Albus Dumbledore sighed in frustration and exasperation. He read
the letter again, but it did nothing but increase his already present
headache. He was the Headmaster of Hogwarts! He should have
been consulted before Griselda Marchbanks administered the exams
to Harry. Now, it was too late. The seal of the Head of the
Department of Magical Education was present on the authorization
letter. Other than Harry's disappearance four years ago, these past
few months seemed like the first time in a decade that he felt
helpless to stop something. The last time such a feeling had gripped
him, countless lived had been destroyed due to a war started by a
madman.
Dumbledore had developed a plan more than ten years ago which
he thought would finally end Lord Voldemort for good. When Sybill
Trelawney foretold the birth of a boy who would have the power to
vanquish the Dark Lord, he had been intrigued and frightened.
Curious because he wondered how the said child would defeat the
Dark Lord, and frightened because the prophecy claimed that the
boy would be more powerful – in a sense – as compared to Lord
Voldemort.
And if there was anything that scared Albus, it was power in the
hands of dangerous individuals. Merlin knows his life had been
destroyed due to his lust for power. His love for Gellert and the plans
they had concocted for world domination had backfired
spectacularly. The three-way duel had resulted in the love of his life
fleeing England, and culminated with him burying his sister's dead
body. Even now, more than a century later, Albus did not know
whose Killing Curse had snuffled out Ariana's life. He had a strong
suspicion but was too scared to even acknowledge it to himself. After
that incident, he had decided to quit his dreams of being a world
leader.
It was ironic that he was now the Supreme Mugwump of the
International Confederation of Wizards, the chosen leader of
hundreds of millions of witches and wizards around the world.
Nursing his broken heart, he had travelled all over the world for
many years, seeking knowledge about different kinds of magic. He
was especially talented in Transfiguration, and once his grand tour
was complete, he had applied for a teaching post at Hogwarts.
For a few decades, things were quite calm. Albus had realised he
had a real passion for teaching. He saw many young witches and
wizards come and go, but outside the walls of the school, things
began heating up. Gellert had started seizing power and by the early
1930s, there was an all-out international hunt for him ordered by the
I.C.W. Europe and America were burning due to his methods of
seeking power. Albus had never condoned violence of any kind. It
was one of the things he and Gellert had often fought about back
then. He preferred to manipulate in the background and seize power
through charisma and leadership. Of course, his current status as
the leader of the I.C.W. was proof to decide which theory was right.
While the great magical war was raging on in the western part of the
planet, a new threat emerged in the form of an eleven-year-old
wizard named Tom Riddle. Albus had been quite worried about the
boy's behaviour. He seemed unusually powerful for his age and
seemed to have a strong grasp on magic even before he was
informed about being a wizard. Not only that, he seemed to be using
his powers to harm his enemies. The fact that he was a Parselmouth
only made Albus not trust him more, though he did try to give the boy
a chance. For the next several years at Hogwarts, Albus had treated
Tom Riddle with indifference, and in some cases, intense suspicion.
Unfortunately, this backfired on him again, with the bright, intelligent
boy resorting to the blackest of the black arts, and also opening the
dreaded Chamber of Secrets, which resulted in several attacks and
the death of a student.
Albus remembered the boy pleading with him to let him stay at
Hogwarts during the summer (as much pleading as a Slytherin would
do), but he had refused, wanting Tom to get along with Muggles
better. The other reason was that he did not want Tom to spend
more time at Hogwarts than necessary (especially without
supervision during the holidays) and he thought his decision was
sound after the opening of the Chamber of Secrets a few years later.
Unknown to Albus Dumbledore, that choice of his had been one of
the main reasons why Tom Riddle resorted to Horcruxes to prevent
his death. The young Slytherin had grown up in the Muggle city
during the London Blitz, and even though at the time, the Second
World War had ended, Tom Riddle was still too frightened to stay in
London where a bomb could be dropped on the orphanage anytime
by enemy powers. He had at least wanted to stay at the Leakey
Cauldron, where the wards around Diagon Alley protected them from
the bombs, but without money and adult consent, he couldn't do so.
