Progress Notes: I'm abandoning this story. My apologies to anyone who was enjoying it, but between my beta not getting back to me, and then having to wait 6 or 7 months for a new beta, and then not particularly clicking with that beta, and Deathly Hallows being as bad as it was, I've just sort of lost interest. There is a part of me that wants to finish this story, especially since DH was, in my opinion, dreadful, but every time I try to work on this project it seems like "work" and not at all like "fun". For those who are interested, there are a couple of extra "un-betaed" chapters up on fanfiction.net (I think it gets up to chapter 11 or 12). Thanks for the reviews and support.
Harry stood in front of number four, Privet Drive, at a complete loss as to what to do. He knew what he wanted to do, but hunting down Horcruxes had about as much to do with the Dursleys as it did with getting his teeth pulled. The only reason he was coming back there at all was because Dumbledore had made him promise that he would. Memories of the headmaster came flooding back to Harry, and he had to suppress the tears that were fighting desperately to free themselves from his eyes. He wouldn’t let the Dursleys see him like this, especially since he was arriving weeks early and completely unannounced. Harry had a feeling that this was going to be a surprise that his Uncle Vernon would be none too happy about.
After taking a few deep breaths, he rang the doorbell. A moment passed, then he heard someone approach the door. The curtain to the side of the door drew back slightly and he could see his Aunt Petunia’s eyes start to bulge out of their sockets, making her look like a horse that had just been told it was a chicken. The door opened and his aunt practically yanked him inside the house before quickly closing the door so that the neighbors wouldn’t see.
“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at school?” she demanded.
“School ended early this year.”
“Don’t get smart with me – you were expelled weren’t you? Even the freaks at that school don’t want you around.”
“I wasn’t expelled and believe me, I’m no happier about this than you are.”
“Watch your tongue, boy. Upstairs with you. We’ll sort this out when Vernon gets home.”
Harry muttered under his breath, “Brilliant.”
Harry trudged up the stairs to his bedroom, carrying his trunk and a cage that contained his snowy white owl, Hedwig. He put Hedwig’s cage on top of his dresser, put the trunk down on the floor and crawled into bed. He spent the rest of the day staring up at the ceiling trying to gather his thoughts. He would think of Dumbledore which would immediately make him think of Snape which would lead him to Voldemort, then to Horcruxes...Ginny...Sirius...Cedric. His mind was spinning out of control and he couldn’t focus on anything. He tried to sleep, but after an hour of tossing and turning he gave it up as a bad job. He tried to read “Hogwarts: a History”, as Hermione had recommended so many times, but wound up reading the same sentence over and over. Exasperated, Harry threw the book across the room and it hit the wall with a thud, which caused Hedwig to flap around in her cage.
“Sorry girl – it’s been a long week.” Hedwig hooted sympathetically.
The shrill voice of his aunt came up from the kitchen, “What are you doing up there?”
“Building an addition to the house...” Harry yelled back. “I was going to surprise you.”
Within a second, Petunia was marching up the stairs, muttering to herself. The only word Harry managed to make out was “ungrateful.” “Oh here we go,” he thought as his eyes rolled towards the heavens. “Why can’t she just leave me alone?” Harry’s bedroom door flew open, revealing a rather flustered Petunia Dursley, wearing an apron and wielding a feather duster.
“Sixteen years we have kept you under our roof!” she exclaimed, punctuating every syllable by shaking her feather duster at Harry. “We have fed you, clothed you, given you a bed, and driven to London twice a year to let you go to that freakish school of yours, and this is my thanks!” The way she was waving the duster around, Harry couldn’t help but think that his aunt would be quite a formidable foe with a wand. This thought brought a wry smile to Harry’s lips which only upset Petunia even further.
“You think this is funny? You think it’s funny that I have been saddled with you for the past sixteen years, wondering every day whether or not some maniac freak is going to destroy my house, my family, all because of something your parents did to him seventeen years ago?”
Harry tried to interject. “What my parents did? What are you- are you talking about Voldemort?” he asked, completely gobsmacked, but Petunia was on a roll and was not about to be interrupted.
“You think its funny, getting expelled from that freak school of yours? Even that old fool Dumbledore can’t stand the sight of you any-”
“He was not a fool! Albus Dumbledore was the greatest wizard who ever lived, and if you say one more word about him-”
“What do you mean ‘was’?” Harry, though angered, was silenced immediately by the look of dread on his Aunt’s face.
