The Burning Pen

When Good Wizards Go Bad
by Ruth Solomon

The story content is adult in nature and can contain graphic sex and violence.  Those under the age of 18 are asked to leave this site immediately.  You are not welcome here.  The author is not responsible for those under-aged who view these works.

CHAPTER 14

Chapter 14 ~ The Sacrifice

Voldemort awoke a few minutes later, dazed. He got his bearings, picked up his wand and stood up. Nagini’s severed head lay nearby. He looked at it, and his anger flared.

”Well, I still have Potter,” he breathed. He looked over at the tangle of robes that had been what he thought was his most loyal servant.

”Turncoat,” he hissed, striding over to the body and kicking it over with his foot.

He stared at it in disbelief for a moment, then screamed, a wild, ferocious, soul-tearing scream, welling up from the depths of his dark, mangled soul.

”NOOOOO!” Voldemort raged as he looked down on the body of Harry Potter. He was dead.

“SEVERUS! YOU HAVE BETRAYED ME! AND YOU WILL PAY!” he seethed, disapparating outside of his stronghold. He touched his wand to his Mark.

”Yesssss. I know where you are you blackguard. You will pay for your treachery and pay dearly! Locomordres!”

Voldemort flew into the air and zoomed away, heading for Snape’s mansion.

He would die for this betrayal, and die painfully.

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Harry found himself lying facedown on a solid surface, listening to silence. He was alone. No one else was here. Hell, he wasn’t sure that he was here himself. He realized he had all his senses, and that he was buck naked.

He opened his eyes and saw he lay in a bright mist. He sat up and touched his face. He wasn’t wearing glasses.

Then he heard a noise, small soft thumpings of something that flapped, flailed, and struggled. It sounded horrible. He wished he had some clothes.

Suddenly, robes appeared a short distance away from him. He retrieved them and put them on. They were warm . . . and real. He continued to look around and surroundings formed out of the mist. A great domed ceiling glittered about him with sunlight. It was still quiet except for the thumping sound. It was close. He turned to look to see what it was . . . and recoiled.

There was a thing curled on the ground. It looked a bit like a small naked child, the skin rough and raw. It looked peeled as if the skin had been flayed off of its tiny body. It was shuddering under a seat, as if it had been abandoned.

He drew a little closer, but was too repulsed to touch it or attempt to help it.

“You cannot help.”

Harry spun around to see Albus Dumbledore walking toward him, a spring in his step and wearing robes of midnight blue.

“Harry,” he said, smiling and spreading his arms. Both his hands were undamaged. . “You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Let us walk.”

Amazed, Harry followed the old wizard away from the flayed child. They sat down in two seats Harry hadn’t noticed before.

He studied Dumbledore. He looked hale and healthy, his long white beard and hair shining, his nose as long and crooked as ever. And the ever-present twinkling blue eyes were in evidence.

“But you’re dead.” said Harry.

“Oh yes,” said Dumbledore matter-of-factly.

“Then . . . I’m dead too?”

“Ah,” said Dumbledore, smiling still more broadly. “That is the question, isn’t it? On the whole, dear boy, I think not.”

“Not?” repeated Harry.

“Not,” said Dumbledore.

“But . . . ”

Harry went to touch his scar and found it wasn’t there.

“But I should have died—I didn’t defend myself! I meant to let him kill me!”

“And that,” said Dumbledore, “will, I think, have made all the difference.”

“Explain,” said Harry.

“But you already know,” said Dumbledore. He twiddled his thumbs together.

“I let him kill me,” said Harry. “Didn’t I?”

“You did,” said Dumbledore, nodding. “Go on!”

“So the part of his soul that was in me . . .has it gone?”

“Oh yes!” said Dumbledore. “Yes, he destroyed it. Your soul is whole, and completely your own, Harry.”

“But then . . . ”

Harry looked over at the small flapping thing trembling under the chair.

“What is that, Professor?”

“Something that is beyond either of our help,” said Dumbledore.

“But if Voldemort used the Killing Curse,” Harry started again “and nobody died for me this time—how can I be alive?”

“I think you know,” said Dumbledore. “Think back. Remember what he did, in his ignorance, in his greed and his cruelty.”

“He took my blood.” said Harry.

“Precisely!” said Dumbledore. “He took your blood and rebuilt his living body with it! Your blood in his veins, Harry, Lily’s protection inside both of you! He tethered you to life while he lives!”

“I live . . . while he lives! But I thought . . . I thought it was the other way round! I thought we both had to die? Or is it the same thing?”

The creature thumped again and Harry looked back at it.

“Are you sure we can’t do anything?”

“There is no help possible.”

“Then explain . . . more,” said Harry, and Dumbledore smiled.

