Disclaimer: See Part 1.
Author's Note: I seem to be apologizing for how long it takes me to write these chapters every time I post. Honestly, I do write these chapters as fast as I can but the muses and RL don't always cooperate. In an attempt to atone for how long it's been though, this chapter is extra-long and very plot-heavy. I hope it's worth the wait! And as always, thanks for reading and reviewing.
From My Soul
Part 12
They had nearly reached the gates of Hogwarts when Harry tensed, hand grabbing his wand as he turned-and dove to one side taking Hermione and Ron with him, the jet of green light passing harmlessly over their heads.
He rolled back up into a crouch in one motion, firing off a Stupefy as he did so and knew a moment of satisfaction when one of the four black-robed figures dropped to the ground.
He ducked another curse and then heard Hermione cry out and looked to see a long, thin gash across her leg, the red blood staining her jeans. Oh God…
He threw up a quick Shield and grabbed Ron's arm. "Take Hermione and go!"
"But--" Ron and Hermione both began and he cut them off sharply.
"Go!"
Something in his tone at least convinced Ron who took hold of Hermione's arm, helping her up. When Hermione looked as if she was going to protest again, Harry added grimly, "They won't kill me. Now go!"
And then, driven by some strange compulsion, as if something else were directing his actions, he raised his wand-less hand in a quick wave in their direction, feeling a surge of magic go through him as he had when he'd destroyed Mrs. Black's portrait, and sensed-or somehow knew-that there was now a protective shield around Hermione and Ron.
He didn't have time to grasp this, only turned back to fire off an Expelliarmus, a Leg-locker Curse, and a Levicorpus in rapid-fire succession. The Expelliarmus missed but one figure was turned upside-down with a yell and hung there. The distraction provided as the other two turned to stare allowed him to Stun one.
He ducked a jet of red light, yelled a "Protego!" which deflected the "Crucio!" which he just registered, threw up another Shield and then ran, trying to keep as low to the ground as possible, weaving back and forth to avoid further curses. He kept his wand pointed behind him, attempting to keep up a steady stream of non-verbal "Stupefy" curses though he never stopped to look where the spells were hitting or if they were hitting anything at all.
He reached the gate of Hogwarts just as Hagrid and Fang ran past him with McGonagall not far behind and knew that Ron and Hermione must have reached the castle and alerted them.
He heard McGonagall cry out, "Protego" and then "Stupefy" and then Fang barking and growling and finally looked back.
The last Death Eater had been Stunned by what looked like a blow from Hagrid, McGonagall had conjured up ropes and was now taking off the hood to reveal-Harry stiffened, sucking in his breath-Draco Malfoy.
He hesitated but McGonagall looked back and ordered, "To the Infirmary with you and then wait in my office."
He obeyed, suddenly realizing now that the rush of adrenaline had subsided that whatever strange new spell or power he had used to shield Hermione and Ron had drained him. He had to force himself to move to the Hospital Wing avoiding the stares and gawks of the few students around.
"Harry!" Hermione cried out sharply on seeing him and only Madam Pomfrey physically restraining her kept her from getting up to go to him.
Hermione was lying on a bed, a somewhat glittering sort of ointment on her leg where it had been cut and even as he watched, the gash healed.
"Now, you're to stay still for another few minutes at least, understood?" Madam Pomfrey said firmly, and Hermione nodded resignedly.
Madam Pomfrey then bustled over to where Harry had half-collapsed into a chair and gave him a Potion to drink.
"Are you okay?"
Harry smiled slightly at how all three of them blurted the question out almost in unison, him addressing Hermione, Ron and Hermione addressing him. "Fine," he said. "Hermione?"
She smiled slightly, relief clear in her expression. "Oh thank goodness," she responded, answering his question only with a wave of her hand as if it had been nothing at all.
"What happened to the Death Eaters?" Ron asked.
Harry sobered, standing as he felt a fresh surge of anger. "One was Malfoy," he spat the name out grimly.
Ron gaped. "Ferret-face?"
"None other. Professor McGonagall and Hagrid got him. Not sure about the others…" he trailed off, frowning as something occurred to him. "It was too easy." He nodded slowly. "I think Crabbe and Goyle were the other two. I'm not sure about the last one." He paused. "It looks like Voldemort sent low-level flunkies out this time. He didn't plan to kill us-it was a warning."
"A warning?"