“He’s...” Harry tried to swallow the lump developing in his throat, to no avail. He had to take a deep breath to keep himself from breaking down. “Dumbledore is dead... that’s why I’m home early. He was... murdered. That’s why they closed the school.”
At those words, Petunia turned the color of an old gym sock and swayed unsteadily. Harry, his anger forgotten, immediately jumped from his bed to steady her and help her sit down. Petunia sat on the edge of Harry’s bed, her hands covering her mouth, rocking back and forth. “Oh my god... oh my god...”
Harry had no idea what to do. His aunt looked like she was going catatonic. He had not expected this reaction at all. His first instinct was to try to comfort her, despite how she had treated him all these years, yet she was quite close to completely losing it, and he was afraid that if he touched her, she would go off the deep end. He tentatively put his hand towards her, touching her shoulder. When no negative reaction came, he awkwardly began to pat her back.
“Aunt Petunia, it’s okay...it’s going to be okay...”
“Lily said Dumbledore was the only one powerful enough to keep him at bay. That’s what she told me! How can you tell me it’s going to be okay? Dumbledore was the only one keeping Dudley from finding out what he really is!”
Harry was dumbfounded. “Wait, are you saying that Dudley is a wiz-“
“Don’t say that word!” Petunia screamed, her face turning a dark shade of magenta.
“My god,” Harry thought, “she’s gone mental.”
“Spoiling my baby rotten so that he wouldn’t get angry, wouldn’t get upset! What is he going to do in the real world when he realizes that people aren’t just going to hand everything to him? If Vernon ever found out about Dudley he’d leave us in an instant. And what would I do then? Oh, that Dumbledore said he would make sure that he never found out about his powers, that as long as I promised to give you a place to stay he would keep Diddykins’ secret, that no one would ever know. What am I supposed to do now that he’s dead? How can I protect Dudley now?”
Harry was dumbfounded. The idea that his mum had actually talked to his aunt about Voldemort was absurd, yet it was also, apparently, fact. Never mind that Dudley was a wizard. In a matter of seconds his entire world had been turned upside down as his two lives, Muggle and magical, collided. He didn’t answer for a moment, wondering exactly how much he should tell her. Finally he came to the conclusion that if his mother had spoken with Petunia about Voldemort, she may have told her other things as well. Things that could be useful.
“Look, I don’t know what my mum told you, but there was a prophecy about Voldemort... and about me.... I’m the only one who can stop him for good... at least according to the prophecy.” Harry wasn’t sure that it was the best idea to let her in on the prophecy, but he hadn’t told her what it actually said, and besides, if Voldemort ever caught up with the Dursleys, Harry was pretty sure that he would be too arrogant to consider that a bunch of filthy Muggles might know anything of importance.
Petunia looked up at her nephew, her expression registering both shock and pity.
“I don’t expect to live through it... but for whatever reason I’m the one who has been chosen to do this. That’s why Voldemort killed my parents. That’s why he tried to kill me. That’s why Dumbledore has been protecting me. It’s my fate, and although I’m not happy about it, I have no choice but to accept it. If I try to walk away from it, he’ll track me down and kill me anyway. So if my mum told you anything... anything at all that might help me to stop this madman, I need to know.”
Petunia was silent for a moment, and then spoke.
“Dumbledore gave me some of Lily’s things. Personal effects mostly. Letters, a diary, things like that. I was supposed to give them to you on your seventeenth birthday, but I think maybe you should have them now.”
Petunia got up and silently left Harry’s bedroom, returning a moment later with a shoebox.
“I don’t know if anything in here will help you, Harry, but I pray that it does. I pray for all of us that it does. I’m sorry for the way I treated you. I was so scared of you being here, of Dudley finding out that he was... different. I didn’t want my family to meet the same end as my sister’s. I didn’t want Vernon to leave me. I hope you can forgive me, and I’m sorry that this has fallen upon your shoulders when you never asked for it. When Vernon gets home, leave him to me. I’ll make sure he stays out of your way.”
Harry looked at his aunt; seeing her in a completely new light was refreshing and sad at the same time. “I’m sorry too,” was all he could manage.
