Chapter 13 - The Hunter and the Hunted
Harry listened intently and eagerly through an overlarge set of headphones. This Muggle instrument, along with all of the electronic eavesdropping equipment strapped to Draco's body, was Harry's only lifeline connecting him to Hermione - and at this time, Harry knew that Hermione's life was in great peril. He held his hands against the soft, cushiony plastic of the headphones, and pressed them tightly to his ears.
In front of Harry was a small, black and white screen. This, he eyed as fixedly and carefully as he listened. His whole focus, his whole concentration divided between discerning the sounds in the headphones and interpreting the images in the video monitor. The image on the screen was blurred, grainy, and extremely jumpy. This, also was a lifeline to Hermione, with Draco as the catalyst.
Not only did Draco wear what Agent Travis called a "wire," he also had a miniscule camera hidden in the eyehole of his Death Eaters' mask. Therefore, everything that Draco saw, Harry and Agent Travis saw.
"Where is she? Where is Hermione? I don't see her!" Harry's patience began to wear thin. "Look at her, Draco, you idiot. Look at her! I need to see!" He picked up a small microphone next to him and started to speak into it quietly. "Draco, if you see her…"
"You have to turn it on each time you use it, like this," Agent Travis demonstrated. Harry tried to flip the small switch, but his fingers were too sweaty and his hands were too shaky to move.
"You do it, please," Harry said impatiently, shoving the microphone toward her.
Agent Travis smiled and calmly flipped on the switch. Harry repeated himself. "Draco, if you see her, please show me, I need to see her. Is Hermione okay?" He swallowed hard, not really wanting to see Hermione, but compelled to.
On the video screen, he could see that Draco was panning his head left. As Draco was standing in a wide circle of Death Eaters, he did not think it wise to make any sudden moves, noises, or even speak. If the Death Eaters or Voldemort hear even a whisper, or see a movement out of place, Harry knew, that could mean Draco's death.
As the camera continued to pan in a wide arc, Harry saw her. Hermione. Harry gasped in a combination of excitement and fear. Hermione was conscious, but she was tied to the base of a large memorial angel. Although the screen was black and white, Harry could see that there was some sort of magic - a kind of binding or net - holding her in place.
"She can't disapperate." Harry observed, pointing at the screen. "She's been bound." He looked at Agent Travis for instruction.
"This is your operation, Mr. Potter. You and the Aurors. We just came along for the ride and provided the equipment." Agent Travis put a sympathetic hand on Harry's shoulder. "I knew we should have had another Auror or even one of our agents handle this. You're too close to …"
"No," Harry barked. "Damnit, Agent Travis, I wouldn't trust this to anyone else - not even you." He turned, without apology, to the screen again, and turned on the small microphone. "Draco, if you are within wand range of Hermione, nod."
The image on the screen slowly moved up and down, and up and down again. Harry could now hear Voldemort speaking in the background. He could hear the shrill, horrible voice, but he could not make out any of what Voldemort was saying. A feeling of ice cold water ran up the length of Harry's back, and landed in his scar, which gave a nasty prickle.
"Good, Draco. Excellent." Harry took another shuddering breath, again recovering his senses. "Do you have your wand handy?"
Again, there was a slow up and down motion.
"Draco, when he gets far enough away from you, can you remove the binding spell, so Hermione can apperate out of there?"
There was a pause as the video became still. Harry thought he saw the image begin to veer left to right - Draco was shaking his head no. Harry's heart sank, and he scrubbed at his mouth, thinking. But then, as before, as Draco nodded his head, the image moved up and slowly back down.
"Good! Good!" Harry nearly shouted. Agent Travis again laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. Not in comfort this time, but to silence him. Even though they were some distance away from the Death Eaters' meeting place, hiding from their view in a stone tomb vault, they were still within the same graveyard and on the same grounds. Given the exigency of the situation, Agent Travis could not ensure complete stealth.
