctantly agreed with him, and Harry was due to attend his first meeting in the coming days.

Sirius expected resistance, especially from the older members, but his decision was final. Harry might well be keeping a secret or two from him, but he would be a man of his word, despite his own instincts to continue protecting his godson from everything, even if it was just a little longer.

No, that ship had sailed.

Harry knew everything of import, and the best Sirius could do was to ensure he was as prepared as possible for the war they found themselves in that would inevitably erupt sooner rather than later.

(Break)

“You wished to see me, Father?” she asked as she entered the man’s study.

She’d only ever been here once, and that had been to be informed of her engagement to the Winthrop boy. The meeting had been brief, and Sabine had been dismissed after only a minute or so of entering.

This time, her father gestured for her to take a seat, and his expression gave nothing away. For a few moments, he simply eyed her before placing an envelope on the desk between them.

“Open it,” he instructed.

Sabine frowned as she did so, and though she felt her breath hitch in her lungs, she did her utmost to keep her expression neutral.

“Where did you get these?” she asked.

“I have friends in every media outlet in the country. Did you think they wouldn’t be watching the boy closely after his performances on the field?”

“Well, whoever took these invaded my privacy!”

“As my daughter, you have no privacy!” her father snapped. “Fortunately for you, I have prevented these from being published. It would not do for the Winthrops to become aware of them, but this is it, Sabine. You will no longer spend time with that boy, and I will ensure it. This,” he added, picking up a photo of her with her arms around Harry, “ends now! Do not push me, girl. It will only end badly for you both. Now, get out, but be ready for Friday evening. We have been invited to dine with the Malfoys.”

She did not know how the photos had been taken, nor who saw it fit to send them to her father, but that didn’t matter anymore.

He was not a man to make idle threats.

Already, he had confiscated her owl and likely killed it to ensure she could not contact Harry over the summer. Wherever she went in her own home, she was either watched or followed by one of the servants, and any doubt Sabine may have had that her father would ease up on her were all but forgotten when he’d confiscated her wand.

He was furious with her, and not even her mother would dare go against his wishes.

“I did warn you, girl. There is nothing to be done. As it was for me, it is the same for you.”

That was all she had said on the matter, and Sabine didn’t blame her mother for wanting to distance herself from her father’s wrath. She had lived with hit for more than three decades now, and for once, it wasn’t aimed at her.

Even so, that didn’t stop her own misery.

With all that Harry had plaguing him, he didn’t need to be burdened by this, and Sabine knew from the very beginning that it was only ever going to be a temporary escape from the reality she faced.

Still, that did not prevent it from hurting less, nor the sense of loss that plagued her.

Had she been able to end things on her own terms, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but to have what little happiness she had snatched away from her just a little too soon would never rest well with her.

It did, however, beg the question of whether or not she would’ve been able to bring herself to end things with Harry, even when she knew it could no longer be avoided.

Maybe she would’ve found some common ground with her husband, and could at least respect him enough to do so, but she wasn’t convinced.

No, despite how painful these past weeks had been. Sabine was certain she’d never have been able to bring herself to put an end to whatever it was she and Harry shred, and though she despised her father for his intervention, she could not deny that this could well be for the best.

Not that it made anything any easier right now.

“Sabine, are you ready?”

“Yes, Mom,” she sighed, checking her reflection for a final time before taking her leave of her room.

Of course, one of the servants was nearby, pretending to polish some silverware, and her mother offered her an awkward smile.

“You look wonderful.”

“So, why do I feel like shit?” she returned evenly, making her way towards the parlour where they would depart for Britain.

Sabine could not help but reflect on the first and last time she’d visited the country. It had been when Harry had taken her to London for a wonderful few hours that would now only ever be a memory of better times.

“Come along, we will be late!” her father snapped irritably as she and her mother arrived.

“What a shame that would be” Sabine said with a sarcastic smile.

“There will be none of that attitude,” the man warned. “I expect you to be on your very best behaviour. The Malfoys have spent lavishly with us over the past year, and I would have more of their gold lining our pockets.”

Sabine said nothing else as the gawdy portkey of a wooden crest was offered to her, and reluctantly, she accepted it, grimacing at the familiar feeling of a hook hoisting her away through her navel, to a place she had no desire to be.

(Break)

He had read Dumbledore’s notes from cover to cover more times than he could count, and though the man had indeed provided him with much, Harry knew most were simply ideas the man had passed down to him.