“You were the seventh Horcrux, Harry, the Horcrux he never meant to make. He had rendered his soul so unstable that it broke apart when he committed those acts of unspeakable evil, the murder of your parents, the attempted killing of a child. But what escaped from that room was even less than he knew. He left more than his body behind. He left part of himself latched to you, the would-be victim who had survived. And his knowledge remained woefully incomplete, Harry! That which Voldemort does not value, he takes no trouble to comprehend. Of house-elves and children’s tales, of love, loyalty, and innocence, Voldemort knows and understands nothing. Nothing. That they all have a power beyond his own, a power beyond the reach of any magic, is a truth he has never grasped. “He took your blood believing it would strengthen him. He took into his body a tiny part of the enchantment your mother laid upon you when she died for you. His body keeps her sacrifice alive, and while that enchantment survives, so do you and so does Voldemort’s one last hope for himself.”

Harry stared at him.

“And you knew this? You knew—all along?”

“I guessed. But my guesses have usually been good,” said Dumbledore happily,

Harry sat there a moment.

”Snape has always been your man, hasn’t he?” the young wizard asked him.

”Not always. But when your mother was put at risk, he agreed to be in my service in exchange for her protection. But I couldn’t protect her,” Dumbledore said sadly.

“But still, he stayed in your service, protected me,” Harry said.

”He was protecting Lily Evans child. He was quite angry when he found out you were meant to be killed all along,” Dumbledore said. “I had to make him understand why and he was to relay it to you. But things went terribly wrong. Voldemort discovered the secret. Discovered you were a Horcrux and instead of killing you, protected you,” the old wizard said.

”I never understood why,” Harry said, “He had spent so much time trying to kill me, then when he had me . . . nothing. I was treated decently.”

“The bird in the gilded cage,” Dumbledore said sagely, “Still I am glad to know that when last came to last, you were willing to sacrifice yourself for the Greater Good. And you have your reward. Severus finally came through.”

”Yes, he did,” Harry said, looking back at the thing again. He finally realized what it was.

Voldemort.

“I’ve got to go back, haven’t I?”

“That is up to you. But I think you would. Voldemort still lives, but now . . . he is mortal. Now his evil can be removed from the world.”

If Snape had been present for this statement, he would have gagged.

Harry nodded and sighed.

“Tell me one last thing,” said Harry. “Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?”

Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry’s ears even though the bright white mist was descending again, obscuring his figure.

“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”

****************************************

Snape apparated to his mansion and entered quickly. He looked about, satisfied. Hermione had done her job and done it well. He bellowed for her.

”Where are you, witch?” he cried, striding down the hall. Hermione appeared.

”Where’s Harry?” she asked the wizard.

At that very moment, Snape grasped his arm. His Dark Mark is burning.

”Harry Potter is dead,” he said to the witch.

“WHAT!” Hermione screamed, “What do you mean he’s dead. You said you were going to rescue him!”

Snape looked at her, his eyes hard.

”I said I was going to free him. He went to face the Dark Lord, and Voldemort killed him,” the pale wizard said.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, then her face took on a murderous mein.

”You set him up! You meant for him to die!” she scream at him, “You murdering manipulative bastard! And to think I helped you!”

Suddenly Hermione whipped out her wand.

”AVADA KEDAVRA!” she screamed.

Nothing happened.

Snape looked at her soberly.

“A good thing I had you take that oath,” he said to the witch.

Hermione launched herself at Snape, clawing at his face like a madwoman. The wizard tussled with her a bit before slapping her to the floor.

”Look. You’re going to have to get in line to kill me. Voldemort is on his way here to punish me for my treachery. He knows he’s killed Potter now,” the wizard said. “Let us attempt to kill him first, then deal with our own issues.”

He began to walk down the hall, wrapping his cloak around him. Hermione got up and watched him walk away for a moment, then ran after him.

”What do you mean he knows he killed Harry now? Didn’t he realize it?” she asked the wizard.

”No. He thought he killed me. Mr. Potter was polyjuiced to look like me. He killed Nagini, then Voldemort killed him, freeing the soul fragment that tethered him to life,” Snape said, hurrying to the furthest reaches of the mansion.

“Soul fragment? What the hell are you talking about?” Hermione demanded.

”Your Mr. Potter was the seventh Horcrux. He wasn’t purposely created but was created just the same when Voldemort was destroyed the first time,” Snape explained, walking quickly.

“A Horcrux? Harry was a Horcrux?” she repeated, stunned.

”Yes. Albus knew this. I was to tell him once he was ready to face Voldemort. He had to die in order to insure Voldemort could not return. Albus had known this all along. Even I wasn’t aware of it all the years I protected the boy. It was his destiny. Now Voldemort can be destroyed for good, and it’s up to you and I to do it if you are willing to put your life on the line.”

Hermione fell silent. So Snape only did what Dumbledore instructed. Send Harry to face Voldemort and be killed. It was horrible, but she could understand it. It was the only way. And the method had been ingenious. Harry had to have gone of his own free will, or Snape probably would have killed him himself and freed the fragment.

Snape gasped again, staggering against the pain shooting through him.

”He’s here,” the wizard said, drawing his wand, “If you fear for your life, Miss Granger, I suggest you make yourself scarce.”

Hermione looked at Snape. He was in pain. He couldn’t do this alone.

”I’m staying,” she said.

”It’s your funeral,” Snape replied, “Or could be.”

**************************************

A/N: The scene with Dumbledore was paraphrased from Deathly Hallows. The unnecessary portions were edited out. Thanks for reading.

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