He was forced to stay in the Muggle world and survive during the
immediate aftermath of a brutal war, with little to no food, and face
the danger of being killed every day.
That experience was what had made Tom Riddle create a Horcrux
when he was just a sixteen-year-old boy, despite warnings in the
book to not attempt it before magical maturity. The more he split his
soul, the more twisted and evil he became. Soon, Voldemort was but
a shadow of his former self. In his quest for immortality, he had
traded his sanity and humanity. Tom Riddle had always been dark,
but he would not have become as twisted and insane if not for the
Horcruxes he created.
Albus Dumbledore, however, didn't know this. When Voldemort
started his surgical strikes against the British magical society, the
aged headmaster was consumed with guilt. He had allowed yet
another very powerful wizard to destroy the world – and it was all his
fault. He had allowed Gellert to seize power by supplying him with
various plans for world domination; tens of thousands of witches and
wizards abroad had died as a result and he didn't even want to count
the number of Muggle deaths. He had failed in stopping Voldemort's
rise to power; dozens, hundreds and within twenty years, thousands
of witches and wizards in Britain had perished. So when he heard
the prophecy in his office when the Seer had recited it to him during
a job interview, he acted.
He quickly put Trelawney under a complex Confundus Charm and
restaged the interview in the Hog's Head. He had ensured that a
Death Eater was present so that he could give the information to
Voldemort. It had worked exactly as he had planned. Severus Snape
had delivered the first half of the prophecy and now, Voldemort was
distracted. He was searching for this boy who had the power to
defeat him. The general population and the Ministry of Magic were
now given little importance as he upped his attacks on two mothers
who were expecting to deliver at the end of July and fit the terms of
the prophecy – Lily Potter and Alice Longbottom.
There had been repeated attacks on the two families. Charlus and
Dorea had been killed in an attack on their manor. Augusta
Longbottom's husband had been murdered in broad daylight. There
was another attack where James and Lily had escaped moments
before Voldemort's arrival. Albus had also suspected that there was
a spy in the Order of the Phoenix who was leaking information to
Voldemort, but he didn't stop it, for the tactic was proving to be
effective. The Dark Lord had diverted all his attention to the Order
and was not focussed on the general population, so Albus went
along with it. It wasn't too difficult for him to realise who the spy was,
of course. He wasn't a natural at Legilimency for nothing. He
convinced himself that the Order members were all well-trained
people, so it was worth the risk. But they were slowly falling one by
one.
Finally, he had decided that he couldn't wait anymore, nor risk the
lives of the Order members who were being killed individually.
Voldemort had to be stopped by any means necessary before he
caused more deaths. The problem was the ethics of it, but Albus had
realised something.
The needs of many outweigh the needs of the few. He was the
Supreme Mugwump. It was his duty to protect the magical world and
keep the Statute of Secrecy intact. For the greater good of all, he
had made that horrible decision.
After another attack on Potter Manor, he had convinced James and
Lily to go under the Fidelius Charm. The second assault on their
ancestral mansion had shaken the couple, especially after what had
happened the last time, resulting in the deaths of Charlus and Dorea.
James and Lily were a formidable and deadly team, no doubt, but it
was difficult to fight when they had a one-year-old baby with them.
The very subtle suggestion to use Peter Pettigrew as the Secret
Keeper worked out perfectly.
Only he wasn't expecting the child to survive, but thankfully,
Voldemort had been defeated as well, just as Trewalney had
predicted.
But Albus had been bewildered.
Who on earth could survive being hit by the Killing Curse, much less
reflect it back at the caster? But somehow, it had happened. The
enchantments he had placed on the cottage showed him that Harry
was alive. He had sent Hagrid to collect the child and bring him to
Hogwarts while he informed Barty Crouch to apprehend Sirius Black.