Harry acknowledged Agent Travis' admonitions, and turned again to the microphone. "Okay, Draco, when you get your chance, do it. Hermione will know what to do."
It seemed an eternity before anything happened again. Harry remained fixed on the screen, and kept the earphones on, listening. He had heard Voldemort's orations once before in this very graveyard at the end of his fourth year at Hogwarts - the year that Voldemort returned. When Harry had in one second, shared Triwizard Tournament glory with Cedric Diggory, and in the next, watched his victory partner die a horrible death. A death that occurred right in the spot where Draco was standing.
The video screen image flashed to the left. Harry watched in horror as Voldemort stalked toward Hermione. "Blast, he's moving toward her." Harry said. He picked up and flicked on the microphone again. "Draco, can you get closer? Can you move in? Can you see what he's doing?"
This time, Draco shook his head "no." Harry could have sworn he heard Draco take a sharp, hiss-like intake of breath.
As Hermione was at somewhat of a distance from the circle, Harry could not hear what Voldemort was saying. However, from the horrible, wicked laughter of the other Death Eaters, Harry judged it as not good. He hated that Draco couldn't move, couldn't move in closer. Voldemort was now blocking Harry's view of Hermione, and the other Death Eaters were closing in in a tight circle around him.
Harry grew impatient, angry, and frightened. "Blast, he's going to kill her, or worse!"
Harry stood up from the makeshift table, threw off the headphones and glared into the screen, trying with all of his might to make out what exactly Voldemort was doing to his wife. Suddenly, he felt a white-hot pain in his scar. He doubled over the table, grinding the heel of his hand into his forehead, trailing it down to scrub the newly formed tears out of his eyes.
"What - is - going - on!!!" Harry shouted, pounding a fist on the table in confusion and growing hatred. Without thinking, Harry turned on the microphone again, and shouted into it. "Malfoy, get her out of there, now!"
Draco acted instantly and without thought. He sent stunners flying, taking out each of the Death Eaters. He re-aimed his wand as Voldemort turned, sending off a counter-curse to free Hermione. Seeing the chance, Hermione disapperated immediately, disappearing from the video screen and materializing again at Harry's side in the tomb enclosure.
Harry embraced Hermione, a wave of relief and gratitude washing over him. However, despite Hermione's appearance, Harry remained fixed on the video monitor. He knew Malfoy was in deep, deep trouble now - and it was completely and utterly his fault. While Draco had single-handedly taken out eleven Death Eaters and freed Hermione, he failed to affect Voldemort at all. In fact, Harry knew that Draco's actions immediately gave him away as a traitor.
Harry again leaned forward to get a better view of the monitor. Hermione and Agent Travis huddled around him as he again placed the headphones to his ears. What he saw and heard next horrified him. Voldemort had flown - literally, flown - toward Draco, landing deftly in front of him. Without even using his wand, Voldemort performed some kind of spell that seemed to have made Draco stiff and unable to move.
Hermione began to speak, but Harry immediately shushed her.
Harry saw Voldemort's bony, waxy hands move upwards in tandem toward Draco's face. The camera attached to the mask suddently began to move moved again, aiming forward towards Voldemort's face, and then downward. Voldemort had removed Draco's mask. Harry could hear a wheezy, raspy breathing, and then a soft whimper from Draco. It was obvious, even without the video camera, what was happening. Voldemort was leaning in, his face close to Draco's.
"Harry Potter is here, isn't he, Malfoy?" Voldemort's voice came in a low, angry growl.
Harry heard Draco try and speak. He heard more muffled words, and another whimper. Then, a second later, Harry heard a blood-curdling, horrifying, and unmistakable scream.
Then, Harry heard no more.
**********
Harry heard the words, "Harry Potter is here, isn't he, Malfoy?" over and over again in his head for the next several seconds of silence following. Harry knew that Voldemort had discovered that Draco was wearing a wire, discovered that his conversation with Draco was being monitored, and sensed that the listener was Harry. Harry listened further.
