SS Chapter 19: Mind Over Matter

XIX. Mind Over Matter

“Got one!” Crabbe shouted, waving a pudgy fist in the air. Draco watched as a brilliant white hare fought within his grasp, struggling to escape. His stomach churned silently.

“Finally,” he called, cautiously brushing aside a strand of teeth-strewn feet floating near his face. His nose shrivelled as Crabbe lumbered over, hare in tow.

If he keeps holding it like that, he might not need a spell to kill it.

It was light out - something Draco was eternally grateful for. The early morning rays just barely split through the tall trees of the Forbidden Forest, casting a golden glow across the forest’s otherwise creepy inhabitants. Glancing around nervously once more, Draco quickly returned to the handwritten note clenched within his palms:

‘Seven rabbits. One killed in my name by you. Three killed in your name, each by a different person. Three alive for me.

Don’t mess this up. You have until tonight.’

There was no name - not that Draco needed it.

“Vincent!” Pansy screeched. Malfoy looked up, “Vincent, you’ve nearly killed it!”

The oversized boy frowned, staring blankly at her.

“But - but that’s the point, innit?”

Pansy groaned. Draco couldn’t help but scoff.

At least that’s one less problem for me.

He stepped forward, his arm outstretched to receive the now unmoving hare. He hastily wrapped it in a thin linen sheet before tucking it inside his robes. Along the edges of his vision, Crabbe turned around, heading for the forest outskirts.

“Wait, Crabbe,” Draco said coolly, “I don’t want Pansy walking alone.”

A chorus of sputtering escaped the dark-haired girl. Draco ignored it, instead scanning the forest floor.

Come one . . . where are you?

“But what about you?” he heard Pansy ask, “Aren’t you coming with us?”

Draco slowly shook his head.

“No,” he whispered, still eyeing the undergrowth, “I’ve got my own rabbits to take care of -”

I see you.

His wand spun through the air, swirling in the direction of a brown ball of fluff.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Thin, wispy tendrils of magic flew at the bunny like a bullet. Draco watched as the hare just barely jumped out of the way, only to slam into the jagged trunk of a vast tree.

Not lucky enough to live.

Breathing shakily, he jabbed his wand at the hare again.

“Stupefy.”

There was a beam of red light, and the rabbit slumped over, unconscious. Draco shifted uncomfortably.

“That’s yours, Pansy,” he whispered. He glanced at her, unable to stop the guilt that seeped into his expression, “Go on.”

“But I can’t!” the girl cried. She seemed on the verge of tears now, “I just can’t -”

“I can,” Crabbe offered from Pansy’s right. Draco sighed, slowly shaking his head.

“No. It has to be her.”

“But why?” Pansy pleaded desperately, “Don’t you - don’t think I deserve to know why?”

Malfoy grimaced. The girl’s visage was really starting to unsettle him.

“I do,” he sighed, “And if I could tell you, I would.”

“But you c-can’t.”

Draco stared at her.

“It’s important, Pansy,” he whispered, “I wouldn’t be asking you if it wasn’t.”

It better be important. 

The girl nodded skittishly, making her way over to the prone rabbit. She nearly tripped over a vine as she passed.

“I say jump on it,” Crabbe suggested loudly, “Probably the easiest way.”

Pansy’s sobs only grew louder. Draco looked away as she stalked toward the creature, her breath shaky.

Crunch.

Draco flinched. A gentle breeze wafted through the forest, which would have been silent if not for Pansy’s laboured breath.

“Can I go now?” she asked softly, her eyes on the floor. Draco nodded, glancing at Crabbe.

“Help her back to the common room.”

The larger boy nodded, helping Pansy through the vines and fauna as they slowly stalked toward the edge of the forest. Draco spared them one last look before turning around.

My turn.

He stooped over, picking up Pansy’s rabbit. A sea of pain and worry pooled within him as he straightened up.

This really better be worth it, Potter.

