Harry Potter and the Secret of Gairech

22. The Place of Screams

February arrived, and soon it was Valentine's day. When Harry sat down to breakfast in the Great Hall, a group of second years were busy throwing confetti around and giggling. Irritated, Harry flicked it off his bread. Hermione and Ginny came up to the table and sat down, grinning. "What's wrong with confetti?" Hermione asked.

"It's pink," he grumbled, but he soon forgot his bad mood when Hermione bent over and gave him a conciliatory kiss. "Happy Valentine's Day" she smiled, and Harry smiled back.

"I hope you're not going to send some singing dwarf after me?"

She laughed. "Not likely. But I did see one when I came in. It was hanging around in the Entrance Hall."

"I wonder who it's waiting for," Neville mused, fishing a card out of his muesli bowl. The owls had brought in the students' post, and obviously there were a large number of Valentine's cards among them. Neville blushed as he opened and read his card.

"Eliane again?" Ginny asked.

Neville nodded. "Yes... she hasn't given up on me. Even though I accidentally spilt cocoa down her trousers in the coffee bar last Hogsmeade weekend." He made a face. "That was so embarrassing."

His friends burst out laughing. Harry gave him a dig in the ribs. "Hey, she still likes you. So what are you waiting for, you idiot?"

Neville blushed even redder as he picked up his quill to write Eliane an answer.

They all looked up as a ferocious-looking Snape burst into the hall, followed by an equally sullen dwarf that was following at his heels and plucking its harp with fierce determination.

"I have a musical message for Professor Snape," it chattered insistently, remaining undeterred as the Head of Slytherin bared his teeth in anger. "Stay still!" it commanded, caught hold of Snape's dark cloak and held it in an iron grip between its grey fingers.

The students burst out laughing. The scene before them was just too strange, even surreal. The dreaded Snape, unfair and unapproachable, was now standing in the doorway trying almost desperately to shake an obstinate dwarf off his leg.

"Which one of you is responsible for this ridiculous joke?" Snape yelled angrily at the students, who were bent double over their tables. The dwarf, which had now wrapped its legs around Snape in order to free its hands, began to pluck ominously at its harp.

"Oh, your wonderful black hair,

your sense of humour that..."

The situation escalated as Zacharias fell backwards off the bench with laughing and had to be helped up by Ernie and Hannah. Ron was choking on a spoonful of porridge which he couldn't manage to swallow. Dean had collapsed across the table and was gasping for air. Snape reached angrily for his wand, almost falling over in the process. But before he could shoot a curse at the croaking dwarf, it finally let go of his leg and gambolled out of the hall. Snape's stupefaction curse hit the big doors, instantly turning them to stone. The laughter - if this were possible - became louder still.

"When I catch the person responsible for this he or she will be my next test subject for Flying Death!" Snape hissed, but today, for once, his threats were ineffectual. The laughter continued and, seething with rage, Snape swept past them to the teachers' table, where Flitwick had ducked behind a big jug of pumpkin juice so that Snape wouldn't see his grin. Pithormin Sesachar had his hand in front of his mouth and was pretending to yawn. Professor McGonagall, equally amused, stood up to turn the doors back to wood - in his fury Snape had forgotten.

When Professor Leroux entered the hall a few moments later, with a blissful smile on her face, every student knew for certain who had sent the dwarf. Breakfast ended amid laughter and jokes, while everyone tried not to look at Snape - not because they were afraid of being poisoned at the next opportunity but rather because they needed to rest their aching sides.

Later, sitting in Snape's Potions classroom, they had to concentrate hard to prevent themselves from bursting out laughing again. Snape stared grimly back at them and seemed to be waiting for the slightest opportunity to give one of them hell. As a result they all focussed their attention on carefully weighing and mixing their ingredients.

At the end of the lesson, Snape looked as if he wanted to punish them all for having followed his instructions so carefully. Furiously he threw them out of the classroom after setting them three rolls of complicated exercises.

"But really..." Ron chuckled as they made their way up to the Charms classroom on the third floor, "a side-splitter like that was well worth three rolls."

***

The incident with the singing dwarf kept the school laughing for days. February was coming to an end and the last snow melted away. Winter was almost over and there had still been no new and unwelcome developments.