Most would prove to have no substance, and he saw no use in speaking with Morfin Gaunt, even if the man was still alive.

No, with Azkaban already having been compromised, it was an unnecessary risk that would yield next to nothing.

He did not doubt Bob Ogden’s version of events, and it wasn’t as though Morfin could tell him much more. His memory had been wiped.

The ring.

Albus mentioned the only thing Morfin had cared for was the Gaunt family ring, which had not been seen since the night Tom Riddle had murdered his muggle family.

Undoubtedly, he had taken it from his uncle upon framing him for the act, which meant that there as a strong likelihood he’d turned it into a Horcrux.

Even so, that did not bring him any closer to finding it, but he noted it down in bold letters next to the Slytherin locket and a cup belonging to Hufflepuff. Of course, he was somewhat relieved to have an indication of what it was he was looking for, but that was all he had, and without an exact number of Horcruxes, he felt scarcely closer to seeing his nemesis truly mortal.

Other than the cave, and the miraculous resurfacing of the diary Albus had left him, there were so few clues as to where they might be.

Although he did not wish to bring up the worst of her memories, he knew that discussing how the diary had come into her possession with Ginny Weasley was all but inevitable.

Had she found it at Hogwarts…

Hogwarts.

Perhaps there was one there, if the diary had indeed come from elsewhere.

Albus had penned his own thoughts on it, and although the former Headmaster says that he’d searched the castle from top to bottom, there were rooms he was not aware of.

The Chamber of Secrets was one of those, and it was the perfect place to hide something that only Riddle could get to.

Harry shook his head.

It was a considerable risk to place it there knowing that unless he was possessing someone, it would never be found.

No, perhaps there was one in the castle, but he had found somewhere else to place it, somewhere few would know of, but not impossible to access.

Truthfully, Harry was at a loss, and once more, he pondered speaking with Slughorn about what the man knew. It had to be something, after all. Ridle would not have sought him out so urgently without cause.

Whether or not the Potions master would speak with him was another matter entirely.

Nonetheless, there was still Ginny Weasley to speak with, the cave to finish exploring, and even a few other places Harry had yet to visit.

How fruitful his efforts would be remained to be seen, but he had to begin finding them all somewhere.

“Knut for your thoughts?”

“Nothing good,” Harry snorted. “Is that for me?”

Wendell nodded as he handed Harry a cup of coffee.

“You know you’re not in this alone.”

Harry offered the boy an appreciative smile.

“This isn’t your war, and there is no need for you to be dragged into it. I get it, and I am grateful for you, but you’re my friend, Wendell. Britain is my home, not yours. My grandfather made the mistake of fighting for other countries that quickly forgot his sacrifice. Besides, I will have all the help I need without worrying about you, you dumbass.”

Wendell chuckled amusedly.

“Well, I’m here if you need me, Harry. Always.”

Hary gave the other boys’ shoulder a squeeze and almost choked on his drink at the sight of the girls as they approached from the house.

“Bloody hell,” he gasped. “That is more than enough to get someone in trouble.”

“You’re not wrong,” Wendell agreed. “Heard from Sabine?” he asked with a grin.

Harry shook his head.

“Not a thing.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

Harry shrugged.

“A little, but we both know what this is.”

Wendell hummed.

“You say that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Wendell shot him a pointed look.

“Harry, you could have just about any girl you want, well, mostly, and you don’t even look twice at them.”

“You don’t see me looking twice.”

Wendell laughed.

“True. What about Gabrielle? She still looks like she wants to eat you alive.”

Harry had not missed the continued glances of the girl, the spikes in her magic, nor how it mingled teasingly with his own.

“Shut up, Wendell,” he grumbled.

That was not a bridge he was ready to cross.

For now, Gabrielle seemed content with whatever it was going on between them, but Harry could not deny it was testing him. Maybe it was a foolish, hopeless loyalty to Sabine that still him from pursuing it, but again, he wasn’t sure what it was.

“Why do girls have to be so bloody complicated?”

“Just for you,” Wendell said gleefully. “That will always be a problem for you. It’s the price of fame.”

“I don’t want fame.”

“I know, but when you kill Voldemort, you’ll only become even more famous, and the biggest problems you have will go away, but the smaller ones will replace them. At least they won’t kill you, well, maybe. That depends on the kind of woman you end up with. I can see why a woman would smother you in your sleep.”

“Thanks, Wendell,” Harry replied dryly.

