The Killing Curse

Chapter Fifteen -- The Dementor's Kiss

Harry knew it was no use to resist the dementor. He saw its black, ugly, faceless, cracked, and tattered form hovering -- floating mere inches in front of him. This dementor seemed particularly hungry, Harry thought, particularly eager to perform the "Dementor's Kiss" on Harry - to suck the very soul right out of his mouth - right out of his body. This was, Harry knew, a fate worse than death.

Harry knew there was only one way to get rid of a dementor - the Patronus charm. Harry learned this bit of magic in his third year at Hogwarts. At that time, the dementors had been released from their duties guarding Azkaban prison to hunt down and kill the fugitive Sirius Black - who, as it turned out, was innocent of the murders he was accused of committing.

The dementors, seeking out Black, searched Hogwarts. For some reason, they paid particular attention to Harry, sensing his abject fear of them, and feeding off of it. Harry's kindly Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Remus Lupin, an old friend of Sirius Black, taught Harry the Patronus charm so that he could ward off the dementors when they attacked.

It was a simple charm, really, Harry thought, trying to bolster his own confidence in the dementor's shadow. You simply need to think of a powerfully happy thought, raise your wand, and shout "Expecto Patronum!" Harry had done it numerous times. He was even able to do it as an underage wizard - something very rare and exceptional. Except now, he feared his abilities and the Patronus charm would fail him.

Simply, Harry did not have his wand, and he knew he could not send up the Patronus charm without it. He did not have the use of his hands, as they remained bound behind him. Harry tried an unlocking spell numerous times in attempts to loosen his binds. Without a wand, this did not work either. Harry grew increasingly fearful and annoyed.

He saw his wand on the ground, almost teasing him, taunting him. He tried anyways. He had to. He made a severe attempt to think - think of something happy - but what? The dementor remained floating before him, waiting for the signal to strike.

Your wedding day, Harry told himself, think of Hermione's shining face, Ron at your side, the smell of the flowers, Mrs. Weasley in tears, Dumbledore . . . "Ex-expecto Pa-patronum!" His voice remained weak. Nothing happened except a small, white 'pouf' which emanated from his wand. He said it again, nothing, and he realized it was useless to keep trying.

Harry could only screw up his eyes and hope, pray for the dementor to lose interest in him, to go away, to leave him alone, to leave him intact, to...

Harry felt a powerful, concentrated pulling sensation. But, it did not come from his mouth as he expected. The sensation centered itself around the scar on his forehead. Trying in vain not to lose himself in the dementor-generated despair, or to faint from the foul, noxious odor of death it emitted, Harry realized what was happening.

The dementor wasn't drawing his soul out, the thing was feeding on Tom Riddle's. If, Harry thought, he could only focus and concentrate on holding onto his own being, on his own personality, his own soul, maybe, just maybe, the dementor will be satisfied with Tom alone. Harry thought again of his wedding day, of running down the aisle arm-in-arm with Hermione, seeing the smiling faces of his friends and family, dancing until the early hours of the morning, reuniting with old school friends, and basking in the glow of Hermione's beauty and happiness.

The pulling sensation stopped. Harry opened his eyes, and he could again see stars twinkling in the sky and could see the moon above. The veil of blackness and despair left in the wake of the dementor had lifted. He looked up and saw the dementor floating in the air, high above Voldemort. Voldemort was in sheer ecstacy - he was laughing, his arms were in the air, and it almost looked to Harry as if he were dancing.

Voldemort bellowed, "Come! Come back to me, Tom Riddle! Come and join with me again! You! Dementor! Let that spirit go - let it out!"

The dementor, Harry saw, did not move. It did not do anything to acknowledge Voldemort's order. It merely floated there, quite uncharacteristically, its arms folded defiantly in front. Harry thought he heard the dementor speak. "Dementors don't talk," Harry said to himself. He listened further. It did! It did speak!

Voldemort spoke again, anger bubbling in his raspy voice. "Let Tom Riddle out of you! Release him to me! I, the Dark Lord, order you!"

The voice coming from the dementor was soothing and familiar, as if Harry had heard it all his life, like that a family member or a close friend. Despite this, the dementor's response to Voldemort's demands sent a wave of shock and, surprisingly, a measure of relief through Harry's battered body.

"I will say it again, Voldemort -- No, I will not go with you."

***********

In Harry's amazement, he did not take the time to do the kind of self-check that one would do when nearly killed twice in the span of a half hour. To Harry's surprise, he did not feel much different than he did before being separated from Tom Riddle. He imagined that any effects would manifest themselves once he was free and once he was away from Voldemort.

All of a sudden, Harry saw the dementor shudder and convulse violently, shrink in size, and lower itself to the ground. He saw human hands where there had once been skeletal, gray talons. He saw feet poke out beneath the tattered robes. Even more miraculous, Harry saw a face hidden beneath the hood where there should not have been one. With still blurry vision from the lack of his glasses, Harry could not discern the identity of the dementor. It reached its hands up to its face, and pulled the hood back, allowing it to fall on its shoulders. Despite the blur, Harry could make out the face easily. It was Tom Marvolo Riddle - and he was holding Voldemort's wand.

Voldemort, for the first time since his rebirth, was at a loss for words. The most powerful wizard in the world was silenced by his own shadow, his own spirit taking corporeal form before his very eyes. "What? How did you?"