"Yes. If he'd been serious, he'd have sent Bellatrix Lestrange or someone like that. Not Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle with someone else."
"Harry's right," Hermione told Ron. "It was too easy."
Ron opened his mouth to say something but Harry interjected, "We need to go to McGonagall's office," and moved to help Hermione up, although she insisted she could walk just fine.
He ignored her and kept a hand on her arm as they walked through the hallways and up the stairs until they reached the stone griffin guarding the entrance.
"Alberta Tutskill," Harry said firmly and the griffin leaped aside, revealing the spiral stone staircase.
"Well, here goes," Ron commented as the stairs slowly lifted them up to the office.
It was quiet inside the office, the portraits dozing as usual. Professor McGonagall had, Harry noticed, changed very little except that there were a few more books scattered on the desk than there had been before.
He hesitated and then made his way over to where Dumbledore's portrait was slumbering, as Ron and Hermione followed him. "Professor Dumbledore? Professor, are you awake?" Harry asked cautiously.
The portrait stirred and then opened his eyes, before Dumbledore smiled gently. "Ah, yes, hello, Harry. Mr. Weasley. Miss Granger. It is good to see you three again. I trust you've all been well in my absence."
Ron looked rather startled at Dumbledore's completely casual manner but Hermione smiled. "Hi, Professor Dumbledore."
"Not even a word of hello, Harry?" Dumbledore sounded half-reproachful, although there was a slight twinkle in his eyes. "I must say, I was expecting you would be more welcoming."
Harry swallowed back the little lump that had appeared in his throat at seeing that Dumbledore's portrait was really just like Dumbledore had been in life. "I'm sorry, sir. I just- I'm glad you're awake," he said fervently.
And even though he supposed he should wait until Professor McGonagall returned, he found himself blurting out all that he wanted to talk to Dumbledore about in one rush, hardly pausing to take a breath in between. "Fawkes came to me to lead the Order. But I don't know what to do. We- we found the real horcrux, the locket, and then Hermione found the other horcrux, a key from Ravenclaw, in the Chamber of Secrets but we still can't figure out how to destroy them. And- and Voldemort sent some henchmen to warn us when we got here." He paused and then opened his mouth to confess to having destroyed the portrait of Mrs. Black when Dumbledore held up a hand.
"Yes, yes, Harry, I realize you are worried and I am sorry. There is much I have to tell you. I am sure we should wait until Professor McGonagall returns, however, as otherwise I am quite sure she will be annoyed and I, for one, would prefer to not be on the receiving end of one of her stern lectures again," he added with a slight twinkle in his eyes.
"I see you are not entirely lacking in sense, Albus."
Harry, Ron and Hermione all started and turned around at McGonagall's tart statement, not having heard her enter.
She studied them quickly. "I am glad to see you are all okay after that little ambush."
"Where's Malfoy now?" Ron blurted out what Harry had just been about to ask.
McGonagall's expression became grimmer. "Mr. Malfoy has been restrained and is now being guarded by Fang. I will be questioning him later."
"Mr. Malfoy is here?" Dumbledore's portrait asked.
McGonagall nodded. "He, along with Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle and Miss Bulstrode, formed the little welcoming committee which Voldemort sent for Mr. Potter and his friends. I suspected he would have intercepted the owls which I sent.
Dumbledore frowned slightly. "I see. Well, I am glad to see you all made it safely here."
"Professor," Harry started, "I- er- earlier when we were ambushed and then a couple weeks ago, I- I did wandless magic."
"Wandless magic?" McGonagall repeated.
Harry noticed that Dumbledore's portrait did not look particularly surprised to hear about this. "Professor, can you- can you tell me more about it? Why am I suddenly able to do wandless magic?"
The portrait sighed a little, closing his eyes briefly, before he opened them to focus on Harry. "A few very powerful witches and wizards become capable of limited types of wandless magic when they reach the later years of schooling and have learned more control over their skills with their wands. It is something like the wand-less bursts of magic exhibited by young magical children. Most witches and wizards lose it and become dependent on their wands but for a few, they retain it. Would I be right, Harry, in guessing that for you, both instances when you performed wandless magic were in times of high emotion and stress?"
"Yes. Just now- when I thought Ron and Hermione might be hurt-and then before…" Harry hesitated and then continued half-sheepishly, "I- erm- I destroyed Mrs. Black's portrait when she insulted Hermione."