That decision was sad and it still made Albus cringe in guilt, but it
was necessary. As the oath-sworn godfather, not to mention closest
blood relative through James Potter, Sirius could not be denied
guardianship of the child of the prophecy. Sirius was too
unpredictable, so Albus had sent him to Azkaban without a trial. The
deaths of all those Muggles only made it easier.
He had honestly thought Pettigrew was dead.
Albus knew exactly what he was condemning young Harry to when
he placed the baby on that doorstep, but he knew that the sacrifice
was necessary. The child's happiness was irrelevant at the moment.
Voldemort may have been vanquished, but there were still many
Death Eaters out there – some identified, others unknown – who
were willing to do absolutely anything to get their revenge on the boy
who had vanquished their master. He had to take a decision quickly
so as to protect Harry Potter.
He had stumbled upon a very ancient form of blood-magic that linked
family members together; old magic that was tied to intentions of
those under its protection. Using the intent of Lily's sacrifice, Albus
had collected Lily and Harry's blood, allowing it to power the charms
around Number Four, Privet Drive. Petunia's blood connection to
Harry would offer the best protection possible.
But there was still the mystery of the boy's scar, and how he had
survived the Killing Curse.
Before dropping him off at the Dursleys, Dumbledore had spent
every waking minute of an entire day, scanning the child using
various obscure spells until he discovered the soul piece lodged in
Harry's scar. That was when he realised with a jolt that Voldemort
had not been killed like he had assumed, but only temporarily
defeated. The twisted man had ignored the sacred laws of Magic
and had actually severed his soul and created a Horcrux.
That begged the question – how? How could a piece of Voldemort's
soul – because it could hardly be anybody else's, not to mention he
could detect Tom's magical signature – be attached to the boy? He
spent years finding out everything he could about Horcruxes,
consulting various experts on dark magic until he finally arrived at
the solution.
Voldemort must have made multiple Horcruxes, and that had
resulted in his soul accidentally tearing itself apart when the Killing
Curse rebounded, with the severed soul-piece latching onto the only
living thing in the room – Harry.
Albus had then started searching for any information on Voldemort
that would lead him to other Horcruxes, after persuading Horace
Slughorn to give him a memory where Tom Riddle had broached the
subject with his teacher. The potions master had constantly evaded
Albus, going so far as to resign his position, but eventually, after a lot
of effort, the headmaster managed to acquire the extremely valuable
memory by using Slughorn's own guilt against him. However, even
after knowing that there were potentially six Horcruxes of a sevenpart
soul, Albus had been unable to track them down. Between his
headmaster duties, his position as Chief Warlock of a country that
was torn by war, and being Supreme Mugwump of the I.C.W, he had
his hands full, and there wasn't enough time to search for clues that
led to a trail that had long gone cold.
Albus had also been guilt-ridden for months after the attack on the
Potters, blaming himself for what had happened to James, Lily and
Sirius. The three Gryffindors had been some of his absolute
favourites, with their loyalty in him unshakable, but what had he
done? He had betrayed them in the worst possible manner.
But that guilt had reduced considerably after he had seen what
happened to Frank and Alice Longbottom – yet another example as
to what he had stopped by activating the prophecy. The country also
began to prosper again, without Voldemort to cause fear and panic.
Albus had also tried his level best to get the Death Eaters locked up,
but alas! There were some things he just could not do. With how
busy he had been, the corruption at the Ministry of Magic had been
undetected and several Wizengamot members and members of the
Council of Magical Law had been bribed and threatened to let the
accused go scot-free, even with him and Barty Crouch Senior doing
their best to lock them up.
However, not all his plans worked out the way he had intended.
Harry Potter had disappeared from the Dursleys when he was
seven. When he returned to Hogwarts, he was everything
Dumbledore didn't want.
