Hey guys!
Sorry it's taken me awhile to upload - the last week of school starts tomorrow, and I've been very busy studying for finals this past week!
I think you guys will like this chapter, everything is starting to go down! Thanks for reading, and enjoy!
***
Draco's POV -
Evening falls over the castle grounds faster than I want it to.
The usual vibrant oranges and pinks that stripe the sky as the sun sets aren't present tonight - it's abnormally cloudy. The air is cool, drafting in through the windows and circling around shivering students like famished vultures.
I spend the entire day in my dorm, and when it's time to go down to the room of requirement to complete the final step of my task, I take the back way - the way that I know I won't run into anyone. I can't bear to look at the faces of all the people that I'm putting in danger tonight, knowing that they have families expecting them home in a mere week.
There's a heavy knot of dread unfurling in my stomach as I walk through the corridors.
I'm sort of surprised that I've actually completed the task, after all. There were times where it became so complicated that I wanted to quit altogether, run away, die.
I'd seen Voldemort kill people. I'd seen him hurt people, knew that I was his key to unlocking the success of the dark side.
And yet, I hadn't ever tried to stop him.
Even now, here I am, trudging through a dimly lit corridor, on my way to unleash his dark servants into the school and murder the only man that can stop Voldemort himself.
Why the hell am I still following through with this?
And then, I recall the one moment that made me promise myself to never stop.
***
(Flashback)
If the boy could describe the room in two words, and he knew this - it would be dark, and cold.
The walls, floor, ceiling, all of it had been cemented together by bricks as black as ink - it looked as though somebody had slicked them over with oil. He was shaking like an aspen leaf, but it certainly wasn't because of the frigid air.
Just then, the door behind him swung open with a hollow sigh.
The boy whipped around, his face paling. Foolishly, he hoped it was just the house settling, or the wind blowing. Unfortunately, this was just a delusion, and somewhere within him, he knew this to be true.
There, in the empty door frame, stood a dark figure.
The figure - a man, it clearly was - was tall, cloaked by dark robes that pooled at his feet like blood. His hands protruded from beneath them, similar to gargantuan pale spiders. He did not appear to be breathing.
"Draco." A cold voice came slithering out from beneath the robes. The boy jumped at the mention of his name. He, absentmindedly, wondered how pathetic and weak he must look.
"My-my lord." Draco stammered, and swiftly took a knee, remembering what his father had taught him only weeks ago.
The robed man came drifting into the room, pacing as though he really was hovering an inch or two off the ground. Draco peered up through his eyelashes, unsure of when he was supposed to stand again. On his knee, he wobbled.
"How is the mark healing?"
At this, the boy rose to his feet again, shaky. He held out his left forearm to the man, who took it in his slender hands. His fingers felt rather cold against his flesh.
Delicately, the man peeled back Draco's sleeve, revealing a horrible sight beneath.
It made Draco want to throw up when he saw it. The dark mark - this is what it was. An inky skull, with a snake that slithered outwards from the base of its mouth, evermoving. The mark was still newborn, still achy and stinging to the touch. Around it, veins had gone purple, flesh raw red.
"It is good, my lord." Draco lied. He swallowed down a lump of fear.
The dark man stayed still for a long moment. Draco wondered what he was thinking, and if he could tell that he had lied.
"I presume you have been informed of the task I've given you?" He finally said, his voice emotionless.
Draco stilled. He knew of it, yes - but the mere thought made him nauseous and dizzy, like he was about to topple over and faint. Despite all this, he gave a spasm-like nod of the head.
"I hope you understand the significance of this." The dark lord continued. He began to pace around Draco in a slow circle, causing him to tense up even more. "It must be completed by the end of the Hogwarts year. If not, consequences will be enforced."
Draco froze up like dew on a cold morning. Consequences? What kind of consequences?
"Consequences that will affect those most important to you." The man continued, drawing around to his servant's front side. "You have yet to meet some of these people. I have seen it - there is, perhaps, another person that has yet to enter your life this year, and will become very dear to you."
Draco found himself puzzled at this. He didn't care very much about anybody but himself. Maybe his mother, but she'd forced him into Voldemort's circle, too. He was too cold to care for anyone else, too self-absorbed. This, he knew.
"These people..." the dark lord said, his voice fluid, "may face the threat of death, if you are not to accomplish the task I've given you."
He was numb. Voldemort's words turned the very marrow in his bones to ice.