"Walburga Black's portrait?" McGonagall spoke up and Harry could swear he heard a smile in her tone and heard her mutter, "Good riddance to that old cow," under her breath and he bit his lip to keep from laughing.
Glancing at Hermione, he saw the glint of amusement in her eyes and knew she had heard McGonagall as well.
Dumbledore's portrait too appeared to be hiding a smile. "Ah yes, Mrs. Black. I-er- was acquainted with her when she was alive; in fact I taught her and I must say she seemed to grow steadily more disagreeable after she got married. Well, I do not believe she will be much missed," he said serenely.
Harry, Ron and Hermione grinned fleetingly before Harry sobered again.
"And- um- Professor, I thought-it made me wonder-is it possible that I… that I'm one of the horcruxes? Could Voldemort have accidentally turned me into one when he… when he killed my parents?"
He heard McGonagall's slight intake of breath at the mention of the horcruxes but ignored it, keeping his attention focused on the portrait.
Dumbledore looked solemn. "You a horcrux, Harry? Why would you think that?"
"I just… the wandless magic and my being a Parselmouth and- and Snape said that Voldemort didn't want to kill me at the end of last year and because I can get into Voldemort's head and I was able to destroy the diary without it hurting me…" Harry trailed off, wondering why, somehow, listing the reasons he could think of made them sound rather inadequate.
"Impossible," McGonagall was heard to mutter.
"Yes, impossible," Dumbledore confirmed. "Harry, I promise you that there is no way you could be the last horcrux. A horcrux, you will remember, is an object in which a portion of a person's soul is stored-that object cannot possess a soul of its own. If it were even attempted, the soul which is whole and therefore stronger would merely expel the portion of a soul which would then seek out either the rest of the original soul if it is close enough or it would merely be lost. No, Harry, you could not be a horcrux."
"Not- not even my scar or something?"
"Your scar? Harry, no. Do not impute to your scar some special powers or properties which you do not also possess; your scar is not some separate object. It is a mark on your body, admittedly a mark that is quite remarkable in its own way. But it can, in no way, constitute a separate entity which is capable of holding a piece of anyone else's soul. You may be certain of that."
"I thought so," Hermione broke the rather heavy silence to say, softly. "I couldn't believe it was possible…"
Dumbledore's portrait smiled at Hermione. "And you were, as usual, Miss Granger, correct."
Hermione turned to smile at Harry, her hand reaching out to rest on his arm for a moment. "See, Harry, you're not a horcrux. You won't have to somehow destroy yourself to defeat Voldemort."
He managed a slight smile. "I should have known better than to disagree with you."
"A Know-it-all, what did I tell you? Right annoying, if you ask me," Ron muttered but his tone was more teasing than not and Hermione just rolled her eyes at him.
"I- Professor, there's something else about the wandless magic. Just now, in the ambush, I used it to put up some sort of protective shield-but it wasn't the Shielding Spell we learned. It was something different… more powerful… and even though I know I never learned it, at that moment, I somehow… knew it-and I used it without thinking."
Ron spoke up. "Whatever you did, it managed to deflect or almost absorb, it seemed, the curses that got shot at us, including one Cruciatus."
The portrait looked interested and actually sat up a little in his chair. "Well, that is intriguing…" and then said nothing more, looking thoughtfully down towards the lower corner of the frame.
McGonagall let out an impatient sort of noise. "Well, then, Albus? What is this new protective spell?"
The portrait Dumbledore started a little. "Ah, right, of course. Harry, I believe you have just come across the last great secret of the magic which protected you from Voldemort when you were a baby. It is called Soul Protection; there are no known incantations for it. It is not a spell or a charm which can be controlled and used at will; it is something deeper than that, something which gets to the true heart of magic. It can be produced only in extreme circumstances when a person or persons who are particularly dear to the caster are threatened or in some sort of serious danger. As it is, only a few wizards, the most powerful witches and wizards are even capable of summoning it. The closest to an explanation of the phenomenon which I can give is that it is some sort of magical manifestation of a person's deepest, strongest protective instincts towards those most precious to him. It is said to come only from the most secret and unknown reaches of a person's soul." The portrait stopped, pausing to study Harry, Ron and Hermione with solemn eyes in which there wasn't even the hint of its customary twinkle. "There has been no evidence that it is capable of withstanding the Killing Curse. However, I have long suspected, Harry, that part of the reason you are here today is due to this very spell."
