Written in the Stars - Into the Chamber

Into the Chamber

Viktor eyed the entrance to the maze nervously, his wand already in hand as he waited for the sound of the claxon. He would have a three-minute lead over Diggory, and five minutes over Delacour.

The odds appeared to be in his favour, but if he had learned anything about the tournament, nothing ever truly was so simple.

He’d prepared for this. The hours spent alone, with Karkaroff, and Harry dedicated to learning every spell either of them could think of to see that he could overcome whatever obstacles were place before him.

Still, Viktor was apprehensive.

There was no telling what surprises could be lurking around every corner of the maze.

‘You’ve got this.’

Harry had been dismissive of Viktor’s concerns, his confidence in him not wavering for even a second shortly before the champions had been put into position.

The Bulgarian shook his head.

How Harry could believe in him so easily, he knew not, but he appreciated it, nonetheless.

He immediately spurred into action, sprinting into the maze before the echo of the claxon faded, but soon found himself in darkness and an eerie silence.

Despite being told he need only signal for help should he need it; Viktor was very much alone in here.

Continuing his run, he lit the tip of his wand, the only sound filling his ears being his own laboured breathing as he pressed forward.

(Break)

“Are you sure about this, My Lord?” Lucius asked as he added the final ingredients to the runic circle carved into the floor.

Voldemort nodded.

The body he was inhabiting was growing weak, and he needed to revitalise it until he was ready to create a new one for himself.

Of course, there was no better time to do so than on the summer solstice, other than perhaps all Hallows Eve, but he could not wait that long.

With each day that passed he could feel his powers waning, his limbs growing weaker.

He needed to conduct the ritual to ensure it would not fail him completely.

“Is it ready?” the Dark Lord asked impatiently.

Lucius nodded as he stepped out of the circle, taking his place by Wormtail’s side.

“This will be unpleasant, but you are not to intervene,” Voldemort instructed firmly. “Let it begin,” he added to himself under his breath.

Tapping the activation rune with the tip of his wand, the Dark Lord felt a rush of magic was over him and it felt as though his skin, muscles, and bones were being pulled slowly apart.

The agony that tore through the weakened body was indescribable, though nothing compared to what he felt the night he had fallen.

Nonetheless, he bit hard into his lower lip to prevent himself from crying out.

He would allow none to hear him scream.

The Dark Lord could not comprehend how much time was passing whilst he remained seated amongst the runes, but much to his relief, the magic faded as quickly as it had overwhelmed him, and he allowed himself to fall backwards where he fought to catch his breath.

“My Lord are you well?” the muffled voice of Lucius asked.

Voldemort opened his eyes to see the blurry silhouette of the man leaning over him, and he nodded, simply revelling in the seemingly endless amount of energy he now had.

He no longer felt fatigued, nor did he feel that at any given moment he would fall into a slumber from exhaustion.

Undoubtedly, this was the best the Dark Lord had felt in almost thirteen years.

“I am fine, Lucius,” he murmured after a moment. “Help me to my chair.”

As incredibly euphoric as he felt, it was no less demeaning having to be carried to his seat by a man that served him.

Not that Lucius nor any other would dare comment on it.

“You look much healthier, My Lord,” Lucius offered with a bow. “I would say the ritual was a success.”

“It was,” the Dark Lord agreed, “but it is still not a body of my own.”

“It will be,” Lucius offered reassuringly.

Voldemort nodded.

“Soon,” he reiterated to himself.

He did not know how many times in the past months he had done so, but with each day that drew to a close, having a body to call his own became closer to reality.

“My Lord, shouldn’t Barty be here for this?” Lucius questioned.

“Barty is doing something of vital importance to me,” the Dark Lord answered dismissively. “Worry not, Lucius, he is under strict instruction to not compromise us in any way.”

Lucius nodded, though he did not seem to be convinced.

He did not like Barty.

Lucius believed the man was rather unhinged from his time in Azkaban and was not to be relied upon for missions that would see him acting independently.

 The Dark Lord disagreed.

Barty’s loyalty would ensure that he was successful in his venture, even if it did cost him his life in the process.

“May I ask what it is he is doing?” Lucius pressed.