Cursing darkly, he tucked the rabbit into his robes before heading deeper into the Forbidden Forest.

(-{- S S -}-)

Harry stepped out from the carriage, fastening his cloak more tightly around him. Layers of snow and hail blew past in the Hogsmeade wind.

Things that must be done . . .

“Are you alright?”

Harry eyed the Ravenclaw girl, nodding.

“Just thinking.”

He dropped from the carriage step into the snow, holding out a gentle hand. Lisa took it, gracefully stepping down from the carriage.

“You should be careful,” she whispered, brushing snow from her robes, “Keep acting like that and people will think we’re a couple.”

Harry frowned.

“Human decency shouldn’t hinge upon a romantic connection.”

Lisa Turpin eyed him approvingly.

“No, it shouldn’t.”

The two of them set off through the cold streets of Hogsmeade, approaching a large bar in the distance.

“You never explained your sudden desire for my presence,” Lisa noted, peering through the glass of a nearby shop, “As much as I’m sure you enjoy my company, I’m surprised you sought me out alone.”

“I wanted someone perceptive,” Harry admitted, “Someone who could help me step into someone else’s shoes.”

“Hermione exists.”

“She does,” Harry nodded, “But she can be narrow-minded at times. Unwilling to accept uncomfortable truths.”

Lisa nodded slowly.

“And what about you?”

“Sorry?” Harry frowned, “I - I don’t understand.”

Lisa came to a sudden stop. She stared up at him curiously.

“I’ve always thought you were good at reading people,” she whispered, “You always seem to know what they’re thinking. What they want.”

Harry nodded slowly..

“I suppose you’re right,” he agreed, “But this is an important matter in particular, and I have reason to believe I might be . . . inaccurately assessing someone. You seemed to me an excellent second opinion.”

Lisa smiled.

“Wonderful,” she grinned, “Are we meeting them now?”

Harry nodded, motioning toward the nearest building.

“She’s waiting for us in the Three Broomsticks.”

Warm, cozy lights poured from the shut glass windows of the bar in question. Harry tugged the door open, fighting against the wind to let himself and Lisa in. The door made a loud noise as it slammed shut behind him.

“That’s loads better,” Lisa said appreciatively, pulling off her cloak. She followed as Harry made his way to the front, smiling at the admittedly-pretty witch who manned the bar.

“Good afternoon, Rosmerta.”

The blonde woman smiled lovingly at him.

“If it isn’t my little angel!” she sang, leaning over the counter. Harry allowed her to place a gentle kiss on his cheek, “I haven’t seen you in ages -”

“I’ve been busy,” Harry smiled sadly, “The Triwizard Tournament has been taking up a lot of my time.”

Rosmerta snorted.

“That’s not the only thing, clearly.”

Harry grinned faintly.

“What do you mean?”

The barwoman rolled her eyes, stooping down to pluck a key from a set of rings beneath the bar.

“You’re what your father wished he was, you are,” Rosmerta said fondly. Harry gently plucked the key from her outstretched hand, “She’s waiting for you in room number seven.”

“Thanks, ‘merta,” Harry smiled.

“Of course, dear,” Rosmerta smiled knowingly, “Now you show her a good time.”

Harry stared at her, his cheeks tinged a faint pink.

“I - it’s nothing like that -”

“Kidding,” Rosmerta laughed, “Come around when you can, alright? I missed you.”

Harry rolled his eyes. He quickly said his goodbyes to the bartender before dragging a blushing Lisa to the back of the building.

“Show her a good time,” the girl repeated weakly. She had gone fully red.

“Rosmerta wasn’t talking about you,” Harry murmured, “Not that it matters. I’ve no interest in the other girl, either.”

They stepped into a cozy but empty hall. Deep red carpets lined the corridor, with warm lanterns on either side of every door. Harry inspected them carefully before setting off toward the end of the hall.

“Five . . . six . . . seven.”