"You know, Malfoy. Your parents would be ashamed to see you now, consorting with half-bloods, Muggles, Aurors and mudbloods." Voldemort taunted Draco. "Lucius and Narcissa were two of my finest Death Eaters, killing many in my wake, and killing yet others in my name. They gladly went to Azkaban for me." Voldemort slowly raised his wand and pointed it square at Draco's chest. "I don't imagine you would do the same, now would you? Would you go so far as to die for me, like your parents pledged to do?" Draco stared, still stiffened, but trying to appear resolute.
"How disappointing. I didn't think you would," Voldemort continued, re-aiming his wand and removing the stiffening spell. Suddenly, ropes and bindings flew out of the end of Voldemort's wand, shoving Draco backwards and fastening him tightly to a tall marble grave marker. Draco felt a wince of pain and a drip of blood as the back of his head hit the top cornice of the grave marker.
After the ropes, a black cloth flew out of Voldemort's wand, smacking Draco in the face. Draco scrunched up his face at the cloth as it worked its way into Draco's mouth, wriggling past his pursed lips and clenched teeth. Harry, still listening, could hear the ropes drag against the microphone, and could hear Draco's muffled screams and cries.
"I have to go out there." Harry stood and shoved his chair backwards. Hermione looked up at Harry pleadingly and put a hand on his arm to try and stop him. "No!" Harry shouted. "You stay here, Hermione! I have to go out there!" He wrenched his arm away, and strode out of the chapel's back room. No longer caring about stealth, operations, spying, and secrecy, Harry flung open the chapel doors and ran headlong into the twilight-lit graveyard. Agent Travis followed shortly behind him.
"Since you are about to die, Malfoy," Voldemort walked slowly toward Draco, "I may as well tell you what I had planned." Draco struggled anew against the ropes and let out more doleful screams.
"You see, young Draco, I sent you that owl to help Harry Potter. I was the one who kidnapped those four people. I used the Imperius Curse on them and gave them invisbility charmed weapons to hijack the plane." Voldemort used the tip of his wand to trace the outline of Draco's now grimacing face. When Voldemort removed his wand, some red sparks flew out, singing Draco's eyebrows and eyelashes. He tried not to wince in pain.
"I knew Potter and his mudblood wife were going to be on that plane, and I knew he would do all he could to save her and those foul, dirty Muggles. I also knew that I was closer and closer to getting what I really wanted out of Potter." Draco's eyes bulged with questioning.
"What is it? What does Potter have that I want? Well, that's for me to know and Potter to find out." Voldemort turned and began pacing. "I never meant for Potter or anyone else to be killed on that plane, you see - never intended for the plane to crash anywhere. I made it too easy for Potter to save the day, to play the hero like he loves so much."
"This, Draco, was a test. A test to see if the thing I so craved all these years was still within him. When I sensed, felt, no - relished in the use of the Killing Curse in that plane, the Avada Kedavra," Draco shudered at these words, "I knew it was still there, still waiting for me to come and claim it again."
Voldemort wheeled around on Draco again. "And you, when I knew Potter was going to be questioned, I thought how simple, how easy - to get the two of you at the same time. My two greatest enemies. When your parents were sent to Azkaban, I counted on you to carry on their legacy. Alas, you did not. I was so, so, so terribly disappointed in you, Draco. You turned your back on me. Turned your back on everything your parents taught you." Voldemort grinned and clucked his tongue. "Naughty boy. Naughty, naughty little Draco Malfoy. I knew, when you went to live with those filthy Muggles, that ultimately you'd side with Potter, and that you'd try and return to set me up. Well, here you are aren't you?"
Voldemort gave a wrenching, ugly grin, and raised his wand anew, pointing it at Draco's chest. Voldemort turned around slowly as Harry approached, out of breath and panting. The sheer horror of the scene before him left Harry speechless.
"Potter!" said Voldemort, in mock-cordial tones, "I am so glad you're here to see this. Pull up a headstone, stay a while. Watch what I do to traitors and mudblood lovers!" Voldemort's vapid grin turned into a wicked grimace, as he turned back to take aim at Draco. "Say goodbye to your new friend, Potter, but don't worry, you're next!"
