"If my child needed protection from a fucker like that, I'd sooner gut him, 'cause nothing cuts like a mother. Give in control, there's so many ways to give in. Eyes closed, another way to make it to ten. How to draw the line between wrath and mercy?"
- Simmer, Hayley Williams
There is no means of steering; the dragon can't see where it's going, and I know if it turns sharply or rolls in mid-air, it will be impossible for us to hold on. Nevertheless, as we climb higher and higher, London unfurling below us like a grey and green map, my overwhelming feeling is of gratitude for an escape that seemed impossible. Crouching low over the beast's neck, I cling tightly to the metallic scales, and the cool breeze is soothing on my burned and blistered skin, the dragon's wing's beating like the sails of a windmill. Behind me, whether from delight or fear I cannot tell, Ron keeps swearing at the top of his lungs, and Hermione seems to be sobbing, while Riley is yelling encouragement at her.
After five or so minutes, I lose some of my immediate dread that the dragon is going to throw us off, for it seems intent on nothing but getting as far away from its underground prison as possible. Still, the question of how we're going to dismount remains rather frightening. I have no idea how long dragons can fly without landing, nor how this particular dragon, which can barely see, will locate a good place to put us down. I glance around constantly, imagining that I can feel my scar prickling...
How long will it be before Voldemort knows we broke into the Lestranges' vault? How soon will the goblins notify Bellatrix? How quickly will they realise what's been taken? And then, when they discover that the golden cup is missing, Voldemort will know, at last, that we're hunting Horcruxes...
The dragon seems to crave cooler and fresher air: it climbs steadily upwards; we're flying through wisps of chilly cloud, and I can no longer make out the little coloured dots which are cars pouring in and out of the capital. On and on we fly, over countryside parcelled out in patches of green and brown, over roads and rivers winding through the landscape like strops of matte and glossy ribbon.
"What do you reckon it's looking for?" Ron yells as we fly further and further north.
"No clue," I bellow back. My hands are numb with the cold, but I don't dare shift my grip. I've been wondering for some time what we should do if we see the coast sail beneath us, if the dragon is headed for open sea: I'm cold and numb, not to mention desperately hungry and thirsty. When, I wonder, would the dragon have lasted eaten? Surely it will need sustenance before long? And what if, at that point, it realises it has five highly edible humans sitting on it's back?
The sun slips lower in the sky, which is turning indigo; and still the dragon flies, cities and towns gliding out of sight beneath us, it's enormous shadow sliding over the earth like a great, dark cloud. Every part of me aches with the effort of holding on to the dragon's back.
"Is it my imagination?" shouts Riley, after a considerable stretch of silence, "or are we losing height?"
I look down and see deep-green mountains and lakes, coppery in the sunset. The landscape seems to grow larger and more detailed as I squint over the side of the dragon, and I wonder whether it has divined the presence of freshwater by the flashes of reflected sunlight.
"I say we jump when it gets low enough!" Harry calls out. "Straight into the water before it realises we're here!"
We all agree, Hermione a little faintly; and now I can see the dragon's broad, yellow underbelly rippling in the surface of the water. I wait anxiously for Harry's queue.
"NOW!"
I slither over the side of the dragon and begin plummeting, feet first, towards the surface of the lake; the drop is greater than I anticipated and I hit the water hard, plunging like a stone into a freezing, green, reed-filled world. I kick towards the surface and emerge, panting, to see enormous ripples emanating in circles from the places where the others have fallen. The dragon does not seem to have noticed anything: it is already fifty feet away, swooping low over the lake to scoop up water in it's scarred snout. As the others emerge, spluttering and gasping, the dragon flies on, wings beating hard, and lands at last on a distant bank.
We begin swimming for the opposite shore. The lake does not seem to be too deep: soon it is more a question of fighting our way through reeds and mud than swimming, and finally, we flop, drenched, panting, and exhausted, on to slippery grass.