They stopped at the left-side door at the end of the hall. Harry turned to Lisa.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Harry deftly clicked the key into the hole, knocking thrice before twisting the door open. A bleak interior awaited them: a single queen size bed, a desk, and a filled armchair at the end of the room. A voice echoed as the two of them stepped inside.

“You brought a friend.”

“I did,” Harry nodded, “This is Lisa Turpin. Lisa, meet Fleur Delacour.”

The Ravenclaw girl stared between him and Fleur, almost shocked. Harry decided to ignore her for the time being.

“Strange place to meet,” he noted aloud. Fleur shrugged.

“It’s secure. Rosmerta is known for her secrecy - it’s why most of your government officials choose to meet here rather than anywhere else.”

Harry filed that away for later. He watched as Fleur turned her curious gaze back to Lisa.

“Alice didn’t mention anything about her.”

“I invited her,” Harry admitted, “I imagine your allure often has you feeling unsafe around men. I thought you’d feel more comfortable with her here.”

Fleur frowned.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I never said you couldn’t.”

The silver-haired girl nodded slowly. Harry watched as she leaned back into her armchair, inspecting him meticulously.

“You are fourteen, no?”

“That’s correct.”

“A bit on the younger side,” Fleur frowned. Harry shrugged.

“It’s just a dance.”

“Perhaps,” Fleur nodded, “But my inadequacies reflect poorly upon my father, and in turn, France as a whole. He would not have our country’s image tainted in such a way.”

Harry frowned.

“So I can go with Alice, then?”

“No,” Fleur frowned, “Your age isn’t a dealbreaker. Besides, Adeline doesn’t want you anywhere near Alice.”

Harry nodded slowly, the ends of his lips threatening to quirk upwards.

“Funnily enough, I figured that out for myself.”

Fleur ignored him, standing up and stepping toward him. She eyed the top of his head. Despite the three years between them, they were around the same height.

“You’re more than presentable,” she whispered, “You can control yourself, too . . .”

The girl froze. Harry stared as she leaned closer, her pale nose little more than an inch from his heart.

“You smell like me.”

“Do I?” Harry frowned, “I’ve never bothered with French perfumes.”

“Avian,” Fleur whispered, “You smell like a bird.”

Oh.

Harry’s jaw clenched. He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or irritated.

I didn’t know it’d be that easy to find out someone’s an Animagus.

Fleur watched him curiously. If the hint of mirth that dotted her eyes was anything to go off, she clearly knew exactly what Harry was thinking. She presented a guarded smile.

“You’re much cleverer than I thought,” she awarded politely.

“Just because of that?” Harry frowned.

“Just because of that,” the girl nodded, “It is no small feat, what you have achieved.”

I’d have thought killing a dragon would’ve done more for me.

Fleur stepped back.

“Can you dance?”

“Passably,” Harry nodded, “I’ll ask a friend to help speed me along.”

“A female friend?” Fleur asked curiously, her gaze narrowed.

“Is that an issue?”

“Not to me,” the girl shrugged, “Though it’d look bad if my dance partner at the ball was widely considered a whore.”

“They’re friends,” Harry frowned, “I happen to have a lot of them.”

“Yes, I’ve heard,” Fleur nodded, “Alice in particular is displeased by the amount of female company you seem to have.”

“I’m assuming Alice’s displeasure displeases Adeline?” Harry guessed irritably.

Fleur smiled.

“It does,” Fleur nodded, “She doesn’t like you very much at all, Adeline.”

Harry fought the urge to grit his teeth.

“And you?”

The silver-haired girl stared contemplatively at him.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “Alice is an excellent judge of character. Unfortunately, she’s also very naive -”

“I didn’t ask what Alice thought,” Harry frowned, “I asked you.”

Fleur’s lips thinned. After a long, tense moment, she spoke again.

“You remind me of two very important people.”

“Those two being?”