Voldemort stood before him, so still that one may have confused him for dead. And with no more words, no more movement, he disappeared from the room in a black wisp of smoke. Draco was left there, alone, his fresh dark mark still singing beneath his sleeve.
*2 months later*
"Hey, Jen!"
The girl, a rather pretty one with flaming red curls and a porcelain face, raised her hand shyly and offered a sheepish smile in response.
The same boy watched, letting a little breath of a laugh escape his lips at sight of the timid creature. He was different, now - his dark mark did not pain him anymore. He had begun to work on the task that the cloaked man gave him only months ago. He suffered from even more stress than he knew was mentally - and quite frankly, physically - possible. Already, his face had begun to pale. His eyes had begun to sting from a late night's work.
This girl, however, was different - that much he'd noticed. You didn't see girls like her at Hogwarts, or anywhere, really.
This is what he'd noticed about her, so far - she reads for fun. She wears these big, round, tortoise-shell eyeglasses. She seems to blush and look at her lap when she gets nervous. And, she's a girl of few words. In other words, she's very shy.
The boy who'd called her name and waved to her, Draco knew very well. He was the kind of boy with rugged good looks - a defined face, warm eyes, and chocolate skin, and he'd use them to draw a girl in and ruin her life. He had a variety of inappropriate names for this jackass move, including "smash and dash", "fuck and duck", and "screw, nut, & bolt". Draco did not particularly like him for this, since he knew that this was exactly what he was planning to do to the innocent girl with red hair.
He realized his teacher had begun to talk, but he couldn't quite make out what he was saying. This only made him more angry - his parents, for some reason, expected him to keep good marks this year. Too pissed off to listen to a simple introduction speech by his professor was not a good way to start that off.
It was only by the end of the lecture that Draco was able to make sense of his professor's words.
"I will have you be partners with..." The plump man spoke from the front of the room, chewing on his miniscule lip decisively, "the person who is sitting across from you."
Draco didn't even have to glance forwards to know exactly what that meant for him. Just from peeking out of the corner of his eye as she slid into her seat at the beginning of class, he saw that the redheaded girl - who he seemed to take some sort of interest in - was sitting directly to his front.
Cautiously, he decided to glance over at her. Once he had, he couldn't tear his eyes away.
She was gazing up at him out of those innocent bambi eyes, through eyelashes soft and thick. Her lips were parted, but just the slightest bit, and she wore a look of puzzle on her face.
Draco's heart seized in his chest.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He knew it. It was 100% clear - and he knew it.
This was who Voldemort had been talking about, not too many months ago, when he said that there was someone yet to come in Draco's life that he'd care very dearly for. This was who Voldemort planned to harm if he did not properly finish his task.
Fuck.
Draco knew it, right then, because he could feel it. He could see no other outcome - this girl, she was the one who would change it all.
And for that, he hated her. This was a very difficult and inexplicable thing, because he also cared very much for her. How were you supposed to treat somebody that you despised, yet adored?
So, Draco plastered a pissy look on his face, and decided to do what he did best:
be a complete asshole.
***
Right. I think, turning down the corridor with the room of requirement, a picture of Jennifer floating through my mind.
That's why I'm following through with this.
***
When I was little, maybe five or six, there used to be an old, dark cabinet that sat in the corner of my room, casting strange shadows across the floor at night. It was tall, spindly, and coated with a film of dust. It had belonged to my great grandmother back in the 1920s, and it terrified the absolute hell out of me.
The doors didn't completely touch all the way when they were shut, leaving a slender but utterly significant crack between them. Through the space, I could only ever see black. But as I lay in my bed at night, staring at that horrid crack, I'd begin to think about the unknown, and my eyes would play tricks on me.
A red eye peered back at me, a gray and deadish finger poked its way through, wisps of thin hair that belonged to a rotting corpse fell through the small space between the cabinet doors.
I'd stare and stare, my chest tightening and heart pounding until I felt like I was going to throw up all over my bedspread. Most nights, I'd end up dashing out of the room and crawling in bed with my parents while they were still asleep.
That's exactly how I feel now - staring at the vanishing cabinet in front of me.
Cold with sweat, tense, waves of nausea racking my body.
I can't take my eyes off of it, very aware of what's about to come out of it and what will happen because of it. It's my fault.
I take a trembling breath, close my eyes, and attach my fingers to the crook just beneath my chin and just above my neck, where I can feel my pulse.
This is a trick that Jennifer taught me - it's called grounding. You put your fingers on a place where you can feel your pulse, and think of things that are happening around you right in the moment. It's one to remind yourself that no matter what you're going through, and no matter what's happening, you're still alive.