As Voldemort began the incantation, "Avada Kedavra," Harry's instincts kicked in at full throttle. Harry ran headlong and at high speed between Voldemort's wand and Draco.
"Expelliarmus!" He bellowed, aiming his wand in Voldemort's general direction, hoping, praying for contact.
However, the only contact was between the Killing Curse and Harry's head, deflecting off and shattering a nearby marble angel. Harry fell and tumbled to the ground, landing at Draco's feet. Harry's mind was reeling. He could hear a womans' scream in the background, Voldemort's high pitched cackle, and Draco's muffled yells growing more distant and faint with every passing second.
Suddenly, there was an intense, horrendous and skull-splitting pain in his scar, a pain more excruciating than he had never felt in his entire life -- as if his entire being was being wrenched apart, split in two. Behind his clenched eyelids, Harry saw a great flash of green sparkly light. And then, as quickly as it started, all of Harry's senses - sight, sound, touch, and smell -- went completely, and utterly dead.
Chapter Fourteen -- The Two Souls of Harry Potter
Black. Simple, uncompromising black. Between the darkness of nightfall, and the continued pain in his scar, that was all Harry was able to discern. As before, the dimmer switch in Harry's mind began working anew. He heard Draco's voice. "Harry?" He stirred momentarily.
"Harry, my God, you're alive! I don't believe you survived that!" Draco had somehow spat out the gag napkin, but he was still tied to the headstone. Harry felt cold. Harry felt sick. His back was touching a hard, frigid surface - marble, Harry thought. As he continued to regain his senses, he noticed that his hands were bound tightly behind him, and he had ropes around his bare chest. He, like Draco, was tied to a grave marker.
"Potter, can you open your eyes?" Draco pled, whispering. "He's going to be back any minute now. He thinks your'e dead but he tied you up anyways just in case you survived it again. And you did!" Draco added, still whispering. "Potter?"
Harry mumbled a small noise of acknowledgement. "Harry, listen to me." Draco continued. "After he hit you with the curse, he just stared at your face for the longest time. He smiled every once in a while. I think he saw something in your face - something he said before he'd been looking for for a long time, Harry."
With that, Harry heard a loud "crack," a "whoosh," and then a whimpering, deflating sigh from Draco. Harry surmised that Voldemort had returned, and had stunned Draco. Harry, mustering up all of the strength he could, raised his head and looked up into Voldemort's red eyes.
"Hello, Potter." Said Voldemort. Harry continued to stare into those horrible eyes. His glasses having been knocked off, he tried focusing on Voldemort's face, the slit-like nostrils, the flattened snake-like features, the horrible eyes, and the pasty white-gray skin. His vision, mercifully, blurred in and out of focus.
"I see you've managed to be the 'boy who lived' again. You should be doubly proud. Imagine the press you'll receive." Harry made no answer but kept staring, his scar searing anew. "This time, Potter, the curse had an interesting effect. My theory was right, you know."
"What - what - what theory?" Harry stammered, closing his eyes to the pain and the cold and the growing lack of sensation in his legs and feet.
"The theory of why you lived the first time, Potter - when you were just a baby -- and why I ceased to exist, or nearly ceased to exist for fourteen years. I found the reason in you just now - saw it in your face -- just after you were hit with the curse again."
In addition to the burning in his scar, his arms were aching and the cold stone on his bare back was making the rest of his body tingle with numbness. He opened his eyes again briefly and saw Draco unconscious. He looked down. Agent Travis was obviously dead, lying sprawled next to Draco's feet. He took in a sharp breath at the sight.
"Oh, her, Potter?" said Voldemort. "She was once my faithful servant - using her position in Muggle law enforcement to draw you and Malfoy to me - but at the end, she changed her mind, go figure. She betrayed me, too. Alas…" Voldemort's vapid smile vanished, and he frowned angrily. "She outgrew her usefulness. I disposed of her." Harry shuddered. "Now, Potter," Voldemort smiled again, "were you going to ask me something?"