His friend patted him condescendingly on the shoulder.

“Someone has to look out for you.”

“Git,” Harry snorted. “What about you and Isabelle?”

“What about us?”

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Come on, she’s not exactly great at hiding the way she looks at you, nor you at her.”

“I don’t know, Harry. Maybe she just likes the idea of someone like me, someone different from her father, or anyone else she’s ever met.”

“Or she just likes you, for some reason. Believe me, I don’t get it either.”

Wendell thumped him on the arm.

“I’m a catch!”

“So is a tuna at sea.”

Wendell chuckled as his gaze drifted towards the girl.

“Maybe I’m overthinking it. At least I don’t have a hungry Veela after me.”

“Touché,” Harry grumbled, standing as he spotted Sirius at the back door of the house. “I’ll be back.”

Wendell nodded as he took another sip of his coffee, and it didn’t escape Harry’s notice that Isabelle made her way towards the boy as he took his leave.

“Order meeting?”

“Order meeting,” Sirius confirmed. “As I said, some of them won’t like it, Harry, but…”

“I’ll handle them if I must. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Sirius gave his shoulder an encouraging squeeze before activating his portkey, whisking them away from the ranch to the dreary house that was Grimmauld Place.

(Break)

“What do you wish for me to do, my lord?”

“What you do best, Lucius. Host them for dinner, wine and dine them.”

“That is all?”

“That is all.”

Lucius did not doubt that there was an ulterior motive to inviting the Van Droombeelds to the manor, and he had breathed an audible sigh of relief when the Dark Lord had ensured him that it would be bereft of him and his followers of the evening, as not to risk any being seen.

The photographs of all the escapes had been printed in every media outlet across the entire wizarding world, after all, and it would not do for Lucius’s reputation to take a hit, not now when he needed it intact.

Even so, he could not help but ponder just why he was to host the Vand Droombeelds when he had already been cultivating a fruitful relationship with them for a year now.

No matter.

It was only one evening, and he did get to enjoy the outcome of his efforts.

Of course, he had arranged for the images of Potter and Van Droombeeld’s daughter to be delivered to the girl’s father, and judging by her rather stony expression, the patriarch of her family had not reacted well.

Lucius allowed himself a smirk as he took a sip of his wine.

It was a small, petty victory, but a victory, nonetheless.

“So, you wish to double your orders, Lucius?”

He nodded at the question.

Severus had torn through the supplies that arrived each month whilst caring for the escapees, and it certainly didn’t hurt to be overstocked on potion ingredients.

“I do. The quality of your produce has proven to be quite the hit amongst some of my associates.”

Van Droombeeld chuckled as he raised his cup.

“The consider it done,” he declared.

Lucius nodded appreciatively, still no wiser as to why he’d been asked to host the dinner, but it wasn’t as though his guest nor his wife were terrible company.

The same, however, could not be said for their miserable daughter, and once more, Lucius smirked from the knowledge he’d gotten one over on Harry Potter.

The Dark Lord would certainly be amused.

Delivering the photos to Van Droombeeld had been his idea, after all.

(Break)

“Absolutely not! He is too young to sit in on these meetings. Lily, you cannot be serious?” Molly Weasley protested.

“I do not like it, but he should,” his mother answered. “When Voldemort decides to show himself again, there is one person he will want dead more than anyone else. I will not shield my son from what he will face.”

“We can protect him! Isn’t that our duty?”

“I wish we could,” Lily said sadly, “but we all know that he always finds a way of getting what he wants. How many people have lived when he has decided he wanted them dead? Only Harry.”

Molly Weasley appeared as though she wished to protest further but could find no words. Instead, she fell silent, and Moody spoke next.

“Aye, the lad should be here,” he declared. “In only a year, he will be one of only two of us with a seat on the Wizengamot, and I can tell you, he’s probably the most capable of us with their wand in a fight.”

Bill Weasley snorted, and quirked an eyebrow at Moody as the man shook his head.

“I am not jesting. Even before he started working with me, he’d been hard at it with Albus, Filius, and others I do not even know about. It’s only my experience that has seen me get the better of him, but he can fight me to a draw now and has even bested me more than once.”

Harry did not miss the look his mother shot him, nor those from the others gathered around the table.

“Now, for those of you on guard duty, your role has changed somewhat. You are to be a presence only, and report back of anything out of the ordinary,” Sirius instructed. “There are to be no heroics. What he wants isn’t even there anymore.”