“The first is my mother,” she said plainly, “My grandmother calls her - in your language, I believe it would be ‘the shifter.’ She changes, you see. Alters her persona to fit whomever she’s around. A wonderful entertainer, no doubt.”

“And the second?”

“My father,” Fleur said coolly, “Ambitious. Abundantly so. Filled with cold yearning. It’s the reason he clawed his way up to his lofty position as French Minister for Magic.”

Harry slowly mulled her words over.

“As far as comparisons go, these seem to me quite good.”

“Oh, they are,” Fleur agreed, “Independently, at least. It’s when they intersect that things become troublesome.”

Harry smiled faintly.

“You think I’m troublesome?”

“I think you’re dangerous,” Fleur corrected coolly, “What we heard in the cupboard is proof enough of that. The fact that you now have Alice eating from the palm for your hand only heightens this belief.”

“But?”

“But,” Fleur sighed, “I need a partner. A bearable one.”

“Is that all I am?” Harry deadpanned, “Bearable?”

Fleur laughed.

“I suppose you are interesting, aren’t you,” she conceded, “But, more significantly than that, I’d rather you be my problem than Alice’s.”

She straightened up, brushing past him as she stepped toward the door. Harry watched as she turned around before stepping out.

“What color are your dress robes?”

“Dark green,” said Harry smoothly, “I’ve been told they go well with my eyes.”

Fleur nodded appreciatively.

“We will meet outside the Great Hall at seven, just as we were instructed to,” she told him, “Be sure to look your best.”

That shouldn’t be too difficult.

“Au revoir, Delacour.”

The French girl said nothing back, sending him and Lisa a polite nod before striding out of sight. Harry let out a loud yawn.

“Well?” he asked, falling leisurely onto the bed behind him, “What did you think?”

“What did I think?” repeated Lisa blankly, “Harry - you’re going to the ball with Fleur Delacour?”

Harry groaned.

“Why is that the surprising part,” he muttered irritably, “If anything, she should be surprised she’s going with me . . .”

He rolled over, pushing himself off the mattress.

“That’s not what I meant, anyway,” he clarified, standing up, “I meant what you thought of her. The way she was acting.”

Lisa frowned.

“She seemed awfully noble.”

“I was thinking more closed-off,” Harry admitted. His gut clenched as Lisa nodded quickly.

“Yes, that sounds right,” the girl agreed, “Removed from the conversation, almost. Like she was hiding something.”

Harry grit his teeth.

Hiding my stone, perhaps.

His gaze slowly fluttered to his left hand. Harry fought back the urge to break something as he examined the faint ring tan on his middle finger.

It can’t have been her. She simply isn’t strong enough . . .

“It could also just be that she’s a rather guarded person,” Lisa acknowledged, “It’d explain why she was rather short with you. People tend to act that way around people they don’t like.”

Harry nodded slowly.

I suppose so.

Something shimmered in his peripheral vision. Frowning, Harry turned in the opposite direction, his eyes combing over the faint reflection that lingered on the window. He could just barely make out a strange blur to the right of the entrance.

Harry groaned.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” he shook his head, “Could you get some Hot Chocolate from Rosmerta?”

Lisa nodded, holding out her hand for the needed money. Harry laughed.

“It’s ‘Merta. She won’t make me pay.”

“Just in case,” Lisa rolled her eyes, “I don’t want to look like an idiot.”

Harry sighed, plunging his palm into his pockets. He pulled out enough for both him and Lisa to drink.

“On the off chance she says no and you’re in need of something to warm you up.”

“Thanks,” Lisa smiled.

“No problem,” Harry nodded, “And close the door on the way out - I’m not letting any warm air escape.”

Lisa rolled her eyes, doing as instructed. Harry listened calmly as the door shut with a satisfying click. He closed his eyes.

“For someone whose magic yearns to be seen, you’re quite adept at staying hidden.”