It's the twenty-fifth of May. It's seven-thirty-two at night. If I open my eyes, I can see a pile of old schoolbooks sitting on top of a wooden stool. I can smell the dust that coats every item in this room. I can touch the tip of my wand, sitting snug inside of my jacket. I can hear an owl hooting quietly, somewhere a few floors below me. I can taste the saliva sitting on top of my own tongue.
When I open my eyes again, I exhale, not realizing I'd still been holding the breath that I took minutes ago.
Before I can turn back, back out, or vomit, I force the words from my mouth.
"Harmonia Nectere Passus."
The cabinet does nothing at first.
Then, I feel it - the dust in the room rises, and then resettles again. The floor begins to tremble, but only the slightest bit. It's so gentle, that if one hadn't been searching for a reaction, they might not have even felt it.
The cabinet begins to give off a low hum. I hear noises from within - maybe voices - but they sound far away, like I'm listening to them from underwater. The cabinet is glowing now, darkly. My heart begins to drum wildly against my ribcage, like it's trying to break free, and I feel like the air is being sucked from my lungs.
And then, it all stops.
The room is silent.
The cabinet doors make a soft creaking sound as they glide open.
A heeled foot emerges first - pale and veiny. Bellatrix Lestrange steps out from the cabinet, grinning sadistically. Fenrir Greyback steps out from behind her, followed by Dolohov, both of the Carrows, and Yaxley.
Bellatrix inhales deeply, relishing in the death that's soon to come.
"Good evening, Draco."
***
Jennifer's POV -
The strong smell of salt swims beneath my nose as my feet land on the ground again.
My eyes peel open, and I realize my clammy hands are still interlocked with Harry's and Dumbledore's. Slowly letting go, I turn around, taking in the scene before me.
The sky is an ominous gray, striped here and there with pearl. Monstrous waves throw themselves upon the slick rock we stand on. The air is frigid, dark - and the obsidian beneath our feet is slick and black. A short walk away from where we stand lies an entrance to a cave.
"Come." Dumbledore says, and begins to pace toward the shadowy opening. Harry and I give each other an unsure glance, but follow in his steps.
His words from earlier drift through my head like something inanimate in the water.
I ask both of you to listen to and follow my instruction as though your life depends on it.
A shiver crawls up my spine, and I try to shake it off. Despite running from and fighting death eaters and classmates in disguise who desperately want me dead, something gives me a feeling that I've never experienced something like I'm about to before.
"Indeed," Dumbledore continues, tracing a blackened finger over the smooth wall of the cave. "I can feel the energy of Lord Voldemort within the walls of this structure. Whatever horcrux he has concealed within these walls, he has done it well. This is one of great importance to him."
Dumbledore reaches inside his robes, and draws out a clean dagger. It sickly reminds me of the one that the death eater used to cut a long gash in my face just a couple of months ago. I run my fingers over the fish bone scar, and grimace.
He lowers the dagger to the grove between his thumb and forefinger, and slices.
"Sir-" Harry interjects, but Dumbledore immediately stops him.
"In order to gain passage, pain must be inflicted as a sacrifice to what lies within." He explains, crimson sliding in between the lines of his palm. "Pain that is inflicted to weaken the intruder."
"Professor," I say, "We wouldn't have minded."
Dumbledore's lips curl upwards in a plain smile. "Your blood is much more precious than mine."
He raises his palm to the wall, smearing his blood across the stone. He steps back, and the wall begins to disassemble, rocks breaking and crumbling apart, falling to the ground like a fragile avalanche and wearily inviting us inside.
"Lumos." Harry whispers, and the tip of his wand begins to glow. I parrot him, and the three of us slip through the newborn opening with caution.
Just beyond the entrance is a short peninsula, composed of crystal-like pillars that rise three or four feet off the ground. Past that, a cold and secretive lake stretches beyond the eye's abilities. It's flat as a mirror - so still that it seems as if time has frozen itself. The darkness of it all is overwhelming, palpable, everlasting.
Dumbledore thrusts his arm forward, and a light identical to the one on the tip of his wand casts itself to the end of the cave. It takes no shorter than twenty seconds to reach the opposite side, and then, the space fills with a pale, flashlight-like light that still leaves a good portion of the cave in darkness.
He edges closer to the end of the peninsula, where the crystals stoop shorter, and we follow closely on his heels.
"Do not touch the water." Dumbledore says.