He was intelligent; dangerously so. He also knew about his family
heritage, embraced it, and didn't have a problem with showing how
exceptional he truly was when it came to magic. The boy was also
cold and reclusive. While it was true that magical children developed
faster mentally and physically as compared to Muggles, it was
frightening how similar Harry Potter was as compared to Tom Riddle.
The same charisma, the same elegance and grace, the same
devilishly good looks for one so young, the same sharp mind; they
were all dangerous combinations and Albus couldn't help but
remember Harry's apparent hatred of Muggles. He was already
nervous about it which was why he had hoped to gain the boy's
loyalty by accepting young Harry into the accelerated program, but
that opportunity was now out of his grasp.
Harry had also refused to go back to Petunia. Logically, he
understood that Harry was safer behind the extensive wards of
Potter Castle, but the problem was that Albus didn't know what
enchantments powered the castle in the first place, and if they were
good enough. Just because they were powerful once did not mean
they were powerful now! Harry was just a child and without an adult
to guide him, who would have taught him to access the wards? That
was not the only reason – there were books in the Potter library
which Albus did not want the boy to read. Harry gaining more power
sent shivers down his spine as he remembered another black haired
boy fifty years ago. There were many differences between Harry and
Tom, oh yes, but there were also dangerous similarities, which was
why he had set up the test for him with the fake philosopher's stone.
The boy had actually tried to blackmail him! HIM! He was one of the
most powerful wizards in the world, magically and politically, and
Harry actually had the gall to blackmail him! Not even Voldemort had
dared to do that at the height of his powers, but deep in his heart,
Albus was actually amused that Harry had attempted it.
Ah, the mind of a child!
But it looked like it was unwarranted. The young Ravenclaw had
been accepted into the accelerated program through the Ministry of
Magic with the help of his new guardian, Lord Sirius Black.
Albus rubbed his temples. He would have to keep a very close eye
on Harry, closer than he previously intended. The boy had
completely ignored the test he had set for him. Harry had not
ventured to the third-floor corridor like the rest of the more curious
students in the school. He suspected that Quirrell wanted to steal the
stone, thinking it was real, and had a feeling that the Defence
teacher somehow worked for Voldemort, though how, Albus did not
know. He had an inkling about what was going on, though. He had
initially thought Quirrell would be enough to test Harry, but now ...
maybe it would be better if the boy confronted Voldemort himself? It
would prove to be effective as Harry would see how dangerous his
parents' murderer is. That would surely make the boy trust the wise
old Headmaster, would it not?
At this point, Albus was even willing to teach Alchemy if it meant
getting Harry to trust him.
He snapped out his musings when the door to his office banged
open and Severus Snape entered with a snarl on his face. He threw
a very familiar looking letter on the desk and bellowed, "I will not
accept this, Albus! That Potter brat is being given too much leeway. I
will not let him inside any other class other than the one he is
supposed to be in, and that is the class for the first years. What
nonsense is this?"
Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Babbling, and Vector
entered the office too. Albus sighed as he drowned a Calming
Draught. This was going to be a long meeting indeed.
The second term at Hogwarts began with loud whispers and gossip
about one Harry Potter. He seemed to have been accepted into the
famed accelerated program which had not been seen at the school
for a century. People wondered how talented he must be for him to
be selected, but others were positive that he was awarded the
opportunity only because he was the Boy-Who-Lived. The
newspaper article about him seeking attention by enrolling himself in
the program written by Rita Skeeter didn't help matters either. Of
course, Sirius had gone and let the editor of the Daily Prophet know
exactly why people trembled in fear when they heard the name
'Black'. It was a synonym for blackmail and the editor had hastily
printed an apology the next day.
Naturally, it was ignored by the rest of the population. No one read
something as boring as a retraction in the newspaper.
Much to Sirius' delight, Harry didn't seem to care about the negative
press. Many of the older years in Ravenclaw were openly sneering
at him, not to mention Hermione Granger had thrown a major temper
tantrum, but he didn't care. Harry was thriving in his third-year
classes. He had quickly risen to the top of the class again, much to
the joy of his teachers. Professor Babbling especially was thrilled
when she realised Harry considered Runes to be one of his most
favourite subjects. The third-year students began to realise why he
was in the accelerated program. He was a prodigy.