When Petunia left the room, Harry opened the shoebox to find a few letters, a photograph, and a diary. The photograph was a picture of his parents in what must have been their living room at Godric’s Hollow, beaming brightly, Lily holding baby Harry in her arms, James’ arm around his mother’s shoulders. “Harry: 2 weeks old” was written in ink on the bottom of the photo. Harry had never seen a picture of himself with his parents before. The tears began to well up in his eyes and his body began to shake. He couldn’t contain the overwhelming sadness inside him anymore, and he began to sob violently. For his parents, for Sirius, for Cedric, for Dumbledore, for himself. How many more people would be ripped from him before this was over? Why was all of this happening to him? What had he ever done to anyone to deserve this much pain? He had done nothing. Voldemort had made this choice not him, and he was going to make Voldemort feel ten times the pain he had caused Harry.
He put the photo carefully back into the shoebox and took a minute to compose himself before examining the rest of the contents of the box. The diary was locked, but there was no key to it. He was tempted to open it with Alohomora, but thought better of it when he realized that the Ministry would be swarming all over Privet Drive if he used his wand, so he decided to start with the letters. He sorted them by date, then took the first one out of its envelope and read it.
Under no circumstances are you to tell the animals that I engineered the “little accident” (although I think the old man suspects it already). It could undermine everything. It is essential that they hate me, now more than ever. I have started my journey through the door. Do not lose faith in me now.
Harry read the letter many times over. The date on it suggested that it had been written when his mother was in her fifth year at Hogwarts. It was obviously written so that if it were intercepted no one would understand it. Lily must be M.P., but what did it stand for? And who was H.P.? Did the fact that he had the same initials as Harry mean anything, or was it mere coincidence? What kind of animals hated the author? And why did H.P. want them to hate him? What was the “little accident”? What door was he referencing? The only one he could think of was the locked door in the Department of Mysteries. Who was the old man – Dumbledore maybe? Harry opened the second letter, from his mother’s sixth year, and read.
This will be my last piece of correspondence for awhile. I am on the other side of the door – do not attempt to contact me if you want me to live. Keep my cloak as a token of our friendship and as thanks for all of your help.
P.S. The old man knows, and does not agree with my actions, but there is nothing he can do to stop me.
The business about the cloak was eating at him. An invisibility cloak? Could H.P. be his father? How could it be? If his father wanted Lily to have his cloak, he simply would have given it to her; he wouldn’t need to write her a letter. Harry took the last letter, which was dated some time after his mother had left school, out of its envelope:
The time is coming soon. Possession is the key. I know it is folly to beg you not to do this, but I would not be your friend if I didn’t at least try. You may lose more than your life if you attempt it. I’m sorry I could not find another way.
What did M.P. mean by possession? What was it the key to? The diary? Probably not; after all, Harry already possessed the diary and it still wouldn’t open for him. What if H.P. meant possession in the same way Voldemort had possessed him in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic? But why would his mother want to possess another human being? Was she attempting to possess Voldemort? After reading the last letter many times over, with nothing to show for it except a dull headache, Harry decided that the job of deciphering what the hell his mother and H.P. were talking about was best left to Hermione. Harry sat down with a quill and a piece of parchment:
I’m having difficulty with a History of Magic homework assignment that I desperately need your help with. I will explain in fuller detail when I see you. I hope you are well, and I look forward to seeing you and Ron. Please give my regards to Ginny and the rest of the Weasley family and write back soon.
Harry hoped that the letter didn’t give away too much in case it was intercepted. He knew Hermione would know that he was worried about Ginny and missed her terribly despite the nonchalant way in which he asked about her. He was already having regrets about ending it with her at Dumbledore’s funeral. At this point, the thought of her was the only thing that made him want to get out of bed, the only thing that made him want to keep on living. His mind wandered into a fantasy where he and Ginny lived together on a small island in the South Pacific, far away from the wizarding world, away from war, away from Voldemort. Harry snapped himself back to reality. “This is exactly why you can’t be with her right now,” Harry thought to himself. “It’s too distracting, and distractions could mean the difference between life and death.” He reread his letter to Hermione, looking for anything that might be telling to anyone but her. The homework reference looked innocuous enough, and only Hermione would realize its importance. He sealed the letter and retrieved Hedwig from her cage. After fastening the letter to one of her legs, he opened the window and the snowy white owl flew off into the night.
