A Promise Kept - Chapter 49 - All for Nothing

All for Nothing

She could hear the retreating footsteps of the Death Eaters ahead of them as they hurried to make their way out of the Ministry of Magic, some of them undoubtedly hindered by the injuries they’d sustained.

Severus may have escaped unscathed, but most others had not.

They’d not expected to meet such resistance in the form of the Order arriving on the scene, but Lily suspected they were more surprised by her son, who had undoubtedly held his own against a dozen of the most dangerous witches and wizards in the country.

Still, he was in pursuit of perhaps the most unpredictable, mad woman she’d ever had the displeasure of meeting in Bellatrix Lestrange, and even Sirius, who was sprinting beside her for all he was worth, seemed to be concerned.

What the hell Harry was thinking coming here alone, she did not know, but she understood his reasoning. His friends had been in danger, and if nothing else, her son would never see any suffer if there was a chance he could help them.

Why he was still chasing Bellatrix was another matter entirely.

She did not even have the prophecy, so why continue the charade?

She shook her head as she entered the golden lift, fidgeting impatiently as it shot towards the atrium with the other members of the Orde that had joined them.

“Is anyone hurt?” Sirius asked.

“Nothing troubling,” Moody grunted.

He was favouring his left arm, which was undoubtedly broken, but he would not be deterred from proceeding. It would take nothing short of the thing being torn from his torso to stop the likes of Alastor Moody.

“Oh, this is not good,” Sirius murmured as the doors to the lift opened.

Lily’s nostrils flared at the sight of the man standing next to Bellatrix Lestrange, his features paler and more twisted, but no less recognisable, and she felt her heart sink at the sight of Harry standing so defiantly before him.

This was truly her worst nightmare come to life, and yet, her son did not flinch.

“Why don’t you go and fuck yourself.”

Lily watched as Harry spat at Voldemort’s feet, his language and such an act of disrespect not something she’d condone as a mother, but she was as proud of him as she was terrified for what would come next.

The Dark Lord banished Bellatrix into one of the waiting fireplaces, and both he and Hary erupted in a cacophony of violence she’d never thought her son was capable of.

Curse upon curse left their wands as they attempted to mutilate one another, and Sirius held onto the back of her robes as she attempted to step forward.

“Don’t be bloody stupid,” he huffed. “you’ll only get him or you killed.”

“I can’t just stand here and do nothing!”

“What’re you going to do, Lily? Take a look at that! Do you want to be caught in the middle of them? Harry is better than you know. It is not your job to protect him, not from this.”

He spoke with an abject sadness, and with the same desire to put an end to what was unfolding before them, but he was powerless to o so, as was Lily.

All she could do was watch as they continued their back and forth, and she particularly observed her son, the boy that had once woken, trembling form the nightmares that plagued him, and how he stood his ground, wielding magic she had never seen before.

He was so confident, so sure-footed as he twirled and stepped away from Voldemort’s offerings, but equally intent on killing the man.

If she was taken aback by all she saw from the boy, that was nothing compared to the Dark Lord’s reaction.

He was visibly troubled by it, and Lily took no small amount of joy in witnessing it.

Voldemort did not know the full contents of the prophecy and was likely now questioning his decision to engage with Harry when he could’ve perhaps gotten away.

Not that her son would’ve allowed it to occur so easily.

No, Lily had seen it in his eyes the moment she had saw him that e wanted nothing more than to rip the man’s head from his shoulders, and there was not a thing that would’ve stopped him from trying.

Even so, she remained worried, and only more so as Voldemort uttered the incantation that would forever haunt her.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The jet of green light hurtled towards Harry, just as it had the night the man had come for him, and yet, he appeared to be non-plussed by it as he used some of the debris at his feet to form a shield.

It served its purpose in protecting him from the spell, and he even had the wherewithal to use the remains as projectiles, transfiguring the granite shards into arrow heads in a display of magic his father would be proud of.