Snape was, naturally, nastier than ever. Harry was seriously
considering murdering the bastard, but he didn't know how to do it
without raising suspicion. Then there was Quirrell. Harry had caught
sight of the man openly staring at Harry with a hungry gleam in his
eye and it was making Harry very uncomfortable. He had not shared
this with Sirius. Merlin knows he would march to the castle to 'take
care of it' if Harry ever mentioned it to his godfather.
Harry still didn't know what he was feeling when it came to Sirius,
and now that he realised it, Daphne as well. His relationship with
each of them had deepened over time. His godfather had given him
a communication mirror so that they could talk to each other all the
time. Harry had been very impressed with the mirror and had sent a
letter to his account manager at Gringotts to find out everything
about the company. At the back of his mind, he couldn't help but
think that despite knowing Sirius for a very short time, he could
picture a good – dare he say it – father-son relationship with the
older wizard in the future. His chest always tightened when he
thought about it, but Harry didn't know what it meant.
Then, of course, was Daphne. He had taken to spending
increasingly more time with her in the Room of Requirement. Doing
so made them start talking to each other more as he tutored her in
her studies. It was now at such a level that Harry genuinely felt
protective of her and he would go so far as to call her his best friend,
even though she was his only friend. The Room of Requirement
itself was a big mystery to him and the way he found it, even more
so. He let his mind wander, thinking back to that day.
It was the first week back at school. Harry was walking along a
corridor on the seventh floor after meeting the Headmaster.
Dumbledore had wanted to speak to him about the exams he had
taken at the Ministry. He had also given Harry one of his patented
'I'm disappointed in you' looks. Apparently, he was about to let Harry
know that he had approved of the accelerated program and was
waiting for him to come back to school, but Harry honestly doubted
the veracity of the headmaster's statement.
Just as he turned a corner, he saw the tapestry of a man teaching a
group of trolls how to dance. Suddenly, he was assaulted by a
memory again.
He had found the legendary Room of Requirement. It had been a
perfect coincidence that he had seen one of those house-elves using
the room. Excitement churned in his stomach as he paced three
times in front of the blank wall. From what he gathered after
interrogating the elf, he could imagine the room to resemble anything
he wanted! He opened his eyes and stopped pacing.
A large iron door appeared.
Harry gasped as he missed a step, nearly tripping on his shoes,
wincing in pain as his head throbbed horribly. That had been another
memory; a memory that belonged to Voldemort. What the hell was
happening?
He curiously looked at the blank stretch of wall. Could it really
resemble anything he wanted? Harry slowly moved closer and paced
three times in front of it. On the third try, a large metal door
appeared. When he opened it and stepped inside, Harry's eyes
widened in shock. The room was exactly as he wanted it to be.
Several practice dummies were present, with wands in hand.
Ten minutes later, Harry realised that these dummies were nothing
like those he had back home at Potter Castle. These felt real, like he
was actually duelling a grown wizard. A slow grin formed on his face
He couldn't even describe the advantages this room could offer. He
would use it to his advantage. After all, he had a duelling
championship to prepare for.
HP*SAVIOUR OF MAGIC*HP
Harry activated the Marauder's Map again, his eyes slowly scanning
it. It was a goldmine of information, giving details about what people
were up to by simply observing their movements, which he would
pass on to Daphne. She was overjoyed when she realised the
amount of blackmail material it offered. Such things were extremely
useful if one had to survive in Slytherin, which her parents had
repeatedly told her and Astoria growing up. A couple of minutes later,
his eyes narrowed. This was something he hadn't seen the last time.
Professor Quirrell's name seemed to overlap with another name, but
he couldn't read it clearly. Harry tapped his wand on the map,
ordering it to magnify, showing the name which was overlapping with
Quirrell's.