There was so much new information for Harry to process all at once that he didn’t quite know where to start. Dudley was a wizard? It seemed almost impossible to believe, yet it all made sense. All those years of his aunt and uncle caving in to Dudley’s every whim. Vernon just spoiled the boy because that was probably how he had been raised himself, but Petunia had other motives. She was afraid that if he got upset, his magical abilities would manifest themselves just as they had done with Harry. She was right; if Vernon ever found out, he would leave them immediately with no means of support. No wonder his aunt had treated him so badly all these years. Harry’s mere presence at Privet Drive could have completely ruined her life. As far as Harry was concerned, the last person who should be able to use magic was his cousin. His mind was immediately flooded with images of Dudley terrorizing the local neighborhood boys with the Cruciatus Curse, and he silently thanked his aunt and Dumbledore for keeping Dudley’s abilities hidden.
Harry looked at the diary again. Why would Lily leave her sister a locked diary with no key? Harry couldn’t imagine that Dumbledore would have lost it en route to Privet Drive. Maybe Dumbledore couldn’t find it; after all, he had been told that the house was almost leveled after Voldemort’s attack. Then again, Dumbledore probably didn’t trust Petunia not to read it. Petunia was the nosiest person he had ever met in his life and his headmaster surely must have known that as well, so if his aunt didn’t have the key, who did? Harry’s first thought was that it must be at Godric’s Hollow. It was as if Dumbledore was telling him that he needed to go there, and as soon as he was seventeen, that was exactly what he planned on doing.
Harry took the photograph out of the shoebox again. He stared at his parents, joyfully waving to the camera, his mother holding him to her bosom and gently kissing the top of his head. He looked closer at the image of himself as a baby. It was so odd to see himself without a scar on his forehead; it was hard for him to believe that he was looking at himself. Then it hit him. “My eyes! They’re almost black!” Harry knew that a small child’s eyes could change color as they got older, but they would change from hazel to green or blue, not from black to emerald. Harry rifled through his trunk until he found the Omnioculars he had purchased at the Quidditch World Cup three years previously, focused them on the picture and then zoomed in. He had never looked at a wizard picture like this before and the results were incredible. Nothing got grainy or blurry as he zoomed in – everything in the picture remained sharp and crystal clear.
Through the Omnioculars, Harry could see that his eyes were most definitely black. He moved the sights around the picture, hoping to find something in it that might give away the location of the key. It was a simply furnished living room, with a sofa, two armchairs, a bookshelf, a coffee table and some photos and paintings on the wall that showed various images of Harry’s parents, Sirius, Remus, and other members of the Order. Harry zoomed in on the bookshelf and saw nothing but books with ordinary titles that would be in any wizarding home, but nothing that signaled where the key to the diary might be. He moved the sights to the coffee table, but there was nothing on it, save for a book lying open. Harry zoomed in on the book, and what he saw made him drop his Omnioculars onto the floor. Harry picked them up and focused on the picture again, hoping that he had imagined what he had just seen. When he zoomed in on the book again, the writing was still there, as plain as day: “This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince.”
“What the hell were my parents doing with Snape’s textbook?” Harry thought to himself. “And if it was at Godric’s Hollow, how did it get back to Hogw...” The obvious answer hit Harry with the force of a sledgehammer. “That son of a bitch! Snape was there! He was there that night! He watched my parents die! I’m going to kill that bastard! I’m going to make him suffer so badly he’ll be begging for death by the time I’m through with him!” An image of Hermione came into his head, chiding him that he didn’t know for sure how that textbook got back to Hogwarts, but Harry didn’t care. She had been defending Snape for six years, and in the end, she was wrong. He wanted to believe that Snape was there that night, and even if it wasn’t true, it didn’t matter. Snape had killed Dumbledore, and that was reason enough for him to die. Harry was shaking uncontrollably with pure, blind rage. No matter what else happened, Harry was going to make damn sure that Snape was dead while he still had a chance to kill him, and that meant killing him before he faced Voldemort.
Voldemort. Two of the Horcruxes had been destroyed already, one of them almost killing Dumbledore in the process. How on earth was he supposed to be able to track down four more of these bloody things? The snake was the easy one. It would be wherever Voldemort was. But the rest... he had no idea what one of them even was. It could literally be anywhere. He pulled the locket out of his pocket and read the note again.
To the Dark Lord I know I will be dead long before you read this
but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.
I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,
you will be mortal once more. R.A.B*
Harry couldn’t even hazard a guess as to R.A.B. might be, or how he had even known about the Horcruxes... correction – a Horcrux. Whoever wrote this note plainly had no idea that there was more than one. The author apparently thought he was delivering a death blow to Voldemort. Who could that be? The tone of the letter was obviously vindictive and personal – whoever this person was, he knew Voldemort personally, and furthermore, he seemed to know that his days were numbered. Who would want revenge from beyond the grave? A rogue Death Eater maybe? Someone who had fallen out of favor with Voldemort?