“You may not,” Voldemort answered simply. “You will focus on your own task. I have a list of ingredients I need you to acquire for me. I am sure that I do not need to remind you to not draw attention to yourself. Wormtail!”

“Of course, My Lord,” Lucius returned as though the words were of the deepest insult. “Some of these will be difficult to find, but I will do it,” he added, having accepted the list offered to him by Pettigrew.

“What would you have me do, My Lord?” the squat man asked.

“You will remain at my side,” Voldemort instructed sharply. “I may be quite invigorated, but I will still require your assistance, as much as it disgusts me to admit. Was there something else, Lucius?”

“No, My Lord,” the blond replied.

“Then be gone,” the Dark Lord instructed, “and keep me informed of your progress.”

Lucius said nothing else but offered a respectful bow before taking his leave of the room, and Voldemort turned his attention to Wormtail.

“Now, tell me what you have observed in Britain,” he demanded.

(Break)

Viktor winced as another jolt of pain lanced through his arm. He had not seen the Acromantula stalking him in the shadows, and before he could react, its fangs had found their way into his left bicep.

It had been dispatched quickly, but the damage was already done.

Nonetheless, the Bulgarian would not be deterred and had not even considered quitting, not when he could sense that he was so close to the centre of the maze.

Thus far, despite his encounter with the enormous spider, his run had been rather clear, the obstacles he had come up against having been dealt with without harm to himself and efficiently.

Only one of the creatures had given him pause; an odd insect that had an exploding tail and large pincers. Viktor had never seen nor heard of anything like it, and he had been rather surprised by how robust it had been.

His first four spells had simply bounced off the armour of the creature, but it had not been resilient enough to endure a nasty Disembowelling Curse Harry had shown him.

Still, the beast had not been easy to deal with.

Other than the creatures, his path had been impeded by a rather strange sandstorm that he’d needed to dispel, a hole in the ground that had opened up beneath his feet, and a flailing plant that had attempted to throttle him.

None had manged to best him, but he was unsure of the status of the other champions.

Only a few moments prior he’d heard a feminine scream from somewhere to his left, but there had been no sign of any sparks so Delacour had either managed to overcome whatever had accosted her, or she was in no position to call for help.

Viktor shook his heads of thoughts of the latter as he rounded the corner and found himself face to face with something he’d only ever read about.

Sphinxes were exceedingly rare creatures, and he wondered just what one of them was doing here?

His grip tightened around his wand as he approached slowly, only to be met by an amused smirk.

“Do not be foolish enough to believe that will help you,” she said, her voice seemingly coming from all directions, a lingering echo to it.

“Must I fight you?” Viktor asked.

The Sphynx licked her lips, exposing teeth that he would rather avoid.

“Do you wish to?”

Viktor shook his head and the creature chuckled.

“Then fear not, it is a battle of wits that I desire.”

Viktor breathed a sigh of relief, only for dread to settle into his stomach as she spoke again.

“But if you cannot best me, then perhaps I will test your physical prowess,” she warned. “Do you wish to proceed?”

Looking over his shoulder towards the path he had traversed, Viktor nodded.

He was too close to simply turn away and he had worked too hard to get this far only to quit at the final hurdle.

“Then let us begin, child.”

(Break)

It was difficult to believe that it was only a few short years ago that Albus raised the idea of rekindling the Triwizard Tournament with Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, and yet, here they were now, along with Barty and Ludo presiding over the third and final task.

Albus was proud of all three champions, each of them demonstrating their own, unique education they had received at the institutes they attended, and all three doing so admirably.

Overall, the entire affair had been a resounding success, and the Hogwarts headmaster was hopeful the conclusion would follow in the same fashion.

“They have been in there for some time,” Olympe commented.

“I do not expect it will be much longer before our winner emerges,” Albus replied comfortingly, frowning as he looked towards an uncomfortable Igor Karkaroff.

The man seemed to be rather alarmed as he rubbed the inside of his left forearm, grimacing in apparent pain.

Igor’s gaze shifted towards Severus, and Albus’s followed suit, his frown deepening as he saw the Potions Master acting oddly similar.

Severus looked at Albus pointedly, a rare expression of worry marring his features as he nodded towards where the Dark Mark remained, a reminder of his past mistakes.

“Are you quite alright, Severus?” Albus asked as he approached.