Tom Riddle.
"Tom Riddle?" Harry whispered to himself in confusion. He winced in
pain as another memory assaulted his mind.
He was in his bed in the Slytherin dormitories. He kept tapping his
wand on the sheet of parchment and wondered if he was ever going
to succeed. The letters kept interchanging over and over again, but
none of them made any sense. His original name returned.
TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE
Anger bubbled in his gut as he angrily tapped his wand on the sheet
once more. Letters changed again, but this time, it formed something
different. His heart skipped a beat as he saw the words written on
the parchment. It was a perfect anagram of his name, which was
what he originally intended. It also made sense because his goal
was to conquer death. What a perfect word! It meant 'Flight from
Death'. He smirked at the words he could see which were
shimmering under the light from his wand –
I AM LORD VOLDEMORT
Harry gasped as he picked himself from the floor, his body still
trembling slightly, having collapsed due to the pain of the memory
slamming into his conscious mind. He had to control himself when
those memories assaulted him. It would be monumentally disastrous
if Dumbledore or the Ministry found out that he somehow had
Voldemort's memories in his head. He swallowed heavily when his
gaze returned to the map.
He couldn't believe it. Voldemort was still alive? Wasn't he supposed
to be dead? The Killing Curse was said to have impacted him, right?
If that were true, then how could Voldemort be inside the castle?
Harry knew it was the truth – the map never lies, after all. It had
Gryffindor blood powering it, so it was linked to the wards
themselves. A shiver of fear ran down the length of Harry's spine as
he looked at the name with wide eyes.
Tom Riddle
If Voldemort was inside the castle, then why was his name nearly
combined with that of Quirrell? Was he disguised as Quirrell, using
the form as an alias? In that case, Harry was in grave danger.
What to do?
Harry already knew that Dumbledore had kept a fake Philosopher's
stone in the school. He did not believe even for a second that it could
be the real one. There was no way Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel
would give away their prized alchemical discovery. The stone was
the only thing keeping them alive, after all. They might be very old,
but he doubted they were that stupid.
But apparently, Voldemort had taken the bait. Harry had heard Ron
Weasley and Hermione Granger discussing the stone many times
since the second term began. Curiously enough, each time, Harry
would be in the vicinity, though he didn't understand the reasoning
behind it. He had simply shrugged it off after researching about the
stone.
He also knew that there was a Cerberus behind that door in the
third-floor corridor from speaking to the Weasley twins who had
investigated it. He had read about them from a book he had taken
from the Potter family library. Very little was known about those
monster dogs, but apparently, music can make it go to sleep.
Harry absentmindedly gripped the locked hanging from around his
neck. Opening it, he saw a picture of his parents smiling back at him,
waving as though they could actually see him. His face remained
stony as he looked back. He didn't remember them, but reading their
journals, and the way both of them described him, their son, had
touched Harry's wounded heart just after he had escaped the
Dursleys. Harry may not even remember their voices, but they were
his parents and the strange feeling in his chest returned again. If not
for Voldemort, he would have had parents. If not for Voldemort, he
would not have been abandoned at the Dursleys. If not for
Voldemort, he would have lived a carefree life as any eleven-yearold
should.
He needed to get rid of Voldemort. He was probably the one who let
the troll inside the castle on Samhain, so there was no telling what
lengths the Dark Lord would go to get the stone and maybe kill Harry
himself in the process. Harry had also noted Quirrell eyeing him
recently. Ergo, he had to go. But how?
A week later, Harry finally had enough courage to put his plan in
motion. He had been tempted to contact his godfather but had
restrained himself. Sirius would not approve of Harry's decision. He
didn't like it much either, but he wasn't going to let Voldemort kill him
now; not when his future was finally looking bright. Swallowing his
nervousness and trying to control his slightly shaking limbs, he
donned the Invisibility Cloak and sneaked out of Ravenclaw Tower.
