The Lake
“That’s bullshit,” Ron announces in the silence that follows. “That’s just – utter bullshit. Malfoy, how can Harry share a soul with You-Know-Who? Wouldn’t there be some sort of ritual for it? Harry can’t just wake up one day and share souls with a megalomaniac.”
“I don’t know, okay?” Malfoy says in distress, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t know. Potter, how does it feel, this connection? When did it start? Have you experienced Legilimency prior to this? Do you understand the difference between the two?”
Hermione suddenly stands up. “We need to hide ourselves. Harry, if Malfoy is right, we can’t barge into Hogwarts just yet. We need to discuss this over.”
Harry’s eyes widen. “Do you believe him?”
Hermione hesitates. “I think – I think it’s worth looking into. That book – the one that I stole? Well, what Malfoy is saying does make some sense. I read similar magic in that book.”
“But,” Harry says desperately. “What about the other stuff? The three levels of Dark Arts? We’ve never heard that before, have we?”
“You don’t practice it the way we do,” Malfoy says ominously. “And in DADA, they teach us Defensive spells, not the theories of what we’re up against. Look at the three Unforgivables, Potter. Cruciatus tortures the physical body. Imperius controls the mind. Avada Kedavara extinguishes your existence.”
“That’s not true,” Ron frowns. “Cruciatus does not actually harm your physical body. It makes you think that you’re being harmed.”
“Ron,” Hermione cuts in softly, rubbing at her forearm absently. “Being under Cruciatus – it does feel as though – like you’re –”
“Physically in pain?” Malfoy supplies dryly. “As though your bones are boiling and your spine is being splintered into grains of salt?”
Ron grimaces severely. “Okay, okay, I get it. Still, it’s not physical injury.”
“You’re thinking too literally, Weasley,” Malfoy says, rubbing his temple. “The Imperius Curse – do you know how it feels? Or to throw it off?”
“I do,” Harry interrupts. “You just need to keep presence of your own mind.”
“Exactly,” Malfoy says. “Imperius is designed to replace one’s own mind with the user’s mind. It’s not merely taking control.”
“When I was put under it, I had felt calm initially,” Harry frowns, thinking. “The same way I felt calm when I cast it on the goblin today.”
“Oh, honestly.” Hermione pulls out her wand and begins to chant the concealment charms. “We just robbed a bank. You’d think they’d be a bit more worried about getting caught,” she mutters in between the spells.
“Okay, what about Avada Kedavara?” Ron says. “You don’t need to feel death to use it, either.”
“Have you ever used it?” Malfoy cocks one eyebrow mockingly.
“Neither have you,” Ron counters. “As far as I know.”
“I’m not a murderer,” Malfoy snaps angrily. “Watch your fucking tongue.”
“Right,” Ron says sarcastically. “You were just about to kill Dumbledore. You almost killed Katie and me!”
Malfoy looks ready to throw a hex, drawing his wand suddenly and pointing it at Ron. Harry immediately grabs his elbow and twists it behind his back; Hermione jabs her wand on Malfoy’s throat in warning.
“Cut it out,” Harry shouts angrily against a struggling Malfoy. “Both of you! Ron – let’s not call people murderers yet, okay? And Malfoy – you did try to murder. Don’t deny it. This is just – not the time. We can settle scores after You-Know-Who is buried six feet under.”
“Or not see each other’s faces for good,” Malfoy says, jerking his arm back. Harry lets it go. Hermione presses the wand deeper in his skin in another silent threat before withdrawing, continuing the charms around them.
Ron is breathing heavily; he closes his eyes for good measure, and when he opens them again, Harry decides he is calmer.
“Malfoy,” Harry prompts. “What about it, then? Ron might be right. You don’t need to feel death to use it.”
“This type of magic is beyond me,” Malfoy sighs, resigned. “Does the Killing Curse affect souls? I don’t know. All I meant was that Killing Curse is the Darkest you can go in Dark Arts injuries.”
“Actually,” Hermione says hesitantly. “Remember what Professor Slughorn said, Harry? That killing in itself tears the caster’s soul.”
“There’s no guarantee you’re right about Harry sharing souls,” Ron insists. “If that were the case, Dumbledore would have told us.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Harry mutters.
“What do we do now, Harry?” Ron asks. “If we wait, You-Know-Who will definitely put the Hor – weapon – into safety. He might even move it out of Hogwarts.”
“Ron’s right,” Hermione agrees. “I would really prefer to sit this one out, but if he moves it, we’d be back to square one.”
Harry shakes his head. “No, he’s confident the one in Hogwarts is safe. He thinks he’s the only one who explored all the secrets of the castle.”
“It’s not just that,” Malfoy looks between them. “You don’t know? Potter is banned from the school as well as Hogsmeade.”
“What do you mean banned?” Hermione says, hands on hips.
“Caterwauling Charm,” Malfoy tells her. “Heard of it?”