In the first week of March, McKenzie's men finished their work and left the castle. They assured the staff that they could find no more harpies in the surrounding area, and that if there were any, there were too few of them to pose a threat.

The Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures classes now took place outside again, and in the mornings students were allowed out into the grounds, provided that they stayed in groups. Spring was fighting bravely against the last long nights that the winter had left behind, however Professor McGonagall was unwilling to allow further Quidditch training. She argued that there was no hurry, as there were only three teams left in the competition, but Harry knew that she didn't trust the apparent calm, and secretly he couldn't blame her. No matter how brightly and warmly the sun shone down from the cloudless sky, it never quite managed to drive away the shadows left in their memories...

***

A shimmer of pale green light lit the hall, with its cold, dark stone floor and a ceiling that seemed to reach up so high that it disappeared into the darkness. Only Voldemort's red eyes shone brightly. Then a long blade flashed down towards a figure lying motionless on the floor and buried itself in his back.

Blood, there was blood everywhere - so much that it seemed to form a mist, surrounding the murdered figure on the floor like a gruesome aura. Slowly, very slowly, the mist rose towards the invisible ceiling, disappearing into the blackness.

Voldemort's victory cry filled the room and bounced from the walls in a distorted echo, rising to a spine-chilling shriek of evil triumph.

And Voldemort stared down contemptuously at the figure on the floor. Its red cloak was torn and soaked with blood; its head sunk down on its twisted left arm, its right hand limp against the cold tiles. The pale face of the corpse was covered in cuts and weals. Blood gushed from its half-open mouth, ran over its cheeks and chin onto its arm and hand, forming a lake filled with shards of glass from a smashed pair of glasses.

Its eyes were closed, forever. Untidy, sweat-drenched hair - black as the dreadful place in which the corpse lay - fell across its forehead . A forehead on which there was a scar with a curious shape, like a bolt of lightning...

***

Pain shot through him as he gasped for breath and then in his desperation almost choked on the air he had drawn in. Coughing, he turned onto his side, his face pressed into the pillow to stifle the sound and avoid waking everyone else in the dormitory. He stayed completely still for a moment, listening in the darkness, but no one seemed to have woken up.

With a heavy sigh, Harry rolled onto his back, trying hard to stop shaking.

He had seen himself die.

Had it been a nightmare, or was it his connection with Voldemort that had again made him witness to his actions and vivid thoughts and desires? It was months since he had seen any unwanted images, months since he'd seen through Voldemort's eyes. He'd managed to close off his mind.

He gripped the blanket tightly in his hands. He hadn't seen through Voldemort's eyes. He had been a bystander. This dream couldn't possibly have been a fantasy of the Dark Lord's.

Harry turned onto his side, trying to calm down and get back to sleep. But as soon as he closed his eyes and relaxed, he was once more surrounded by dark walls, climbing up a gigantic staircase and walking through a rounded archway - carved like a snake -into a hall with a floor as black and impenetrable as its ceiling...

Once again he sat up in bed, his hand pressed to his forehead. He could feel the scar burning beneath his fingers, throbbing as if his head was about to explode.

Coming to a sudden decision, he threw back the blanket, quietly pulled his father's Invisibility Cloak from his suitcase and slipped out of the boys' dormitory. Without knowing where he was going, he hurried through the corridors, down one flight of steps and up another, through more passages and up more stairs until, to his surprise, he found himself in front of a door he'd never seen before. He looked around in confusion, not even knowing what floor he had reached, when he heard a soft sound within the room. Before he could step back, the handle turned and the door opened. Harry stared at the brown-haired man with sleepy eyes who held out a candle into the passageway and looked around him.

It was Pithormin Sesachar.

The teacher muttered something unintelligible and was just about to return to his bedroom, when Harry pulled off the hood of the Invisibility Cloak.

"Good heavens!" Sesachar jumped back in surprise and almost dropped his candle.

"Sorry, Professor." Harry's head bobbed closer. "I... can I speak to you for a moment?" He pulled off the cloak and Sesachar gave a sigh of relief. "For a moment I thought you were that annoying ghost that's always crashing around on this floor and playing bowls with its skull. Of course, come in, Harry. I knew I'd heard something... You have an Invisibility Cloak?"

