~ ~ = Parseltongue
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He was standing in a snowy lane under a dark blue sky, in which the night's first stars were already glimmering feebly. Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road, Christmas decorations twinkling in their windows. A short way ahead, a glow of golden streetlights indicated the centre of the village.
"I'm coming, Mum, Dad," whispered Harry as he removed the Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it inside his pocket, walking quickly, in spite of the snow, towards the graveyard of Godric's Hollow. With being so focussed on his destination, he didn't sense someone watching him from the shadows.
Harry didn't stop anywhere. He kept moving until he was inside the graveyard. This was the moment he had been pining for … he was finally here to see the graves of his parents. During his search, he recognised some of the names on the gravestones like Abbott and Fawley; even Dumbledore's mother and sister seemed to have been buried here. At least some of Rita Skeeter's facts about Albus Dumbledore seemed to be true. The Dumbledores had lived in Godric's Hollow and some of the family members had died here as well. Harry swallowed his bitterness as he moved past the graves of Kendra and Araina Dumbledore; the headmaster had been his guardian. The least he could have done was bring Harry to see his parents' graves. The fact that both he and Dumbledore had lost families here meant that each could understand the other's pain. But that had obviously not happened.
Memories of the late headmaster of Hogwarts only seemed to frustrate and anger him, so he chose not to think about Dumbledore as he continued to search for his parents' graves. After several minutes, his search bore fruit.
His knees buckled and he collapsed before them, his eyes unfocussed, simply staring at the structure before him. He was trembling violently, and it had nothing to with the cold.
It was made of marble, just like Dumbledore's, and it gleamed under the moonlight. The names were crisp and clear, as if they had been carved just yesterday, but he knew that the gravestone was not new. No, it had been sixteen years since James and Lily Potter had died. Tears trickled down Harry's face as he rested his forehead against the cold marble, sobbing silently for several minutes.
"Hey Mum, hey Dad," Harry murmured softly, his voice breaking due to raw emotion. "It's me, Harry. I –"
He paused. What could he possibly say to them? Should he say sorry for the fact that they were dead because of him? A thank you for sacrificing their lives without a second thought to save him? Shout at them for leaving him alone? Say that he loved them even though he didn't remember them?
During his childhood, Harry had always dreamed of having parents who loved him, cuddled him and took care of him, just like the parents of all his classmates. He had even written letters to his deceased parents as part of a school assignment, but all that seemed so long ago. Harry's lips were firmly pressed together as he breathed deeply. He had to pull himself together.
"I'll make you proud," he vowed. "I'll end this war once and for all. I swear to you."
He waved his wand in the air and conjured a bouquet of lilies. Gently placing them on the grave, he got to his feet and walked away quickly, unable to handle his still volatile emotions. Just as he exited the gate, he stiffened in panic. Someone was watching him.
Harry turned to his left and narrowed his eyes to see who was observing him. It was an old woman that he recognised from the picture on his A History of Magic textbook; she was Bathilda Bagshot.
"Mrs Bagshot?" asked Harry tentatively, feeling strangely uneasy. Somehow, there were warning signs in place, but if she was Dumbledore's old friend as his mother's letter claimed, not to mention a celebrated historian who lived in the birthplace of Godric Gryffindor, she might have the fabled sword with her. The late headmaster might have entrusted her with it; it was a long shot, but then again, who could possibly understand the workings of Albus Dumbledore's mind? He didn't need the sword to destroy the Horcruxes anymore, but that didn't mean that it wasn't useful. A basilisk venom imbibed blade would be helpful in taking down more Death Eaters.
The woman grunted and gestured for him to follow. Harry frowned when he saw that she was acting strange, not speaking at all. Was that because he was the so-called Undesirable Number One? They walked in silence for several minutes until they reached her cottage. Harry fought the urge to gag when he entered the house; it stank badly.
"Mrs Bagshot, do you have something for me?" he asked loudly. The woman in question motioned him to follow her upstairs. However, Harry didn't comply. Something was not right. Her behaviour did not seem normal. No one invites a stranger to their bedroom, especially without a conversation of any sort.
"No, I won't be going upstairs; this is your house, not mine," said Harry firmly as he eyed the door. "Again, do you have something for me?"
She nodded and pointed a finger at the corner of the room. The moment Harry moved away from the door, she acted. Within a second, her body collapsed and the great snake emerged from where her neck had been.
Harry's eyes widened in shock, but he didn't lose his nerve. He was face-to-face with one of Voldemort's most treasured Horcruxes. He could not let this opportunity slide.
Knowing that the snake would strike at any moment, Harry acted, pointing his wand at the snake whose mouth was wide open and shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"
The jet of green light struck Nagini perfectly. A Cutting Curse followed, separating the reptile's head and tail. A strange screeching sound emerged from the snake's body, signifying the destruction of the Horcrux.