“It isn’t?” Arthur asked.

“No, Harry retrieved it more than a year ago now, unbeknownst to me and Lily.”

“What as it?” Tonks asked curiously.

“Nothing you want to have any knowledge of,” Harry interjected. “That is between me and Voldemort, well, just me. He doesn’t know, and I have no intention of telling him.”

“Good lad,” Moody praised. “He is recruiting. Dung has overheard a few concerning conversations in Knockturn Alley. He’s going to keep his ears open for anything else, but I do not think it will be much longer before he makes a move of sorts. What that is, we don’t know.”

“When did we ever?” Arthur grumbled.

It did not surprise Harry how ignorant the Order was.

Even at their strongest during the last war, the very best of them had not survived, except for Moody. The likes of Dorcas Meadows, Benji Fenwick, and the Prewett twins had been slaughtered.

Harry remembered when Sirius had shown him the photo of the group, and it proved to be little more than a who’s-who of murdered men and women courtesy of Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

He shook his head as they continued to speak amongst themselves, none sharing any positive news.

He’d been the first to leave the kitchen when the meeting had devolved into small talk, and looked towards the landing above to see the very end of four pairs of Extendable Ears being reeled in.

With an amused shake of his head, he ascended the stairs to find the gathered Weasley siblings.

“Bloody hell, Harry, you gave us a fright,” one of the twins huffed.

“Then it is a good job that it was me and not your mother coming out.”

“Hear that, George, he’s coming out.”

“I heard. Congratulations, Harry.”

“You know, those that point fingers are often shifting attention from themselves.”

Ginny snorted whilst the twins shot him a glare.

“Are you member of the Order now?” Ron asked.

Harry shrugged.

“I doubt it, but I didn’t give them any choice except to let me a part of their club. Believe me, you’re not missing much. Not that you are anyway,” he added, nodding towards the Extendable Ears.

“So, what is it you have that he wants?” Fred asked.

“Good looks, charm, and youth.”

“Harry…”

“I didn’t tell them, and I can’t tell any of you. It’s dangerous knowledge to have, but there is something I can help you with, and something Ginny might be able to help me with.”

“Ginny?” Ron asked protectively.

Harry nodded.

“It is not something pleasant, but not nefarious either. Just a few questions she might be able to answer, if she doesn’t mind?”

Ginny frowned at him and nodded.

“If it helps,” she agreed.

“Thank you,” Harry said appreciatively. “In here.”

He gestured towards the door next to them and entered what was a storage room of sorts.

“Like I said, I know this is unpleasant, but I know about what happened to you during your first year. The last thing I want is to bring up bad memories for you, and I wouldn’t unless it was important.”

Ginny had paled and even looked guilty.

“Harry, mate…”

“It’s okay,” Ginny said quietly. “If it is going to help…”

Harry offered her an appreciative smile.

“The diary.”

She winced at the mention of the book.

“W-what about it?”

“How did you get it?”

Ginny shook her head.

“I don’t know. It was just with my other books in my trunk. I thought my Dad had brought it for me to write in.”

“And it wrote back to you.”

Ginny nodded.

“I feel so stupid about it now, but…”

“You shouldn’t,” Harry comforted. “Very few adult wizards could’ve resisted it. So, you have no idea how you got it?”

“No, and I told Dumbledore the same.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully.

He was missing something.

That Horcrux did not just happen to appear in her things. No, it was put there intentionally by someone with the means to do so, which only complicated the matter further.

Who in their right mind would target a first-year student with no association with any darker families? The Weasleys were notoriously light, and did not mix with those of questionable repute.

“Where did you buy your books?”

“Flourish and Blotts. They were second hand,” she added embarrassedly.

“Yeah, that was the day Dad smacked Malfoy,” Ron guffawed.

“Malfoy?”

“He and Dad had a scrap outside the bookshop.”

“Did he touch any of your books, or maybe Narcissa?”

“Malfoy did,” Ginny gasped. “He picked one of them up when he was mocking Dad. Remember, you two and Percy were holding him back.”

“Bloody hell, he did!” Ron whispered. “I remember that.”

“So, he could’ve slipped it in with the others,” Harry mused aloud. “I’d bet he did too. I can’t imagine what the hell he was doing with it…”

“He probably had tonnes of dark stuff on him. The Ministry was doing raids at the time, and someone would’ve mentioned it to him.”

