Authors Note:
This is the seventh instalment of this male reader series. What started as a typical male power fantasy set in the world of Harry Potter has developed into a story that I am proud of.
I want to thank all of my readers for sticking with this series for the last three years. This series could never have gotten to the point it is now, without you all, and for that, you have my eternal gratitude.
I am uncertain of how long Deathly Hallows will be in total, but I can confirm that it will be a lot longer than the other books, as there's a lot I need to fit into this last book.
And so the book will have three primary arcs, each with its own title, to break up the enormous events in the story.
Without further ado, please enjoy the Deathly Hallows.
Arc 1: The Mortalitas Assembly
Chapter 1: The Overground
A hooded figure sped through the streets, passing the unmistakable roundel of the London Overground, barely catching a glimpse of the name 'Whitechapel' emblazoned across the symbol as he fled into the station and down its immediate stairs, fumbling for his travel card.
This particular station was relatively filled with people. He highly doubted he would be followed here.
As the small ticket gates opened for him, he hurried into the admittedly rather filthy station, its hideous beige walls covered in various human-sized advertisements for movies of the likes of The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Muppets Treasure Island.
He came to a halt as he approached the Platform that would take him to West Croydon, anxiously locking eyes with the black billboard/screen that presented the arrival times of the trains with bright yellow LED lights.
West Croydon - 3 mins
He was confident that his assailant had not followed him into the station, but just to be sure he reached into the pocket on his oversized coat and placed a pair of small, circular and frameless glasses upon his face, giving the area around him a quick survey. Satisfied, he pocketed the glasses and pulled out a small Nokia 8250, its blue screen stood out against its cool grey chassis and blinked as he dialled in a number.
"I'm being chased," he said into the phone, in a voice that was not youthful. "Currently boarding a train to West Croydon from Whitechapel and requesting immediate assistance. Please bring someone who can Apparate, if you can. Will send an update regarding the station I get off at soon."
After he hung up the call he pocketed the phone just in time to see the train approach. There was a bit of a scuffle as multiple people attempted to board it at once, and he found himself pressed uncomfortably against a sea of people inside the train.
But while some may have been disgruntled at such a predicament, the man found himself breathing a sigh of relief. The multitude of people here meant he was otherwise safe from his assailant. Or at least, safe from his assailant's weapon.
The train travelled smoothly, stopping at a few stations as it did so. The man wasn't sure which station to get off at just yet, he'd have to do so soon - because oddly enough many people were getting off the train in bulk with every station they stopped at. Not enough for it to look out of place, but more than enough to suggest foul play. The trains never cleared this quickly during the peak of rush hour.
Making a mental note to leave at the next stop, he took one of the now vacant seats and pulled a newspaper out from underneath it. Flipping it open he was met with familiar headlines.
Children Missing
Teenage Tesco Worker Found Dead At The Till
Depression At An All-Time High
Despite his facade of calm, the man's blood boiled. The world had well and truly gone to shit, and the world didn't even know why.
The train suddenly came to a halt.
"This is New Cross Gate. Change here for the national rail services..."
The man tossed the newspaper aside and made to leave as the doors slid open. He stopped dead as he came face to face with three Death Eaters, each adorned in black robes but none wearing their masks. They sneered at him.
"Got ya." growled the one in the middle.
He had nowhere to run. He was immediately seized by the upper arms and before he could even attempt to fend them off he felt the unfamiliar lurch of Apparition as the four of them landed in an unknown location by a cliff face towards the sea.
He wasn't familiar with the wizarding method of quick travel and immediately vomited all over his captor's robes.
"Ugh!" the Death Eater protested. "Ah, Hell!"
He was graciously gifted with a swift kick to the stomach. He doubled over and fell to the ground, coughing. A pair of hands threw his hood off of his head, revealing his aged, wrinkled face and greying hair.
A jet of red light struck him and he immediately writhed and screamed. He had served in the Second World War and had been tortured before, having lost three of his fingernails. He had been young then, and thought that he'd never feel greater pain.