Knowing that Voldemort shared a mental link with Nagini, and hence, would be made aware of the snake's death in a matter of seconds, Harry decided to leave immediately. He exited the house, and was just past the area where the protective enchantments of the cottage ended when he heard it: a faint pop, a sound typically associated with the Apparition of experienced witches and wizards.
Thin as a skeleton, face pale as a skull, with red eyes and slits for nostrils; Voldemort was here and he was apoplectic. The Dark Lord raised his wand and Harry did the same.
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Sectumsempra!"
The two beams of light collided again, but this time, both of them were prepared for the effects of the twin cores of their wands. The moment the golden thread appeared, Voldemort cut the connection, but Harry flung Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder at the Dark Lord and Disapparated, just as he heard a scream of fury from Voldemort.
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Harry materialised out of thin air with a crack in the middle of the Forest of Dean but Disapparated and Apparated again to a new location two more times so as to throw off Voldemort in case the Dark Lord had followed his Apparition trail from Godric's Hollow. There was only one more Horcrux left, but before he could deal with it, he needed answers.
Harry removed the golden snitch that had been bequeathed to him by Albus Dumbledore from within his Mokeskin pouch and stared at it. The Elder Wand was one of the Deathly Hallows. He understood now why Voldemort was obsessed with it. He also remembered the large black stone with strange markings on it, embedded to a band, that had been converted into a Horcrux, which, he guessed, was in this snitch. According to Winky and Kreacher, it was the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. It was extremely useful to have elves that grew up in the household of pureblood families. They were a goldmine of information about magical culture.
I open at the close
What could that mean? His eyes narrowed in calculation as he pondered on what Dumbledore must have planned for him. Not for a second did he believe that the late headmaster had not realised that Harry's scar housed one of Voldemort's Horcruxes; the conversation the two shared after the incident in the Chamber of Secrets proved it. Therefore, it was not impractical to assume that Dumbledore meant for him to die. Surely if the old man had known of a way to destroy the soul-piece without killing him, he would have done it in an instant. But Dumbledore's inaction led Harry to believe that at some point, his former mentor had expected him to sacrifice himself.
It made sense, for Harry was willing to accept his fate the moment he found out about the true nature of his scar.
Accept his fate …
A grim smile made its way to his lips. The word 'close' was a metaphor.
"Death," whispered Harry as he held the snitch in his hand, close to his mouth.
The snitch opened, revealing a black stone. He took the stone and turned it three times, just like it was described in the tale.
Albus Dumbledore suddenly appeared before him, looking not quite alive, but not dead either. The blue eyes of the late headmaster displayed immense pain and sadness.
"Harry, please let me explain –"
"Shut up, Dumbledore," Harry interrupted him coldly. "This time I'll be the one asking questions and don't you dare even attempt to hide the truth from me."
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Voldemort was burning with rage as he held the corpse of Nagini. Potter would pay for this. He would destroy the boy and each of his allies for killing his beloved familiar. Was Nagini a target because Potter knew that she was a Horcrux or because she was a threat to his life when she attacked the boy? It was difficult to judge, since he had no idea what knowledge Potter possessed about his Horcruxes.
Precautions had to be taken. Clearly, the boy was not dead, as he had presumed. He still hadn't checked if the ring was safe in the Gaunt shack, having been summoned by Nagini just as he was about to leave for Little Hangleton.
And if Potter was truly after Horcruxes, he would have to warn his Death Eaters that the boy might try to enter Hogwarts or Gringotts. With the loss of another Horcrux, it was imperative that he check on his remaining anchors without delay. He fumed as he vanished Nagini's corpse.
So many questions remained unanswered! How did a pathetic, mediocre wizard like Potter get this far? He had managed to escape from his clutches without anyone to help him! That would not stand! He needed a plan so that the boy would not be elusive for long. If Potter was indeed after his Horcruxes, he had to be stopped immediately!
And the best way to do that was by attacking Potter's conscience. A slow smirk formed on Voldemort's lipless mouth. How would the boy react if his friends were in acute danger? Had he not rushed to the Department of Mysteries to save his godfather when he thought Sirius Black was being held captive by Lord Voldemort?
The same scenario could be executed once more, with a few tweaks. If his friends at Hogwarts were to be attacked, and an ultimatum served to the brat to either surrender or watch them die, it would work wonders. Potter would willingly come to him.
As Voldemort crossed the threshold of the living room to exit the cottage, his sharp gaze caught something of interest; a picture frame containing the photographed portrait of a young man. The blond boy was the thief who had stolen the Elder Wand. A feeling of euphoria coursed through his veins as he immediately recognised the boy from Gregorovitch's memories. Conveniently, Rita Skeeter's book that detailed the life of Albus Dumbledore was on the table, gathering dust. He put the pieces together.
Gellert Grindelwald.
That meant the person who last defeated Grindelwald had the Elder Wand.
The wand was in the grave of Albus Dumbledore.