Professor Quirrell was walking towards his office, stuttering as usual
when he greeted a couple of the prefects who were patrolling the
corridors after curfew. When he entered, he noticed a slip of
parchment waiting on his desk with an alert charm on it. His master
ordered him to investigate immediately, so Quirrell scanned and
dispelled the charm. It was a simple message written in
indistinguishable capital letters.
LV –
MUSIC SOOTHES THE SAVAGE BEAST. I HOPE YOU COME
BACK TO US SOON.
– A FRIEND
Just as he finished reading it, the parchment burst into flames,
startling the man. His master ordered him to head to the third floor at
once so that they could test the theory and verify if it was a trap or
not. No one else was supposed to know of Voldemort's involvement
and the Dark Lord was curious as to who could have sent that
message. He knew that it wasn't Dumbledore because it wasn't his
style, so he decided to investigate who was behind this; after, of
course, confirming the theory behind the Cerberus' reaction to
music. As it was quite late, no one was around when Quirrell made
his way to the third-floor corridor.
Dispelling the alert charms cast by Dumbledore, Quirrell opened the
door and entered. At once, the Cerberus started growling, but he
conjured a harp which began playing soft music. The large dog's
eyelids started drooping. Once it was asleep, Quirrell carefully
moved one of the massive paws away from the trap door.
The Defence professor never saw that silent stunner coming from
behind him.
As he crumpled to the floor, Harry silenced the harp with a flick of his
wand and sent an overpowered stinging hex at the sleeping
Cerberus. The massive dog growled angrily and pounced on the only
target it could see – the unconscious form of Professor Quirrell.
Harry swallowed as he turned away from the sight of the mangled
body of the Defence professor, putting the hood of the invisibility
cloak back over his head. He couldn't believe he had actually done
it. Reinforcing his mental shields, he tried to push the memory as far
into his mind palace as possible. He opened the door and walked
out, trying to get to Ravenclaw Tower as soon as possible, doing his
best to think about anything other than the murder he had just
committed. He would probably have to take a Calming Draught for
the night; maybe a few other nights too.
He never saw the shade rise from Quirrell's dead body, the red eyes
staring the place Harry's head occupied before he had left the room.
With an angry snarl, Lord Voldemort flew away from Hogwarts and
back towards Albania.
He had been thwarted again by Harry Potter, but it would be the last
time. He, Lord Voldemort would make sure of it!
HP*SAVIOUR OF MAGIC*HP
April 2002
"Harry, what are we doing here? It's nearly midnight!" Daphne
whispered in his ear.
The two of them were under Harry's Invisibility Cloak, prowling the
castle after curfew. It was early April now, and Daphne couldn't figure
out what her fiancé was up to.
"Don't worry, it's nothing dangerous," Harry smirked at her. "I have a
surprise for you."
"A surprise?!"
"Yes, now hush. We're almost there."
Harry led her to the seventh-floor corridor and they stopped in front
of a very familiar tapestry. After he checked the map to ensure no
one was nearby, he removed the cloak and paced three times until
the iron door appeared.
He then looked at Daphne and whispered, "Close your eyes."
When Daphne reluctantly complied, she felt Harry gently take her
hand and lead her inside. She could feel a light, cool breeze but
knew that it was the magic of the room that created it. Harry carefully
guided her down several steps and she was made to sit on
something. She was getting restless, so before she could open her
eyes, Harry conjured a blindfold and slid it over her eyes.
"Harry!" whined Daphne. "Come on! What's this about?"
"You'll see," he said, sounding amused.
Daphne couldn't hear anything either but knew there were probably
silencing charms in place. Finally, Harry removed the blindfold with a
wave of his hand. Her eyes took time to adjust to the dim lighting.
They seemed to be on a small boat, but it was closed on all sides, so
she couldn't see what was going on outside.
"Where are we?" she asked, confused.
Harry simply smiled and flicked his wand, making the roof of the boat
disappear. Daphne gasped.