How wrong he was. Forget his fingernails, he would have gladly traded every finger on his two hands if it meant not being hit with another jet of red light.
"Stop!" cried the man.
After the Death Eaters had finished with their fun, he was forced upright on his knees to face a fourth Death Eater.
This one had more authority over the others - for they had already re-equipped their masks. But this one hadn't bothered. He wondered if he were looking at Yaxley, Dolohov, or even one of the Lestrange brothers.
There was a pause as both men looked at each other. The maskless Death Eater's face bore cool indifference.
"This?" he scoffed. "This is how the great Y/N L/N thinks he'll oppose the Dark Lord? This is what breaking the Mudbloods out of Azkaban amounted to?
The man remained quiet, still shaken by the effects of the Cruciatus.
"You are going to die here, Muggle." said the maskless Death Eater softly. "But I might just reconsider if you were so kind as to tell me..."
The man held his breath.
"Where is he hiding? Where is L/N?"
With the last of his strength, he turned his neck towards the Death Eater, his muscles screaming for him to stop moving. He let out a toothy snarl.
"Never."
The Death Eater's eyes flashed. Slowly he reached for his - decidedly much scarier mask than his cronies and pulled it onto his face. As he did so the old man was being steadily levitated into the air.
"Filthy Muggle." said the Death Eater.
There was an almighty snap as every bone in the old man's body twisted from their joints - and he knew no more.
* * *
"Severus... please... please..."
Charity Burbage, once Professor of Muggles Studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was suspended over the table of Malfoy Manor, revolving and facing the firelight.
"Silence," said Voldemort, with another twitch of Malfoy's wand, and Charity fell silent as if gagged. "Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defence of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance... She would have us all mate with Muggles... or, no doubt, werewolves..."
There was no mistaking the anger and contempt in Voldemort's voice. For the third time, Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape. Tears were pouring from her eyes into her hair. Snape looked back at her, quite impassive, as she turned slowly away from him again.
"Avada Kedavra."
The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the room. Charity fell, with a resounding crash, onto the table below, which trembled and creaked. Several of the Death Eaters leapt back in their chairs.
The wince from many at the table did not go unnoticed by Voldemort.
"Lucius."
"Y-yes, my Lord." came the voice of the once so proud Lucius Malfoy.
All eyes at the table of his own home fell onto him. The scalp of his head, once complimented by long, silky blonde hair, was now raw and fleshy-looking, with only wisps of his hair left, sticking out in unflattering tufts. It was as though his sleek bravado had left him with his hair.
"How is dear Draco?"
Lucius looked as though he'd rather eat his own flesh than answer the question truthfully. But after a lumpy swallow, he said, "Still unresponsive, My Lord."
"Fetch him."
Lucius gave another lumpy swallow and summoned an elf. With a pop, it vanished after it conversed in whispers with the Malfoy patriarch. Sook afterwards the double doors to the dining room swung open.
The house elf was now pushing what appeared to be a wheelchair into the room. Sat upon it was the young scion of the Malfoy line, glassy-eyed and as still as stone.
"He i-is entirely unable to w-walk, my Lord." trembled Lucius's wife Narcissa, as Voldemort analysed the boy. "Nor will he r-respond to us."
Voldemort's scarlet eyes bore into Draco, his face deceptively calm. "The heir to House Malfoy," he said silkily. "Reduced to an unresponsive husk by a Muggle weapon."
He said the word 'Muggle' with such sudden venom that every present Death Eater flinched.
"My Death Eaters have been fearful of me for decades." Voldemort continued, now audibly much angrier. "But to think there currently exists something that scares Draco even more..."
Voldemort raised Lucius's wand and imitated a gunshot. The sound rattled around the hall with such ferocity that Burbage's corpse swayed. The previously unresponsive Draco immediately dove out of his wheelchair from the sheer instinctive speed of his upper body and cowered to the floor, covering his ears and trembling violently.
You could hear a pin drop from the silence that followed.