The person said he was going to destroy the locket as soon as he could – did that mean that he actually knew how to destroy a Horcrux? Harry wasn’t even sure how to destroy one and he’d done it once already. What about ‘when you meet your match’? Could this person have known about the prophesy? It seemed highly unlikely. Who could have known? Dumbledore, Harry, Lily, James, Snape and Voldemort, and the last two people on the list only knew the first half. Harry didn’t imagine that Voldemort would have shared that kind of information with just anyone, even if they were a Death Eater. He supposed that Snape could have told someone else, but that also seemed highly unlikely.
The entire month of June and the beginning of July passed without Harry receiving any reply from Hermione, or any letters at all for that matter. He had written her once a week and had started writing Ron as well in the hopes that he would receive some word of how they were doing, and after the last time he had written, Hedwig had not returned. On July eighth, with only three weeks left until his birthday, Harry went from being irritated to seriously worried. He had no way of knowing what was going on in the wizarding world. For all he knew, they could be dead. He knew it was risky, especially since his uncle Vernon had left him completely alone for the last month and Dudley was too concerned with his new pastime -- namely, going out with his mates and getting as pissed as was humanly possible -- but he had to know what was happening. “Dobby!” Harry called out. Within a second, the house-elf had Apparated before him.
“Oh, Harry Potter! Dobby is so glad to see the great Harry Potter!”
“It’s good to see you too, Dobby; listen, I need-“
“Such an honor it is! That Harry Potter would be happy to see Dobby! Oh, sir...” Tears began to well in Dobby’s eyes as he started to sniffle.
“I need to ask you something important, Dobby, and please don’t be offended.…”
“The great Harry Potter could never offend Dobby!”
“Okay, Dobby! Please just answer my question. Have you... have you been intercepting my mail again?”
“Oh no, sir! Dobby would not dream of touching Harry Potter’s mail!”
“It’s just that no one has written to me and I don’t know what is going on... and I’m worried Dobby. I’m worried that something terrible has happened. I need you to spy for me, Dobby. I need you to go to the Burrow and find out what’s happening.”
“Dobby can go, sir! Dobby can go to young master Wheezy’s house and listen. Dobby can find out for Harry Potter.”
“You would, Dobby? I mean, you don’t mind?”
“Dobby mind?” he squealed. “Harry Potter gave Dobby his freedom! Dobby would do anything for Harry Potter!”
“Thank you, Dobby. I really appreciate you doing this for me, but time is of the essence. I need to know as soon as possible.”
“Of course, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby will be going there straightaway.”And with a pop, Dobby was gone.
The next week seemed maddeningly long as Harry waited for any word from Dobby. He vacillated between worry and anger as he alternately envisioned that the worst had happened to his friends, followed by visions similar to what had happened two summers ago, when they were all at headquarters and he was left completely out of the loop. In order to take his mind off of these negative thoughts, he read the letters to his mother from this mysterious person over and over, hoping to find anything that might be of help, but whoever had written these letters had taken great care to make sure that only Lily could understand them. He tried to focus on the Horcruxes and the identity of R.A.B. He read all of his school books looking for anyone that might have those initials, but to no avail. He found a few people with the initials R and B in “Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century,” but none of them seemed to fit in with Voldemort or Horcruxes.
His thoughts drifted to something that had been bubbling in his unconscious for quite some time, though it had never really registered before. When Dumbledore had shown him various memories in his Pensieve last term, the one where Tom Riddle had come back to Hogwarts for a teaching position had never really made sense. Why had Dumbledore shown him that memory? In the memory, Tom had tried to use his wand surreptitiously, but it was obvious that Dumbledore had seen it. Harry had initially assumed that Riddle was going to try to hex Dumbledore and then thought better of it. But why show Harry the memory at all then? Maybe Riddle did cast a spell. Harry supposed it was likely that Tom had cursed the Defense Against the Dark Arts position at that very moment, yet that still didn’t seem to be a good enough reason for Dumbledore to show him that specific memory.