“Bollocks,” Hermione sighs. Harry and Ron exchange a startled look. “As soon as we Apparate into Hogsmeade, they’ll be alerted. It’s aimed to prevent unauthorized people breaking into magicked perimeter.”
“Exactly. Hogwarts is impenetrable at the moment.”
“What if we Apparate directly in front of the castle gates? Or inside the Three Broomsticks?” Ron asks.
“That wouldn’t work,” Hermione explains. “The Charm can be tailored. You can use it for time restriction or people restriction or area restriction. Or all of them. We need to know the exact details to counter it. If it’s just time restriction, say past seven in the evening till five in the morning, then Apparating after five and before seven wouldn’t set it off.”
“Not to mention, the entire place is swarming with Dementors,” Malfoy informs bitterly.
Harry suddenly shouts, clutching at his forehead as it sears apart.
The enchantments on the door are broken … someone was here … the inside of the shack looks like a battleground … he approaches the drawer … the ring … my ancestral ring … gone …
“Harry!” Hermione and Ron are shaking his shoulder. “Harry, are you okay?”
Harry breathes in deeply, the crisp air clearing his head. Malfoy, Ron, and Hermione swim into focus; Malfoy looks like he’s seen a Boggart. “He’s just found the ring is gone from Marvolo’s shack. He’s really, really angry.”
Ron curses and grudgingly turns to Malfoy. “Which one is this? The Restriction Charm?”
Malfoy is staring at Harry wide-eyed. “I don’t know. I just know that there’s one.”
“You’d be authorised, wouldn’t you?” Ron asks. “You were a student.”
“Now I’m not,” Malfoy replies, finally turning away. “If it has escaped your notice, Weasley, I was seen by the goblins breaking into Aunt Bella’s vault with Harry bloody Potter. They know I’m with you.”
Harry groans. “So that settles it, right? We stay here, look into this soul sharing business. I reckon we have at least a few days before You-Know-Who decides Hogwarts is unsafe and moves it somewhere else. If we try to break in today, they’re going to be ready for us.”
They set up the tent on the bank of the lake itself.
Malfoy strides in his room without another word. Harry, Ron, and Hermione drop to the floor in Harry’s room – now their room – stretching and groaning. When it’s inevitable, Harry calls for Malfoy to come out.
Malfoy has changed his clothes. He discerns them all in their varied resting positions and rolls his eyes. “What, Potter?”
Harry vaguely gestures at him. “You need to heal your wounds. I doubt dragon claws must have felt pleasant when she tore into you.”
Malfoy stares at him. “That’s why she licked me.”
“Excuse me?”
Malfoy sighs impatiently. “Dragon saliva has healing properties. They need it to heal their own tongues and throats after breathing fire. When she realised I meant no harm, she licked the wounds that she had inflicted upon me – at least the worst of them. Why do you think I haven’t dropped dead yet?”
“Well,” Harry yawns tiredly, not in the mood for another one of Malfoy’s lectures on magic. “Whatever is left. Treat them.”
“Give me my bag,” Malfoy demands from Hermione.
She hands it over absently. “Harry needs Dittany for the burns. Ron needs something to prevent infection, replenish his blood loss, and close the wound.”
Malfoy pulls out the necessary vials, handing their respective potions to Ron and Harry. “You?”
Hermione looks startled at the question. “Oh – er, I’m alright. Just some scratches.”
“How deep?” Malfoy asks, sounding pained at his self-induced task of looking after Hermione’s health.
“Not too deep,” Hermione replies, still staring blankly up at him.
“Here,” Malfoy hands her a bunch of pink leaves. “Rub it on them. It’ll prevent you from itching and minor infections.”
Then he storms to his room again, clutching his white bag tightly.
“Bloody hell,” Ron groans loudly. “Now I have to be nice to Malfoy? I’d rather still be on that dragon.”
“I can arrange that!” Malfoy shouts in retaliation.
“We need food,” Harry interrupts, pillowing his head on his arms. “Hermione, did you bring anything from Shell Cottage?”
“A little bit,” Hermione replies. She summons a few food containers, spreading it out on the floor. “Harry, call him.”
Harry groans loudly but sits up. He walks to Malfoy’s room, poking his head in. Malfoy is pulling out his rolls of parchments from his white bag, the various potion vials, and arranging them neatly on one side.
“Malfoy. Food.”
Malfoy doesn’t look up from his task. “Sod off.”
Harry stares, sighs, then enters the room. He kneels a few feet away from Malfoy, hardly daring to believe that Malfoy is possibly throwing a tantrum for being called a murderer by someone he loathes anyway.
On a whim, Harry throws up a Muffliato. “About what Ron said…”
Malfoy stiffens.
“You did almost kill him.”
Malfoy’s head snaps to him, anger crawling up his face, grey eyes almost maddening. “Just because he was daft enough to drink the mead!”
“You gave it to Slughorn,” Harry points out calmly. “With the intention of killing Dumbledore. We both know it.”