Hermione collapses, coughing and shuddering, and it is only when I see Harry and Riley staggering to their feet and beginning to cast protective enchantments around us that I join her, sprawling out with a cough. I realise now the extent of the pain I'm in; my arms and legs are still spasming, my chest aches with every breath I take, and the entire left side of my face feels like it's on fire.
"Up you get, Hayles," Harry whispers, taking my hands and helping me into a sitting position. It's the first time I see the others properly since escaping from the vault. They all have angry red burns all over their faces and arms, and their clothing is singed away in places. They're wincing as they dab essence of dittany on to their injuries. Hermione hands Harry the bottle, then pulls out five bottles of pumpkin juice she took from Shell Cottage, and dry robes for all of us.
"Well, on the up side," says Ron finally, who is sitting watching the skin on his hands regrow, "we got the Horcrux. On the downside --"
"-- no sword," I say through gritted teeth, as Harry applies dittany to my angry burns on my face.
"No sword," Riley echoes. "That double-crossing fucker..."
Harry pulls the Horcrux from the pocket of his wet jacket and sets it down on the grass in front of us. Glinting in the sun, it draws our eyes as we swig our bottles of pumpkin juice.
"At least we can't wear it this time, that'd look a bit weird hanging around our necks," says Ron, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
Hermione looks across the lake to the far bank where the dragon is still drinking.
"What'll happen to it, do you think?" she asks. "Will it be all right?"
"You sound like Hagrid," says Ron. "It's a dragon, Hermione; it can look after itself. It's us we need to worry about."
"What d'you mean?"
"Well, I don't know how to break this to you," says Ron, "but I think they might have noticed we broke into Gringotts."
All five of us start to laugh, and once it starts, it's difficult to stop. My ribs ache, I feel light-headed with hunger, but I lay back on the grass beneath the reddening sky and laugh until my throat is raw.
"What are you going to do, though?" says Hermione finally, hiccoughing herself back to seriousness. "He'll know, won't he? You-Know-Who will know we know about his Horcruxes!"
"Maybe they'll be too scared to tell him," says Riley hopefully. "Maybe they'll cover it up --"
The sky, the smell of the lake water, the sound of Riley's voice is extinguished: pain cleaves my head like a sword stroke. He's standing in a dimly lit room, and a semi-circle of wizards are facing him, and on the floor at his feet kneels a small, quaking figure.
"What did you say to me?" His voice is high and cold, but fury and fear burn inside him. The one thing he dreaded -- but it can't be true, he can't see how...
The goblin is trembling, unable to meet the red-eyes high above his.
"Say it again!" murmurs Voldemort. "Say it again!"
M--my Lord," stammers the goblin, it's black eyes wide with terror, "m--my Lord...we t-tried t-to st-stop them...im--imposters, my Lord...broke -- broke into the -- into the Lestranges' v-vault..."
"Imposters? What imposters? I thought Gringotts had ways of revealing imposters? Who were they?"
"It was...it was...the P-Potter t-twins and t-three accomplices..."
"You!" He shouts, blood boiling, pointing a shaking finger at Draco Malfoy. "I told you that love was a weakness; the Potter girl has made a fool of you!"
"I-I'm sorry, my lord," Draco stutters, not daring to look up from his feet. The boy can't even meet his eye; part of him relishes in the power he holds, and yet, the disrespect is like fuel to his burning fury.
"CRUCIO!" he shouts, and they all flinch when the Elder Wand whips in their direction. With a terrible scream of pain, Draco falls to his knees, tears welling in his eyes, as well as the eyes of his mother. He thought Theresa Jensen's death was lesson enough for the boy, but he has failed yet again. He will have to punish him properly later, he must learn the consequences, but first...
He turns back to the trembling goblin, and in his periphals he sees Narcissa Malfoy pulling her son from the ground.
"And they took?" he says, his voice rising, a terrible fear gripping him. "Tell me! What did they take?"
"A...a s-small golden c-cup m-my Lord..."
The scream of rage, of denial, leaves him as if it's a strangers: he's crazed, frenzied, it can't be true, it's impossible, nobody else knows: how it is possible that the boy and girl could have discovered his secret?