Without hesitation he rolled up the sleeve of his robes to show him and Albus sighed defeatedly.

“It has been growing darker all year,” Severus murmured, “but it suddenly began burning, and now it is darker than it has been in thirteen years.”

“I told you,” Igor hissed. “When I spoke to you about it at Christmas, I told you it was getting darker. What does it mean?”

“I do not know,” Severus replied, “but I do not expect it is anything good.”

Albus nodded his agreement, though his attention had been caught by another figure they seemed to sense something was amiss.

In the crowd of Durmstrang students only a short distance away, Harry had drawn his wand, his eyes darting between a piece of parchment he held and to every part of the packed stadium.

On the surface, he seemed to be as calm as ever, but the boy was on edge, ready to react at a moment’s notice.

Albus would need to discuss it with him, to see what it was he had felt to lead him to respond in such a way.

The boy was quite the enigma. Something that Albus had learned during his many conversations with him, none more so than the most recent they had shared where the headmaster had indeed followed Gellert’s plea.

It had been a difficult choice to make for the man who did not revel in the thought of conflict, but as the incidents over the past few years had proven, conflict was coming whether Albus wanted it to or not.

Harry already seemed to know it too, and though Albus still had his reservations of gifting all that Gellert had urged, he knew that he needed to have faith in both Harry and the prophecy spoken to him so many years ago now.

Flashback

“Why are you giving me this?” Harry asked as he finished looking through the swathes of parchment Albus had handed him.

Their conversations thus far had been carefully conducted by both, neither raising all of what had happened that had led to the death of James and Lily Potter.

They had discussed magic deeply, a shared interest, and even more inane things such as the Wizengamot and how different life was in Britain compared to other countries, but never Voldemort.

Albus eyed the boy curiously.

“Well, Harry,” he sighed, “we could have a very frank conversation where I would explain my reasoning to you and then you would perhaps be compelled to share your own thoughts with me. Or we could both accept that the other has secrets but have visions towards the same end.”

“The death of Voldemort.”

Albus nodded, though he would not pretend that the casual manner with which Harry spoke of such a thing did not concern him.

“Indeed,” he replied with a slight incline of his head. “We have not spoken of him, but you do not seem to be surprised that he is alive.”

“I didn’t know until he inhabited your former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor,” Harry pointed out.

“What else do you know?” Albus asked curiously.

“More than I would like to sometimes,” Harry answered quietly. “Much more.”

Albus nodded his understanding.

For all of his thoughts on Tom and the knowledge he had of all the terrible things the man had done, he’d witnessed so little of it for himself. Seeing the aftermath was one thing, but to live them in your own mind was something Albus could not fathom.

If Harry truly had been subjected to witnessing such cruelty and violence, it was nothing short of a miracle that he managed to remain sound of mind.

Albus offered the boy a sympathetic smile.

“Well, if my reasoning to you makes no sense, then why not simply because you are already proving to be a remarkable young man?” he asked. “It would be a shame for my life’s work to be squandered when my time here comes to an end.”

Harry nodded.

“What about Grindelwald?” he asked. “It was him that encouraged you to share it with me.”

“It was,” Albus confirmed cautiously.

“Because you have your reservations.”

“I do.”

Albus wouldn’t lie to the boy, nor would he attempt to mislead him honeyed words.

Perhaps a little frankness between them was what was needed.

They would likely have to work together in the future when Tom eventually returned.

“That’s fair,” Harry replied thoughtfully. “You don’t know me so well, and I expect that I am very little like what you envisioned when you placed me with my muggle relatives.”

“No, I wouldn’t say you are,” Albus chuckled. “Maybe I have unrealistic expectations of others and the world we live in. I abhor violence, Harry. It has brought me nothing but misery.”

“Even after defeating Gellert you lost someone that meant a lot to you.”

Albus nodded, appreciating Harry’s candid approach on the subject.

“I did,” Albus said sadly. “I need not go into details, but Gellert and I were once very good friends before our paths diverged.”

“Our experiences shape us,” Harry sighed. “For as long as I can remember, I have been haunted by the memory of my parents being murdered, by things that I have never lived, but am forced to witness over and over again. I do not believe I am an evil person, Professor, but I know violence, and what must be done to stop my enemy.”