Voldemort, however, managed to defend himself from them well enough, immolating them with a wall of fire, only to duck beneath a decapitation curse Harry followed it up with.

“That is dangerous magic you throw around, boy!” he spat furiously.

“Well how else am I going to kill you, you fucking idiot,” Harry huffed. “We could always have an arm wrestle, if you prefer.”

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, and his nostrils flared as he unleashed a guttural roar.

The glass panes above shattered, and rained to the ground below, something Harry was determined to take advantage of.

Gathering them up with a sweeping motion of his wand, he created a swirling dome around himself, and with nary a gesture of his hand, he began launching them towards the Dark Lord, who was forced to defend himself once more.

“He’s doing well,” Moody grunted. “Most would be dead by now.”

“Thanks for that, Alastor,” Lily grumbled, her grip around her own wand tightening as Voldemort stepped forward and hurled a ball of fire into the air between him and Harry.

It spread rapidly until it formed an enormous fiery serpent, the heat of which made the floor surrounding it bubble.

Immediately, it lunged towards Harry as Voldemort laughed maniacally, and despite the fear that had taken hold of her, the boy slashed his wand downwards elaborately, and the snake recoiled from the onslaught of magic, though remained, screeching as it lunged once more.

“No!” Lily gasped as it seemed to engulf Harry, much to the joy of the Dark Lord.

Before she could even process what had happened to her son, the water from the nearby exploded in a large geyser, enveloping the flames and filling the atrium with a thick steam.

“I can’t see what is happening!”

“Bloody hell, it is hot in here.”

With a wave of her wand, the steam thinned out, and through it, Lily could see two figures once more; the dumbfounded Lord Voldemort, and Harry.

His clothes were singed quite badly, but oddly, and much to her relief, he seemed no worse for wear. He was even sporting a victorious grin; something that only served to irk the Dark Lord further.

What he found so amusing, Lily did not know, and the Dark Lord struck out once more, firing a barrage of spells at a blistering speed that would be the end of the boy if he did not find a way to defend himself.

Harry reacted quickly, almost so fast that she’d barely been able to see it, batting curses aside, and even managing to return a few along the way.

Nonetheless, Voldemort remained as unrelenting as ever, and only became faster, growling as he continued his attack, scarcely providing Harry an opportunity for a rebuttal.

Even so, it was her son who was smiling, evidently having the time of his life, whereas Voldemort’s frustration continued to grow, and Lily could only shake her head as the duel continued in earnest.

Still, something had to give.

Either Harry would get hurt from the efforts of the Dark Lord, or Voldemort would be forced to retreat, unless Harry managed to land a blow of his own.

Lily dared not blink and held her breath as she watched what was happening unfold in front of her eyes, dumbstruck by what she was witnessing, and fighting the urge to be a mother in this moment.

She wanted nothing more than to take Harry away from here, home, where she could protect him, and it was with a bittersweet realisation that she had come to learn that he simply did not need that from her anymore.

It was Harry protecting her and the others, just as he’d always promised he would.

(Break)

He’d found it impossible not to engage the boy in combat. The impulse to do so was too difficult to ignore, and the Dark Lord was beginning to question the decision he’d made.

He had obtained the prophecy, after all, but he needed to witness for himself just what it was he was facing, and he could not deny that Harry Potter was most impressive for one of his age.

His grasp on magic was excellent, his spell repertoire surprising, but it was his instincts and ruthlessness he was most impressed with.

Potter was not afraid to use magic most others were fearful of, and soon enough, if left unchecked, he would so expertly.

Everything the Dark Lord threw at him was being countered, and though he’d not delved into all aspects of magic that would even throw the most seasoned of practitioners for a loop, he could not deny that the boy was already a threat to most.

Still, it would never be enough.

It would be a most frustrating endeavour to kill the boy in such circumstances as they found themselves now, but the Dark Lord did not question his ability to do so.