"The sheer audacity..." hissed Voldemort. "To be ignorant of my presence, but cower to the sound of Muggle weaponry?"
Voldemort was seething now. Narcissa burst into tears.
"Forgive him, my L-Lord!" howled the woman in distress. "He doesn't know better! H-he's unwell!"
Voldemort said nothing. He rose from his seat and shot a streaking green light at the Elf that had brought Draco in. It fell to the floor, unmoving. Narcissa violently flinched at the sound.
"You will remedy his illness." hissed Voldemort, trying to keep his enraged voice steady. "I will see him bowing at my feet before I consider feeding the boy to Nagini."
"My lord is gracious!" sobbed Narcissa, flinging herself at Voldemort's feet and kissing the floor. "My Lord is merciful!"
Voldemort slowly lowered himself back in his chair, eyeing the corpse still dangling above the table.
"Dinner, Nagini," he said softly.
* * *
A pair of stony eyes were locked with her own. The man she loved more than anything, usually so calm and collected, focused on her as though it were he she had tried to perform the spell on - as though her actions had hurt him more than they had their intended target.
She couldn't bare those eyes - eyes which had always shone with so much affection for her, now filled with disapproval and fierce anger.
For she had betrayed everything he stood for. Every hope and dream he had for the world, and the people he wanted to represent... she had betrayed it all.
He opened his mouth as though about to spite her, but his words were barely above a muffle as an invisible force seemed to drag her further and further away from him.
"Hermione!"
Hermione's Granger's eyes snapped open. Looming above her was Ginny Weasley, looking scarily anxious.
"Are you alright?" said the redheaded girl frantically. "I think you were having a nightmare."
Hermione, much thinner and gaunt than she had been in her entire life, slowly sat up.
"It was nothing." she gave Ginny a weak smile. "Don't worry about it."
Ginny frowned. "Y/N?"
Hermione smiled bitterly. "How did you know?"
"I've been overhearing Harry and my brother," Ginny replied. "And if I've got my facts right... you two had a disagreement?
"I..." Hermione trailed off. "I've told Harry and Ron already... But Y/N and I met up in my house after Dumbledore's funeral."
"This was after he flew off?" Ginny asked.
Hermione nodded. "I was - well - we had an argument. I haven't seen him since."
"You and the rest of us," said Ginny. "It's last year all over again."
Hermione appreciated that Ginny hadn't asked about the details of her and Y/N's argument. She wished she could show that same sensitivity when it came to their plans to find the Horcruxes.
The operation to remove Harry from the Dursleys had been largely successful - but they had lost Mad-Eye Moody and George had had an ear severed with dark magic.
The shock of losing Mad-Eye hung over the house in the days that followed; everyone kept expecting to see him stumping in through the back door like the other Order members, who passed in and out to relay news.
During this time, they had been solely focused on Bill and Fleur's wedding. It wouldn't make sense to start looking for the Horcruxes immediately, Ron had wisely pointed out, as Harry wasn't yet seventeen. And so, the wedding, for now at least, took priority.
Today had been no different. Mrs Weasley was under the impression that if she kept Hermione, Harry and Ron apart it may thwart their plans to go off on their secret mission. So she had plagued them with so much work while simultaneously giving them all individual jobs that you'd think Bill was getting married to the Queen.
Eventually, Hermione and Harry retreated from all the work, just barely escaping Mrs Weasley who was thankfully preoccupied elsewhere, to find Ron.
"I'm doing it, I'm doing-! Oh, it's you," said Ron in relief, as Hermione and Harry entered the room.
"Hi, Ron," Hermione said, as Harry sat down on his camp bed. Hermione had brought with her a large stack of books and dumped them all on the floor, an action her eleven-year-old self would have screamed at her for.
"And how did you two manage to get away?"
"Oh, your mum forgot that she asked Ginny and me to change the sheets yesterday," said Hermione. She threw Numerology and Grammatica onto one pile and Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts onto the other.
"I couldn't find your mum anywhere so I just legged it here." was Harry's response. "I met with Hermione and we were just talking about Mad-Eye."