Suddenly, an alluring wave of magic pressed against the front of his skull. Harry fought the urge to twitch, opening his eyes. Fleur Delacour stood before him once more. She looked intrigued.

“If you knew I was here, why let the girl speak?” she asked curiously. Harry felt uncomfortable.

I didn’t know. Not right away.

Something gripped at his chest as he made the realization.

My stone. She -

“Why not?” Harry shrugged, “She’s never met you before. There’s no realization she might have come to that you wouldn’t be abundantly aware of.”

“So you knew I’d return?”

“No,” Harry shook his head, smiling, “But I was hoping you would. So much more can be said without a -” he paused, grinning, “a peeping Tom.”

And I’ve been yearning for this moment for quite some time.

Fleur leaned against the wall behind her, her lips curving upwards.

“And my wellbeing?” she inquired, “What was all that talk about wanting another girl present to ensure my comfort?”

“I’ve never formally met you,” Harry frowned, “It was best not to risk it -”

“And in the span of five minutes you’ve decided you understand me,” Fleur said hotly.

“I do,” Harry smiled, “Why, am I wrong?”

“Very -”

“Liar,” Harry hissed. Fleur froze, “You returned here of your own violation. You wouldn’t do such a thing if you were truly as uncomfortable as you’d like to suggest.”

Fleur stared at him.

“Is that what you think?”

“It’s a part of it.”

The girl’s hands shifted to behind her back in an oddly Neville-like way. Despite that, she wore a confident look.

“I’d like to hear the rest.”

“I’m sure you would,” Harry frowned, “But that’s for my ears only.”

The girl bristled.

“Fine,” she said eventually, her voice tight, “That isn’t what I returned to talk about anyway -”

“Then?”

“You-know-who.”

A sudden wave of sullen silence fell over the room. Harry felt his heart quicken, and in the faint reflection of his glasses he could see his eyes glowing a sickly green.

“You-know-who?” Harry repeated, frowning. He watched as the girl shifted back and forth. Despite the great depths of confidence she’d displayed earlier, Fleur Delacour seemed oddly distressed.

Of course she is, Harry smiled, She’s not like me. Not like us. She isn’t strong enough.

Harry stepped forward, testing the waters.

“You mean Voldemort?” he asked innocently. Satisfaction spasmed beneath his skin at the slight widening of Fleur’s eyes. It was a small movement, nearly unnoticeable -

But not to me.

Harry adorned a pensieve smile.

“He’s alive,” he said softly, “Though I imagine you know that already, given what you overheard in the cupboard that night.”

He studied Fleur’s guarded expression. Despite her best efforts, she had yet to properly mask the slight discomfort she felt. Harry’s inner turmoil slowly dissipated.

She can’t have taken the stone. She’s not strong enough.

Harry smiled.

“If it makes you feel better, the British Ministry’s taking care of it,” he offered, “Personally, that wouldn’t be of much comfort to me -”

“And what are you doing?”

Harry frowned. He eyed the pondering expression Fleur wore.

“What am I doing?” he repeated, laughing easily, “What exactly do you mean by that?”

He watched as the beautiful girl tossed a sheet of silver hair behind her shoulder.

“Wars like this are never won by Ministries,” the girl said softly, “They’re won by people. People with heart. People who really care.”

Fleur stepped forward.

“You don’t strike me as someone who cares, Harry Potter.”

Harry borrowed Tom Riddle’s easy smile. To his slight disappointment, it did not seem to comfort the silver-haired girl.

“Voldemort is the reason I’m an orphan,” Harry reminded Fleur pointedly, “Or have you forgotten?”

“No, I have not,” the girl sighed, “But it does little to sway me.”

Fleur leaned closer, glancing around almost conspicuously.

“I think you’re far too artificial for someone truly driven by nothing more than a selfless desire to avenge their parents.”

Harry watched as the girl took a step back. He felt his eyes subconsciously narrow.

“Is that what you think?”

