The key clicked into place and, with a faint squeaking sound, the lid of the locket slowly swung open. None of the people in the room breathed as they leaned over the coffee table to look inside.
“It’s just a picture,” Ron said disappointedly.
And so it was. Inside the Horcrux lay nothing but a picture of a handsome, pale-faced young man with short black hair and a blank expression. A young man whom Harry recognized, with a cold feeling of dread, as Tom Marvolo Riddle.
“It’s him,” he whispered.
“Who?” Ron asked stupidly. Harry suddenly remembered that neither Ron nor Hermione had ever seen what Voldemort had looked like before his twisted quest for immortality.
“Voldemort,” he explained. He stared down at the Horcrux before him and took a deep breath. “It’s Voldemort. We’ve found it.”
He was going to blow it to bits and had reached into his empty pocket when he remembered that he no longer owned a wand. The enormity of what had been done to the little stick of wood, which now lay decapitated, powerless, and forgotten on a chair, suddenly hit him. He felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. All the breath whooshed out of him.
To make matters even worse, as he sank weakly to his knees, his trembling right hand abruptly spasmed and let out a wave of pain that went shooting right up to his head. His forehead smacked down against the tabletop, jarring the locket. Through the painful fog that clouded his senses, he heard people shouting in alarm above him.
“Harry! Oh, no, Harry, what’s happening? Is it your hand?”
“Hermione, his hand hasn’t hurt him in over a week; we all thought it was cured ””
“My God, what’s the matter with him? Has he passed out?”
“Oh, Harry, wake up! It’s Tonks ””
“Harry James Potter!”
The last voice cut through the others like a knife, diving straight into Harry’s brain and causing him to stiffen in shock. The loud, clear voice of Remus Lupin continued angrily, “Harry James Potter, don’t you dare give up, now!” Hands were shaking Harry by the shoulders, but the pain in his hand, which still contorted underneath the table, had cemented his eyelids shut. “Don’t give up! Didn’t you hear what I just said to you? It was true, every single word of it, and they don’t want you to give up either, Harry! None of them do! Do you hear me?
“None of them!”
The faces of Lily and James Potter, Sirius, Cedric, Dumbledore, Snape, Luna, Ginny... they all flashed through the darkness in Harry’s eyes. Everyone who died because of him, who’d died for him... If Harry gave up now...
Their sacrifices will have been in vain.
Given new energy by the thought, Harry struggled to sit up.
Don’t worry, Dumbledore ” it’s not over yet.
Just as he was prying his eyes open, however, he felt something new. An overwhelming feeling of evil spread towards him, and his eyes flashed open just in time to see a wispy black shadow leak out of the locket’s picture and stealthily make its way up, in the direction of the ceiling.
Harry’s eyes widened. Ron, Hermione, Malfoy, Tonks, and Lupin were all looking down at him; they wouldn’t see the shadow escaping. Using all the will power he could muster, Harry made up the words in his mind and forced them out, strangled, past his lips.
“LOOK UP!”
Their heads automatically shot up, and for a moment they all gaped at the ceiling, obviously not noticing the shadow that was mere inches away from reaching the ceiling. Harry had a desperate feeling that if it reached its destination, it would escape. And it mustn’t escape.
Voldemort’s soul.
Harry couldn’t move. His hand was still giving him trouble, and his entire body felt weak. He couldn’t get to the piece of soul in time to stop it; it was up to the others.
Scanning the ceiling, Lupin was the first to spot the sneaky wisps of black fog climbing toward freedom. “There!” He whipped out his wand and, pointing it at the shadow, bellowed, “Deletrius!”
The spell hit the perfect center of its mark, and for a split second the shadow froze. Then an acrid, burning odor filled the room, and the shadow burst with a dull bang. Little shreds of what seemed to be particles of dust fluttered down and settled around four astounded people, one calm werewolf, and a young boy crouched on the floor.
“Ouch,” Harry said weakly as the pain in his hand slowly subsided to a throbbing. “Thanks, Lupin.” He gasped as he flexed his hand once or twice, trying to get some feeling back, then cautiously straightened back up to a sitting position.
“No problem,” Lupin said, looking slightly unnerved by what he had just done. Taking a deep breath, he asked, “So I suppose that was his soul.” He didn’t have to say whose soul he meant.
“Yeah.” The pain in Harry’s hand was now completely gone, leaving nothing to suggest that it had ever existed. He looked down at it and unclenched it. No pain. He looked up at Lupin and smiled weakly. “Well, that was interesting, wasn’t it?”