With this rather confused stream of words he opened the door wider to let Harry in. This was the first time Harry had been in the private quarters of a teacher. Sesachar put back the candle in candelabrum and lit the other four. A dim but warm light filled the room.

In front of him, Harry saw a desk with a leather surface, a very comfortable-looking stool, and behind a bookshelf which took up half the wall. On the right was a large chest, as wide as a wardrobe, on which Sesachar placed the candelabrum. On the left was another, smaller table and a four-poster bed, similar to the students' beds, only larger. In the far corner Harry could see another chest on which there was a big glass tank. Behind the glass, an unidentifiable something was scurrying about between exotic-looking plants and giving out a shrill whistle, followed by a low chattering sound.

"It's all right, Wod," Sesachar said, turning to the tank. "Go back to sleep."

But the creature didn't stop rustling through the thick foliage, squeaking and chattering. The professor sighed resignedly, walked over to the tank and fished out a furry, wriggling, moss-green creature from the ferns. It looked rather like a guinea-pig. "Okay, I get the message. You're awake, you little devil. Sit down, Harry."

Harry looked around him, but the only chair in the room was the one behind Sesachar's desk. He sat down on it hesitantly. "I'm sorry to have woken you up, Professor..." he began, but Sesachar waved this aside.

"You must have your reasons... Um, you don't happen to have a few of Bertie Bott's Beans on you, do you?"

Harry looked at him in astonishment and Pithormin pointed to the creature in his hand. This was a mistake. As soon as he loosened his grip the animal scurried away, jumped down onto the floor, dodged Sesachar's outstretched hands and hopped onto Harry's lap, chattering its teeth. Harry hastily drew his fingers out of reach.

"She won't bite you," Sesachar sighed. "She's complaining to me, not you. I don't have any beans for her."

In the meantime, Wod was giving Harry a thorough sniff. She scuttled across his lap, stuck her head in his pocket and started scrabbling wildly around and tugging at the fabric with her forepaws.

"Looks like you do have some," Sesachar grinned. "You'd better give them to her, before she starts on you."

Harry pulled the beans from his pocket and thought he saw a happy, greedy gleam in the animal's eyes, as she stretched out her forepaws and snatched a red bean. She began to nibble it busily.

"Er... what exactly is this?" Harry asked, looking closely at Wod. She really looked like a guinea-pig, but she was bigger, and her legs were longer and more powerful. Besides, her ears were pointed and tufted at the top like a squirrel's. Her slightly curved, bushy tail, which was twitching up and down with excitement, also reminded him of a squirrel.

"She's an Ekus," Sesachar answered. "Ghastly little animals. They sleep for most of their lives and spend the rest of the time plaguing the life out of you."

Wod gnawed contentedly at the second bean, making a sound like a purring cat. Harry stroked her smooth fur and Wod stayed where she was. Apparently Harry's supply of beans was worth letting him pet her a bit in return without digging her teeth into his fingers.

Sesachar sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at Harry questioningly. "So, what brings you to me in the middle of the night?"

Chattering to herself, Wod grabbed two beans and fled with her booty to the desktop.

Harry was now feeling rather stupid for having dragged the professor from his bed just because of his burning need to talk to someone. "I..." he stammered. "I had..."

"A nightmare?" The teacher didn't sound mocking. He spoke very calmly. Slowly, Harry nodded.

"About Voldemort?" Sesachar asked.

Harry sighed. "Yes, sir..."

"Firstly," said the professor slowly, "you can drop the 'sir'. Right now I'm not here as your teacher, but rather as your friend. Call me Pit, or Pithormin, if you want. And tell me about this dream. Tell me every detail."

Harry nodded, stroking Wod, who had returned to his lap to forage for more beans. He described, in as much detail as he could, the dark hall he'd seen in his dream. And the way Voldemort had appeared in the darkness with a gigantic sword in his long, thin hands.

"And what did he do?" Pithormin asked.

Harry found it rather difficult to answer this question. "He...he killed me," he said softly.

The professor was silent for a moment. He looked thoughtfully at Harry. "This is the first time you've dreamt this?" he sighed.

Harry nodded. "Yes... and... my scar hurts."