His arm stretches out, hand hovering above the surface, and his eyes drift shut. The water beneath his shadow begins to stir, funneling and bubbling and whirring until a rusty chain shoots upwards like a swordfish. The headmaster catches it.
"As I thought." He says. I look over at Harry, whose lips have turned a pale shade of blue. He doesn't seem to be breathing.
Across the lake, a figure too dark to make out is gliding towards us. As it comes closer, I realize that it's a boat - a rather small one, pointed at each end with thin spears. It settles in beside us, and Dumbledore motions for the two of us to climb in.
We do.
As we slide across the lake, I begin to feel vulnerable - exposed. Pale, fleshy corpses float beneath the surface, eyes peeled back wide like overripe fruit. It makes my skin prick and tingle, but I try to ignore it, focus on the small island that's slowly coming into view ahead of us.
"Do not forget what I've told you." Dumbledore speaks suddenly. It is so quiet in the cave that his voice sounds unnaturally magnified. "Listen to and follow my every direction. If I tell you to run, you must run. If I tell you to stay, you must stay. If I tell you to save yourself and let me die, you must do it."
The thought sends a shiver up my spine. What could Voldemort have possibly set up that would put us in such a situation? I remind myself, firmly, not to underestimate him.
Suddenly, the boat comes to a halt, horizontally parallel with the small island. All three of us cautiously step out, using the stark crystals as leverage to push ourselves forward.
I shiver, watching closely as the headmaster circles a pedestal, projected upwards from the very center of the island. There's some sort of basin on it - something pearly, opaque. Through it, I can see a dark liquid.
"It must be consumed." He says. "Every last drop."
Dumbledore runs his hand just above the surface of the potion, and it gives a hollow, haunted noise. He turns his eyes to the two of us.
"This potion may make me lose consciousness. It may disable my memory. It may inflict so much pain on me that I will be forced to my knees as I beg you to make it stop. You cannot capitulate to the effects that I will experience. You must make sure that I drink this potion, until there are no remains."
He surveys the two of us carefully. I swallow down bile.
"Harry, I want you to be in charge of making sure that I finish the entire potion. Force it down my throat, if you must." Dumbledore turns to me, his voice grave. "Jennifer, shall an outside threat emerge, I want you to terminate it. May I become the threat, I expect you to do the same."
I nod my head shakily. I'm unsure if I'll be able to harm Dumbledore if he becomes a danger.
Slowly, without another word, the headmaster takes the shell-like cup floating within the basin, and fills it with potion. He lifts it to his lips, and spills the contents down his throat.
For a moment, nothing happens. All is silent. Dumbledore is still.
But then, his eyes fill with a fear that I can't identify. He doesn't look like he's looking at Harry or I anymore.
"Professor-" Harry begins, but the headmaster has begun to convulse. He shudders, and a grunt of pain escapes his lips.
"Professor!"
Dumbledore falls backwards, seizing. The cup falls from his hands, clashing to the floor as his eyes roll back into his head. He emits an animalistic shriek.
"Get the cup!" I yell, and pull my sleeve back. Harry dashes for the shell, refilling it quickly and tripping down to Dumbledore, who is writhing on the slick stone. I try to focus on the buzzing energy in my veins.
"Make it stop!" Dumbledore cries out. Harry feeds another helping of black liquid into his mouth. I glance around, but the room is as still as ever. There's got to be something, something I'm not seeing -
"You've got to keep drinking - sir - like you - said -" The fear in Harry's eyes now matches Dumbledore's. He forces more potion down his throat, and the headmaster screams.
It doesn't stop.
Harry, stumbling from the basin to the sobbing professor, who is crying out desperately for water as if he hasn't had anything to drink in years, and me, fearfully glancing in each direction, looking for any sign of an outside threat.
"You're almost done - there's only a little bit left -"
My eyes are playing tricks on me now, sudden movements in the darkness, and I'm whipping this way and that like a madwoman, breath rasping in and out of my lungs.
"Water!"
"Last one, professor -"
Harry feeds the last sip of potion into Dumbledore's mouth, and the headmaster goes unnaturally calm. A lone tear streak veins down beneath his eye.
"Harry." His voice has gone so bland that it's unsettling. "Water."
"Okay, water." Harry trembles, picking his way back up to the basin. "Water."
I've stopped looking around, my eyes frozen on Harry as he lifts, with a light tinkle, a timeworn locket from the empty basin, and casts a pool of water where the potion once lay.
