The Hardest Choice?

Harry and Ron waited until they were sure everyone in their dormitory was asleep before creeping from their beds that night, still fully dressed.

For once, the Fat Lady in her portrait didn't grumble at being disturbed.

Harry suspected it had a lot to do with Nearly Headless Nick wandering through the wall opposite the portrait.

Nick raised a ghostly eyebrow at the two boys but didn't speak as they threw the invisibility cloak over themselves and stole away in the direction of the library.

Behind them they heard the Fat Lady giggling like a little schoolgirl as Nick swept his hat (and by accident, his head) off to her.

The corridors were eerily silent, and Harry wished he had brought the Marauder's map with him. In his haste to get going he had completely let it slip his mind.

Now he and Ron kept peering behind themselves, convinced that they were being stalked by Filch's cat, Mrs Norris.

It was a relief when they slipped into the dark shadowy library.

Clutching tightly at the cloak while Ron held his glowing wand out for light, Harry steered them in the direction of the restricted section.

To both boys' surprise Madam Pince was nowhere in sight.

They stumbled a little awkwardly over the ropes that sectioned the area off and promptly ducked down the first aisle.

Harry threw the cloak off.

"Let's start here and work our way down," he suggested. "We need to be quick. I want to get through as much as we can. If we have to come back every night until we find something, we will."

Ron tucked the cloak under his arm and started on one side, while Harry took the other.

The vast array of books that faced him was quite daunting. And this was only one row.

Harry took a deep breath and reached for the first of many volumes.

He'd barely turned to the second page, however, when Ron clutched his robes and shoved him against the end wall, where they cowered behind the invisibility cloak.

Approaching their aisle was the unmistakeable sound of footsteps.

They seemed to pause at the end of each row, as if someone was looking for something.

Harry held his breath, adjusting the cloak here and there until Ron hissed at him to stay still.

A small pool of light had bobbed into view ahead of them. It stopped. So did the footsteps.

A stray thread on the cloak tickled Harry's nose. He had to fight the urge to sneeze.

The light began to grow, and the footsteps grew louder and nearer. A shadowed figure was approaching.

The figure stopped beside a little table, handily situated halfway down the aisle, and turned to place an object on it.

Harry caught a glimpse of her face in the light of her lantern.

It was Professor McGonagall.

He drew a sharp breath as she looked straight at him, her eyes not quite focusing on him.

She placed her hand on the object and whispered in a low voice:

"Something you may find useful, Mr Potter." Her face wrinkled slightly in a half smile. "I expect to find it on my desk by the end of tomorrow."

Without another word she whipped around. Her footsteps echoed after her again as she left.

Harry and Ron didn't move for a while. They just stared at each other hesitantly.

Eventually Harry slipped out from under the cloak. He looked around cautiously as he approached the table.

When he was satisfied he was alone, he gazed down at the thick leather bound book with its gold clasp that McGonagall had left behind.

Its title read:

'Black Magick Forbidden in the Dark Wizarding World'

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Harry and Ron sat on the edge of Harry's bed, the big brown book between them.

They surveyed it at length, both of them reluctant to open it.

Today was Saturday, and the majority of the older pupils were spending the day in Hogsmeade. This suited Harry and Ron, who had retreated to their empty dormitory to make a start on the book.

After several more minutes, Harry reached for it.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered. "Sitting here, staring at it, won't help Hermione."

He hoisted it onto his lap, the gold leaf lettering on the cover glinting in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

"Since when did dark magic have its own code of practise?" Harry pondered aloud.

Ron's voice was almost a whisper. "Harry, do you think we should be doing this? It's a book of black magic that's forbidden even amongst dark wizards..."

"That's what the cover says," Harry agreed, dryly.

"But imagine what must be inside," Ron continued, ignoring Harry's sarcasm. "This is the worst of the very worst!"

Harry glowered at him. "All the more reason then, if Hermione is being subjected to anything that's in here."