They were in the middle of a calm lake at night. There was a full
moon with stars and constellations seen in the clear night sky above.
Mountain peaks could be seen in the distance and she could see
forest cover on the distant banks of the lake too. The boat swayed
slightly in the water. It was the most beautiful sight she had ever
seen.
"How did you know?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
"You told me," said Harry, smiling slightly. "You told me that you had
dreamt about such a place once and that you always remembered it.
I saw flashes of it when I was teaching you Occlumency about two
months ago. You said that if you ever were to come across a place
like this, you would wish to spend your birthday there."
"You remembered?" she asked, not taking her glistening eyes off
Harry's face.
He simply smiled as he reached for a bag. She watched him
assemble everything needed. A small vanilla cake, her favourite, was
being held in his hands, with one of those fancy flower candles on it.
"Happy birthday, Daphne," he whispered, just as it turned midnight.
Tears flowed down Daphne's cheeks as she croaked out a thank
you. Harry smiled as he took a small piece of cake and fed it to her,
just as his godfather had instructed him to do. Daphne, in turn, took
a piece of cake and fed it to him as well.
"Look up," he muttered, pointing to the sky. When she looked at the
night sky, she gasped as several fancy fireworks exploded in the air,
bathing the sky in beautiful colours. One of the fireworks exploded,
forming the words, ' Happy Birthday Daphne ' in the sky.
"Thank you, Harry," she whispered, wiping her tears away. "Thank
you so much. You didn't have to go to such lengths to impress me,
you know."
"You may be my fiancée, Daphne, but you're also my first and only
friend," he shrugged. "I just wanted to thank you for that and, well,
apologise for you being trapped with me because of the betrothal
contract. It wasn't your fault that I'm the last Potter."
"I don't mind being engaged to you," smiled Daphne, her cheeks
colouring, a hint of awkwardness creeping through. "In fact, I think
it's the best thing that has ever happened to me."
"Really? You're not mad that you will be forced to marry me?"
"I was angry, yes, but so were you. But I'm not anymore. Over the
past several months, you've become my best friend, Harry. Sure, I've
known Tracy for a couple of years, but she's very social while I'm
not; at least not outside the family, but I don't mind having you as my
best friend. Forced into it or not, I'm happy ."
"Me too," said Harry quietly. There was tense silence for a minute,
the air filled with uncertainty, which he broke by saying, "I – ahem – I
have a present for you. I hope you like it."
He took out a long, slender velvet box and gave it to Daphne. She
accepted it and opened it carefully and gasped when she saw what
was inside.
"It's a locket similar to mine," said Harry, pointing to the one hanging
from around his neck outside his shirt, "with a bevvy of protective
charms on it, some of which are not exactly legal. Open it."
Daphne opened the locket and saw that on one side was a picture of
her with her parents and Astoria, while on the other was a picture of
her and Harry taken during the Yule Ball at Greengrass Manor. She
moved closer and hugged him tightly, not being able to convey her
thanks with mere words. Harry stiffened in panic and realising this,
Daphne pulled away, giving him his space.
"So, whose idea was this?" she asked teasingly.
Harry's green eyes sparkled with amusement, but he didn't see the
point in lying to her. "My godfather suggested I do this," he
acknowledged. "I'd simply wanted to give you a present and leave it
at that, but he insisted that I make it special, and since I had no idea
how to proceed, he helped me with it. The gift was completely my
idea, though."
"Well, I appreciate it," said Daphne, smiling brightly at him. "Thanks,
Harry. You're a true friend."
A hint of a shy, pleased smile formed on Harry's lips, forcing him to
look away, his face flushed with happiness. He couldn't fully
understand the strange emotions that he was experiencing, but
whatever it was, it felt good.
They stayed there for an hour, enjoying the beautiful scenery, each
secretly glancing at the other when the other wasn't looking. Neither
was willing to admit it, but Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass
were slowly beginning to develop feelings for each other.