"I know..." Pithormin rolled up the sleeve of his pyjamas, revealing the Dark Mark on his arm. It seemed to be almost glowing in the darkness. "Tonight it's clearer than it's been for years," he murmured. "The Dark Lord is here, very close to us. And you can feel it just as I can." He looked contemptuously at his arm and pulled his shirt back over it. "It's not a coincidence that you've had this dream. He's waiting for you. The black room... I was there once, sixteen years ago. It was a secret place - an old fortress in south west England. It was the execution hall - that's what we called it. Huge, empty, always in darkness. No one taken there came out alive. Voldemort had his own name for it: Gairech, the place of screams."

In his alarm, Harry almost catapulted Wod from his lap. His face was pale. "There's a hill called Gairech near Hogsmeade." He remembered the map he had of the village. "And there was a building there. Maybe there still is."

Pithormin frowned. "That can't be a coincidence. Where is this hill?"

"South of the village," Harry answered. "But the map didn't show any path. I don't know how to get there... Maybe you have to follow that track just outside Hogsmeade."

"You mean the path the silverfurs came along?" Sesachar rubbed his chin. "Severus mentioned that it leads to an old farm. It might be worth a try."

"Worth trying what?" Harry asked nervously.

The professor stood up. "We need to try to find this Gairech. To find him... He's here, Harry, very close. The time has come."

Harry felt his fingers turn cold and damp. "The time for what...?"

"The time for the final confrontation." Pithormin paced around the room. "He's waited so long. And ever since you came to Hogwarts he's taken every chance he had to force you to confront him. He didn't want to wait, Harry. He didn't want you to have the chance to develop your powers. Don't you see? The longer he had to wait, the older you became... and the more desperate he was. How angry he must be not to have killed you in your first year, when you still didn't know what was happening. When you were a young, defenceless, innocent boy. But he missed his chance. And then every year it was harder for him even to come near you. Every time you faced the Dark Lord and he was unable to kill you, you grew in strength. With every opportunity he wasted, he helped his enemy to grow..." He turned to Harry and looked at him intently. "You killed the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, when you were just twelve years old. One year later, you were one of the youngest wizards ever to summon a Patronus. The year after that you escaped him despite all his carefully laid plans... He wanted to see you defeated, but in the end he always came off worst." He smiled and laid his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Although you're still young, he'll never triumph over you as long as you remember who you are, and what's important to you. His hatred is overwhelming, but sometimes the power of hatred isn't a strong as that of belief."

Harry blinked. "What am I supposed to believe in?"

"Good and evil. Guilt and innocence. Hatred and love. Contrasts, Harry. Voldemort doesn't know any. He only knows himself and power. He doesn't know the meaning of suffering or joy..."

Harry tickled Wod behind her soft ears. "This is the moment... isn't it?"

"If you want it to be," Pithormin answered. "If you're ready."

Harry gave a bitter laugh. "If I'm ready? Left to myself, I'd never be. Never." He sighed. "I don't want to become a murderer..."

Sesachar shook his head grimly. "You won't be. A murderer is a man who kills without a conscience. For fun. Without reason. You have enough reasons for killing Voldemort. He killed your parents. His Deatheaters killed your godfather... and Albus. He's made your life hell and he'll kill you if you don't defend yourself. And I know you'll defend yourself. Even though you've seemed resigned in the last few weeks, and you turned in on yourself... I was rather afraid you'd lost your fighting spirit. But I'm sure that I was wrong. You haven't lost your spirit. You want to stay alive."

Harry nodded. "Yes... of course I do. And what's more, I don't want more people to die for me. There's nothing worse than that..."

Pithormin looked at him, and in his eyes Harry saw the same fatherly warmth that he had seen in Dumbledore's. "And that's why you could never be a murderer, Harry." He said softly. "Is that the only thing that's holding you back? That one horrible thought?"

Harry nodded. "Yes... that's all."

"And?"

Harry picked up Wod and set her down on the desktop with the last few beans. He stood up straight. "All right," he said, and his voice was surprisingly firm and clear. "I'm ready."

23. Through the Door of the Ourobórus

Professor Sesachar wrapped himself in his cloak. He threw a second cloak to Harry. "Put this on - it's freezing outside. Wod, come here." He caught the reluctant Ekus and put it back in its tank.