He looked down at the book. "Anyway, I'm sure McGonagall wouldn't have given it to us if it is as bad as what you think."

They were Harry's words but he didn't believe them any more than Ron.

He released the clasp with a twist and slowly opened the hard protective cover.

The book was obviously old, yet the pages had retained their crisp ivory appearance and the neat italicised handwriting inside was as black as the day it was scratched into the paper.

Harry noted how even the authors had been reluctant to use their real names, the book being credited to the 'Apostate Magi'.

He turned the title page over and commenced reading.

************************************************************************************************************

Several hours later, Harry took over from Ron again.

Ron had been right. The spells detailed in the book were all shocking to read.

They'd already learned how some dark wizards forcefully used white wizards to complete a magic circle, murdering them afterwards in the most horrific ways so they wouldn't betray them.

And how Muggles had been kidnapped by dark wizards and held solely for the purpose of having untried spells cast upon them, the results being either lingering, tortuous deaths, or sudden demisements of mind blowing proportions.

Quite literally in one incident, where a young doctor from Reading had had his mind probed with a new spell intended for mind control.

His head had imploded on itself from the force exerted.

Harry was about a third of the way through the book and becoming quite bleary eyed, when the words 'The Breaking' leapt off the page at him.

His eyes skipped back a few lines to make sure he hadn't missed anything before he started reading more carefully.

Shortly after, Ron returned from a trip to the toilet.

"Want to swap again?" he asked, although he wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea of delving back into that monstrosity.

Harry didn't answer.

Ron noted how his friend was poring over the book intently. "Found something mate?"

Harry waved for his friend to be quiet.

Ron perched next to him and began reading over his shoulder. It took him a while to reach the relevant part.

Beings of all forms have quested for the secrets of immortality for as long as history remembers.

Whilst many have tried and failed to discover a way of attaining the ultimate goal, in the mid-16th century one young woman did just that.

Morvenna Fairfax, born into a family with a long history of black magic use, and considered to be one of the most feared witches of her generation, dedicated most of her brief adult life to achieving her dream.

Shortly before her 27th year, she performed 'The Breaking'. Her subjects were a young Muggle couple and their unborn child.

The Breaking, as implemented by Fairfax, involves the merging of a spirit from the underworld with the physical form of a foetus.

The spirit will, in effect, smother the soul of the baby, leaving behind the shell of the body, which becomes its host.

In the Fairfax case, had Muggle soldiers of King Edward VI not received a tip-off and intervened, it is without doubt that immediately following its birth the child would have killed its mother, living off her until such a time as it could fend for itself.

However, as it was deprived of such apparently essential nourishment, it died just days later.

It remains to be proven if the child would have survived to attain a state of immortality, and many more questions also remain unanswered.

Fairfax was immediately arrested and burned at the steak for crimes of witchcraft.

Her actions caused such an uprising in the Muggle community against magic users that anyone even suspected of partaking in such an activity was burned, often without any recognisable trial.

Among the magic world she was reviled, and even dark wizards of the time chose to ban any re-working of her immortality spell, and to sentence to immediate death any witch or wizard that tried to do so.

It is with extreme risk to ourselves that we include it in this tome.

Harry slammed the book shut. He'd read enough.

Ron was lost for words. He stared at an invisible speck on the floor.

Harry's hands were shaking. His skin was cold and clammy and a pain tugged at his heart with every thudding beat.

Then without a word he flew from the bed to the door.

"Harry!"

Ron's voice sounded distant in his head. He didn't stop, or even look back.

The Fat Lady swung open faster than she ever had before, as if afraid he would plough straight through her if she didn't.

Students in the corridors and on the stairs jumped out of his way as he stormed past.

He didn't see the shocked looks they exchanged at the murderous expression on his face,

or the way they shrank back as his flashing green eyes bore right through them.

The only thought in his head was that he wanted answers.

And he was going to get them.

Professor McGonagall was seated at her desk in her neat tidy office, hands clasped in front of her.