"My mum…" Harry murmured.
"Yes, Harry, your mother. I believe that she, in her last moment of willing sacrifice for your sake, called forth Soul Protection which lingered even after her death and thus enabled you to survive."
There was a silence during which Harry remembered hearing his mother's voice, pleading for his life with Voldemort.
And now he had channeled some of that same power, that was almost an instinctive, subconscious knowledge, to protect Ron and Hermione. He remembered seeing that Hermione was bleeding, remembered feeling a surge of desperate determination that Ron and Hermione would not be hurt- or worse- because of him, remembered knowing- somehow- that he would do anything to protect them, that nothing could happen to either of them.
"I once told you," Dumbledore continued quietly, "that it was your mother's sacrifice that allowed you to survive. It was true but only to an extent. People had died in an attempt to save their loved ones before; none had ever survived because of it. With you, Harry, I believe it was the Soul Protection combined with the power that was already in you that enabled you to survive."
"But what is that power?" Harry asked almost desperately.
"I have already told you, Harry. It is your power to love. You have a great capacity to love, Harry, it is what fuels most of your actions. Your love, your kind heart, your emotions. There are very few eleven-year-old boys who would have remembered a girl who wasn't even a friend of yours at the time, crying in the loo and that she would not know of a troll in the castle and gone to save her."
"You know about that?" Harry blurted out, interrupting Dumbledore.
The portrait smiled a little, looking to Hermione and then at Ron and then back at Harry. "Very little occurs in this castle regarding the students and their welfare which I am not aware of, Harry. I also know that there are very few boys who would willingly face a basilisk for another person's sake, just as there are few who would have prevented Peter Pettigrew from being killed and few people who could have shown the courage you did in the graveyard after the Third Task."
By now, Harry could feel his ears burning at Dumbledore's words. "I didn't- that was- I didn't think, really, just did it. It's silly, really. That's not power; it's me being a bit of an idiot," he protested a little weakly.
"That, dear boy, is what makes you extraordinary. It never occurs to you to do anything different; the less courageous path, that is less protective of others, never even occurs to you as an option. And that, after the way your aunt and uncle brought you up, is truly a remarkable gift. You care about people, Harry, care about them deeply-and that ability to love is your gift and your power. It is also, Harry, the one thing which Voldemort knows nothing of and one thing that he consistently under-estimates and scoffs at."
"He will have power the Dark Lord knows not…" Hermione breathed softly, quoting the words of the Prophecy.
Dumbledore looked at Hermione, nodding. "Yes, Miss Granger. That is it exactly." He returned his gaze to Harry, who was staring down at the floor between his feet, the flush on his cheeks revealing his discomfort at these kind words. "I told you before, Mr. Potter, when I first told you about the Prophecy that it was that power which had made you go to the Department of Mysteries, because you feared for Sirius's safety. It was your heart that saved you that night-and it is your heart that will, I think, be your greatest strength. Remember that, Mr. Potter." His tone was gentle, filled with compassion and affection and wisdom, and Harry suddenly remembered what Dumbledore had confessed that terrible night, about how he'd cared too much about Harry. And Harry was touched in a way he hadn't been at that night; he'd been too full of grief and anger to care, then. But now, he was no longer angry; now he could admit that it was something to have someone as wise and as powerful as Dumbledore care about him so much, protect him as Dumbledore had…
The room was quiet for a few moments, as each of them were occupied with their own thoughts.
Ron was the first one to break the silence. "That's all great, Professor, and we can nominate Harry to become Saint Harry when this is all over but what does it mean? Harry can't exactly just walk up to V-You-Know-Who and snog him to have this love of his conquer all."
Harry choked on air and shot a glance of pure horror tinged with some reluctant amusement at Ron. "Don't ever say anything like that again!"
Hermione choked back a horrified laugh at the ridiculous (and absolutely revolting) mental images conjured up by Ron's pithy words. Professor McGonagall coughed and Hermione could have sworn she saw a smile tugging at the corners of McGonagall's lips before she hastily composed herself.
Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley, for bringing us back to the matter at hand. Yes, it is true that love, in and of itself, will serve no real practical purpose. What must be done is to channel that greatness of heart into magic. Now, you found the true locket?" On that last question, his tone shifted from his customary half-whimsical warmth to the more coolly-businesslike tone as he became the man who had founded and led the Order of the Phoenix for years.