The Elder Wand slashes through the air, and green light erupts through the door, the kneeling goblin rolls over, dead, the watching wizards scatter before him, terrified: Bellatrix and Lucius Malfoy throw others behind them in their race for the door: Narcissa Malfoy holds her son to her chest, pushing him away frantically, and again and again his wand falls, and those who are left are slain, all of them, for bringing him this news, for hearing about the golden cup --
Alone amongst the dead, he storms up and down, and they pass before him in visions: his treasures, his safeguards, his anchors to immortality -- the diary was destroyed, and the cup was stolen; what if, what if, the boy and girl know about the others? Could they knew, have they already acted, have they traced more of them? Is Dumbledore at the root of this? Dumbledore, who had always suspected him, Dumbledore, dead on his orders, Dumbledore, whose wand is now his wand, yet who reaches out from the ignominy of the dead through the twins, the twins --
But surely if they had destroyed any of his Horcruxes, he, Lord Voldemort would have known, would have felt it? He, the greatest wizard of them all, he, the most powerful, he, the killer of Dumbledore and of how many other worthless, nameless men: how could Lord Voldemort not have known, id he, himself, most important and precious, had been attacked and mutilated?
True, he had not felt it when the diary was destroyed, but he had thought that this was because he had no body, being less than a ghost...no, surely, the rest are safe...the other Horcruxes must be intact...
But he must know, he must be sure...He paces the room, kicking aside the goblin's corpse as he passes, and the pictures blur in his boiling brain: the lake, the shack, and Hogwarts --
A modicum of calm cools over his rage now: how could they know that he had hidden the ring in the Gaunt shack? No one had ever known him to be related to the Gaunts; he had hidden the connection, the killings had never been traced to him: the ring, surely, was safe.
And how could the twins, or anybody else, know about the cave or penetrate its protection? The idea of the locket being stolen is absurd...
As for the school: he alone knows where in Hogwarts he had stowed the Horcrux, because he alone had plumbed the deepest secrets of that place...
And there is still Nagini, who must remain close now, no longer sent to do his bidding, under his protection...
But to be sure, to be utterly sure, he must return to each of his hiding places; he must redouble protection around each of his Horcruxes...a job, like the quest for the Elder Wand, that he must undertake alone...
Which should he visit first, which is in the most danger? An old unease flickers inside him. Dumbledore had known his middle name...Dumbledore might have made the connection with the Gaunts...their abandoned home was, perhaps, the least secure of his hiding places, it is there that he would go first...
The lake, surely impossible...though was there a slight possibility that Dumbledore might have known some of his past misdeeds, through the orphanage.
And Hogwarts...but he knew that his Horcrux would be safe there, it would be impossible for the Potters to enter Hogsmeade without detection, let alone the school. Nevertheless, it would be prudent to alert Snape to the fact that they might try and re-enter the castle...to tell Snape they might return would be foolish, of course; it had been a grave mistake to trust Bellatrix and Malfoy: didn't their stupidity and carelessness prove how unwise it is to trust? And that idiotic Malfoy boy: the Potter girl had made a fool of him time and time again, he must be punished, but first...
He would visit the Gaunt shack first then, and take Nagini with him: he would not be parted from the snake anymore...And he strides from the room, through the hall and out into the dark garden where the fountain plays: he calls the snake in Parceltongue, and it slithers out to join him like a long shadow...
My eyes fly open as I wrench myself back to the present: I'm lying on the bank of the river in the setting sun beside Harry, and Ron, Riley, and Hermione are looking down at us. Judging by their worried looks, and by the continued pounding of my scar, our sudden excursion into Voldemorts mind has not gone unnoticed. I struggle up, shivering, vaguely surprised that I'm still soaking wet, and see the cup laying innocently on the grass before us. I look to Harry, his expression mirroring mine entirely.
"He knows," we say in unison, and our voices sound strange and low after Voldemort's high screams. "
"He knows, and he's going to check where the others are, and the last one," Harry says, as we help each other to our feet, holding on to each other tightly.