Albus simply watched Harry for a moment before reluctantly nodding his acceptance.

“I suppose my own morality will one day make a fool of me,” he chuckled.

“It might,” Harry agreed. “My parents paid the ultimate price for putting their faith in the wrong person, but I am not one of them. I do not wish to cause harm to those that do not deserve it, and I do not seek power beyond what I will already have. I do not possess that ambition and that is what separates me from Voldemort.”

“A difference I am pleased exists,” Albus replied with a warm smile.

“With that being said,” Harry continued, his expression darkening. “I will show no mercy to my enemies. I cannot allow their transgressions to go unpunished, and I will deal with them in a way I feel that they deserve. War is coming, Professor, and I intend on not only living through it, but winning at whatever cost to the other side. I do not expect anything from you other than understanding. The fight against him will not be won in the Wizengamot meetings. Victory will come at the price of blood.”

Albus’s smile fell, but the words spoken were a truth that had become apparent during the last war.

“I will not stand in your way, Harry,” he assured the boy. “As much as I wish a resolution could be found, I’m afraid it is not to be.”

“Neither me nor him will allow it,” Harry snorted. “We both want each other dead and will stop at nothing to see it done. I have to be as ruthless and cunning to ensure that it is me that survives, so that I may finally live in peace.”

Fawkes trilled from on his perch, his song as calming as ever.

“It seems that even he agrees.”

“It appears so,” Albus murmured as he stroked the plumage of his companion.

The fact that the creature had taken quite the shine to Harry certainly helped the headmaster rid himself of any doubts he’d had about the boy.

“There is something else that I promised I would give you when the time is right,” he revealed. “With you returning to Durmstrang and the future uncertain, I believe there is no time like the present to do so. When he returns, I will become a target, and forgive me for seeming arrogant in saying, but I expect he will wish me dead as soon as possible. I would not see it fall into his hands,” Albus finished grimly.

“See what fall into his hands?” Harry asked with a frown.

Albus swallowed deeply as he removed the Elder Wand, the cold magic permeating through the length of wood never having truly been a source of comfort for him.

In truth, it was quite the burden to carry and a part of him was relieved that it would no longer be in his possession.

“Disarm me, and take it for yourself,” he instructed.

“Disarm you?”

Albus nodded, a smirk tugging at his lips at Harry’s cautious nature.

“I assure you; you will not regret doing so.”

Harry hesitated for a moment before doing so, his eyes widening as he grasped the wand that he snatched from the air.

“It is just like my cloak,” he whispered.

“The very same magic was used to create both.”

“And you know where this magic came from, don’t you?”

Albus’s grin formed into a beaming smile.

“I do, but I do not wish to ruin the surprise for you, Harry. A part of the journey of truly appreciating what it is you possess will come from discovering their origins, but I will give you a clue.”

Harry was undoubtedly frustrated that he would not be given the information so readily, but also amused as a grin formed and he nodded.

“What’s the clue?”

“Follow your blood.”

“Follow my blood?”

Albus nodded.

“You will find the answer in your own blood, Harry. That is all I will reveal.”

The boy cursed under his breath.

“Cassie was right about you,” he huffed. “She said you like to speak in annoying riddles.”

“Gellert has said the very same thing to me many times over the years,” Albus replied fondly. “Still, I stand by my offering. You will appreciate them more working for the information yourself. Now, I would urge you to become familiar with the wand, but under no circumstances should you tell anyone it is in your possession. There are many that would kill to have it for themselves, and I fear they would be much less honourable with their intentions.”

“I won’t say a word,” Harry promised.

“Good, now, would you like to work on some of the spells I provided you with?”

End Flashback

Harry truly was a gifted young man. Something he had proven with how easily he took to the various spells the two of them had worked on.

Albus had been impressed and felt somewhat easier about what was to come knowing that Harry was doing all he could to prepare.

“I believe our winner is arriving,” he declared, nodding towards the area marked off for the champion who reached the cup first.

Now, however, with what had occurred in only the past few moments, the tournament seemed entirely inconsequential.

Nonetheless, Albus smiled brightly as the portkey arrived and stood and clapped with the rest of the spectators before making his declaration.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I GIVE YOU YOUR TRIWIZARD CHAMPION. REPRESESNTING THE DURMSTRANG INSTITUE, VIKTOR KRUM!”