Harry was staring at the cloak Sesachar had given him. It was red. Just like in his dream. He gulped, but didn't dare ask for another. Resignedly he shrugged the warm material around his shoulders. But when he reached for his Invisibility Cloak, Sesachar shook his head. "Leave it here - it won't be much use to you." He blew out the candles, opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. Together they walked towards the staircase. Harry recognised the Twin Rooms from the Marauders' Map and now knew which floor he was on.

As they hurried down the stairs towards the ground floor, a light appeared in the Entrance Hall. "Aha!" They heard a cry of triumph followed by shuffling footsteps. "Just wait till I catch you, you rotten little..." the greedy zeal disappeared from Filch's face when the light of his lantern fell on Sesachar and Harry.

"What?" the caretaker shouted. "Professor! Who have we got here?... young Potter. Did you catch him? Leave him to me. I'll find the best way to punish him for wandering around the castle after the curfew!"

"No need, Argus," Pithormin answered coolly, guiding Harry past Filch. Filch stared at him in horror.

"What? No need? But Professor, any student breaking the rules of this school has to be punished!" The caretaker certainly looked more than keen to punish Harry.

"Harry hasn't broken any rules," Pithormin answered calmly. "Now if you don't mind..."

"What's going on here?" said a silky voice and they looked down the stairs to see Professor Snape emerging from the corridor that led to the dungeons.

"A student!" Filch rasped eagerly. "A student creeping around the castle..."

"Under my supervision," Sesachar interrupted.

The Potions master looked at Harry. "Potter? Well, it wouldn't surprise me if he were creeping around the castle, Mr. Filch. But it seems that you'll have to go without punishing him, at least for now. Leave us."

"But..." Filch looked uncomprehendingly from one to the other. "But he has to..."

"It would be a pity," Snape continued impassively, "if you wasted your time on a student accompanied by two teachers while another half dozen could be creeping around on the top floor as we speak..."

"Never!" Filch screeched, raising the lantern so it lit the whole staircase. "No student gets past Argus Filch!" With evident annoyance the caretaker marched up to the first floor and called to his skinny cat Mrs. Norris, who spent her time hanging around the castle spying.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Snape turned to Harry and looked at him intently. "You're going?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, Professor."

Snape's dark eyes burned like glowing coals. "But I'm afraid I can't let you go..."

Harry and Pithormin frowned.

"...unless I accompany you," Snape continued, heading for the castle doors.

Sesachar shrugged his shoulders and grinned as Harry looked at him in astonishment. "Well, one more won't make any difference."

***

They walked side by side along the gravel pathway, in complete silence. Everything around him had taken on an air of unreality for Harry. On his right was Pithormin, whose green cloak was rustling slightly in the soft breeze; Snape was sweeping along on his left like a black crow. The countryside around Hogwarts was completely still - nothing was stirring, as if every living thing were anxiously awaiting the events that were about to unfold. It was as if none of this was happening. The gate they passed through to reach the street. The calm waters of the lake lying before them in the soft moonlight. The forest, dark and silent. The distant lights of Hogsmeade...

They didn't speak a word until they reached the forest pathway leading away from the street. Snape drew his wand. "Lumos," he said, and, followed by Harry and Pithormin, he stepped into the darkness of the forest, following the path they hoped would lead them to their destination.

The silence remained unbroken. There was not a silverfur in sight, nor did they hear the sound of growling in the surrounding undergrowth. Nothing and no one came to stop them.

The path was narrow and winding. They dodged overhanging branches and made their way around piles of stones that appeared defiantly in front of them like barriers. The path sloped gently upwards. The branches above them had long-since intertwined to form a roof so thick that no light could penetrate it. And it seemed to Harry as if they had been walking forever when suddenly the trees began to clear and they saw a farm half buried under wild grass and thorn bushes.

The farm at Gairech was nothing more than a group of shabby huts. It was half in ruins and had clearly not been inhabited for centuries. The roof of the stables had fallen in and one of the walls had crumbled away. An old barn, covered in moss, stood firm against the rising wind. Its windows were nothing more than dark holes in the stone. Many tiles had blown from the roof and were scattered on the ground in front of them. The old wooden door hung crookedly from its hinges.

At first sight this farm seemed abandoned. But looking more closely they saw fresh footprints and pawprints in the soft earth. Many were leading directly to a weathered stone house.

"You can still turn back," Sesachar whispered.