He’s not afraid of Malfoy. He has a distinct feeling that Malfoy is afraid of himself. Angry at himself. For what – Harry isn’t sure. Is it for attempted murder or unable to finish the job?
“So? Do you expect me to apologize for saving my own neck? For trying to save my family? You heard me that day in the bathroom, Potter, don’t even fucking deny it. Or is it that just because I attempted to save a family that you don’t approve of, I have to feel guilty for it?”
Harry holds Malfoy’s hard gaze, teeth clenching. “It’s a family who committed murder, Malfoy. Tortured others. You want to protect someone who’s a threat to the society.”
“BUT NOT TO ME!” Malfoy roars, the words renting out of him unbridled. Harry flinches in shock. “They didn’t hurt me, Potter! They raised me, loved me, taught me! They were my parents, you dickhead. Did you think I could just what – sacrifice their lives because some old bearded git was stupid enough to take a stand against the most evil wizard in all history? Do you – the Chosen fucking One of the Light side – expect me to turn my back on my own family?”
“If that family is causing harm, then yes!” Harry spits, glaring at the man before him.
“Not everyone follows your idiotic principles,” Malfoy snarls. “If there’s a choice between family and rest of the world – I’d rather choose family. It’s not something you’d understand, though, right? You have no family to begin with.”
Harry lunges. Malfoy’s head hits the floor with a thud. Harry grabs his collar, forcing him to stay still by pinning Malfoy between his thighs.
“Why the fuck did you escape, then? You could have lived in that graveyard of a house, snuggled close to your precious Death Eaters.”
Malfoy struggles to free himself, clutching at Harry’s arms, forcing them apart. “Because I grew up. Because I realised that staying alive is better than being dead. My family was going to die, Potter, regardless of my escape. The Dark Lord was just toying with us; do you really think that he’s benevolent enough to simply forgive mistakes? The moment my father failed to capture you in the Ministry of Magic and was caught, I knew he put a death sentence on all of us. It was just a matter of time.”
“You-Know-Who does not care about you, Malfoy,” Harry says with twisted satisfaction. “For him, you are irrelevant. Even when you escaped, he pushed aside your thoughts like you meant nothing. I don’t think he’s even trying to find you to make you pay.”
Malfoy stills, grey eyes widening. “You – you read his mind?”
Harry realises his mistake immediately. Malfoy takes advantage of his sudden slack grip, pushing Harry to the ground, pinning him instead in similar manner.
“Where are my parents, Potter?” Malfoy growls, his hand closing around Harry’s throat. “What has he done with them?”
“I don’t know,” Harry tells him honestly, trying to stop Malfoy from actively choking him. “I’m not lying. I didn’t see your parents, Malfoy!”
Malfoy stares him down in a rage. Harry continues to struggle and after a few moments, the hand around his throat disappears. Malfoy is getting to his feet.
Harry scrambles up. “I’m not lying,” he repeats.
Malfoy doesn’t look at him. “Whatever.”
Harry lifts up the Muffliato before leaving Malfoy alone. As soon as he settles beside Hermione to eat, his scar splits open again.
Locket … my locket is gone … Potter or Dumbledore … How did the boy find it … how does he know … my most precious secrets … he must die … I must do it …
Later in the evening, Malfoy is still brooding in his room. He doesn’t come out to eat, or talk, or discuss their plans. Harry himself is smarting from their earlier fight, refusing to call him even when Hermione makes a request for the third time during his watch duty.
“You call him!” Harry snaps, losing his cool finally. “You’ve reached some weird truce, haven’t you?”
“No, we haven’t,” Hermione hisses lowly at him. “You just stand a better chance of having a civil conversation with him than either of us and you know it.”
Harry laughs coldly. “We’ve been at each other’s throats since First Year, ‘Mione. Even without him tormenting you or Ron, I’d still be at odds with that git.”
Hermione sighs, dropping down to sit by his side. She stares at the fire crackling in front of them.
“I know,” she says. “But Harry – he saved us at the bank. His idea was mad but it worked. And it’s like you said, this is not the time to like him or forgive him, anyway. It’s just sticking together for the sake of it. Which means we have to play nice, actually talk, and figure out the whole Dark Arts theory he told us.”
There it is, the fear threatening to burst out. “Do you really believe him?” Harry croaks.
She gives him a sympathetic look. “Harry, I’m sorry but it makes sense to some extent. I’m not as well-versed with Dark Arts as he is, honestly.”
“How does it make sense?”
Hermione chews on her lip, clearly not wanting to get into this discussion at the moment.
“Fine,” Harry groans. “Should we tell him about the You-Know-Whats, though?”
She bunches up her eyebrows. “Repeat the Vow for me again, will you?”
“You will not abandon us until the war is over. You will protect us to the best of your capacity in return for protection. You will not return to the Dark Lord’s side.”
“Sounds full-proof enough,” Hermione muses. “If we tell him – he can’t abandon us, which means he won’t be returning to You-Know-Who or the Muggle world for any reason. Until the war is over.”