Nonetheless, he’d accepted that tonight would not be that night that their storied rivalry would come to an end.

No, this was merely a chance to learn more of the boy, of what he would face, and what he would need to do to prepare for their eventual, final coming together.

Even so, it would not do to simply leave without giving Potter fair warning, and a reminder of the impossible task he himself was facing, and as he whipped his wand upwards with a flourish, he was pleased to see the boy balk just ever so slightly at the offering.

Not that it proved to be fruitful, much to the Dark Lord’s irritation.

Potter countered the concussive magic well enough but was sent back a few feet from the force of the blows to his defences, and as expected, his rebuttal came, though not in a way Lord Voldemort had anticipated.

The power behind the spells he responded with was exceptional, like nothing else he’d experienced from any of his previous opponents, and the hastily conjured, bronze shield thrummed under the strain.

His arms jarred so painfully that he believed the bones would shatter, and he could do nothing as he was pushed backwards, despite digging his heels into the ground.

The shocking thing besides the power the boy wielded however, was the large black dagger he drew from somewhere about his person, and the gleam in his eyes as he sprinted towards the Dark Lord at full tilt, his wand in one hand, and the rather vicious blade in the other.

None had ever been so brazen as to attempt to harm him so crudely, and the Lord Voldemort would not deny that he was rather incredulous that Potter of all people do so, yet he was, and drawing dangerously nearer as he continued batting spells out of his path sent in his direction.

With a shake of his head, the Dark Lord apparated to the other side of the atrium, but Potter gave proceeded once more, his eyes almost glowing ferally.

There was a lack of fear in them, only determination, and a savagery so few possessed.

Potter did, and the Dark Lord did not doubt the boy would stab him numerous times in a frenzied attack if he were able to reach him.

No, that could not be allowed.

Lord Voldemort would not fall to something so mundane, and now, it was time for a reminder as to why it was he was so feared by many.

Potter had been a babe the last time the two of them had met, had no memory of what had transpired between them. The boy was ignorant, and now, he would learn a very valuable lesson in the art of combat, and in life.

One should never pull the tail of a snake, not when its fangs are most unforgiving.

(Break)

He was astounded by what he was witnessing.

He’d experienced Harry’s prowess for himself, well, what he thought the boy was capable of, but it turned out Sirius Black knew nothing of his godson’s true ability.

He could only shake his head as the boy did what most could never hope to do; stand tall against the Dark Lord, defend himself admirably, and leave no doubt that if there was indeed anyone to defeat the man, it was Harry James Potter.

If only his father could see him now.

James would be so proud of the boy, so damned proud of how he was comporting himself in the face of the man that wished for nothing but to murder him.

It wasn’t as though Voldemort wasn’t trying.

He’d hurled his share of killing curses towards the boy, as accurately as he had any other, and yet, Hary had not flinched, had not coward, nor missed a beat in defending himself.

If anything, or perhaps more so, he was the one pushing the duel to places so few could ever imagine doing.

Harry was not only duelling for all his worth, but he was also sincerely trying to kill Voldemort, and Sirius winced as another barrage of unfamiliar magic was exchanged between the two, tearing shreds from the granite floor, leaving the entire building trembling.

It was quite the sight to behold, and one that those witnessing would never forget.

He certainly wouldn’t.

No, he couldn’t even if he tried, and it was in this very moment that he saw the man Harry was quickly becoming.

He was a fighter in every essence, born to do just this, and though he was terrified at the implications, he could not deny that it suited him so.

Harry even seemed to be enjoying himself, making Sirius question his sanity, but he vividly remembered Charlus speaking of such things when James had mentioned his desire to perhaps become an Auror.

“If that is your choice, then I support you both in your endeavours, but you must remember, and never forget, to be the very best, you must come to love it all. You must be willing to embrace the danger it presents, learn to love the prospect of losing as much as you do win, dying as much as you do live.”