"About that... I reckon he might have survived," said Ron.
"But Bill saw him hit by the Killing Curse," said Harry.
"Yeah, but Bill was under attack too," said Ron. "How can he be sure what he saw?"
"Even if the Killing curse missed, Mad-Eye still fell about a thousand feet," said Hermione, now weighing Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland in her hand.
"He could have used a Shield Charm - "
"Fleur said his wand was blasted out of his hand," said Harry.
"Well, all right, if you want him to be dead," said Ron grumpily, punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape.
"Of course, we don't want him to be dead!" said Hermione, looking shocked. "It's dreadful that he's dead! But we're being realistic!"
For the first time, Harry imagined Mad-Eye's body, broken as Dumbledore's had been, yet with that one eye still whizzing in its socket. He felt a stab of revulsion mixed with a bizarre desire to laugh.
"The Death Eaters probably tidied up after themselves, that's why no one's found him," said Ron wisely.
Hermione pulled open one of the many books she'd been carrying with her.
"What are you doing with all those books anyway?"Ron asked.
"Just trying to decide which ones to take with us," said Hermione. "When we're looking for the Horcruxes."
"Oh, of course," said Ron, clapping a hand to his forehead. "I forgot we'll be hunting down Voldemort in a mobile library."
"Ha ha," said Hermione, looking down at Spellman's Syllabary. "I wonder... will we need to translate runes? It's possible... I think we'd better take it, to be safe."
She dropped the syllabary onto the larger of the two piles and picked up
Hogwarts, A History.
"Listen," said Harry.
He had sat up straight. Ron and Hermione looked at him with similar
mixtures of resignation and defiance.
"I know you said after Dumbledore's funeral that you wanted to come with me," Harry began.
"Here he goes," Ron said to Hermione, rolling his eyes.
"As we knew he would," she sighed, turning back to the books. "You know, I think I will take Hogwarts, A History. Even if we're not going back there, I don't think I'd feel right if I didn't have it with-"
"Listen!" said Harry again.
"No, Harry, you listen," said Hermione.
"We're coming with you. That was decided months ago-years, really."
"But-"
"Shut up," Ron advised him.
"-are you sure you've thought this through?" Harry persisted.
"Let's see," said Hermione, slamming Travels with Trolls onto the discarded pile with a rather fierce look. "I've been packing for days, so we're ready to leave at a moment's notice, which for your information has included doing some pretty difficult magic, not to mention smuggling Mad-Eye's whole stock of Polyjuice Potion right under Ron's mum's nose.
"I've also..." Hermione trailed off, her eyes glassing over.
Harry and Ron faltered at her sudden pause and recognised the look on her face.
"Hermione..." said Ron. "Are you ever going to tell us what you and Y/N fought over?"
Hermione gave him a look that was half-questioning, half-irritated.
"It's just -" said Harry uncertainly. "Ever since you told us you two argued the funeral, you've been - well, you've been looking quite ill."
Hermione had to agree with him. She was skinnier. Paler. She looked rather like Y/N did after his brief stay in Azkaban.
What she didn't appreciate, however, was how guilty Harry looked about it.
"Harry," she said sharply. "Our argument had nothing to do with your and Y/N's fallout."
Harry's anxious expression didn't waver. He sat down next to Ron.
"If you had to choose..." Harry said to her slowly. "You would have gone with Y/N, right?"
Hermione bit her lip. "I tried to," she said truthfully. "But then we fought."
Harry looked at her for a few more seconds before turning to Ron. "And you?"
Ron hesitated. "I... I don't know," he said equally as truthfully. "In some ways, I'm glad Y/N didn't make me choose."
Harry turned to Hermione again. "Is that what you fought over?"
Hermione shook her head.
The trio sat in silence for a while longer. Eventually, Hermione broke it.
"Ron, show Harry what you've done."
Ron immediately clocked onto what she was talking about. "Nah, he's just eaten,"
"Go on!"
"Oh, all right. Harry, come here." Ron stumped over to the door. "C'mon."