Maybe he was at Hogwarts for another reason. Dumbledore clearly stated that he knew Tom didn’t want the teaching position, so why was he there, and what did he accomplish on that day? He couldn’t have created a Horcrux without murdering someone right under Dumbledore’s nose... could he have hidden one there? In the memory, Dumbledore was waiting in his office for Tom Riddle to arrive. Where could he have had time to hide one? The Room of Requirement! It was close enough to Dumbledore’s office, certainly. If Riddle had planned it right, he could have easily hidden one there without causing suspicion. “If I’m right,” Harry thought, “how am I going to find it in there? It could take years to go through every object in that room.” Either way, Harry knew that he would be visiting Hogwarts again, despite the fact that he wouldn’t be returning as a student.
How was he going to tell McGonagall? She would be livid when she found out. If the school opened at all that is. “At least it will be easier for me than it will be for Ron.” Harry wondered if Ron had told Mrs. Weasley that he wasn’t going to return to Hogwarts. His best bet would have been to do it on platform nine and three-quarters, while there were too many people around for Mrs. Weasley to go into a full-blown rant. Harry hadn’t waited around to find out, mostly because he thought that if he saw Ginny, his heart would break in two.
Back to Ginny again. For the first time in his life, Harry had been happy – truly happy. It had only taken two weeks for everything to come crashing down around him. Harry wasn’t even sure if he was going to go to Bill and Fleur’s wedding. It would be terribly insulting to the Weasleys, who were the only family he’d ever had, but he didn’t know what would happen if he saw Ginny. He missed her terribly. Her beautiful smile, the way she smelled, the way she tasted, the way she would always add a little whisper of a kiss every time their lips parted. Harry shook himself back to reality again. He had to stop thinking about her. Even if they weren’t physically together, if Voldemort ever saw his thoughts... he had to put her completely out of his mind.
The next morning, Harry lay in bed after a bad night’s sleep, the thoughts still swirling in his head from the previous evening, when Dobby arrived with a faint pop. Harry jumped out of bed at the sight of the house-elf and began a barrage of questions.
“Dobby! What’s going on? Is everyone alright? What happened? Why has no one tried to contact me?”
“Please, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby has gone to the Wheezy house and everyone is fine. Even your owl is there and the Wheezys take good care of her.”
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Ginny, Ron, Hermione, they were all okay. His relief was short lived, however, as Harry began to get angry.
“Why the-”Harry thought better of yelling with the Dursleys right downstairs and lowered his voice. “Why the hell are they ignoring me then?”
“Dobby does not know for sure. Dobby overheard the Wheezy father talking about a plan, but Dobby does not know what the plan is. Dobby only knows the plan is about your birthday. Dobby tried to hear more but they did not talk much, and Dobby did not want to get caught. I’m sorry Dobby did not do better, sir.”
Dobby’s ears began to droop in shame, but before he could start crying, Harry took him by the shoulders and looked into his saucer-like eyes.
“Nonsense, Dobby. You did great. I was scared that they were all dead and you at least put my mind at ease. I owe you a great deal for this, Dobby. You’ve helped me a lot, and I won’t forget it.”
Dobby looked as if he were going to start crying again. “Harry Potter is so kind to Dobby! Even when Dobby fails, Harry Potter treats him kindly!
Harry, worried that the Dursleys would hear Dobby, headed him off before he could get a full head of steam. “Dobby, I need you to go back to the Weasley house and see if you can find out anything else. Just stay there, stay out of sight, and listen. If you hear anything that might be important, you are to report back to me immediately, okay?”
“Dobby will go back to the Wheezys! If Dobby hears anything else he will come back to tell Harry Potter,”he said, and with a pop, Dobby was gone.
Harry went to bed that night angrier than he had ever been in his life. How dare they! How dare they keep him in the dark again! And what about Ron and Hermione? They promised they would never do this to him again after the last time! They were supposed to be his friends! And they made him promise to take them with him to hunt the Horcruxes! “We’ll see how they like it when a friend breaks a promise,” Harry thought to himself before drifting off to sleep.
As Harry slept, he had a very vivid dream. There was a meeting of Death Eaters and Draco Malfoy was trying to explain to Voldemort what had gone wrong. What Voldemort did next was the most revolting thing Harry had ever seen in his life. The dream ended with Draco looking into his mother’s lifeless eyes, his body shaking violently. Harry could tell that Draco was on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown, and actually found himself feeling sorry for the wanker. Draco began to vomit as the realization of what had just occurred sank in, and when he was done being sick, he passed out. The last thing Harry saw before he awoke trembling and sweating was that Draco’s sick had formed the shape of the Dark Mark.