He tries to scoop up the liquid in the shell. It doesn't work. Frantically, he tries again, but the water won't stay inside. Again, and again, and again. Nothing.
His eyes wild, Harry stumbles down towards the edge of the island, where the black lake lies calm, like something sinister, pretending to be asleep. You can almost feel the energy, the life humming from it with anticipation.
"Harry, no - we can get it somewhere else -" I try to stop him, but it's too late.
He lowers the cup beneath the surface. When it emerges again, it's filled to the brim with black water from the lake. Dumbledore mumbles again for a drink, but by that point, neither of us are paying any attention to him.
The lake has begun to whirlpool around us - fury in the form water, unforgiving and turbulent. The cave roars, cold and vicious, and I go into defense mode. Whatever Voldemort has waiting for us beneath the surface of the lake, it's about to come out.
"Lumos maxima!" Harry shouts, and a flurry of white light emerges from the tip of his wand, highlighting possibly the most horrifying thing I've ever seen.
Hundreds of corpses - if that's even what you can call them - are crawling up from beneath the waves and onto the island. Thin, bony, hairless things that look sinister and famished. They claw at the stone, flesh tearing from their web-like hands. My heart freezes in my chest.
Harry pulls Dumbledore further up the island, and I begin to strike out.
Sparks erupt from my fingers, sending the creatures flying back beneath the depths of the lake in groups of two or three, but it's not enough. For every pair that I send off, twenty more come crawling up. Harry guards the professor's limp body, waving his wand frantically at a group of the things.
I shriek as I feel a wet, clawish hand latch onto my arm. They've almost covered the entire island now - Harry is surrounded, defenseless, and it won't be long before I am, too.
More and more of the creatures take hold of me, and I feel that there's nothing I can do. I'm paralyzed. Dumbledore trusted me with this job, to protect him and Harry. I'm failing.
As the scaly things drag me toward the edge of the island, I glance at the headmaster one last time, panicked. He and Harry are both being dragged to the edge, like me.
He mouths one last word to me before disappearing beneath the surface. Somehow, I understand.
I muster any and all energy I have left, break free from the grip of the creatures, and drag myself to the top of the island. There comes hope, rage, a boiling energy into my fingertips, and I bring forth the greatest firestorm than any other before it.
Towering flames whipped around me like great gods, and waves of heat so immense triumph the room, bringing me to my knees as I let out a fatal cry. Embers shoot to the highest of heights like confetti, raining down upon Voldemort's army of corpses. The creatures give unholy shrieks, abandoning all motives and darting back into the lake like frightened children. Through the heat of the blaze, I see both Harry and Dumbledore's heads pop above the surface of the lake.
I don't stop, gargantuan flames licking all the way up to the ceiling of the cave and devouring the air like a wicked red grin, until the two of them return to the edge of the island.
At this point, Harry, who already looks on the verge of unconsciousness, has to hold Dumbledore up in order for him to stay standing. Dumbledore looks close to dead, if not already. Both are pale and soaking wet.
"We've got to get back." Harry coughs out, his voice desperate. "He needs help. Not much - time."
I nod, without a word, and stumble over towards the pair. I hadn't realized how weak casting the flames to scare off the creatures had made me. I don't even know how much longer I'll be able to hold my own self up, let alone Dumbledore.
Quickly, I note that Harry has the locket clutched in a shaky hand.
"Ready?" Harry asks. I nod, assuming he's apparating.
I take his hand, and he inhales deeply. My eyes flutter shut as Harry takes a step forward, preparing to pivot, and I brace myself for the horribly uncomfortable feeling that I know is coming.
But it never does.
I keep my eyes closed for a long time. I don't know whether or not I'm scared to open them, or I'm just too weak to.
When they finally do peel upwards, I find that I'm still in the cave.
Completely alone.
I begin to panic, looking around.
Did Harry and Dumbledore apparate back without me, and accidentally leave me here alone? I need to get back to Draco, explain to him where I've been. There's no reason I should've been held back, while the two of them continued on to the castle.
I pivot, glancing in the direction to my backside, and my blood runs cold in my veins.
Time seems to stop.
My knees turn to bags of water as my eyes land on the tall, robed, hissing figure standing at the other end of the cave.
The air grows colder around my feet.
Voldemort.
***
Well guys...Jennifer may be in some trouble here!
Do you guys have any predictions for the last few chapters? How do you think it'll go down?
Thank you all for reading and enjoying this story with me! I'll see you guys soon ;)