Ron was frowning thoughtfully at the picture in the locket. “Hey...” he said suddenly, pointing at it. “Is it just me, or is his face disappearing?”
They all stared down at it again to see what Ron had first noticed: Tom Riddle’s face was slowly becoming darker and darker; until, a minute later, it was just a black blob on the end of his neck. But that wasn’t the end of it ” the blackness quickly spread to the torso like a cancer, and soon the entire photograph was black as night.
Harry sat back in his chair and stared at the blank picture. “Was that ”” he began to ask. Just then, though, his scar twinged, and he touched it in concern. It hadn’t hurt him since the night after Luna’s death; ever since it had been deceptively neutral, as if Voldemort was being more careful than ever to keep Harry out of his head. But this... this was different. Is Voldemort letting it slip again? But what would make him...
“Ah!” They all spun around, photo and scar forgotten, as Malfoy let out a little gasp of pain. He was bent nearly double, clutching his left arm with a hard grip. His fingers, which had turned almost white, met his thumb as they encircled his forearm. He squeezed his eyes shut against an obvious agony. “God...”
“Malfoy?” Harry said tentatively. A faint suspicion was building in his mind, and he slowly asked, “Malfoy, do you have ” that is ””
His red face betraying the effort he was exerting, Malfoy abruptly pushed his left sleeve up. They were then all able to see the pitch black tattoo on his forearm, the tattoo of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth.
“The Dark Mark!” Tonks breathed, stepping back slightly as if the sight of the mark repelled her. Behind her, Harry heard Ron and Hermione’s sharp intakes of breath.
Haven’t they expected this? I told them... He couldn’t help but feel a little smug at seeing proof that his accusations last year ” that Malfoy was a Death Eater ” were true. But at the same time, he felt a little stab of pity. How must it feel to bear the mark of the one who murdered your mother?
Lupin, however, instead of being repelled by the Dark Mark, seemed attracted to it, and he took a small step toward Malfoy. He began to reach out to the boy, then stopped, hesitant. “Draco Malfoy...” he murmured pensively. “When did this happen?”
“When d’you think?” Malfoy snapped, the pain seeming to make him more irritable than usual. “Last summer! There was nothing I’d ever wanted more than to work for the Dark Lord... so when I was offered a chance to prove myself, what else could I do? He marked me... and I was supposed to kill Dumbledore, then, to show my ‘loyalty.’” He laughed bitterly. “I can’t believe I was so blind. He was just punishing my father; he knew I’d fail. I was so stupid...” His voice trailed off.
They were all quiet, staring at the burning black tattoo of the Death Eaters. Does this mean he’s summoning them to him? Harry wondered. He suddenly felt cold all over. But why? If he wants them with him... If he has something else in store for us... He clenched his fists in determination as he glanced over to Ron and Hermione. I’ll have to slip away without them. This time... I really have to make sure they stay away. I can’t risk anything happening to them. I ” I have to do this alone.
“Harry,” Lupin said abruptly. “Will you come talk to me over here, please?”
“Sure.” Harry followed Lupin back to the same corner in which they had spoken before, and waited for him to talk. “What is it?”
“Did you know about this?” Lupin whispered, gesturing back toward Draco’s marked arm. “That he was... one of them?”
Harry was hardly surprised by Lupin’s question. Of course he’d be worried, having a Death Eater ” former or not ” in their midst. “I didn’t know for sure,” he said slowly. “I’d had... this suspicion... since the beginning of our sixth year at Hogwarts, but I never had any proof that he had actually been branded. But, Lupin...” He had to ask. Would Lupin know any more than he did? “Voldemort. He’s calling the Death Eaters to himself, isn’t he? That’s what the mark’s turning black means, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it does...” Lupin tapped his chin absently. “Yes, of course we must consider whatever Voldemort’s planning now... Further interference by his followers could prove disastrous for you, Ron, and Hermione...” He sighed wearily and suddenly looked years older as he ran a hand through his light hair. “But I’m afraid I have made little headway with Fenrir’s troops. I’ve gathered a small group of maybe half a dozen who were willing to listen to what I had to say. A few even showed interest in joining the Order... but now that the Order itself is more or less gone, I don’t know how much longer I can hold them. And against a thousand werewolves, maybe more, what can six alone do?” He shook his head hopelessly.