"Why?" Harry asked, following Ron out of the room onto the tiny landing.
"Descendo," muttered Ron, pointing his wand at the low ceiling. A hatch opened right over their heads and a ladder slid down to their feet.
A horrible, half-sucking, half, moaning sound came out of the square hole, along with an unpleasant smell like open drains.
"That's your ghoul, isn't it?" asked Harry, who had never actually met the creature that sometimes disrupted the nightly silence.
"Yeah, it is," said Ron, climbing the ladder. "Come and have a look at him."
Harry followed Ron up the few short steps into the tiny attic space. His head and shoulders were in the room before he caught sight of the creature curled up a few feet from him, fast asleep in the gloom with its large mouth wide open.
"But it... it looks... do ghouls normally wear pyjamas?"
"no," said Ron. "Nor have they usually got red hair or that number of pustules."
Harry contemplated the thing, slightly revolted. It was human in shape and size, and was wearing what, now that Harry's eyes became used to the darkness, was clearly an old pair of Ron's pyjamas. he was also sure that ghouls were generally rather slimy and bald, rather than distinctly hairy and covered in angry purple blisters.
"He's me, see?" said Ron
.
"No," said Harry. "I don't."
"I'll explain it back in my room, the smell's getting to me," said Ron. They climbed back down the ladder, which Ron returned to the ceiling, and rejoined Hermione, who was still sorting books.
"Once we've left, the ghoul's going to come and live down here in my room," said Ron. "I think he's looking forward to it-well, it's hard to tell, because all he can do is moan and drool-but he nods a lot when you mention it. Anyway, he's going to be me with spattergroit. Good, eh?"
Harry merely looked his confusion.
"It is!" said Ron, clearly frustrated that Harry had not grasped the brilliance of the plan. "Look, when we three don't turn up at Hogwarts again,everyone's going to think Hermione and I must be with you, right? Which means the Death Eaters will go straight for our families to see if they've got information on where you are."
"But hopefully it'll look like I've gone away with my - Mum and Dad; a lot of
Muggle-borns are talking about going into hiding at the moment," said Hermione.
"We can't hide my whole family, it'll look too fishy and they can't all leave their jobs," said Ron. "So we're going to put out the story that I'm seriously ill with spattergroit, which is why I can't go back to school. If anyone comes calling to investigate, Mum or dad can show them the ghoul in my bed, covered in pustules. Spattergroit's really contagious, so they're not going to want to go near him. It won't matter that he can't say anything, either, because apparently you can't once the fungus has spread to your uvula."
"And your mum and dad are in on this plan?" asked Harry.
"Dad is. He helped Fred and George transform the ghoul. Mum... well, you've seen what she's like. She won't accept we're going till we've gone."
There was silence in the room, broken only by gentle thuds as Hermione continued to throw books into one pile or the other. Ron sat watching her, and Harry looked from one to the other. The measures they had taken to protect their families made him realize, more than anything else could have done, that they really were going to come with him and that they knew exactly how dangerous that would be. He wanted to tell them what that meant to him, but he simply could not find words important enough.
Through the silence came the muffled sounds of Mrs Weasley shouting from four floors below.
"Ginny's probably left a speck of dust on a poxy napkin ring," said Ron. "I dunno why the Delacours have got to come two days before the weddings."
"Fleur's sister's a bridesmaid, she needs to be here for the rehearsal, and she's too young to come on her own," said Hermione.
"Well, guests aren't going to help Mum's stress levels," said Ron.
"what we really need to decide," said Hermione, tossing Defensive Magical Theory into the bin without a second glance and picking up An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, "is where we're going after we leave here. I know you said you wanted to go to Godric's Hollow first, Harry, and I understand why, but... well... shouldn't we make the Horcruxes our priority?"
"If we knew where any of the Horcruxes were, I'd agree with you," said Harry, who did not believe that Hermione really understood his desire to Godric's Hollow. His parents' graves were only part of the attraction: He had a strong, though inexplicable, feeling that the place held answers for him. Perhaps it was simply because it was there that he had survived Voldemort's Killing Curse; now that he was facing the challenge of repeating the feat, Harry was drawn to the place where it happened, wanting to understand.