Harry hated to oblige him, something inside him was driving his curiosity -- he had to know. "What - what - what did you see in m - m - me?"
Voldemort glared haughtily at Harry for what seemed an eternity. "Myself, Potter. I saw myself."
Harry's eyes flew open with shock. This had been Harry's greatest fear his entire life - that he was like Voldemort -- or worse -- was Voldemort. His old headmaster at Hogwarts, Dumbledore, told Harry once that, when Voldemort tried killing Harry, Voldemort left something of himself behind.
That was the reason, Dumbledore explained, why Harry was a parselmouth - Voldemort was as well. It was the reason Harry was good at flying a broomstick and at Quidditch, the reason the Sorting Hat almost put Harry into Slytherin House his first year at Hogwarts - Voldemort, too, was a star Quidditch player in his youth and was a strong member of Slytherin when he was still known as Tom Riddle.
"You're - you're lying." Said Harry, desperately.
"No, Potter, I'm not." Voldemort smiled. "Dumbledore was right all along. I did leave something of myself in you all those years ago. I did leave a trace of my abilities, my aptitudes, my powers, within you. Mainly, Potter, I left my - that is, Tom Marvolo Riddle's - soul, spirit, essence, what have you - inside of you. Guess it was a good thing I was never able to kill you after all, wasn't it?" Voldemort gave a shrill cackle. "Now, Potter, I want myself back!"
This made perfect sense to Harry. Despite the logic, he wanted more than anything to deny it, for it not to be true, for this not to be happening. He thought about how he had been so conflicted all his life, how he had a hot, uncontrollable temper when he was a teenager, and now - his use of the Killing Curse on the plane, and his resultant loss of memory. It was obvious. It was all Tom Riddle. Orphaned, abused, unloved, and angry Tom Riddle. Despite this reasoning, Harry's head continued to swim.
There's no way he could have lived his entire life with Tom Riddle - with Voldemort - with that - horrible thing - living inside of him, he thought. There was no way he was anyone else but Harry James Potter -- wizard, Auror, crack Quidditch player, son of James and Lily Potter, godson of Sirius Black, and husband of Hermione Potter.
"No, you're wrong! I am - Harry -- Potter!" Harry tried to shout it but it came out a weak, feeble groan. Between the increasing pain in his scar, and his muddled mind, he could no longer hold up under it. "You're wrong," he whispered.
Voldemort gave a shrill laugh. "We'll see how wrong I am, Potter. See how talented or strong, or even alive you are when I draw Tom Riddle's soul out of you - through this lovely little scar!"
Voldemort laid a cold finger on Harry's forehead and traced the outline of the scar. "All this time, all your life, Harry, Tom Riddle has been trying to get out of you - to get back to me, to make me whole again, to make me even more powerful - invincible, in fact. Whenever your," Voldemort put on a simpering, whining voice, "scar hurt," He continued, "that was me - that was Tom trying to push his way out of your sorry, weak, simpering, talentless little body - trying with all his might to rejoin with me." He touched Harry's scar again, as if stroking a pet lizard. "Well, today, Tom, you will succeed."
With that, Harry felt a tingle -- a dark and vacant chill. Despite his stupor, he felt a familiar sensation -- as if he would never be happy again. His mind showed him a slide show of the most horrible experiences from his past. These ghastly images welled up again and flooded his thoughts - Sirius' death, mainly. The darkness and cold became like a great, dark, blanket of despair that had been draped over him. Harry had experienced this feeling before, and he knew only one thing, one creature, that could cause this reaction.
"Dementors." Harry said, his teeth clenched against his desperate desire to scream in horror and agony.
Voldemort lowered his face to Harry's. It was so that Harry could feel the cold emanating from his gray skin and smell the foul crepitus of Voldemort's breath. "Yes, Potter. Dementors."