“I wanted to ask you about that,” Harry remembers suddenly. “How do I define the end of war? I can’t have him sticking around after You-Know-Who is dead.”
“That’s the end of war then, isn’t it?” Hermione points out.
“Wait, so he’ll stick with us until You-Know-Who is dead?” Harry asks, horrified. “What if it takes years?”
To his shock, Hermione bursts into soft laughter at his expression. “You dug your grave, Harry,” she teases. “You get to sleep in it.”
Harry huffs. “Right. Great. That’s just perfect.”
Hermione continues to giggle, despite having to face Malfoy for years herself.
Having resigned to his fate, Harry sighs. “Come on. Time to dig up some dirt.”
The four of them sit in a circle on the floor, surrounding a pot of tea and biscuits.
Harry is too nauseated to really touch any kind of food, wrapping his arms around his knees instead. Ron is munching on one of the biscuits, Hermione pours herself a cup of tea, and Malfoy broods over the state of his own nails.
“Alright,” Hermione clears her throat. “Malfoy, we thought we’d pick up the earlier conversation regarding Dark Arts theories.”
“What do you want to know?” he grumbles moodily.
“Everything you do,” Ron says.
Malfoy rolls his eyes and says sarcastically. “Right, because seventeen years of education can be passed down in a single evening.”
“What he means,” Hermione interrupts firmly, “is everything you know about soul magic, in particular. You mentioned that minds cannot be connected without sharing souls.”
There’s a brief pause.
“Yes. Potter, tell me about the experiences.” Malfoy is curt and cold, not even looking at him.
Harry exchanges a look with Ron and Hermione; Ron shrugs, and Hermione nods curtly. He’s still mad at Malfoy – how can Malfoy justify attempted murders? Harry doesn’t want to accept his reasoning, no matter what he says. The Death Eaters have committed horrendous crimes over the years; it’s not Harry’s fault if Malfoy’s parents happen to be one of them.
It’s not Draco’s fault, either, Dumbledore’s voice says in his head gently. And because Harry is mad at Dumbledore, too, he shuts it down instantly.
Reluctantly, he replies. “They’re definitely real-time experiences. I – I once saw Ron’s dad being attacked by Nagini in the middle of the night. I woke up immediately and reported it; the event turned out to be true.”
Malfoy takes a steadying breath, still studying his nails with utmost interest. “Are you – can you – read his mind currently?”
“No,” Harry says, wondering if Malfoy’s terror is partly due to being spied upon by Voldemort. “I can’t help it, either. I mean, it happens when he’s feeling a particular emotion very strongly. It’s one-sided.”
“Do you know the difference between Legilimency and this connection?”
“Yeah. I took some training for Occlumency. You were right about Legilimency being like a Penseive. And I never mastered Occlumency, so I’m not sure if it would actually help. Dumbledore thought it might.”
Malfoy is silent for a good two minutes. “Dumbledore knew?”
“Er – yes.”
“And he never mentioned anything about soul magic?”
Harry gulps down his nerves. “Not – not in relation to my – this – connection.”
Malfoy finally looks up, eyes locking with his. “With what intention, then? Soul magic is – not necessarily Dark. But when you put invading minds next to it, it’s categorized as Dark.”
“What do you mean by that?” Hermione asks, intrigued. “Soul magic is not necessarily Dark.”
Malfoy turns to her. “Wizard magic is vast. But limited. Not all magical beings have a wand, do they? Or utter spells. House-elf magic doesn’t work on the same principles as wizard magic and neither does–”
“That of a Unicorn or Centaur or Niffler–”
“Or a dragon–”
“Which is how you knew she wouldn’t attack us,” Ron realises.
“But Hogwarts never talked about soul magic in Care of Magical Creatures,” Harry points out.
“No, but they did teach us that their magic works in ways different to ours,” Malfoy argues. “Newt Scamandar himself talks about magical creatures as if–”
“–as if they have a soul,” Hermione finishes the sentence.
“Exactly,” Malfoy says. “Every being has a soul. And not everyone carries a wand but they can perform magic in their own ways. I don’t know why or how we started using wands to control our magic, but speaking with Ollivander for a year makes one think there’s more to wands than we know.”
Twin cores, Harry thinks, but holds his tongue.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Ron interrupts in disbelief. “Malfoy, did you just acknowledge someone other than your – other than wizards? Is it just me or does everyone in this room remember Malfoy being an utter git during Care of Magical Creatures and towards house-elves?”
Malfoy clenches his jaw, grey eyes flashing. “Being superior to them does not equate to being unaware.”
“Actually, it does,” Harry says crossly. “You think you’re superior to them because you’re unaware of how powerful they are.”
“Please, Potter,” Malfoy snarls. “The creatures we were shown were stupid. What the fuck do I do with a Bowtruckle? Or a goddamn Flobberworm? Giant Dung Beetle? Double-ended Newt?”