"Don't you think there's a possibility that Voldemort's keeping a watch on Godric's Hollow?" Hermione asked. "He might expect you to go back and visit your parents' graves once you're free to go wherever you like?"
This had not occurred to Harry. While he struggled to find a counterargument, Ron spoke up, evidently following his own train of thought.
"This R.A.B. person," he said, "You know, the one who stole the real locket?"
Hermione nodded.
"He said in his note that he was going to destroy it, didn't he?"
Harry dragged his rucksack toward him and pulled out the fake Horcrux in which R.A.B.'s note was still folded.
"'I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can,'"
Harry read out.
"Well, what if he did finish it off?" said Ron.
"Or she." interposed Hermione.
"Whichever," said Ron, "it'd be one less for us to do!"
"Yes, but we're still going to have to try and trace the real locket, aren't we?" said Hermione, "to find out whether or not it's destroyed."
"And once we get hold of it, how do you destroy a Horcrux?" asked Ron.
"Well," said Hermione, "I've been researching that."
"How?" asked Harry. "I didn't think there were any books on Horcruxes in the library?"
"There weren't," said Hermione, who had turned pink. "Dumbledore removed them all, but he-he didn't destroy them."
Ron sat up straight, wide-eyed.
"It-it wasn't stealing!" said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron with a kind of desperation. "They were still library books, even if Dumbledore had taken them off the shelves. Anyway, if he really didn't want anyone to get at them, I'm sure he would have made it much harder to-"
"Get to the point!" said Ron.
"Well... it was easy," said Hermione in a small voice. "I just did a Summoning Charm. You know-Accio. And... they zoomed out of Dumbledore's study window right into the girls' dormitory."
"But when did you do this?" Harry asked, regarding Hermione with a mixture of admiration and incredulity
.
"Just after his-Dumbledore's-funeral," said Hermione in an even smaller voice. "Right after we agreed we'd leave school and go and look for the Horcruxes. When I went back upstairs to get my things it-it just occurred to me that the more we knew about them, the better it would be... and I was alone in there... so I tried... and it worked. They flew straight in through the open window and I-I packed them."
She swallowed and then said imploringly, "I can't believe Dumbledore would have been angry, it's not as though we're going to use the information to make a Horcrux, is it?"
"Can you hear us complaining?" said Ron. "Where are these books anyway?"
Hermione rummaged for a moment and then extracted from the pile a large volume, bound in faded black leather. She looked a little nauseated and held it as gingerly as if it were something recently dead.
"This is the one that gives explicit instructions on how to make a Horcrux. Secrets of the Darkest Art-it's a horrible book, really awful, full of evil magic. I wonder when Dumbledore removed it from the library... If he didn't do it until he was headmaster, I bet Voldemort got all the instruction he needed from
here."
"Why did he have to ask Slughorn how to make a Horcrux, then, if he'd already read that?" asked Ron.
"He only approached Slughorn to find out what would happen if you split your soul into seven," said Harry.
"Dumbledore was sure Riddle already knew how to make a Horcrux but the time he asked Slughorn about them. I think you're right, Hermione, that could easily have been where he got the information."
"And the more I've read about them," said Hermione, "the more horrible they seem, and the less I can believe that he actually made six. It warns in this book how unstable you make the rest of your soul by ripping it, and that's just by making one Horcrux!"
Harry remembered what Dumbledore had said about Voldemort moving beyond "usual evil."
"Isn't there any way of putting yourself back together?" Ron asked.
"Yes," said Hermione with a hollow smile, "but it would be excruciatingly
painful."
"Why? How do you do it?" asked Harry.
"Remorse," said Hermione. "You've got to really feel what you've done. There's a footnote. Apparently the pain of it can destroy you. I can't see Voldemort attempting it somehow, can you?"
