New Divide 11/16 - LV/HP
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Ok firstly, I did put a warning at the start of the last chapter. Secondly, the pairing is clearly Voldemort/HARRY, so obviously the “only romance in this story” is not “just in the past”. Thirdly, there were general warnings on this story; so sorry that I’m not a fluffy-bunnies-fiction kind of writer. And lastly, you will all hate me at the end of this chapter, but no, it’s not going to end like canon (contrary to popular belief, I didn’t write this entire tragedy just so Harry can kill Voldemort and marry Ginny. Shudder!)
THERE WILL BE A HAPPY ENDING! Five more chapters to go, remember? So it can’t end here!
This is dedicated to SethMaxwell06 and Clemix at FFNet, because both of them sent me rather awesome Review Replies last week :D THANK YOU TO STAR_FAERIE FOR BETA’ING!!
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Words: 3,352
Chapter 11
May 1st 1998.
Hermione wasn’t stupid, far from it in fact. When Aberforth had been telling her and Ron about Ariana, and how the poor girl had died, Hermione had thought to ask about Tom Riddle. Harry’s past life had been tied to Voldemort’s; and while she hadn’t known quite who he had been, Hermione had heard Bellatrix, Narcissa and Aberforth address Harry as ‘Anathema’. It wasn’t much of a stretch to assume that that had been Harry’s name then. He had been Anathema someone. Someone who had been important to the Dark Lord.
Aberforth hadn’t told her exactly what she wanted to know, but he had given her a few hints. He spoke like his brother, in riddles and half-truths, but Hermione had grown used to Albus Dumbledore; she had understood. If anyone would have known about Anathema and Tom, it would have been him, Dumbledore, the only one Tom Riddle ever feared. She wondered why that was. Perhaps, she mused, glancing at Ron from the corner of her eyes as they ran, it was because Dumbledore was the only one to believe that Tom was capable of murdering the love of his life?
“Where are we going?” Ron panted, running along beside his girlfriend.
“The Headmaster’s office!” Hermione told him.
The ruined Cup hung from Ron’s belt, tied on with a piece of conjured string. The Horcrux was gone, stabbed by the fang of a Basilisk, which was held tightly in Ron’s right hand. It had been ingenious of her boyfriend, Hermione admitted. He had asked to use Legilimens on her, to pull forth the memory of their second year, and memorised how to pronounce ‘open’ in Parseltongue. He had done a decent job of it, because the sink had slid to the side, and allowed them entry into the Chamber of Secrets. They were one more Horcrux down.
Harry had gone after the Diadem, and Hermione wanted to find him before he found it. But there was something she had to do first.
When they stopped in front of the stone gargoyle, it looked down at them curiously, and then slid to the side. Silently, Hermione pulled her wand from her robe and held it warily in front of her. If the gargoyle wasn’t asking for a password, then whoever was in that office knew they were there and wanted them to come upstairs. And that didn’t bode well for them. But when Hermione and Ron stepped into the office, wands raised, no one was waiting for them.
“Keep an eye out,” Hermione hissed to Ron, her eyes darting around frantically.
Ron gave a quick nod, turning his back to the office to peek back down the open staircase, checking for intruders. The Basilisk fang was in one hand, and his wand in the other, and he actually looked rather intimidating. He was still an idiot though, Hermione thought fondly, turning her back to him.
She made her way to the large stone basin that stood alone on one side of the headmaster’s office. Harry had told her it was usually kept hidden, but right now it was out in plain sight, as if someone wanted her to find it. It seemed rather suspicious, but then again, a strange Patronus had led Harry to the Sword of Gryffindor and no harm had come to him then. Perhaps this was just luck, all part and parcel of having Harry Potter in her life.
She shrugged away the notion that this was a trap, ignored the feeling of eyes on her back, and hurriedly began tucking vials into her backpack. The little vials were filled with swirling silver mist, memories of the great Albus Dumbledore, and all were neatly hand labelled. Hermione grabbed the ones that were marked ‘Tom’, and ‘Harry’, and ‘Anathema’. She couldn’t find any labelled ‘Voldemort’, and assumed correctly that they didn’t exist, because Dumbledore had always seen Tom and Voldemort as the same person. Their only difference was that they were obsessed with two different boys. The same boy, Hermione thought worriedly, wondering on Anathema’s relation to Tom. The only difference was their names.
“Come on,” she said, tugging Ron down the stairs. “I have them.”