"-- is at Hogwarts," I cut over the top of him. "I knew it. I knew it!"
"What?"
Ron and Riley are gaping at us; Hermione kneels up, looking worried.
"But what did you see? How do you know?"
"We saw him find out about the cup, we -- we were in his head, he's --" I remember the killings, and Draco's scream echoes in my brain, "he's seriously pissed and scared too, he can't understand how we know, and now's he's going to check the others are safe, the ring first."
My heart is racing. He knows, and just like that our final piece of armor against him is gone. All the secrecy, all the lies have been nothing: Hermione wiping her parent's memory, Ron lying to his mother, abandoning Dad and Sirius, sending Draco back to Voldemort....And if anything happens to them it will be all my fault. I await a rush of anxiety and guilt which never comes, instead, rage courses through my veins. I find myself wondering if it is remnants of Voldemort's fury, but it's quieter, almost calm.
Like a movie theatre within my mind, I remember all the pain I've endured; every Cruciatus Curse, even bruise, every cut, even the bloody burns now scattered across my body. I remember everyone we've lost; our Mum, Cedric, Taylor, Dumbledore, Tessa, Moody, Hedwig...and perhaps Draco, should Voldemort act on his promise to punish him.
And to think, we owe all of our suffering to some stupid prophecies spoken into existence seventeen years ago -- but my anger is not for Trelawney. My anger is for Snape, for being so immature, twisted, and cruel that he would mark our family for death because of a schoolyard feud. My anger is for Dumbledore, for using us, for constantly exploiting our trauma, and then leaving us in the dark when it mattered the most. But most importantly, my anger is for Voldemort, for thinking he was righteous, for indoctrinating his followers, for constantly haunting our childhood with the threat of a painful death...For turning Harry and I into broken things.
I wipe away furious tears, hearing Harry quietly explain what we saw Voldemort do to Draco, but I'm too caught up in my own mind to take note of his exact words. Rage has set itself upon me like a wildfire, and for the first time since discovering the connection, I'm not scared that it's Voldemort's influence. For although the world has dealt Harry and me a plethora of pain, and tragedy, and grief, those experiences are our armor, and they're what sets us apart from him. And it's what we'll use to defeat him.
"He thinks the Hogwarts one is safest," I hear Harry saying, as I tune back into the conversation, "because Snape's there, because it'll be so hard not to be seen getting in, I think he'll check on that one last, but he could still be there within hours --"
"Did you see where in Hogwarts it is?" asks Ron, now scrambling to his feet, too.
"No, he was concentrating on warning snape, he didn't think about exactly where it is --"
"Wait, wait!" cries Hermione, as Ron catches up the Horcrux, and Harry pulls out the Invisibility Cloak again. "We can't just go, we haven't got a plan, we need to --"
"When have any of our plans actually worked, Hermione?" I say shrilly. "We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose. We need to get going."
I had been hoping to sleep, looking forward to getting into the new tent, but that's now impossible.
"Can you imagine what he's going to do when he realises the ring and locket are gone? What if he moves the Hogwarts Horcrux, decides it isn't safe enough?"
"But how are we going to get in?"
"We'll go to Hogsmeade," I say, "and try to work something out once we see what the protection around the schools like. Get under the Cloak. I want us all to stick together this time."
"But we really don't fit --"
"It'll be dark, no one will notice our feet."
The flapping of enormous wings echoes across the black water: the dragon has drunk its fill and risen into the air. We pause in our preparations to watch it climb higher and higher, now black against the rapidly darkening sky, until it vanishes over a nearby mountain. We pull the Cloak down as far as it will go, and together we turn on the spot into crushing darkness.
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A/N: hey everyone! so this is a bit of a filler chapter, but it's a nice break from the last few chapters which have all been 7000+ words and insanely action-packed! So I'm sorry if this underwhelming!
The only other thing I have to say is stream Petals for Armor, it's a whole Haylee Potter mood.
I hope you all enjoyed, and I'll see you all soon!