The boy gave a pained grimace, favouring his left arm as he waved with his right.

Immediately, Madame Pomfrey was at his side administering some much-needed treatment.

With his announcement given and the professor tasked with patrolling the maze already setting to work to retrieve the other champions, Albus’s attention shifted to where Harry had been standing only a moment before.

He was no longer there, and the Headmaster needed to not look twice to know that he was going to be with his friend, and now the first Triwizard Champion in centuries.

(Break)

“Humans should be looked upon as little more than pets. Countless of them will come and go, and you should care for one no more or no less than any other. Our nature is an unfortunate one, daughter. We become painfully possessive of things we see as ours, but magical folk cannot even become pets. Unlike regular mortals, they are in many ways our equals and they cannot truly belong to us.”

Perhaps Lucinda should have listened to her mother before she’d let Harry Potter get under her skin.

Maybe even now it wasn’t too late to distance herself from him, but as she looked upon the stack of letters she had received over the past months and the dwindling stash of Blood Pops he had left for her for when she needed them, she found that she didn’t want to.

Harry would not belong to her.

Even the strongest of her kind could not hope to tame him into an obedient, malleable being that catered to their whims.

No. Harry Potter was no mere mortal, nor any kind of normal wizard.

There was something different about him, something she could not quite decipher, but it was unmissable.

He could promise to set the world ablaze and Lucinda would not doubt that he could do it.

Not that he would.

For all of his talent and ruthlessness, he possessed the most beautiful of souls.

Lucinda released a deep breath as she read his latest letter, his words only solidifying her thoughts about him.

Often, I find myself looking towards the moon to see how many days remain before Cain is forced to change, and always remember that the hour of the owl is when your hunger is at its worse.

I wish more than anything I could take it all away from you both, but I know such a thing is not to be.

Still, I would have neither of you any other way.

Lucinda placed the letter on the pile with the others before unwrapping a Blood Pop and placing it in her mouth, sighing as the taste of iron spread across her tongue.

It was not the same as the blood she was given at mealtimes, but it tasted all the better because it had been gifted by Harry.

Durmstrang was still not the same without him, and his letters were a poor substitute for his company, but he would return.

He had promised that he would.

Placing the confection in her mouth, she checked her reflection in the mirror as she tied her hair into a high ponytail.

It had been amusing to explain to Ana and Summerbee that only vampires that had been muggles before being turned did not have reflections.

If anything, their unintentional ignorance reminded her of how little witches and wizards learned of her kind.

Not that she could blame them.

The history between magical folk and vampires was fraught with tension, war, and secrecy.

Although relations between them had been more tolerant as of late, there was no denying that there was no love lost between them.

Not wanting to dwell on the past further, Lucinda’s attention shifted once more to her reflection.

Her first maturity had happened quickly.

In the space of only a few weeks she had gone from resembling a typical child, albeit with pale skin, red eyes, and elongated fangs, to a young woman.

Her hips and bust had filled out giving her an accentuated feminine frame, and her features had become more pronounced and pointed. She had grown around three inches in height, changing her appearance considerably.

All of the female vampires she had met had an almost ethereal beauty to them, and Lucinda was no different.

Still, her alabaster skin, black hair and sharper features had no similarity to the Greengrass girl Harry was dating.

If anything, Greengrass shared quite the resemblance to Summerbee.

Lucinda shook her head.

Not that it mattered.

She had long ago accepted that whatever fondness she felt for Harry could not be aloud to bloom beyond merely appreciating him from afar in such a way.

“He will die,” she whispered to herself.

The thought of losing him, in what would only be the blink of an eye of her existence, filled her with dread.

Even now, after only a few years of knowing him, she could not imagine how she could find happiness in life without him.

Lucinda had done her best to not grow fond of him, to dismiss every act of kindness he’d shown her, and to remind herself that he would move on when they finished at Durmstrang.

He would return to Britain, find a suitable bride, and he would pass just like every other mortal she had met.

Despite this, she could not help the way she felt, and she cursed her possessive nature.

No matter how often and firmly she reiterated reality to herself, it made no difference.