As a fifteen-year-old boy, the sentiment had meant little to the two idealistic young men, but Sirius understood it now.

To be the very best, you must be uninhibited, fearless, and willing to do the very same any foe would do to you in a heartbeat.

Harry was embodying that very sentiment, and although Sirius wanted nothing more for the violence to come to an end, he was as enthralled by the display as he was the possible outcome.

Still, Harry showed no signs of slowing, and as he brought his wand to bear once more, he unleashed a wave of magic that left the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

Voldemort did indeed block it, but he was still sent backwards half a dozen feet; a gap that was closed immediately as Harry stepped forward once more, as defiant as he’d been when he’d cursed the man out before the fighting had ensued.

The Dark Lord had been surprised.

He’d not expected such proficiency from one so young, and as he turned towards the fireplaces that flared into life, depositing dozens upon dozens of Aurors, journalists, and prominent members of the Ministry of Magic, he offered Harry a bow before vanishing silently.

The confrontation had indeed been violent, and neither had pulled their punches, but it had merely been an introduction to one another, an opportunity for both to understand what it was they would eventually face, and Sirius was proud to say that Harry had not been found lacking.

No, he had fought well, better than Sirius could ever have hoped, and it instilled that very feeling within him.

He truly believed it. Not that he hadn’t had faith in his godson before this evening, but now, it had been solidified, and as he took in the dumbfounded expression of Cornelius Fudge as the Minister surveyed what remained of the atrium, he could not help but feel just a little smug.

“It was him, Minister! We all saw it for ourselves!”

“I know, Dawlish. I know.”

Fudge’s gaze came to rest on the imposing form that was Harry Potter, and the Minister was lost for words as the gathered journalists began scrambling.

The flashes of the cameras soon followed, and Harry too found himself at the very centre of attention.

There would be no mitigating what was to be reported, no hiding it from the world, and though, at first, it might seem a daunting revelation for all that had lived through Voldemort’s first rise, it was the right thing to do.

For his part, the Minister of Magic looked lost, terrified even, and Sirius did not doubt that in the coming days, or perhaps weeks, if Fudge had any sense, he would either step up to be what the country needed, or step down in the knowledge he could not be that man.

Personally, Sirius hoped for the latter, but that was neither here nor there.

Right now, it was time for the country to come to terms with what they once more faced, and his responsibility was to get Harry out of here, to check that he was well.

Before he could do so, however, his godson left, vanishing in a plume of black smoke not so dissimilar to the technique the Death Eaters had perfected.

“Where is he going?” Lily asked worriedly.

“I don’t know,” Sirius sighed, “but he’ll be home soon.”

Lily nodded worriedly.

It would take some time for them to truly process what they had witnessed, and as he had already proven beyond any doubt, it wasn’t as though Harry needed them to watch over him as he once had.

No, Harry was no longer a boy that needed shielding from the monsters of the world that were determined to consume him. Harry was more than capable of fending them off himself and would likely become the monster to those that had never truly had an enemy to fear.

(Break)

He frowned as he tended to the wounds littering his body. They were minor, though had Potter had his way, they would not be so.

No, the boy had fought with a ferocity and fearlessness the Dark Lord had neither expected, nor seen from some time in any foe. The last had been Dumbledore.

The man had been a fool, but a capable izard. Still, the Dark Lord had never felt any sense of danger from the man, who could never bring himself to use such fatal magic when the two of them met throughout the years of his rise in Britain.

If anything, it was a testament to just how brilliant he was, and yet, in those few moments he had found himself facing off with Potter, he felt that danger lurking over them, that desire for each to slaughter the man in front of them.

No, he’d not expected it, but in truth, Lord Voldemort had not known what to expect.

Had the boy spent his life sheltered from all that had befallen him as a babe, or had he been encouraged to thrive, trained for what was inevitably coming?

He’d received his answer to that very question quite plainly.