“It is,” Fleur nodded swiftly, “You forget, Harry, that you aren’t the only one who dawns masks. All too often people see me as a shell of what I am.”

Harry’s jaw clenched with displeasure.

A shell? Me?

“More than a pretty face, clearly,” he said, no longer bothering with his grin. Fleur nodded.

“You’re a quick learner,” she awarded him politely, “I’ll be seeing you at the ball, then?”

“Without a doubt.”

And the silver-haired girl departed, the remnants of her warmth fading as the door slid shut.

(-{- S S -}-)

Spirals of thick blood coated the cobbled floors. Harry stood back, inspecting his laboured work.

“That’s . . . that’s a lot of blood.”

Draco’s voice was unusually soft. Harry eyed him for little more than a moment, quickly spotting the sullen hint in his eyes.

“Killing a few rabbits really ruined your day, did it?” he yawned. Behind him, Malfoy shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m not like you,” he whispered, “Murder doesn’t come easily to me.”

Harry frowned. He examined the blood-drawn runes along the floors, crouching down so as to see them better.

“What exactly makes you think I find it easy, Draco?” he asked curiously.

Draco had the gall to scoff.

“I know what you did in Azkaban,” he spat, “My father told me. The Warden’s body was destroyed long before you finally killed him.”

A pit of hollow mirth clawed itself into Harry’s insides. He turned around, staring incredulously at the blonde boy.

“He was a filthy fucking rapist,” Harry hissed cruelly. Draco winced, “I’m glad I canned him. I’d do it a hundred times over if I had to.”

Shaking his head, he rose to his feet.

“He tried raping your aunt, you know,” Harry added, “I’d be more grateful if I were you. She certainly was.”

He turned. Draco’s eyes were bulging, each now as wide as a galleon.

“Bellatrix? You met Bellatrix?”

“You knew that already,” Harry rolled his eyes, “It said so in the Daily Prophet, remember?”

“It said that she saw you, not that you stopped to have a chat over tea,” Malfoy moaned. He stressfully combed his fingers through his hair, rustling it, “What all did you tell her?”

Harry shrugged.

“Don’t really remember. You can ask her yourself, if you want.”

He didn’t bother hiding the joy that laced his words. Across from him, Draco Malfoy's already pale skin looked practically blood-less.

“What do you mean?” he whispered, not an ounce of confidence in his voice. Harry snickered.

“I told you we’d be going on a little adventure, remember?” 

Draco stared at him.

“Malfoy?” Harry snapped his fingers, “Malllffffooyyyyy -”

“I AM NOT GOING WITH YOU TO FUCKING AZKABAN -”

“Yes, you are,” Harry grinned, “I trust you practiced your Memory Charm?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, if you put two and two together,” Harry yawned, “Obviously we’re going to go wipe the minds of a prisoner or two.”

“Bellatrix?”

Harry frowned.

“I don’t know about her,” he admitted, “But I do need to get everyone else who saw me. I don’t need someone else finding a way to blackmail me.”

Madam Bones is annoying enough on her own.

“Right,” Draco’s voice was high and wobbly, “Well, fortunately for the both of us, your plan won’t work.”

“Oh?” Harry glanced at him again, “Why’s that?”

Draco grinned smugly.

“They’ve upped security,” he said hauntily, “You’re not going to be getting in now, they’ve got multiple Aurors stationed throughout the prison now -”

Harry laughed.

“Yeah, I figured they would,” he admitted. He eyed the seven rabbits that Draco had placed in very specific points along his blood-drawn ritual circle, “What do you think all this is for?”

He edged closer to the runes, inspecting three of the rabbits near the left side. They hadn’t been killed yet.

Those are the ones I need to kill myself.

“How in Merlin’s name would I know?” Malfoy whispered, “I can’t read blood -”

“Neither can I,” Harry snapped irritably, “They’re runes, idiot.”