There still was and always would be a part of her that wished to claim him for herself, even if it would only result in heartbreak and devastation.

Her nostrils flared as she eyed the picture of Harry and Greengrass kissing.

It was a sense of abject sadness that came every time she saw it, but she could not ignore the envy, as much as she wished she did not feel that.

Harry nor Greengrass had done anything wrong. Nevertheless, Lucinda could not simply overcome her nature, even if all she wanted was for the boy to be happy despite her own feelings.

It was moments like this that she wished he was here for no other reason than to be in his presence.

He had a way, like no other of calming her, and Lucinda truly felt that she could be herself around him.

Would it be different when he returned?

The answer to that question terrified her more than anything else.

Harry may have a girlfriend now, but Lucinda did not wish for the dynamic between them to change.

As much as he irked her with his teasing, she would have nothing between them be any different.

Well, that was not the complete truth, but it was the best that she could hope for.

(Break)

He ran his fingers across the ornate door, trailing the length of one of the bronze serpents that adorned it.

It was so familiar, yet Harry had never been here himself. He had seen the little redheaded girl venture into the chamber under Voldemort’s guidance, but that was his only experience of Slytherin’s hidden lair.

Still, it felt as though he had been here dozens of times.

Not that such a feeling offered him any comfort.

If anything, it only made him more nervous about what he was going to face.

Harry had already had his strong suspicions of what dwelled within, but the finding the skin of the beast as he had reached the bottom of the entrance left him with no doubt.

The king of serpents had called the Chamber of Secrets its home for almost a thousand years.

A basilisk.

It was widely feared with good reason. There was no creature more deadly that roamed the planet, though it did have its vulnerabilities. Something Harry had prepared for if it became necessary.

Despite this, he could not shift the gut feeling that something was very wrong indeed.

It was not often that Harry was gripped by such a strong desire to flee from somewhere, but it was so strong now that he had to truly focus to remain where he was.

No, he could not leave.

The Durmstrang ship would be disembarking in only two days, and tonight was the best and perhaps only opportunity he would have to explore the chamber.

Nonetheless, his instincts were not so easy to ignore.

For several moments he remained rooted to the spot before releasing a deep breath to steel his resolve.

It was now or never.

“Open,” he whispered.

The door yielded to his command and Harry stepped into the chamber, the shiver crawling down his spine having little to do with coldness here.

Doing his best to ignore the growing terror, he walked towards the large statue of Slytherin, his eyes scanning the room and ears listening for the slightest hint of movement.

His resolve almost crumbled as he met the visage of the infamous founder. Even in stone Harry sensed that he was not welcome here.

Were it not for Slytherin’s descendant, he wouldn’t be.

Not that Harry was given much time to ponder it.

His marrow all but froze in his bones as a loud, incoherent hiss sounded from within.

The basilisk was evidently not pleased by his presence.

Still, he would not be deterred, not when he could acquire such an invaluable asset, or deprive Voldemort of it at worst.

“Quiet!” he hissed back.

The response was another, defiant offering, almost daring him to challenge the serpent.

Harry was not so foolish.

“Be calm,” he whispered. “I do not wish for us to harm one another. We are kin, are we not?”

The next hiss he received was a curious one, lacking the same aggressiveness he had been greeted with.

“If I set you free, can we speak? I would like to help you.”

A questioning hiss replied and Harry felt himself relax considerably.

At least the basilisk was no longer furious.

Against his better judgement and the instincts that remained begging him to flee, Harry gave the command for the door to open, only to find himself knocked to the ground as the impatient basilisk burst from within its lair having struck the stonework before it had fully retracted.

“Kill…rip…tear,” it spat, sniffing the air.

Quickly, Harry closed his eyes as he fumbled within his robes.

Removing the box he prepared, he enlarged it with a tap of his wand and released the rooster within.

Removing the Silencing Charm, he gave it a sharp jab and felt a wave of relief as it began calling loudly.

Instead of the basilisk falling, however, the beast only became angrier and Harry cursed himself.

Of course, Slytherin or Riddle would have found a way to circumvent such a vulnerability, and the relief he felt turned to fear once more as he felt the snake’s attention turn towards him.

Opening his eyes would result in instant death but laying here idle was no better.