"No," said Ron, before Harry could answer. "So does it say how to destroy
Horcruxes in that book?"
"Yes," said Hermione, now turning the fragile pages as if examining rotting entrails. "because it warns Dark wizards how strong they have to make the enchantments on them. From all that I've read, what Harry did to Riddle's diary was one of the really foolproof ways of destroying a Horcrux."
"What, stabbing it with a basilisk fang?" asked Harry.
"Oh well, lucky we've got such a large supply of basilisk fangs, then," said
Ron. "I was wondering what we were going to do with them."
"It doesn't have to be a basilisk fang," said Hermione patiently. "It has to be something so destructive that the Horcrux can't repair itself. Basilisk venom only has one antidote, and it's incredibly rare-"
"-phoenix tears," said Harry, nodding.
"Exactly," said Hermione, "Our problem is that the are very few substances as destructive as basilisk venom, and they're all dangerous to carry around with you. That's a problem we're going to have to solve though, because ripping, smashing, or crushing a Horcrux won't do the trick. You've got to put it beyond magical repair."
"But even if we wreck the thing it lives in," said Ron, "Why can't the bit of soul in it just go and live in something else?"
"Because a Horcrux is the complete opposite of a human being."
Seeing that Harry and Ron looked thoroughly confused, Hermione hurried on, "Look, if I picked up a sword right now, Ron, and ran you through with it, I wouldn't damage your soul at all."
"Which would be a real comfort to me, I'm sure," said Ron. Harry Laughed.
"It should be, actually! But my point is that whatever happens to your body, your soul will survive untouched," said Hermione. "But it's the other way round with a Horcrux. The fragment of soul inside it depends on it's container, its enchanted body, for survival, It can't exist without it."
"That diary sort of died when I stabbed it," said Harry, remembering ink pouring like blood from the punctured pages, and the screams of the piece of Voldemort's soul as it vanished.
"And once the diary was properly destroyed, the bit of soul trapped in it could no longer exist. Ginny tried to get rid of the diary before you did, flushing it away, but obviously it came back good as new."
"Hang on," said Ron, frowning. "The bit of soul in that diary was possessing
Ginny, wasn't it? How does that work, then?"
" While the magical container is still intact, the bit of soul inside it can flit in and out of someone if they get too close to the object. I don't mean holding it for long, it's nothing to do with touching it," she added before Ron could speak. " I mean close emotionally. Ginny poured her heart out into that diary, she made herself incredibly vulnerable. You're in trouble if you get too fond of or dependent on the Horcrux."
"I wonder how Dumbledore destroyed the ring?" said Harry. "Why didn't I ask him? I never really... "
His voice tailed away: He was thinking of all the things he should have asked Dumbledore, and of how, since the headmaster had died, it seemed to Harry that he had wasted so many opportunities when Dumbledore had been alive, to find out more... to find out everything...
The silence was shattered as the bedroom door flew open with a wall-shaking crash. Hermione shrieked and dropped Secrets of the Darkest Art. Crookshanks streaked under the bed, hissing indignantly; Ron jumped off the bed, skidded on a discarded Chocolate Frog wrapper, and smacked his head on the opposite wall; and Harry instinctively dived for his wand before realizing that he was looking up at Mrs Weasley, whose hair was dishevelled and whose face was contorted with rage.
"I'm so sorry to break up this cosy little gathering," she said, her voice trembling. " I'm sure you all need your rest . . . but there are wedding presents stacked in my room that need sorting out and I was under the impression that you had agreed to help."
"Oh yes," said Hermione, looking terrified as she leapt on her feet, sending books flying in every direction, "we will... we're sorry..."
With an anguished look at Harry and Ron, Hermione, hurried out of the room after Mrs Weasley.
"It's like being a house-elf," complained Ron in an undertone, still massaging his head as he and Harry followed. "Except without the job satisfaction. The sooner this wedding's over, the happier I'll be."
"Yeah," said Harry, "then we'll have nothing to do except find Horcruxes... It'll be like a holiday, won't it?"