Potter was prepared as best as he could be, had not shied away from him, and had given no quarter.

There was a part of the Dark lord that was excited about the prospect of besting such an enemy. Towards the end of his rise, most simply threw down their wands when they were face to face with him, seeing no point in even defending themselves from what was an inevitable end.

The other part of him, he could not deny, was concerned, mor so by the implications of the prophecy he had yet to hear, and what it could mean for his future.

Nonetheless, it was now in his possession, and as he picked up the ominous, glass orb, he eyed it for several moments.

This was it.

This was what would decide his course of action, how it was he would overcome Fate itself in his bid to bring Great Britain beneath his heel, and now that the moment to learn of it had arrived, he found himself hesitant.

All these years, he had lived in blissful, though unsettled ignorance, had been able to continue telling himself that there was none that could hope to best, that could ultimately put an end to his ambitions.

Yet, now that he held the answer to the many questions that had plagued him, he found he was not so eager for the answers.

Releasing a deep breath, he knew that it was him now merely delaying inevitable when, much like his victims, he needed to accept whatever was revealed to him.

It wasn’t as though he believed in Fate in such a way that his life had placed him on a singular path that he had no control over.

No, it was the Dark Lord who would decide what was to come. This prophecy was just words spoken by one who believed they knew more of the world than him.

That was what as he told himself as he threw the ball to the ground, only to frown as it thudded dully and morphed into something else.

His nostrils flared as he took in the visage of Peter Pettigrew, or what remained of the man.

It was just his head, and though the eyes, tongue, and teeth had been crudely removed, there was no mistaking whom it had once been.

Lord Voldemort retrieved the piece of parchment that had been nailed into the man’s forehead, his jaw clenching as he read the short missive addressed to him.

To the Dark Lord,

He suffered greatly in his final moments, but this is nothing compared to what I will do to you.

Harry James Potter

The slip of parchment shuddered in his grip from his palpable fury, and Lord Voldemort’s thoughts were awash with many things, unpleasant things he would do to the boy, and the unpleasant things that had been done to him.

It took a certain kind of cruelty to be able to treat a man such a way as Potter had Pettigrew. Even hate was not usually powerful enough for such a display, not to the point that someone’s head was removed and their remains were treated like this.

Wormtail’s final expression spoke of the sheer agony and suffering he’d endured whilst under Potter’s charge, and even though the rest of the body as missing, the Dark Lord did not doubt that it was in much the same state.

At the front of his thoughts, however, was that Potter had somehow duped him, had left him once more desiring the prophecy he’d just been so dismissive of, when in truth, it could well be the most important thing in his life, even more so than ripping Potter’s own her from his shoulders.

Balling the note up, he threw it into the nearby fire as he sunk into his chair.

It had all been for nothing, and now, there were no more shadows to conceal his return, no ability for his clandestine pursuits.

No, the Dark Lord was now officially in open war against the Ministry of Magic, all thanks to one Harry Potter.

He cursed under his breath.

Potter had indeed emerged on top this evening, and though he loathed the boy, wished to hear his screams of suffering, he could not deny that he was proving to be quite the foe.

Nonetheless, it changed nothing.

No, no matter what needed to be done, Potter would die at his hands. The Dark Lord was certain of that.

(Break)

Clarence looked towards the clock for the dozenth or so time since arriving, and then back towards the unconscious teens, jumping slightly as the radio he’d switched on crackled.

He’d thought that perhaps the gentle music on the wireless would prevent the youngster from suffering with terrible dreams, and it served to somewhat distract him too.

The voice that spoke, however, was not so calm, the tone of the man urgent and worried.

“In breaking news, it is being reported that a significant incident has taken place at the Ministry of Magic late this evening. Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge is expected to provide a live report in the coming moments…”

The voice broke off as another song began to play, and Clarence’s concern only grew until he felt a disturbance in the air around him.