“Unicorns are pretty powerful,” Harry says moodily. He doesn’t want to agree with Malfoy being right about the other creatures; not that Harry believes he’s superior to them but they aren’t exactly interesting, either. “And Hippogriffs. You were extremely rude to one and nearly got mangled for it.”
“Is it that even with glasses, you’re blind as Greyback on full moon? I used that stupid Hippogriff’s lesson to save your arses today with the dragon.”
“And we are grateful for that,” Hermione cuts in loudly. “Thank you. But that is not the discussion right now! Harry, please focus.”
Both Harry and Malfoy huff angrily, turning away. Harry refuses to break the silence. The way Malfoy grates on his nerves every single time with his idiotic beliefs … Harry is beginning to regret the Vow. He thinks he should have taken Ron’s offer on tossing the git into the Muggle world.
Malfoy is the one who speaks first unwillingly. “What did Dumbledore tell you about soul magic, Potter?”
“You – Malfoy,” Harry unwraps himself, getting to his knees. “I need you to remember the Vow.”
“Hard to forget,” Malfoy counters petulantly, watching him with suspicion. “I can’t leave until the war is over. Or return to the Dark Lord’s side.”
“Yes, unless you want to–”
“–die, I’m aware, Potter. Get to the fucking point.”
Harry takes a deep breath in. “Also, I need you to not freak out.”
Malfoy’s eyes widen with fear immediately. “Excuse me? Why would I freak out, exactly?”
“We reckon You-Know-Who is dabbling in soul magic,” Ron replies darkly. “I mean, we didn’t really know soul magic existed until this afternoon, but it made sense when you said it.”
Malfoy’s grey eyes are flickering between the three of them rapidly. “Explain.”
Hermione pulls out the cup from her bag and places it between them, beside the innocent teapot. “He’s creating these.”
“Horcruxes,” Ron supplies.
Malfoy is staring at the cup like it might bite him. “What the fuck are Horcruxes?”
Harry clears his throat. “Part of his soul lives inside them.”
There’s a shriek of terror and Malfoy is scrambling away from the cup as much as possible, flattening himself to the other side of the room. He’s breathing heavily, pale as a ghost, limbs stiff as a rock.
“Malfoy–”
“NO! No, no no. What the actual fuck? No. Just no. Not possible. Are you shitting me, Potter? Your mortal enemy is a bloke who is splitting his own soul? Do you have any fucking idea what you’re up against? Merlin, did I make a Vow to – to – destroy souls? How the fuck do you even destroy them? This is just my luck. Escaping the Dark Lord only to join a fucking suicidal pact. What the actual fuck?”
“Calm down–”
“Calm down? CALM DOWN? Have you not been listening to me? Soul magic is ancient magic! The Darkest magic to ever exist! We’re a bunch of teenagers, Potter! And that – that – bloody snakeface arsehole! Could he not be your regular next-door Dark wizard? Torture some, kill a few, terrorize a city – the usual drill. What was he aiming for? Surpassing Grindelwald?”
“Grindelwald is dead, actually–”
“No, he was defeated and put in a prison, Potter–”
“Before You-Know-Who found him and killed him–”
“SO HE HAS NO COMPETITION!” Malfoy bellows. “No one – in the bloody HISTORY – has ever – ever gone that – that Dark. And the delicious cherry on this shitfuck cake is that he now has the Elder Wand! How in the world are you going to fucking defeat that?”
“Malfoy, calm down!”
Hermione thrusts a vial of potion in his trembling fingers. “Drink this. Calming Draught.”
Malfoy gulps it down desperately without thinking. Harry, Ron, and Hermione watch him closely as the potion takes effect; his shaking subsides, he’s no longer sweating as bad, even his eyes become less dazed as the panic attack slowly leaves him.
Ron hands him a cup of tea forcefully. Malfoy cradles it in his palms, taking a few small sips as his breathing comes more and more under control.
“Do you need some fresh air?” Harry asks, keeping his voice as placid as possible.
Malfoy runs a sweaty palm over his cheek, avoiding their eyes. “Yes.”
Ron makes Harry hang back as Hermione and Malfoy walk outside of the tent.
“Mate, do you know what that was?”
Harry glances at the entrance. “He – I’ve seen him like this before. When he feels overwhelmed, he sort of loses it. That’s why he tried Cruciatus on me last year in the bathroom. He was freaking out severely after we Apparated to Shell Cottage, too. Luna had to calm him down somehow. And she was really sweet and gentle, so I figured we can try that.”
Ron nods seriously. “We’ll ask Hermione if she has more Calming Draughts.”
Harry startles. “For Malfoy?”
“Obviously,” Ron rolls his eyes. “If this is a recurring thing, we can’t have him losing his shit when things turn bad – and let’s face it, they’re going to be way worse.”
“No, I mean,” Harry stares. “Helping Malfoy.”
Ron fidgets uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Well, I still don’t like him. That doesn’t mean we turn a blind eye to this – whatever this is. Although, to be fair, his reaction was nothing out of the ordinary for a normal bloke, was it?”