He should have followed his instincts, and as he raised his wand in vain to defend himself, he cursed himself a final time.

Harry Potter would die here, but he would take the basilisk with him.

“FIENDFYRE!” he roared.

He had never practiced the spell.

The control it took to tame such a conjuration needed to be absolute, and Harry had never felt quite ready to delve into it.

Now, however, he had no such reservation.

Controlling it mattered so little when his fate was already sealed.

The coldness of the chamber faded immediately as the summoned flames burst into life, but without Harry at the helm, they had no direction and began simply consuming everything they came into contact with.

He could hear the stone dripping as it melted around the room, and Harry could only despair as he heard the basilisk screech in fury.

His fiendfyre seemed to be ignoring the beast, something that became apparent as he smelled the breath of the serpent as it growled in his face.

Although he could not see it, he felt it rear up in preparation to finally strike, and though Harry focused as much as he could in the moment on controlling the cursed flames, they did not obey his dying command.

Instead, he braced himself for the inevitable impact, only to frown as a loud trilling filled the air.

The basilisk screeched once more, and Harry dared to open his eyes the smallest amount, choking as he took in the scene that had unfolded around him.

The fiendfyre was gone, but in its place was Dumbledore’s phoenix, the immortal bird of fire darting in and out of the basilisk’s range as it struck at him, Fawkes’ sharp beak stabbing frantically at the enormous snake.

Harry could not help but think the fight would not end well for the bird, but he was proven wrong as a pained scream sounded from the basilisk.

Blood spurted from one of its deadly eyes as Fawkes punctured it and the basilisk began to thrash as it attempted to fend off the attack.

Another scream followed shortly after as Fawkes landed another deadly blow, and Harry opened his eyes, no longer vulnerable to the deadliest weapon the snake possessed.

“Thank you, Fawkes,” he whispered as the phoenix took to the air once more, trilling encouragingly.

The basilisk was not in a good way.

The screaming faded into something of a whisper, and though it could no longer see, Harry knew that it was still dangerous.

He approached carefully with his wand ready, pondering what spells he had in his arsenal that could dispatch of it.

The skin of the basilisk was highly resistant to magic, and after the debacle of the fiendfyre, Harry would not risk attempting it again.

But what to do?

His footsteps faltered as he pondered drawing the Elder Wand, his hesitation proving to be a detrimental error.

The basilisk, though blind, evidently knew where he was, and before Harry could react it struck.

It happened in the blink of an eye, and clarity only came to him as a burning pain began lancing through his chest, spreading quickly throughout his entire body.

He was on the ground again, this time with a crushing weight pressing into his torso and when Harry opened his eyes, it was undoubtedly to the very last thing he would see.

In a desperate throe, the basilisk had managed to sink one of its enormous fangs through his sternum, and there the creature remained, its empty sockets boring into his eyes.

The beast growled victoriously and Harry chuckled humourlessly, realising how utterly foolish his endeavour had been.

“You got me,” he choked, a spurt of blood fountaining from his mouth. “But I got you too.”

Taking the Elder Wand he had managed to draw, he stabbed it into one of the eviscerated eye sockets, and the basilisk released him as it screeched, the magic Harry had unleashed raw and unguided, but proving to be fatal.

After only a few brief seconds of thrashing around, it collapsed lifelessly to the ground next to him, and Harry felt a consolatory wave of pride.

It may have cost him his life, but he had taken the basilisk with him.

He felt his vision begin to fade as the burning worsened, the potent venom being pumped through his veins.

Even without it, the puncture wound alone would have been enough to kill him. The fang had penetrated his heart, and even if he could somehow make it to the Hospital Wing, it would be of little use.

He would bleed out before any treatment could be administered.

“Thank you, Fawkes,” he whispered as he felt the phoenix nudge his cheek with its head. “Take the wand back to him, will you?”

Fawkes trilled and nudged him once more before climbing onto Harry’s stomach, causing the boy to cry out in agony.

Somehow, the pain continued to worsen, but through it, Harry managed to ponder his own stupidity for a moment.

What would Cassie think?

She would never likely know what had happened to him, but she would never stop trying to find him, and it was an overwhelming sense of guilt that filled Harry before he could no longer focus on anything other than the pain.