Harry knew exactly how he felt. If the Order of the Phoenix had dissembled, who was there to help? It was almost as if Voldemort’s side was the only option remaining. “You think you can’t do anything to help?” he muttered. “I’ve still got two Horcruxes to destroy, I have no idea where either of them are, and I don’t even have a wand. I feel... well, I feel pretty useless right now.”
Lupin stared blankly at him for a moment. Harry stared back, trying to read the expression on his face. He was then surprised when Lupin suddenly slapped one hand to his forehead and exclaimed, “Of course! How could I have been so stupid as to forget that?”
“What?” Harry asked, mystified. “What is it?”
”You needn’t go without a wand, Harry,” Lupin said, with a strange, sad, almost wistful smile on his face. He hurried over to the small night-table that stood next to the bed and slid open the drawer. He slowed considerably as Harry watched him carefully pull a long, rectangular, slightly worn wooden box out of the drawer and brush a thin layer of dust off its lid.
After having inspected it for a few brief seconds, Lupin gently handed the box over to Harry, who opened it, curious. What was so important for Lupin to have a relic like this out? The box did seem strangely familiar to Harry, though, as if he’d seen one ” or several ” just like it, years ago.
Despite its obvious age, the lid came off easily; but whatever lay inside was still obscured by a few crumpled pieces of white tissue paper, which Harry impatiently pushed aside. He gasped and was rendered momentarily speechless as he saw there, cushioned in the padded bottom of the box,...
A wand.
Harry gaped at it for a minute, then picked it up and took a closer look. The dark, polished surface of the wand was pitted with scars that looked as is they’d resulted from severe fire. Yet it was still intact; and, as Harry give it a little experimental swish, it still worked properly, letting out a scattering of red sparks.
“What...” Harry whispered. “How did you...?”
Lupin shifted his feet uncomfortably. He didn’t seem to want to look at Harry. “Well, I just thought that since Olivander hasn’t been found yet... and personally I think it’s just a matter of time before his body turns up... I thought maybe you could use this one.”
“Th-thanks,” Harry stammered. Lupin still wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Harry decided that there was definitely something fishy about it. As he turned the battered wand over and over in his hands, he realized that he had no idea whose wand this was. “Lupin. Can you tell me ” who exactly owned this wand?”
Lupin sighed again and answered quietly, “It was... your father’s.”
Harry could think of nothing to say. This was Dad’s... my dad’s wand... The little stick, battered and scarred as it was, suddenly seemed infinitely more precious, and he grasped it tightly. It felt almost like he had a little piece of his parents back...
“...How?” He stared up at Lupin. “How did you get this?”
“Sirius,” Lupin said simply. “He found it ” when he got to their ruined house, all those years ago. The same time he found you. Apparently he took it, trying to salvage anything he could that would keep him connected to them, even though James’s wand was the only thing he managed to find. He only just told me when the Order got back together. It was then that he gave me the wand. For safekeeping, he said. He felt it might be needed, someday, and he didn’t trust Kreacher not to steal it, or himself to not misplace it. But I never thought...”
Harry closed his eyes and held the wand protectively to his chest. Thank you, Sirius, he thought. Thank you so much... The last gift you’ll ever give me... There was something prickling at his eyes. He hastily rubbed at them until it stopped. ...and I need it more than anything else. Thanks, Sirius Black... Thank you!
“It probably won’t work quite as well for you as your old wand,” Lupin continued apologetically, “but it should be good enough. At most you’ll have to use more will power to make it follow your instructions, and spells won’t be as potent... But I think you stand a far better chance of getting through this alive with a dysfunctional wand than with no wand at all.”
“Yes,” Harry murmured, gazing down at the wand. “Yes it is.”
“Can Malfoy stay here?”
The unexpected question shot from Hermione’s mouth the very moment that Harry and Lupin rejoined the group. Harry, Ron, Malfoy, and Tonks stared at her in shock, while Lupin kept a calm mask covering his surprise and stated quietly, “Well, it all depends on what he wants to do, doesn’t it?”
All eyes turned to Malfoy, who hadn’t spoken once since his tattoo had stopped burning and returned to its light red color. He stared at Hermione, eyes narrowed, as if trying to see the motives behind her suggestion. Then: “Why would you even think about letting me stay here?” Malfoy asked. “All I’ve ever done for anyone is cause trouble. And besides, I’m a Death Eater. Why would you even ””
“Draco,” Lupin cut in, “the very first time I ever met you, I knew it would one day come to this. I saw the way you boasted about your father and Voldemort’s cause; the way you acted as though you didn’t care one bit what people told you; the way you put down everyone you could at every available opportunity. I could see you were trying to prove yourself. I knew that one day you’d get that mark on your arm...”