“You and Hermione didn’t react the same,” Harry points out.
Ron shrugs modestly. “That’s not to say we weren’t freaked out, Harry. Being your friend for seven years made us immune to the worst, sure, but we were still pretty freaked out. It’s not your usual type of evil, is it? The stories I grew up with were what Malfoy grew up with. Next-door Dark wizard, like he said. Even Hermione hadn’t come across such magic in her rather obsessive research. All I’m trying to say is that Malfoy is a git. But we can’t have him hyperventilating during the mission and turn a blind eye. That just – feels wrong.”
Harry smiles grimly. “Hermione is rubbing off on us, isn’t she?”
Ron bumps their shoulders together. “Not entirely a bad thing, is it?”
“No,” Harry agrees, chuckling.
Outside the tent, the sky is darkening. Hermione has started a small fire. Malfoy is nursing his cup of tea, staring into the flames as though it holds an answer to all his life’s prevalent conflicts.
“So,” Malfoy says after Ron and Harry settle down. “He’s creating these – Horcruxes. What are they exactly?”
“It’s a way to become immortal,” Hermione explains. “You split a piece of your soul, store it in an object; even if your physical body dies, the small part of your soul can be used to bring you back.”
“Of course,” Malfoy mutters. “So this cup is one of them.”
“Yes.”
“How many are there?”
“We believe seven.”
Malfoy looks up. “You’re not certain.”
“It’s a good guess,” Harry defends. “Dumbledore said so.”
Malfoy rolls his eyes. “If Dumbledore said so. Do you have all seven? What are they?”
“Well, there’s the cup,” Ron says. “The locket, the ring, the diary, the snake, something of Ravenclaw, and You-Know-Who himself. We’ve managed to destroy three by now.”
Malfoy stares at him. “How do you destroy souls? I’ve only heard of Dementor’s Kiss.”
Hermione answers. “A Horcrux relies upon the object for its existence. We have to destroy the objects, not the souls. The only way to do it is to destroy it beyond magical repair. I don’t think any other way exists.”
“We know one method for sure,” Ron supplies. “Basilisk venom. Harry destroyed the diary with it.”
“And Sword of Gryffindor is imbibed with the venom, too,” Hermione adds. “Ron destroyed the locket with it and Dumbledore destroyed the ring.”
“Which leaves…” Malfoy says slowly, thinking. “Nagini, the cup, Ravenclaw, and The Arsehole himself.”
“Yes.”
“Nagini is not an object,” Malfoy points out. “She’s a sentient being.”
“Yeah, we suppose he upgraded,” Ron says impatiently. “Who cares, Malfoy? We have to destroy her.”
“I care,” Malfoy argues. “Destroying an inanimate object and killing a giant snake are very different things!”
“Look–”
“Not to mention,” Malfoy continues loudly over Ron, “the magic will differ, wouldn’t it, Granger? Or is it the same? I’m certain you need to do some blood ritual to prepare the objects prior hand, to make them more receptible towards a soul. Any Dark Arts ritual typically requires some sort of blood magic.”
Harry remembers having this conversation at The Burrow last summer, when Hermione was telling them what she’d found out in the Dart Arts book she’d stolen. How nauseated she seemed by what she’d read.
“There is,” she confirms, shuddering. “But I don’t think there’s a difference in ritual for living and inanimate objects. It’s just not recommended since living beings can think for themselves, have a limited lifespan – there are just too many variables to consider. An object, on the other hand, can be stored under powerful enchantments for years on end.”
Malfoy smirks coldly. “Makes sense. How did he – why these objects? And then a snake?”
“He believes he’s a descendant of Salazar Slytherin,” Harry tells him and launches into the story of Marvolo Gaunt, Merope Gaunt, Morfin Gaunt, and Tom Riddle Senior. He tells how each of the objects have significant history, in case of Hufflepuff’s cup, Slytherin’s locket, Ravenclaw’s something, and Gaunt’s ring. The snake is personal.
By the end of it, Malfoy is staring at him blankly. “Did you just tell me that the Dark Lord, the wizard who is flushing out Mudbloods, is a Half-Blood himself? That his father was a Muggle?”
“Whom he murdered,” Ron says. “And don’t use that word.”
“He didn’t want to be associated with him,” Harry agrees. “He believes being the descendent of Salazar Slytherin is his true identity.”
“What’s his real name?”
“Named after his father. Tom Marvolo Riddle.”
“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” Malfoy repeats the name as though testing it on his tongue. “Tom Riddle.”
They sit in silence for a while after that. Harry watches the lake, the reflection of thousands of stars on its dark surface, trying not to think about what’s coming next. He knows he can’t avoid it forever, has to face the question eventually, has to make Malfoy explain.