"I learned a few things about dementors, possession, and transfiguration from you and from Harry over there, Voldemort." Tom replied. "It's amazing how much knowledge a soul can absorb over two lifetimes. I know this form won't last, so I will make this quick." Tom walked slowly over to Harry, and pointed the wand at him. "This won't hurt a bit, Potter."

Harry flinched, expecting the worst. Was Tom Riddle, the soul who lived in him - lived with him - nearly his entire life, going to snuff him right then and there? Harry braced for another impact from the Killing Curse. Maybe, three times was the charmer, and it will all be over, he thought.

But no such curse came. Instead, Tom Riddle had removed the bindings from Harry's hands and torso, and did the same for Draco Malfoy. "Stay there, Harry, please." Asked Tom. "I'd like you to stay for a while. Take care of Malfoy. He needs you now." Tom returned to Voldemort, who was growing angrier by the minute. Tom raised the wand and aimed it directly at Voldemort's head.

"Do you really believe, Voldemort," Tom continued, "that after 24 years of living in Harry Potter, that I'd go with you just on your order?" Harry was astonished by this. "I would rather be vapor, Voldemort, I would rather be a ghost haunting the halls of Hogwarts than go back with you."

Harry could see a sneer forming on Voldemort's face. "You were nothing without me, Tom. I made you. I was you. If it wasn't for me, you would never have been the wizard you were - you would have just been a mudblood, muggle born bit of scum!" By the end, Voldemort's voice was pitched in a song of outrage.

Tom sighed. "Possible. But if it wasn't for Harry, I would not be the wizard I am today. Yes, I still have a bad temper, that's not going anywhere, and Harry has felt that bubble up numerous times, especially when he was younger. Yes, I still have tendencies toward the dark arts - I am a parselmouth, I am the Heir of Slytherin, and I do not have a problem with using the Unforgiveable Curses."

Tom shot a glance toward Harry. "Sorry about that one, Harry." Harry smiled weakly, mainly with relief that he was not the impetus behind that curse. Tom continued. "I had to make you stop that boy, Harry. I knew what was happening. As soon as you questioned to yourself the presence of the weapons on the plane, I knew." Harry looked confused. "Harry, I know you don't remember anything, and that's because of me. I did not want to give Voldemort the pleasure of leaving you with nightmares, horrible memories, or guilt again." Understanding and comprehension began to dawn on Harry's face.

Tom continued. "Voldemort was behind the whole thing. I could feel it - I understand Voldemort, and there were too many things about the hijacking that made no sense to me, starting with the guns. When I -- when we -- saw the co-pilot dead, and saw Hermione laying there on the floor - I love her too, you know, Harry - I had to do something, I had to take over. So I did, and I did the only thing that came to my anger-addled mind -- to kill the boy." Tom's voice lowered. Harry could have sworn he heard a tinge of sorrow. "I regret that now. I regret putting you through all of this. I regret what may happen if the Ministry ever learns about the Killing Curse. Most of all, I regret Hermione seeing me - you - do that."

Tom turned his attention back to Voldemort. "But, I have learned, through Harry, how to control my anger, to, most of the time, control my temper, and to forget the horrors from my childhood which made me so bitter before. Harry and I, unbeknownst to Harry, of course, have fed each other all these years," Tom explained. "I gave Harry uncanny abilities to fly a broomstick, to play Quidditch, to perform difficult spells, to speak to serpents. I'm the reason he almost got sorted into Slytherin. Oh, how I wanted to be in Slytherin again - but Harry was too stubborn." He winked at Harry. "As for me, Harry gave me feelings I never had - warmth, real friendship, true fidelity, loyalty, bravery, adventure, pride, love, and a life free from hatred."

Voldemort remained uncharacteristically glued to the spot. His face began to twist in a scowl of hate and rage the likes of which Harry had never seen. "You do not belong with Potter! What about the pains in that scar? I felt you, felt you drawing to me. You, Riddle, belong to me and I will have you back! I will be whole! I will be immortal!"

Tom sighed as if he were speaking to a silly child. "The pain was not from me wanting to get out, Voldemort. On the contrary, it was me struggling to stay in! Yes, everytime you were near to Harry, there was a natural attraction between yourself and me. That's nature, that's the way God made us, soul and body to be together. But, I did not want it that way. I was sorry to have caused Harry so much pain, but I had to fight, I had to struggle to stay with Harry."

Tom, wand still pointed at Voldemort, crossed the knoll toward Harry. Harry was sitting on the grass, cradling the still unconscious Draco. He held his hand over Harry's forehead. "May I?" Tom asked.

Harry was dumbfounded. "Uh, yes."

Tom reached down and touched Harry's forehead. At Tom's touch, Harry felt a shiver, as if he were touched by a dementor, or, by a dead body. Tom gently moved Harry's hair aside, exposing the skin above his eyebrows. Voldemort reeled in surprise and panic.

"What?" asked Harry.

"S - s - scar!" Voldemort hissed, his eyes transfixed on Harry's forehead.

Almost involuntarily, Harry raised his hand to his brow and felt for the scar. It was gone! Harry scrubbed harder at the spot, pulled his hand away to look at it as if maybe it had rubbed off, and then put his hand to the spot again. The scar really was gone! Harry looked up at Tom in amazement.

"Yes," Tom said, the scar is gone. "So, then Voldemort, Tom continued, "the answer is no. I will not rejoin you. I will not go with you. You will not have the thing you crave. It's up to Harry now, then, if he'll have me back - and this time, without that scar, I will stay forever." Tom looked back to Harry, who was oblivious to Voldemort's wails of protest. "Will you, Harry?"