“So, he was making sure he kept everything that would drop him in it on him,” Harry mused aloud. “Well, I think it is safe to say that mystery is solved.”

As unlikely as it seemed, it was the only explanation, and yet, Harry’s relief was short-lived. If Voldemort had entrusted one of his Horcruxes to Lucius, he likely gave another, perhaps more to others.

Or perhaps not.

He’d hidden one in the cave, so, there might be others just like it, waiting to be found by those that knew of them, or happened upon by unsuspecting witches or wizards.

Nonetheless, he could not dismiss the thought that the Death Eaters might well be in possession of them, and if there was one Riddle trusted more than any other…

The next thought made him even less comfortable, and Harry knew it would be quite the bridge to cross when he came to it. For now, however, he was making headway, and it was better to have an idea what he was against than remain woefully ignorant.

“Malfoy!” Ron growled. “I always knew they were slimy gits!”

“And you have my word that Lucius will pay for what he did. I’ll have a confession out of him first.

“Why is the diary important?” George asked. “That was four years ago.”

“It is who the diary belongs to that matters.”

“Tom Riddle,” Ginny murmured worriedly.

“Or as he is known by the rest of the world, Lord Voldemort.”

“That was You-Know-Who’s diary?”

“Yes, but you don’t need to worry about it anymore. It won’t be able to harm anyone else.”

Ginny’s breathing had become laboured, and Harry placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “If there is ever anything I can do for you, just name it.”

She blushed slightly as she nodded, and harry shifted his attention to the unusually quiet twins, removing a bag from his pocket.

“This is for you, courtesy of me and Sirius.”

“What is it?”

“One thousand galleons to get your shop up and running.”

The twins scoffed as they opened the bag, their eyes bulging from their sockets.

“We can’t accept this…”

“You can and will,” Hary said firmly. “Those products I brought from you gave me something that no amount of gold can buy. Keep doing what you’re doing, and don’t think of this as a handout, it is no less than you earned.”

“Bloody hell, I don’t know what to say,” Fred sighed in disbelief. “Thanks, Harry.”

“Yeah, thanks, Harry. We’ll even name a product after you.”

“Potter’s Poo-Flinger! It will hurl chunks of dung at unsuspecting enemies!”

“Brilliant, Fred. That could be messy.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

“Bloody hell, whatever you do, don’t let Minerva find out about that one, especially if my name is on it.”

“We won’t,” George promised with a wink.

Harry almost regretted his decision to help them, but he knew the twins were a solid investment. They were a pair of brilliant wizards in their own way. Completely barmy, of course, but brilliant.

“Listen, what we spoke about must stay between us. You three already know too much.”

“We would never drop our biggest benefactor in it,” Fred assured him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Ginny simply shook her head, and though Ron looked concerned, he followed suit.

With a final appreciative nod, Harry left the four Weasleys, taking his leave of the house and covering himself in his cloak, his thoughts maudlin from what he’d learned, but with the gift of clarity.

Well, somewhat.

There were still pieces to the puzzle missing, but slowly, and surely, he was slotting them together to create quite the harrowing image of all it was he would need to conquer.

He knew he should return home to his waiting friends, but Harry needed a moment or so to think, or perhaps do something productive with the many thoughts plaguing him.

(Break)

“Did you get all you required?”

Barty nodded satisfactorily.

“I did, my lord, and with a little work, I see no reason why our plan cannot be successful.”

“Patience is key, Barty. I would see this is done right rather than not at all. I cannot stress just how important this is to our efforts.”

“Of course, my lord. Patience. I will not let you down.”

He left, and the Dark Lord could not help feeling a sense of unease with the plan he’d concocted. For as devoted as Barty was, and how much he could be trusted. There were so many things that could go wrong, and yet, he knew that his plan must be as bold as it was cunning.

Soon enough, he would have what he sought, and with it, the answer to the pertinent question that had never been far from his thoughts since the night Severus had spoken what words he knew of the prophecy.

What was it in its entirety?

For more years than he cared to admit, that very answer had eluded him, but soon enough, he would know of it all, and no matter what it took, Potter would die quickly after.

(Break)

He wasn’t surprised to find himself here, though he shuddered as he stared at the archway before him.

The price of blood was a rather crude currency for passage, but Harry expected nothing less of Tom Riddle. He would wish to see any who found themselves here in discomfort, both mentally and physically.

With a frown, he stepped through into a much larger cavern, and into an eerie silence. The large pool of water was still, undisturbed even by the faintest of ripples, and yet, the air was saturated with magic.