It was almost as if she was expecting him.

Her eyes were full of emotion as she lifted her head to look at him. She nodded and said:

"Follow me, Potter."

Within minutes he was stood in Dumbledore's office. Fawkes flew over and landed on his shoulder, rubbing his feathered head against his cheek.

Harry turned his face to him. He didn't know how, but Fawkes always managed to make him feel calmer, peaceful.

Dumbledore appeared to be waiting for Harry to speak first.

He took a deep breath in an effort to remain calm. "What's going on Professor?"

Dumbledore beckoned for the book. Ron stepped forward and handed it to him.

Harry hadn't even been aware of Ron's presence.

"This book is over 200 years old. It is the only one in existence, and the only one to mention in any detail The Breaking."

"You told me yesterday that you hadn't heard of The Breaking," Harry shot accusingly.

"I said it wasn't a term I was familiar with. Which was the truth."

"You should read your own books, Professor," Harry spat at him.

Dumbledore patted the book to his chest. "This, my child, is not mine."

He surveyed them, his wrinkled, bearded face serious. "You have read the entry on Morvenna Fairfax?"

Both boys nodded.

Dumbledore's face suddenly looked every bit as old as he probably was. He raised his half-moon spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"We," he glanced to Professor McGonagall by the door, "believe that Voldemort is attempting something similar."

When neither boy spoke, he continued.

"Tom Riddle's maternal ancestors can be traced back to an Archibald Fairfax, a close cousin of Morvenna Fairfax. It is more than possible that a record of the techniques she employed that fateful night have remained hidden in the family annals...and that Voldemort has uncovered them."

Harry leaned forward and grabbed the back of a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk. He leaned on it heavily and looked up at the Hogwarts headmaster.

"Hermione?" he whispered.

McGonagall moved forward and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Nobody needed to say anything. He already knew what they were reluctant to voice.

He gripped the chair hard, his knuckles turning white.

His head was full of her.

Hermione cheering him on at Quidditch.

Hermione lecturing him on the extensive uses of snortweed.

Hermione thumping Draco Malfoy.

Hermione scolding him for not starting a Potion's essay until the night before it was due.

But most of all, Hermione just smiling at him.

That final image burned in his mind as though seared there with a brand.

"How...?" His voice was a hoarse croak.

"By infiltrating her dreams. I'm afraid that we know no more beyond that." Dumbledore's tone was regretful.

"Why did I see it in my dream?"

"Because Voldemort wanted you to."

"Why?"

Dumbledore turned away at this question. McGonagall answered for him.

"Because he knows it will weaken you."

Harry frowned at her.

"Voldemort cannot achieve the immortality he desires," she explained, "while you, the only wizard more powerful than he is, lives."

Harry's numb stupor was beginning to subside, to be replaced with a furious anger.

"So he wants to be rid of me?" he raged. "Why doesn't he just come for me? Why use Hermione like this?" He glared at McGonagall and Dumbledore.

"Hermione is...necessary...for his plans." McGonagall couldn't meet his eyes.

"Why her?" Harry yelled.

"Because," Dumbledore answered softly, "There's no better way to destroy someone than from within." His blue eyes met Harry's green ones.

"By hurting the person they care for most..."

Harry looked from Dumbledore to McGonagall.

Beside him, Ron shuffled his feet and pretended to examine the sleeve of his jumper with great interest.

The person he cared for most? Hermione?

Before Harry could explore that thought any further, Dumbledore spoke again.

"As we have said, beyond what we have told you we cannot help."

Harry's attention snapped back. "How am I supposed to help her? How am I supposed to stop Voldemort? Tell me that!"

"We do not know," Dumbledore reiterated. "However, there is someone who can help you. Someone who, perhaps, can tell you what you need to know."

He pressed the book into Harry's hands. "I think you may want to return that to its rightful owner." He lowered his voice to a whisper that only Harry could hear.

"And may you have more luck with him than we did..."