“What exactly are you trying to say?” Malfoy snapped, getting back in character just long enough to sneer at Lupin.
Lupin stared coolly at Malfoy and didn’t take the bait. “I’m saying,” he said slowly, carefully, “that I knew you didn’t really want this. You could never be one of them... it just took you a while to realize it, when it was too late. But now you come to another crossroads.” He looked pityingly at Malfoy. “Well? We will let you stay here, Draco... if that’s what you really want.”
Malfoy’s eyes widened. Harry could tell he hadn’t been expecting this, and was now at a loss for words. “I ”” He swallowed. “I don’t ” Dumbledore ””
“Dumbledore knew what he was doing,” Lupin said firmly. “He didn’t want to see you go this far either. He offered you the hand of redemption, but you didn’t have the time to take it. But now... you have a chance to come back.”
Malfoy seemed to be having trouble breathing. He glanced down at his forearm, concealed by the worn black robes. Harry could nearly see the wheels turning in his head. The choice wasn’t that difficult to make.
“Yes,” Malfoy whispered eventually. “Please. I need... Help save me.”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the little cottage in the clearing, a threesome once more. Malfoy would stay in hiding with Tonks and Lupin. For the first time in six and a half years, Harry wished his enemy to find peace. No one should ever have to go through everything that he did.
They had gotten away much luckier than Harry had expected. They had destroyed the locket Horcrux, the one Dumbledore had fought so hard to find; he had a wand again; and they had a possible lead on where to find the next Horcrux, Hufflepuff’s cup. The last immobile Horcrux! Harry thought happily as he, Ron, and Hermione slowly made their way back into the trees of the surrounding forest. Before letting the three leave, Lupin had pointed them toward a certain spot in the woods, a larger clearing than that of the cottage, which the werewolves all avoided. They were grouped all around the area, but as far as Lupin knew none had ever set foot inside. “It may be nothing, but then it could be something, too,” Lupin said. “And it would be too risky to just assume...”
So now, after having received general directions to this place, the three best friends were leaving. Once again walking away from the only people on their side in this whole godforsaken place. Harry wondered if they would ever see each other again, but quickly forced the thought out of his head. He had other, more immediate problems to think about without worrying about the possibility of another death.
They set off at a brisk pace, not talking, saving their breath for walking along. In almost no time at all, they had reached the edge of the trees that concealed the werewolves’ camp.
“Okay,” Harry whispered. “I’m going alone. To find the place.” Looks of shock passed over their faces, but he tried to ignore them as he continued. “You two ” Ron, Hermione ” you stay here. I’ll... be back soon...”
Ron’s face and ears were slowly turning a dangerous shade of red. “Wait... Hang on a second!” He grabbed Harry’s shoulder just as he was turning away and spun him back around.
“Let me go, Ron,” Harry said quietly. Please, please just let me go... Please, Ron. Letgoletgoletgoletgo...
“No!” Ron said in a harsh, semi-shouted whisper. “I am not letting you go yourself. What, do you plan on ditching us again, like you did when you left the Burrow? There is no way... no way in hell... that I’m going to let you out of my sight again!” He released Harry and his hands balled into fists. Harry wondered if he were going to hit him. “What if you did go out by yourself and got yourself killed because neither of us were there? We’d never see you again! And what d’you think that would prove! That you’re a big boy? That you can take care of yourself?” His tone was angry, almost sarcastic, and he was practically shouting now. “What do you think you can possibly do on your own? We’ve been in this together from the very beginning, Harry ” since the beginning! And all of a sudden... all of a sudden you... you...” His fists tightened. He seemed to be struggling for words.
“I can’t take the chance,” Harry said haltingly, “that you two might be killed.” He tore his arm away from Hermione, who stared up at him, wide-eyed, afraid... for him? Something in Harry’s mind snapped. “I couldn’t stand it!” he bellowed, abandoning all quietude, and ran into the bushes surrounding the werewolves’ camp.
“Harry!” Hermione squeaked tearfully behind him. He could hear Ron tearing after him, and went faster. Within seconds he had burst through into the camp, and hundreds of surprised werewolves were staring, open-mouthed, at him.