He slowly pointed his wand at the leftmost rabbit. An uncomfortable feeling settled in his chest.

I don’t really want to kill them.

“You can’t possibly be serious,” Draco growled from somewhere behind him. Harry’s jaw clenched, “You’re struggling with a bunny? After everything you’ve done -”

“Shut up, Draco -”

“No, I’m being serious. How the fuck is this difficult?”

“The rabbit hasn’t raped anyone, for starters,” Harry glared at him, “Not any humans, anyway . . . I don’t know what it got up to in the forest . . .”

This is stupid.

Gritting his teeth, he jabbed his wand at the rabbit.

“Avada Kedavra!”

There was a flash of green light. Though the paralyzed rabbit hadn’t moved, Harry knew it was dead.

“What does this ritual do, then?”

“I said quiet, Malfoy.

There was another flash of green light. Now thoroughly in a bad mood, Harry turned to finish off the final rabbit.

Quick and easy.

“Avada Kedavra!”

There was a final blast of light. Harry let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“Right,” Malfoy was staring at the hares, frowning, “What was all of this for?”

Harry sighed, nodding at the rabbits.

“A ritual to increase speed,” he said, “It’s supposed to make my reflexes obscenely fast.”

Draco stared at him.

“How fast?”

“Well,” Harry frowned, “The original variation only involved killing three rabbits, and it was used by only the most powerful combatants in the 1300s - so says Slytherin’s book on rituals, anyway.”

He paused as the words left his lips.

To think. I kind of miss the fucker.

“But this one has seven,” Malfoy noted. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Well spotted. Would you like a medal?”

Draco ignored him.

“Where’d you find it?” he asked seriously, “I - I’ve never heard of something this. . . . useful. There’s probably drawbacks -”

Harry slowly shook his head.

“Sometimes, you just get really, really, lucky.”

Draco stared at him.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Harry sighed.

“I know about the original ritual because the book I found in Slytherin’s study only contained the original ritual,” he supplied, “The one with seven rabbits was drawn on a few extra sheets of parchment shoved in between the pages.”

There was a long silence. Harry waited as the blonde boy slowly pieced it together.

“Riddle.”

“You really should stop calling him that, you know,” Harry frowned, “I doubt he’ll take kindly to it once he comes back for good.”

“So he made it, then?”

“Obviously.”

“How do you know it worked?” Malfoy asked, “He must’ve created it when he was a student for it to still be here, and the sixteen-year old Riddle from our second year wasn’t insanely fast -”

Harry snorted.

“He was faster than you’ll ever be,” he laughed, “But you’re right. He wasn’t inhumanly fast.”

“So . . .”

“So the ritual is bound by blood,” Harry explained simply, “It’s connected to your physical body. Riddle didn’t exactly have one of those, did he?”

Draco nodded slowly.

“And the price? It’s really just . . . just this?”

Harry paused.

“Murder isn’t an easy thing, Malfoy. Even if it is just some rabbits.”

He spun around. Somewhere behind him, he could practically feel Malfoy nodding solemnly.

“Yeah. Suppose so . . .”

The chamber fell silent again. Deciding to leave Mafloy to his thoughts, Harry made his way towards the runic circle, slowly taking off his clothes.

“I’ll have to be naked for this,” he explained dully, “Don’t get funny ideas - I’m going to be laying on my stomach.”

“Believe it or not, I’m not in a rush to see your pecker, Potter,” said Malfoy hotly. Harry grinned.

“Blushing, are you?” he smirked, “Don’t worry. I’ve already set up a Blinding Barrier. You won’t be able to see me unless something goes wrong.”

“Thank Merlin . . .”

“Oh, and this Ritual shouldn’t take too much out of me, either,” Harry added, grinning, “We leave for Azkaban tomorrow evening.”

I’ll be needing people to test my reflexes on, anyway.

With one last look at Draco’s miserable face, he turned around, heading into the heart of Tom Riddle’s runic masterpiece.