Ron and Hermione don’t break the quiet, either. It’s almost peaceful, Harry thinks, despite the heaviness of the situation, the grave reality of it all. Now that he thinks about Ron’s words and Malfoy’s breakdown, Harry starts to let his fear take hold a little. Just for a few moments, he tastes it on his tongue, the fact that Voldemort has dared to go so far.
Initially, Harry had tried to convince himself that, yes, Voldemort’s attempt at creating Horcruxes is truly vile, unnatural, pure evil. But there had always been so much he hadn’t really known about the magical world, that he managed to brush the whole thing under the rug of being ignorant. That maybe, Dark wizards do engage in such horrible acts. Hermione and Ron’s determination to stick with him somehow fuelled this belief. That if maybe they didn’t have any extreme reactions, they must have had some idea of how dark magic can truly be.
Tonight, though … Malfoy, who grew up in a house of generational Dark wizards and witches, had a meltdown after hearing the lengths of Voldemort’s insanity. Harry finally realises why the entirety of magical community is so scared of the man – they really had not encountered anything like it before, not even the purebloods.
Moreover, this is the first time Ron has confessed. Knowing that he and Hermione had freaked out, it makes everything more real. Like whatever they are facing – it’s not your typical rundown evil. It makes him appreciate them even more. And it makes him think that it’s normal to be scared.
Nearly half an hour later, it’s Hermione who tentatively restarts the conversation.
“Malfoy … about Harry’s connection …”
Malfoy comes out of his own reverie, enough to throw a careful glance at Harry. “How did you survive the Killing Curse, Potter?”
Harry hesitates. It might be important, he thinks, but finds it difficult to talk about one of the worst nights of his life with his school nemesis. He hasn’t even shared so many details with Ginny despite her being one of the few people in his life who deserved everything the most.
Eventually, he decides that the need to explore this soul bond is greater than his emotional vulnerability. So Harry tells him about Voldemort barging in his house in Godric’s Hollow, killing his father, telling his mother step aside, girl and when she doesn’t, killing her as well, before turning to Harry in the crib. He tells him about what Dumbledore explained about sacrificial bonds, how Lily’s love rebounded the Killing Curse on Voldemort and he had to flee, wander the countryside until he could latch onto Quirrell.
“What do you mean by that?” Malfoy interrupts. “He had died, hadn’t he? The Curse rebounded, and yet, he was alive?”
“In a diminished form, yes.”
“And the Curse left that mark on you.”
“Yes. Wormtail resurrected him by using his small body in a ritual.”
“And when did the visions begin?”
Harry thinks back to his earlier years. “After his resurrection, the visions were stronger. Before that, my scar would hurt in his proximity.”
“What did Dumbledore say about it? About the connection?”
“Nothing concrete. He just said that I need to shut him out.”
“Wonderful,” Malfoy mutters under his breath.
“What does this have to do with anything?” Ron asks, directing the question at Malfoy. “How is Harry surviving the Curse related to soul magic?”
“Granger.”
Hermione looks perplexed. “Me?”
“You said it before – the Curse affecting the caster’s soul. In this case, Tom Riddle. Secondly, Potter said the connection is one-sided. It flares up when he’s feeling strong emotions, emotions that overwhelm your being. Theoretically, we can say emotions that fill up your soul. To add to that–”
“You-Know-Who being well-versed with splitting souls,” Hermione adds, her expression horrified.
“So if you’re splitting souls on a regular basis, it means you don’t have a whole soul.”
Hermione gasps. “It’s already fragmented.”
“What happens when you possess a fragmented soul, cast a Killing Curse that might potentially affect your soul even further, and having said Curse backfire, essentially pseudo-killing yourself?”
“There’s a ritual, Malfoy,” Hermione says breathlessly. “There’s a whole ritual. It’s not possible.”
“What’s not possible?” Harry looks between the two of them.
Malfoy breathes in deeply. “Are we certain beyond a doubt that there is no difference between Nagini and this cup?”
To Harry and Ron’s surprise, Hermione frantically pulls out Secrets of the Darkest Arts from her purse. She rifles through the pages, searching, and then hands the open book to Malfoy.
“See. It details out the process.”
Malfoy begins to read with interest. Halfway through, though, he swallows audibly, appearing more and more nauseated the further he reads. Finally, he snaps it shut, clambers to his feet, strides a few feet away before puking his guts out.
“What the–?”
“Bloody hell, what is in that ritual?”
“I don’t blame him,” Hermione shudders. “I had the same reaction.”
Malfoy continues to retch for a good two minutes. When he returns, he takes his place and pushes the book back towards Hermione, looking revolted.
“What happened with Quirrell?” Malfoy asks, pouring himself another cup of tea.
“What do you mean?” Harry says. “He died.”
“When he was alive, you wanker,” Malfoy rolls his eyes. “You said Tom Riddle latched onto him.”
“Oh, yeah. It was weird. His face was sticking out of Quirrell’s head, under his turban.”
“Did he speak with you? Was he – active?”
“Yes.”
Malfoy falls silent again. The seconds tick by. “How did Quirrell die?”