"Yes, sir, it was in Grimmauld Place," Ron answered since Harry seemed still to be recovering from Ron's last quip.
"Good, good. I rather suspected that RAB might be Regulus Black; he was always one of the weaker Death Eaters, if I may say. Not quite as committed as, say, Lucius Malfoy or the Lestranges. And the other horcrux?"
"Hermione found that, sir," Harry answered, flashing the ghost of a grateful smile at Hermione. "She figured that it'd be in the Chamber of Secrets and it was-in that statue of Slytherin at the front of it."
"Ah, yes, indeed. Very good, Miss Granger," Dumbledore beamed approvingly at Hermione who colored. "I always knew you would be a great help to Mr. Potter."
She smiled slightly. "I hope so, Professor."
Harry made a quick, almost instinctive movement, his hand brushing Hermione's and giving it a fleeting pressure. You already are, the gesture assured her, and I won't forget it.
"Professor," Harry spoke up, returning his mind to the more urgent problem, "how are we supposed to destroy the other horcruxes? How- how did you destroy the ring?"
Dumbledore's expression grew grave. "I am afraid, Harry, that I cannot tell you that. Suffice to say that it was a combination of some of the oldest, strongest magic I know and to this day, I am not entirely certain which spell or which combination of spells finally managed to destroy it. The effort it took-and the violent reaction of the horcrux itself, nearly killed me and if it hadn't been for the timely and skillful intervention of Professor Snape, I doubt I would have survived. No, Harry, I cannot tell you how I destroyed the ring. There are other ways; you will need to find those other ways."
"How was I able to destroy the diary without being hurt or killed?" Harry's question was quiet.
The portrait was silent for a moment, studying Harry, and then the figure sighed. "I believe, Harry, it has something to do with those powers of his which Voldemort inadvertently gave you when he tried to kill you that long-ago night, the Parseltongue and that connection of sorts through your scar. I believe he also gave you something of himself--"
He was interrupted by Harry's sharp intake of breath. "You mean-you mean I'm-I'm like him? I have a part of him inside me?" The words were strangled and barely audible.
"No," Dumbledore assured Harry firmly and swiftly. "That is not what I meant. I meant that in giving you some of his powers, he also gave you the power to destroy a horcrux with part of his soul in it without being severely injured or killed. In a sense, by choosing to try to kill you, he gave you the power which would allow you to be the only one who can defeat him."
Harry relaxed slightly but still looked unhappy.
Hermione watched him in silent sympathy and moved the conversation on by asking the other question that most needed to be answered. "What should we do about the Order, Professor? And-" she hesitated, glancing at Ron and Harry, before she finished, "about Professor Snape?"
Behind her, she was conscious of McGonagall shifting involuntarily and glanced at her to see an odd expression fleetingly cross the Headmistress's face, a mixture of grief and anger and resignation. She returned her gaze to Dumbledore as he sighed.
"I am so very sorry, Harry. It appears I managed to make a muddle of things and there are few things I regret more than what happened that night."
He fell silent and McGonagall spoke up, her tone curt and impatient. "Yes, yes, Albus, so you've said but regrets will solve nothing. Why don't you tell Mr. Potter and his friends what you already explained to me?"
Hermione glanced over at McGonagall again, rather surprised at the terseness of her voice but then she could have sworn she caught a flicker of emotion in McGonagall's eyes, an odd quiver passing over her face before she managed to resume her usual, rather brisk façade. And she understood, suddenly feeling a wave of affection for her old professor, whom she'd always respected for her sense of fairness as well as for her teaching. McGonagall wasn't really irritated with Professor Dumbledore and Hermione knew, or could guess at, the depth of loyalty and respect existing between them given their long years of working together and of friendship. But McGonagall being who she was, could not openly admit to her feelings, could only mask them beneath her usual tart manner. How angry, then, must McGonagall have been, at Snape for having (apparently) deceived them all so much and betrayed Dumbledore's trust too…
Dumbledore sighed again and then looked up. "Severus Snape did not betray the Order. He killed me because it was what I asked him, told him to do."
The words fell into the silence heavily, seeming to linger in the atmosphere.
And then, after a few moments, Ron turned to Hermione and spoke in a tone of somewhat-exaggerated irritation.
"Bloody hell, Hermione, why are you always right?!"
~TBC (obviously)