He could sense the dead nearby, the rotten stench of decomposed flesh oddly absent, but Harry could feel them lurking.

That, however, was not the only magic he could discern. No, there was something else, something much less sinister, subtle, but undeniably present.

He followed it until it grew stronger, strong enough for him to grasp, and as he did so, he found a thick length of chain in his enclosed fist.

Tapping it with his wand, he watched as it coiled next to him, the rattling echoing off the walls as it drew a small boat near.

“Room for two, but only one magically,” he mused aloud, wondering as to what the logic behind such a thing was.

Not that it mattered, he had come alone, and as he climbed into the boat, he sent it towards where it had come from, his senses on high alert for anything amiss.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered as he caught sight of something beneath the blackened surface of the water.

It was the face of a woman, and a dead one at that. Her pale skin was a stark contrast to the darkness surrounding her, and she was not alone. There were dozens of them, each seemingly resting peacefully, but Harry knew better.

They were waiting for the right moment to strike.

Whether he was quite ready or not was irrelevant. Harry had already accepted he would never be, not until he was face to face with them.

It wasn’t as though he could practice preparing for something so unusual, after all.

He was pulled from his thoughts as the boat bumped into a large cluster of rocks, and he kept his wand drawn as he exited, pausing at the sight of the plinth in the middle of the island.

Cautiously, he approached, and the magic here was equally odd, foreboding, but not immediately so.

“What the…?”

Sitting atop the plinth was a carved, stone, runic bowl with a glowing liquid. What it was, Harry could not be certain, but as he made to prod it with the tip of his wand, it repelled his efforts.

Shaking his head, he began the arduous task of identifying what it was, and what he was supposed to do, only to drag a hand through his hair.

He quickly figured out that the bowl could not be drained, or the liquid transfigured, and he certainly wasn’t going to drink it.

No, although Voldemort would not want any trespasser here to die immediately, he did not doubt it would leave him in a rather deplorable state were he to consume it.

Instead, he conjured a vial and breathed a sigh of relief when he was able to remove some of the brew, though such a feeling was short-lived. The very second he placed a stopper on it, he felt the disturbance around him, heard the frantic splashing of water, and swallowed deeply at the sight of the dead closing in on him.

They moved much quicker than he anticipated, and had he ventured here the very first time he’d found the cave, he might just find himself at a loss as to what to do.

Whipping his wand in a circular motion, he conjured a brilliant, white fire as he removed his broom from within his pocket, resizing hit as he launched himself into the air whilst continuing his defence, dragging one along for the ride that had managed to grasp his ankle tightly.

Shifting his focus towards his lone passenger, he aimed a gouging curse, only for the slashes that formed across its face to be nothing but an aesthetic change.

There was no blood, and the flesh remained pale, just torn.

As fascinating as it was to witness, Harry could not deny that it was unnerving, and with another slashing motion of his wand, the arm was removed from just below the elbow.

Still, the attached hand and forearm was unrelenting, clawing its way up his leg in a bid to cause him harm, and did so until Harry ripped it away, and threw it into the water below.

By now, the scrambling corpses had grown closer to him, closer enough that the flailing hands of those at the very top were grasping for his dangling foot; the tips of their fingers brushing against the soles of his shoes.

Once more, he unleashed a gout of fire, which only seemed to anger the dead further.

The inferi screamed, and the smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils as he watched them still lunging towards him, undeterred, scrambling atop one another in a grotesque pile that climbed in his direction.

Despite the heat and power of his fire, it wasn’t enough to destroy them, and he wasn’t quite ready to wield the curse flames, not under such intense pressure.

Still, he persisted, his gaze transfixed on how the dead seemed to work cohesively, with only the desire to tear his flesh from his bones.

Such magic was quite the sight to behold, even if it was crude and unpleasant.

Not wanting to find himself pulled from his broom, he hurtled towards the exit, scorching as many as he could knowing that he would need to return again; a though that filled him with dread.

Before that, however, he needed to identify whatever the concoction was he’d discovered, and he could think of only two people that might be able to help him.

It would make more sense to take it to his mother, but no. This presented the perfect opportunity to speak with the man he knew had more knowledge than he had been willing to admit when he’d been staying with them at the ranch.

Yes, it was high time he paid a visit to Horace Slughorn, for his expertise, and that very knowledge he was reluctant to share.