Harry tells him that he was unable to touch him, that Lily’s blood made Harry immune.
Malfoy hums. “But clearly, Riddle didn’t die even after Quirrell did despite possessing the same body.”
“No, I think he escaped before it happened.”
“Let’s presume for a moment,” Malfoy throws a pointed glance at Hermione, “that Quirrell was a temporary Horcrux–”
“Wait, how?” Ron asks in bewilderment.
“The definition of a Horcrux, Ron,” Hermione chews on her lip nervously. “You store your soul outside of your own body. Since You-Know-Who was possessing another body, his soul was being contained in it. It would make Quirrell a – a –”
“Pseudo-Horcrux?” Malfoy suggests.
Hermione suddenly gets up, pacing around the fire agitatedly. “I had not thought of it like that. Dumbledore never mentioned anything. It was only about six Horcruxes and then going after You-Know-Who. Nothing about Pseudo-Horcruxes.”
“How does it matter?” Harry asks in confusion. “Quirrell is dead. He has nothing to do with any of this!”
“Oh, Harry!” Hermione cries. “Don’t you get it? You-Know-Who didn’t die after he tried to kill you! He escaped until he could find a host body! Doesn’t this remind you of something?”
“The diary,” Ron says before Harry can answer. “It tried to escape by possessing Ginny.”
“Exactly,” Hermione says. “All this time, we’ve been treating You-Know-Who’s soul as a separate entity from his Horcruxes. When, literally, they’re bits of the same soul. They’ll act the same way. All of them. Even the one that tried to kill you, Harry.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Potter!” Malfoy says exasperatedly. “You’re really the stupidest git I’ve ever met!”
“Hey!”
“Harry,” Hermione cuts in, sounding choked up. “Harry. You’ve got to listen carefully, okay?”
“What’s wrong?” Harry asks, exchanging an alarmed look with Ron at the sudden turn of events.
“When You-Know-Who tried to kill you, his soul was already fragmented. He cast the Killing Curse on you, ripping his soul further apart – you heard it yourself. Professor Slughorn said in that memory that murder damages your soul. That’s the first step in creating a Horcrux, isn’t it? Murder? You’ve got to commit murder and then bind an object to a piece of your soul with a spell.”
Harry’s ears begin to ring faintly. “Where are you going with this?”
“Oh, Harry. We think – we think that when he killed your parents and then used the Curse on you, his soul fragmented even further.”
“And?”
“And I thought it’s not possible because there’s a spell you need to perform, prepare the object beforehand. Except – except that it’s possible to possess another body without the ritual.”
“We don’t know that,” Harry gulps. “We don’t know if Riddle never performed it on Quirrell.”
“He could escape Quirrell,” Hermione reminds him. “He was never bound to him like a typical soul is to an object. By the pure definition of a Horcrux, Quirrell would be a Horcrux, too. And when You-Know-Who mutilated his soul by killing your parents and then you, it’s possible that his soul ripped apart even further. Professor Slughorn said that you have to take advantage of the fragmented soul after you commit murder, not that there is another method of doing it.”
“Which brings us to your mind connection with him,” Malfoy says quietly.
There’s a grave silence before Ron breaks it in a disturbed voice.
“You’re saying that – Harry’s body possesses a bit of soul of You-Know-Who from that night? That’s why their minds are connected? But that would mean …”
“I’m a Horcrux,” Harry says numbly.
Ron shakes his head. “No. Just no. Look, you’ve both got it wrong, alright? Harry can’t be a Horcrux! We don’t even know if You-Know-Who’s soul tore or not!”
“But it naturally does, Ron,” Hermione says, tears streaming down her face. “There’s no magic in it. Even if you kill someone with a Muggle object, it would still damage your soul.”
“Okay, fine. Fine. We still don’t know if Malfoy is right about this mind connection theory, are we? Sharing a mind connection might not necessarily mean sharing a soul connection. Even if You-Know-Who damaged his soul that night, it might not have possessed Harry at all! There’s no telling that the soul took advantage of the murders or whatever.”
“It’s late,” Harry states, interrupting before Hermione can respond. “We should sleep.”
“Harry–”
“Mate, come on–”
Harry holds up his hand. “Don’t. Just. Don’t.”
A tense silence follows. Harry gets to his feet.
“I’ll keep watch,” Hermione suggests. “I’m the least injured.”
“Okay. Thanks,” Harry says stiffly.
Without another word, he enters the tent, gets under his sleeping bag methodically, and shuts his eyes. It’s quite later when he hears Ron and Malfoy shuffling inside; Ron pulling his own sleeping bag near to Harry and Malfoy’s faint scratching of the quill in the distance.
The locket, the ring, the diary … all destroyed … the cup, stolen … I must keep Nagini safe … must warn Severus to increase Death Eaters around Hogwarts … that one must be safe, I’m certain … need to gather more troops … kill … destroy … everything … must protect myself …
And then Harry wakes up to a familiar roar of a dragon, right outside their tent.