He cried out again, but he did not have the energy to offer even a feeble protest against the pain. But as he began to panic, he heard a mournful yet beautiful song fill his ears, and despite what he was enduring, he felt himself at peace.

Death wasn’t so bad, not when you had a phoenix to help you pass.

Looking down at where the bird was still perched on him, he gave Fawkes a weak smile and was surprised to see actual tears falling, dripping into his wound.

“It’s a little late for that,” Harry managed to whisper as the ability to keep his eyes open was taken from him.

Still, the final gesture was something he appreciated, and even as he felt his conscience slip away, he felt the healing magic of the phoenix tears set to work on his body.

Not that it would change anything.

Already, Harry could feel that his heart had stopped beating, and not even phoenix tears would bring him back from that.

(Break)

Fawkes prodded at the unmoving boy with his talons, and when that didn’t work he began flapping his wings frantically, urging him to wake up.

He should wake up. He had been given the gift of life, after all.

Still, he did not move, nor did he breathe.

Despite his best efforts, the boy had died.

Fawkes unleashed a mournful screech, his song one of pleading and sorrow.

It was not the boys’ time, but he was gone, nonetheless.

The phoenix trilled once more, a sad, mournful tune as he jumped off and nudged one of the cold hands with his beak only to screech in alarm as he felt a powerful disturbance fill the room.

At first, he turned towards his dead adversary, believing that it had somehow risen, but the snake remained as dead as the boy.

The phoenix took flight as a loud rumble of thunder reverberated around the walls and it began to rain, soaking the floor in a matter of seconds.

Fawkes did not like the rain.

It went against his very nature, but he did not flee from it as he usually would.

No, he remained, cocking his head curiously as a bolt of lightning announced another much like himself, though very different at the same time.

The other creature was bigger than him, its bright blue eyes and black feathers crackling with lightning and thunder as it looked upon the boy.

It squawked in a mixture of pain and fury before firing a brilliant bolt of lightning.

It struck the boy in the chest, moving his entire body several feet through the still-deepening water.

Fawkes could only look on with the other bird, both of them desperately willing the boy to wake up, both trilling joyfully as he sat.

(Break)

Harry coughed and a lungful of water mixed with blood was dispelled from him.

Oddly, he found himself in the rain, and as he pushed himself onto his knees, his arms trembled.

He was weak, in pain, and it took several moments before he remembered what had happened.

He looked up to see the corpse of the basilisk and ran a hand over his chest.

Taking a moment to prepare himself, he looked down to see that it had indeed been sealed, but he was not unmarked.

In the middle of his sternum was a puckered, purple scar that he would not be able to explain away to any that saw it, but it was what was in the middle that confused him most.

A lightning bolt, not dissimilar to the one on his forehead, but where had it come from?

It was then that he became aware of the sound of birdsong, and he spotted Fawkes flying happily around the chamber almost in celebration.

It was not the phoenix that held Harry’s attention, however.

Perched atop the statue of Salazar Slytherin was another bird, this one glaring at him.

Harry could not tell if it was pleased to see him, but when their eyes met, it was not difficult to discern the irritation the bird felt towards him, but also the relief it felt.

They simply stared at one another for a few moments before the thunderbird screeched and took to the air.

“Wait!” Harry pleaded.

Instead of complying with his wish, it vanished in a crack of lighting, taking the storm within the chamber with it, and leaving behind a thoroughly confused Harry.

What had happened?

As the horror began unfolding in his mind, Harry shook his head of the thoughts.

He would have to confront it one day, but for now, he simply wanted to get out of here.

Retrieving the Elder Wand from the eye socket of the basilisk, Harry gave a final look around the chamber as he made his way towards the exit.

It had been foolish to come here alone.

He had overestimated what he was capable of and it had cost him his life.

Swallowing deeply at the thought, he watched as Fawkes vanished in a burst of flames before he ran his fingers over the scar on his chest once more.

“I died,” he whispered, the reality of what had happened beginning to set in, and yet, here he stood.

How and why, Harry knew not, but he owed his life to Fawkes and the mysterious thunderbird that had come to him in his moment of need.

With a shake of his head and a valuable lesson learned, he took his leave of the chamber, the lightning crackling across the tips of his fingers stronger and brighter than he had ever seen.