Purple Rain.

Chapter Sixty-Nine.

"Potter, I am going to give you one chance!" shouted Bellatrix. "Give me the prophecy— roll it out toward me now— and I may spare your life!"

"Well, you're going to have to kill me, because it's gone!" Harry roared— and as he shouted it, pain seared across his forehead. "And he knows!" said Harry with a mad laugh to match Bellatrix's own. "Your dear old mate Voldemort knows it's gone! He's not going to be happy with you, is he?"

"What? What do you mean?" Bellatrix cried, and for the first time, there was fear in her voice.

"The Prophecy smashed when I was trying to get Neville up the steps! What do you think Voldemort'll say about that, then?"

"LIAR!" Bellatrix shrieked, terror evident behind her anger. "YOU'VE GOT IT, POTTER, AND YOU WILL GIVE IT TO ME— Accio Prophecy! ACCIO PROPHECY!"
Harry laughed again because he knew it would incense her, the pain building in his head so badly he thought his skull might burst. He waved his empty hand from behind the one-eared goblin and withdrew it quickly as she sent another jet of green light flying at him.

"Nothing there!" Harry shouted. "Nothing to summon. It smashed and nobody other than (Y/n) heard what it said, tell your boss that—"

"Harry," (Y/n) hissed, absolutely dismayed that she was thrown under the bus. "He's here—"

"No!" Bellatrix screamed. "It isn't true, you're lying— MASTER, I TRIED, I TRIED— DO NOT PUNISH ME—"

"Don't waste your breath!" yelled Harry, his eyes screwed up against the pain in his scar, nor more terrible than ever. "He can't hear you from here!"

"Can't I, Potter?" said a high, cold voice.

Harry's eyes flew open and at once he realized why (Y/n) had been so upset.

Tall, thin, and black-hooded, his terrible snakelike face white and gaunt, his scarlet, slit-pupiled eyes staring... Lord Voldemort had appeared in the middle of the hall, his wand pointing at Harry and (Y/n), both of whom stood frozen, unable to move.

"So you smashed my prophecy?" said Voldemort softly, staring at Harry with those pitiless red eyes. "No, Bella, he is not lying... I see the truth looking at me from within his worthless mind... Months of preparation, months of effort... and my Death Eaters have let Harry thwart me again..."

"Master, I am sorry, I knew not, I was fighting the Animagus Black!" sobbed Bellatrix, flinging herself down at Voldemort's feet as he paced slowly nearer. "Master, you should know—"

"Be quiet, Bella," said Voldemort dangerously. "I shall deal with you in a moment. Do you think I entered the Ministry of Magic to hear your snivelling apologies?"

"But Master— he is here— he is bellow—"

Voldemort paid no attention, instead turning his eyes on (Y/n), who Harry could feel tremble. (Y/n)'s stomach dropped and she cowered back as Voldemort continued slowly striding toward the pair.

"My Death eaters have let me down," Voldemort said softly, "but you will not, will you?" Harry watched as (Y/n)'s eyes seemed to gloss over and her eyes unfocused. Her back had straightened and she had gone oddly slack, her wand fell to the floor with a clatter. "Yes, a mind as open as yours... I must thank you, Potter, for leading her right to me..."
Harry was panicking, unsure of what to do. He knew Voldemort was looking through (Y/n)'s mind and there was nothing he could do about it. He regretted, more than anything, leaving the Department of Mysteries and allowing (Y/n) to come with him.

Voldemort had stopped walking as he searched (Y/n)'s mind. There was the occasional flutter to (Y/n)'s eyes and a furrow to where Harry would have guessed Voldemort's eyebrows were whenever (Y/n) tried fighting against the assault on her mind. At length, Voldemort tilted his head, frustrated with (Y/n)'s refusal to give him the very thing he sought.

"Hand it over, girl, and I may spare your life," Voldemort demanded. (Y/n) gave no answer that Harry heard. "You stupid girl. If you do not give it over willingly," Voldemort said, "I will be taking it with force... I am giving you the option to keep your memory, do you not wish for that?"

"Do it," Harry hissed to (Y/n). "Please— just do it—" Voldemort let out a heavy sigh.

"Very well," Voldemort said calmly, pacing toward them once again. "You know, when I went to Hogwarts, Ravenclaws had to have at least some intelligence," he said condescendingly. "Something you must clearly lack, no?"

"Don't listen to him," Harry whispered. "Come on, snap out of it—"

"Though, I really must sympathize with the Sorting Hat," Voldemort continued. "I mean, there isn't a House of Mudbloods, is there? There is no place your kind belongs."

Knowing of (Y/n)'s insecurity when it came to belonging, Harry said furiously, "What, like you yourself aren't a half-blood?" Voldemort spared Harry only one small glance.

"You Muggle sympathizers are all the same," Voldemort said coolly. "You may pretend she is a witch all you want, but that does not change the fact she has no real magic."

"That isn't true!" Harry protested, mainly speaking to (Y/n). "She's got power beyond what I will know. My Muggle-born friends are the brightest of my time! You know that, (Y/n)!"

"What Muggle wouldn't be the brightest?" Voldemort laughed cruelly. "Our textbooks, I suspect, must read up like fantasy to them... Stayed up all night memorizing our work, did you? You are a thief, not a witch. Stealing a toolbox does not mean you will be able to build a thing. Mudbloods can memorize the theory all they want, but they can never apply it." As unresponsive as she was in her daze, Harry noticed tears leaving (Y/n)'s eyes.

Seeing Voldemort raise his wand, Harry grew frantic and defensive. "Don't kill her! Don't you dare!"

"Fond of her, are you?" Voldemort taunted. He paused, again looking through (Y/n)'s mind. "Yes... She's got quite the lot of people fond of her, doesn't she? Keeping her alive will be more beneficial for me. I will refrain from doing so, but I wish to prove a point." Voldemort, quite lazily, held out his wand. His outstretched arm was directly level with (Y/n)'s forehead.

"What're you doing?!" Harry bellowed, flying in front of (Y/n). Bellatrix, however, blasted Harry out of Voldemort's way.

"Taking back what is ours," Voldemort answered simply.
More tears left (Y/n)'s eyes, for she seemed plenty aware of what was going on yet she was unable to do anything. With one last effort, (Y/n) tried, really tried to shut off her mind. Everything was silent— there was no longer the rushed footsteps and frantic questions being thrown around from below; There was no rattling of the lift as it went up; There was no gentle tapping from Bellatrix, who seemed quite anxious at the time. Only Voldemort's soft whisper of, "Obliviate!" before it all went dark.