He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the tired Harry Potter, and stood to greet the boy, who sagged at the sight of his companions.

“You are well, Mr Potter?”

The young man nodded.

“It couldn’t have gone any better. Thank you, Croaker. I owe you, and I can only apologise for the state of the department. I will help you clean it up.”

Clarence waved him off dismissively.

“You are well, and that is all that matters, and it seems that what happened is no secret.”

“No, it isn’t. We were fighting in the atrium when dozens of people showed up. Even Fudge was there.”

“And you bid a hasty retreat.”

“It didn’t seem wise to linger.”

Clarence chuckled and nodded approvingly.

“It’s happening,” Harry murmured. “By the morning, there’s not a person in magical Britain who won’t know about what happened tonight.”

“As it should be. As frightening as it is, it is best to know of the danger that lurks than remaining ignorant of it. At least now, something can be done to slow him down.”

Harry nodded, a sad smile cresting his lips.

“What do you think I should do about them?”

“Well, we could adjust their memories so that they wake up believing they had fallen asleep, or you could do the more difficult thing and tell them the truth. It would take some explaining on your part.”

Harry nodded as he pondered the options, both as imperfect as the other.

“It is best they are told. I will not lie to my friends.”

“Very well. I can make arrangements for their return home. I have a most useful contact I can reach out to who owes me more than a few favours. I shall return in just a moment.”

He left the boy to wake his friends.

Undoubtedly, they would be terrified about what had happened, and perhaps even angry, but Clarence believed harry was doing the right thing by them.

Ignorance in such matters would help none of them, and it was better that they knew what had happened so that steps could be taken to ensure it didn’t again.

Harry would see to that, of that, Clarence had no doubt.

(Break)

Fudge was in a state of shock as he sputtered incoherently about what he’d witnessed, undoubtedly trying to come up with an excuse as to why the Ministry was not aware of the Dark Lord’s continued existence when the entire country had believed him to be long dead.

If Lily had even a modicum of respect for the man, she might feel sorry for him, but as he scrambled to offer an explanation, not having been granted any time to ponder it, she believed he had reaped what he had sown all these years.

Had it not been for Sirius, Malfoy would’ve managed to reduce the funding for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement significantly, among many other things he’d tried to implement that would’ve seen the Ministry weakened.

Even so, the government wasn’t in the best of states, and there would be much work to done to combat Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

“Lady Potter, Lady Potter, what can you tell us about what happened here this evening?”

“Lady Potter, is it true your son fought the Dark Lord?”

“She will be answering no questions,” Sirius interjected firmly, “and if any of you try to an embellish a quote of any sort from her, I will personally ensure that the rest of your lives are made an absolute misery!”

She paced back and forth whilst she waited for Harry to return, back to being the worried mother she’d always been, even after seeing her son fight so valiantly against Voldemort.

Harry had been nothing short of spectacular, and though she was so undeniably proud of him, it saddened her that he’d not been able to live a life without such a daunting thing hanging over him.

She and James had discussed it many times during her pregnancy, how he would teach Harry to fly, how she would teach him to brew more competently than James had ever been able to, and how both would teach him their favourite subjects.

He would live a carefree life with nothing to worry about besides taking over as the Lord Potter when James decided he’d had enough.

Such a life, however, had not come to be.

No, instead, he’d been forced down a path no mother would wish for their child, and yet, Harry was proving his mettle with just how well he was coping with it.

Lily could not say the same for herself.

Watching him fight the Dark Lord in such a way had been nothing short of harrowing, and worse yet, she’d been all but helpless to do anything.

She shook her head.

All had seemingly changed in a matter of moments, and now, the true fallout would begin.

There was no longer any reason for Voldemort to hide in the shadows, and he wouldn’t.

No, he would now plunge the country in an open war, and soon enough, Greyback along with his pack, and the giants would arrive. How Britain hoped to combat such a large force, Lily didn’t know.