“Um,” Harry said. He willed his legs to move, and briskly strode through the throng of dumbstruck half-humans. Harry wondered just how long it would take them to recover, and decided he didn’t have much time till then. He sped up until he was almost jogging through the crowd. “Excuse me...” he mumbled politely, as if being polite would somehow get him more time.
But of course it didn’t. Sure enough, just as Harry had gotten about halfway through the camp, someone ” it may have been Fenrir Greyback himself, for all he knew ” shouted out, “What are you waiting for, you idiots? Don’t you know who that is? Get him!”
Thankfully, Harry was now jogging in a fairly deserted part of the camp, so most of the werewolves were behind him when they leapt to their feet and began to chase after him. He broke into a full-out run, barely touching the ground as he took a step. A howl of the hunt started behind him, motivating him to pick up the pace. The edge of the trees was so close...
Something flashed in his peripheral vision, and, still speeding toward the trees from his own momentum, he spun around and whipped his father’s wand out of his pocket. “Stupefy!” he bellowed, hitting one of the werewolves square in the chest and blasting away another just behind him.
As he was turning back around, his right foot caught on something and sent him tumbling to the ground. His speed had been so great that the sudden fall sent his body skidding several feet over the dirt and grass. He tumbled through what felt like a thick, prickly hedge, holding his arms protectively over his face, and finally rolled to a stop on the other side.
Harry slowly sat up and gingerly touched his cut and bruised arms and face. He winced. Was every piece of shrubbery in this place armed with especially sharp branches? He pulled several leaves and twigs out of his tangled hair; then he stopped, surprised at himself. He was just sitting here grooming himself while all the werewolves in Christendom were chasing him?...
He stood quickly, shocked. He hadn’t seen hide or hair of a single werewolf since his unexpected trip into the bushes. Where are they? Were they on the other side, planning an even more unpleasant attack on him? Harry cautiously parted the overgrown bushes and looked.
An untransformed werewolf looked right back at him, not three inches away from his face.
“AHHH!” Harry yelled wildly, stumbling back and grabbing his wand out of his robes. The creature’s head rose until it hovered just above the hedge and snarled nastily at him. “Stay back!” Harry cried, trying to sound braver than he felt. He couldn’t let them see his fear... “I’m warning you!”
“Oh, don’t worry about us coming after you,” the hairy face said, with an enormously sarcastic-sounding voice. “We’ve had orders not to go in there, no matter what. But if it weren’t for that, we’d have already torn you a new one; don’t think that pitiful, battered stick of a wand would stop us.”
Harry looked down at his father’s wand, which did indeed look pathetically battered. The werewolf grinned and sniggered. “Yeah, didn’t notice, did you?” He snickered again, then abruptly changed the subject. “Now, you just stay put, Potter, and wait for the Dark Lord to come. We’ve already sent a message; all you have to do is wait now. And I wouldn’t recommend trying to nose about in there.” He jerked his head in the direction of whatever Harry had his back to, but Harry didn’t dare turn around to see what it was, not with the enemy so close. “Rumor has it the Dark Lord’s got something quite nasty in there.” He laughed unpleasantly. “Enjoy your last few minutes of life, kid.”
The head disappeared. Bushes rustled for a second, then a loud howl of combined laughter burst through. Afterward... silence.
Harry, unnerved by the encounter, shoved the wand away again and allowed himself a moment to just sit and wonder if Ron and Hermione were okay. Ron shouldn’t have followed me, I hope he’s alright... He hadn’t heard anything from the werewolf about catching any other intruders, so it was likely that his friends had escaped. He let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Trying to make as little noise as possible, just in case it drew the creatures’ attention, Harry slowly stood back up and finally looked around. Oh my ” is this it? Did I really make it?
Another, slightly larger clearing. An enormous, gnarled tree devoid of any leaves stood in what could have been the exact center. A dully glowing patch of dirt at its roots seemed to twinkle at Harry, who stood stock-still, staring at it. Was the Horcrux... buried? Then it was Hufflepuff’s cup... A smile came to Harry’s face as he imagined what Ron might say were he here. “Why would You-Know-Who bury his snake? Did it die?”
Harry took one hesitant step toward the tree, and then another. Slowly but surely, Harry made his way toward the fifth Horcrux ” and, unbeknownst to him, a clever and terrible trap whose springing would set into motion a series of events, ultimately ending with one more death.
Harry Potter and the Seventh Soul by PadfootBaby
Chapter Notes: This is possibly one of my favorite chapters of this story, although the next one is going to be even better. Enjoy!