Ron paused though, mouth open and eyes wide. “Isn’t that? Bloody hell!”
The wall above the Headmaster’s desk had been bare, though there were three hooks nailed into the wall as if something hand once hung from that spot. As Ron gaped at the wall, something appeared, quickly, magically, as if it had been there the entire time and they just hadn’t noticed. The Sword of Gryffindor, the real one, hung in front of them, and Ron jogged over to pull it down from the wall. His fang was tucked away, and armed with the Sword and his wand he turned to his girlfriend.
“Result!” He chuckled, “Least Harry will be happy, eh?”
“Come on!” Hermione watched him carry the Sword down the staircase, chalking its appearance up as another fluke, another proof of Harry’s insane luck, and followed him.
Neither of them saw Headmaster Snape move out of the shadows and cancel the concealment charm he had placed upon himself. He sat down in the Headmaster’s chair, and steepled his fingers.
His eyes narrowed as his gazed moved over to the Pensieve he had been using himself before the teenagers’ arrival. Anathema Black…
The Muggleborn had been interested in Anathema Black. Snape had watched her gather the vials with his name on them, watched her tuck them into her bag, and he had allowed her to leave. Whatever she was planning to do with the memories, Snape thought, she’d better do it soon. He looked out of the window, feeling his Dark Mark burn, and watching the rows and rows of black-clad Wizards appear on the horizon.
The Dark Lord would arrive soon.
And Potter would be out of luck.
XXX
Luna had taken him to Ravenclaw Tower, and Nearly-Headless Nick had pointed him in the direction of the Grey Lady. So while he knew what the Diadem looked like, and how Tom had managed to find it, Harry still didn’t know where it was.
It wasn’t until he was walking past a handful of marching statues, charmed to move and fight at Professor McGonagall’s request, that it hit Harry like a smack to the face. The statues reminded him of Ravenclaw’s bust in the Tower, with the stone diadem upon her head. And that reminded him of the ugly bust in the Room of Hidden Things, which sat upon the cupboard he had hidden Snape’s potions book in. Upon that busts head, was the real diadem.
He couldn’t believe how many times he had been close to it, been able to touch it, but not once had Harry realised what it was. He could have destroyed it, at any time in the past handful of years since he had discovered the Room of Requirements, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t known that he needed to destroy it. But now he did; now he would. If only he could get the Room cleared out - the room wouldn’t change if there were people in it.
“Ginny, I’m sorry, but you need to leave too,” he told her, after watching Tonks and Madame Longbottom rush from the room in search of their families. “Just for a bit. Then you can come back.” The grin on Ginny’s face meant that she was more than happy to leave, and she rushed from the room, ignoring Harry calling after her: “You’ve got to go back in it!”
It was strange, Harry thought as he watched her leave, how he hadn’t been stunned at her prettiness like he had once been. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, but when Harry had looked upon her in that moment he had seen his best friend’s little sister. His hand unconsciously fell to his stomach, lightly rubbing circles on the robe and hidden flesh beneath. Ginny would be able to give him children, plenty of children, and he’d never hurt her, or their baby, and he definitely wouldn’t hurt her while she was carrying his baby. So he’d never have to live through that pain again, the pain of losing a child: all of theirs would be healthy, and alive, and loved.
Harry frowned, imagining their future children. But in his mind’s eye, their children always looked like a mix of him and Tom Riddle.
He flinched at the images, wondering if Anathema’s child would have looked like that too. But then he pushed away the thoughts. Voldemort didn’t want children with anyone, and certainly not him. The man wanted to kill him; he had made that clear by addressing the School and Hogsmeade, offering life and protection to anyone who handed Harry Potter to his death.
He stepped out of the room, walked three times each way down the corridor while he thought about the place that it was hidden, and then Harry stepped back into the room. He hadn’t paid attention to those waiting to be let back into the room, and he ignored the shouts and screams of the people fighting on the floors below him. Just because Voldemort was holding back, didn’t mean his Death Eaters were. Harry thought they must have been close to fighting their way inside by now, but that was more of a reason to find the Horcrux and destroy it. Destroy it, before Voldemort could destroy him, he told himself firmly.