“He’ll be home soon,” Sirius assured her, though he too did not seem to be entirely convinced.

What Harry had endured this evening could only have reminded him of where it all began, of all the nightmares he’d experienced as he’d grown up, and just how monumental the task ahead of him was.

Born as the seventh month dies…

Why?

It was a question she had asked herself countless times over the year, along with many others.

Why did it have to be her son?

That was the one that had plagued her most, and though she despised the prophecy, she had seen for herself this evening that Harry was more than capable enough to see it through to the end and even live.

Lily had never doubted her son, and now, she knew the faith in him was indeed well-founded.

She only hoped he did not lose so much along the way, especially himself.

(Break)

“I can only apologise that you were all dragged into this,” Harry offered sincerely.

His friends were terrified.

It was understandable.

None of them had ever been a part of anything like this before, and Harry would do everything in his power to ensure it never happened again.

“Come on, it’s not as though it was you that kidnapped us,” Wendell sighed.

“No, but it was because of me.”

They didn’t blame him, but Harry could not help but feel responsible for what had happened. No, it hadn’t been him that had taken them from the what should be the safety of their homes, and thankfully, Croaker had indeed managed to return them all soon after they woke.

Whether or not they would want anything to do with him any more remained to be seen, and as much as he did not wish to think that would be so, Harry wouldn’t be able to blame them.

Besides, with Voldemort now out in the open, there was no telling what the man would do next, even if he did not manage to secure the prophecy.

Harry would love nothing more than to be a fly on the wall when he realised it was only Pettigrew’s head he’d received instead of what he’d risked so much for.

It brought a smirk to his lips, though he sobered quickly as he looked upon the state of the Hall of Prophecies and shook his head.

“I don’t suppose sorry will mean much.”

Croaker waved him off before drawing his wand and flicking it.

The broken shelves and orbs were returned to their original places in a matter of moments, and Harry looked towards the man questioningly.

“No harm done, Harry.”

“Well, the rest of the rooms…”

“Do not matter. We do not make a habit of leaving things out that cannot be replaced. Anyway, before we get to that, there is something else I would like for you to see.”

Harry followed Croaker, and paused as they reached his study, where Sturgis Podmore was laid out on a large, stone table.

“What do you feel?” Croaker asked.

Harry frowned as he approached the dead man, his eyebrows raising.

“The venom, it is not organic.”

“No, it is not, and although I cannot sense the presence as strongly as I could…”

“Riddle,” Harry murmured.

Croaker hummed.

“He did not arrive to the Ministry until quite some time after Mr Podmore was killed, so, how is it that his presence is so prominently on him?”

Harry swallowed deeply.

“Surely not,” he murmured, shuddering as he took another step closer and a familiar wave of unpleasant magic washed over him. “Is that even possible?”

“I expect so,” Croaker mused aloud, “but not something I would recommend. Placing a fragment of a soul within something with its own mind is as cunning as it is foolish.”

“Unless he did more than adjust the venom. He would not have given a mundane snake a piece of his soul, not without believing it was capable enough of protecting it. This will not just be any normal snake.”

“I think not,” Croaker agreed.

“He has complete control of it, and it can carry out his instructions. That was how it managed to not lose track of what it was doing when it attacked him,” Harry mused aloud, nodding towards Podmore. “Snakes aren’t exactly the brightest of creatures, but with a piece of human soul, and Riddle’s words, it is quite the dangerous weapon. He could send it just about anywhere.”

“Indeed,” Croaker said gravely. “I would watch your step, Mr Potter. Fortunately, I can extract enough of the venom from the blood and perhaps make an antidote of sorts. I will provide you with it when it is ready.”

“Thank you,” Harry said gratefully.

Croaker returned the gesture encouragingly.

“So, it seems that war is finally here.”

“It is,” Harry acknowledged darkly. “There will be no more hiding from it, for us, or for him.”