Yet, there was a voice in the back of his mind, telling him to take the Horcrux and cherish it. His child had died to make this one, it told him; love it, like you would have loved your child. If he killed Nagini, and Voldemort, then there would be no more Horcruxes. Voldemort wouldn’t be able to use the soul piece in the diadem alone, he’d need help, and Harry could keep the diadem safe and secluded and then no one would get near it to help Voldemort… no one. The diadem would be Harry’s forever.
Harry stood before the ugly headpiece. One hand was outstretched, telling him to grab it, take it, kill it. And his other hand hung by his side, the fingers clenched tightly, and he told himself it was better this way.
“Destroy the Diadem,” he whispered, “before he destroys me.”
“That’s my wand you’re holding, Potter!” A voice called from behind him.
Harry let his arm drop, twirling around to see who had spoken, even though he recognized the voice straight away. Crabbe and Goyle stood shoulder to shoulder behind him, their wands outstretched. In the space between their heads, Harry could see Draco Malfoy, who also had a wand pointed at his chest.
“Who leant you their wand?” Harry asked curiously.
Malfoy’s face turned down, annoyed and angry, “my mother,” he said. And Harry laughed softly, though there was nothing funny about the situation. He wondered if Lucius or Narcissa were fighting outside, though now neither of them had wands. Harry wondered if they knew their son was here.
They were so close, so very close. Harry wondered if he could reach back quickly, grab the diadem and then dive out of the way before the Slytherins could attack him. He doubted it, but it was worth a try. He had come too far, fought too hard, to lose now. There were only a couple of Horcruxes left, and he was so close. He couldn’t be beaten by Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy now.
They couldn’t have his Diadem.
XXX
Ron and Hermione ran into Luna first, who told them Harry was searching for them. Then Ginny ran past them, her red hair flying behind her and her wand outstretched as she cursed people out of her way. Hermione aimed a spell at a Death Eater, tucked behind an open door and waited until he fell with a thump before peeking back out. Ron looked over her shoulder, “Ginny!” He called, “What are you doing here?”
“Harry’s in the Room,” she called back over her shoulder, already running onto her next battle.
When they found the Room of Requirements, the door opened easily for them. Harry flew through the doorway on a rickety old broom, Malfoy seated behind him, clinging to his waist. Fire raged all around them; creatures of abnormal sizes and mythical shapes made of flames chased after the broomstick, chomping on the bristles of the tail and making Malfoy shriek with fear.
“Aguamenti!” Hermione shrieked, her wand pointed at Malfoy’s back which had caught fire. The flame went out, leaving his robes singed and smoking, but the monstrous beasts continued to chase them.
Goyle’s body was slumped over a three-legged desk, and Hermione quickly cast a summoning charm; grunting as his weight knocked both her and Ron into the wall.
“The door’s that way!” Malfoy cried, pale faced, “where are you going?”
Harry turned the broom around and dipped; flying low over the flames. He could see the diadem, he could almost reach it; he just needed to fly a little lower. Malfoy reached around him, trying to pull the brooms up, and it was only chance that his arm knocked the Diadem and it got caught on the sleeve of his robe. Harry pulled up, keeping a careful eye on the headpiece that was attached to Malfoy’s wrist. He flew them from the room with all of the flying skills he had been born with and trained throughout his years at Hogwarts,, barely escaping the Feindfyre, and with a cry of relief Malfoy kicked the door closed behind them.
They crashed into a wall, panting and gasping. Malfoy rolled tiredly onto his back, and Harry reached towards him warily to pull the Diadem away.
He hadn’t wanted to destroy it, he realised. Part of him had wanted to say ‘fuck the greater good’ and keep the diadem for himself, but ultimately the choice hadn’t been left up to him. It was fortunate, in some respects, because Harry doubted Hermione could have convinced him to destroy the Diadem like she had the locket.
The fire had destroyed this one for him.
Harry’s fingers lightly caressed the blackened artefact, frowning at the thin coating of black ooze on its surface.
“What’s so fascinating, Potter?” Malfoy asked, turning his face away from the unconscious Goyle to look at his teenage arch-enemy.
Harry’s mouth moved involuntarily. He hadn’t meant for the words to come out, but he had spoken them before he realised what he was doing. Panicking at the look of confusion on Ron and Malfoy faces, and the knowing look of pity on Hermione’s he surged to his feet. He threw the Diadem at his friend, who caught it with ease, cradling it gently to her chest, and then he ran. He wasn’t watching where he was going, he didn’t notice who he passed or who he tripped over or who tried to curse him. He just kept running, away.
“My baby died to make this,” he had said, caressing the ex-Horcrux lovingly.
XXX
May 2nd 1998.
It was only minutes after midnight, but the sun had already started to rise. It was little more than a thin line of light on the horizon, running completely parallel with the gradient of the land, and the moon was still full and bright in the sky, but it was rising. Harry wondered briefly if this was a sign: a sign of the end of the world, the end of his world at least; or just an omen of ominous things to come.
He watched the burning horizon from the window of the Headmaster’s office, his back to the Pensieve.
The gargoyle had let him inside without protest, but this time Snape wasn’t watching as Harry poured the vial of memories into the shimmery surface of the Pensieve. Snape was dead. It had been Snape’s memories that Harry had watched moments ago; Snape’s memories that had rocked his world and stilled his heart and made him tremble.
He knew what he had to do now. There were no more conflicting thoughts about protecting Horcruxes or ending the war with the power of love. There was no conflict within him whatsoever. A bittersweet smile crossed his lips as he left the office and made his way past the fighting, screaming, dying Witches and Wizards, and out into the open, blood drenched grounds. Hogwarts was crumbling around him. His first home; their first home, Harry correcting thinking of Anathema and Tom: falling to dust and ashes as giants threw each other around, and spells and curses crashed into its stone walls. Harry took a deep breath, handing his cloak and the Sword he had taken from Ron to Neville as they crossed paths.
“If you get a chance, kill his snake,” he told his fellow Gryffindor. “Make sure you cut off the head.”
Then, Harry made his way into the Forbidden Forest.
He imagined that he could hear them talking and laughing, already celebrating his death. But there was silence within the forest except for his feet crunching over fallen leaves. He peered through a gap in the copse of trees before him, swallowing nervously at the lines of Death Eaters that waited impatiently before Lord Voldemort.
“He isn’t coming,” the Dark Lord whispered. “It seems I was… mistaken.”
Harry thought he sounded rather upset, but of course he would be. No more easy kill; no, now Voldemort thought he would have to chase Harry down and fight him and risk Harry escaping. The boy almost laughed. There was nowhere to escape to now, and even if there was, that wouldn’t be an option for him.
He had to do this. There was no choice.
He took a step back, rummaging one-handed in the Mokeskin pouch that hung around his neck, and he pulled out the golden Snitch Dumbledore had given him. “I’m about to die,” he whispered with his mouth pressed to its glossy surface. It cracked open, splitting in two, and Harry caught the Gaunt ring as it fell out. The black stone was dirty and scratched, but Harry could faintly make out the symbol of the Deathly Hallows etched upon it.
Harry knew he shouldn’t. He knew there was no point, because he would be joining them soon enough, but he wanted to see them. He wanted to know them in life, for just a moment; just a moment more than he’d ever had a chance to before. So he turned the ring over, three times, between the fingers of both hands, and then he waited. But no one appeared before him; no one came to visit orphaned Harry Potter or lonely Anathema Black. Harry slipped the ring on his ring-finger, clenching the hand shut so tight that the ring cut into his skin and made him hiss, and then he stepped forward.
He came through the trees, and the Death Eaters automatically moved out of the way, surprised and wary. Harry was wandless, both wands tucked into the pouch around his neck along with the broken pieces of his first wand. He didn’t look at Voldemort as he spoke; instead his eyes were on Hagrid, who was tied to a rather thick-trunked tree.
“You weren’t,” Harry told him, as loudly as he could, trying not to sound afraid.
“Ahn- Harry Potter,” Voldemort said after a short stretch of silence, in which their eyes had finally met and their gazes had held, and Harry had been unable to break away. “The Boy Who Lived… come to die.” His wand was lowered, but as he spoke it rose higher and higher until it was pointed at Harry’s forehead, at the scar that had started it all.
Voldemort paused, watching, waiting, and then he spoke. His mouth moved, but Harry couldn’t hear the words. He met Voldemort’s red, slit-pupilled eyes again, and he didn’t try to duck, or weave, or dodge.
Harry stood still and waited for the green light to strike him.
It was time to die.
XXX
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I don’t like it. I don’t know why, I just don’t. But at least it gets happier in the next chapter, so don’t hate me! :P
Thank you all for reading. Please leave a review, because I really wanna reach 1,000 before the end of this story. And remember… HAPPY ENDING: it is coming. Just wait a few more chapters.
Words: 4,350
Chapter 12
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