Harry just looked at him grimly, without saying a word. He walked slowly towards the door, and as he drew closer the scar on his forhead became more and more painful. So it was true. Voldemort was here, somewhere among these derelict buildings that looked as if they should have fallen down years ago. But when he pushed the door, which opened with an agonising screech on its rusty hinges, instead of a tumbledown, dusty room he saw a wide, high hall that looked anything but run-down.

Sesachar peered inside. "Just like the old Gairech," he murmured, surprised. Beside him, Snape only muttered something.

Harry took a step forward - now he had one foot inside the hall. He turned to look at Sesachar.

"Professor..." he hesitated and corrected himself as Sesachar muttered his disapproval. "Pithormin... if I don't come back, can you..."

"You'll come back," said Sesachar. "But don't you want us to go in with you?"

Harry looked into the hall and after a moment's hesitation he shook his head. "No...I...I think I should go in by myself."

"Having second thoughts?" Snape mocked, and Pithormin glared at him. Harry looked even grimmer. "Save your jeering for later," he growled.

Snape's countenance was as impassive as ever, and defiantly Harry took another step forwards, towards a dim green light which lit up the mosaics and patterns on the floor in front of him. He saw to his astonishment that the room was round, and built entirely of stone, as if it lay within the dark walls of a gigantic fortress.

With a dull crash the door behind him slammed shut. Startled, Harry spun around and tugged at the massive handle, but the door didn't move an inch. He was trapped, here in this old house that wasn't a house at all. And Sesachar and Snape didn't seem to be able to open the door from the outside either. Harry was certain that Pithormin at least would have tried.

He was alone. And he couldn't turn back. Not any more...

Harry sighed quietly and looked around him. A circle of gargoyles, as big as himself and as ugly as sin stared out from the walls towards the centre of the room, their grotesque, twisted faces turned towards a skull-shaped chandelier hanging on heavy chains from the ceiling. Its lower jaw was missing, as was the roof of the skull, and its upper jaw, nose and eye sockets formed a ghoulish ring which swung gently backwards and forwards in the air. The vaults were carved to represent the wings of a swarm of immense gargoyles. Directly opposite the locked door was a circular hole in the wall, from which a green light was shining. Harry looked around the room but could find no other door, no corridor, not even a crack. There seemed to be no way out apart from this hole in the thick stone walls.

With a strong feeling of unease Harry climbed through the hole. He came out into a pipe-like corridor whose walls were held up by dry bones almost fossilized in the stone. Rows of skeletons lined the corridor, like gruesome pillars, carrying the ceiling on their pale shoulders. The blank, dead eye sockets were staring straight ahead.

Cautiously Harry advanced towards the light that seeped out into this corridor of death. When the corridor curved to the right he discovered its source: a basin was standing in the middle of the passage, and from it was emerging a phosphorescent mist which rose towards the ceiling like a solid, glowing pillar. The skeletons protruding from the stone on either side of the basin were staring at him expectantly, gleefully, even maliciously. Harry swallowed hard and squeezed through the narrow space between the basin and the wall. In the glutinous liquid he could see a snake winding its way through a skull. A Soul Eater. And here it was much more frightening than in the small secret room adjoining Snape's office.

Finally the corridor ended in a dark room, in the middle of which was a long, wide staircase. Standing on black pedestals on each side were two gigantic statues which reached up to the ceiling. Apart from these the room was empty and abandoned.

Harry wondered how many more halls and corridors he would have to walk through to get to Voldemort. Maybe this was all part of the Dark Lord's strategy: keeping him guessing and unnerved by what he saw. Voldemort would prefer to face him if he were nervous and unwary.

Firmly Harry set his foot on the first step. There was no going back, and if he wanted to leave Gairech alive he mustn't hesitate and give fear a chance to spread through his brain like a virus. Cautiously, but steadily he climbed the staircase.

Suddenly there was a cracking, rumbling sound and the staircase started to tremble, forcing him to grasp the stone banister to keep his balance. The statue on his right had come to life. The stone figure turned towards him and Harry saw that it was a man in a cloak and hood, with eyes that glowed in the darkness.

"Where are you going?" thundered a deep, unearthly voice and the stairs trembled again. Harry waited until the ground beneath him had stopped shaking. He stared fearlessly back at the statue's face, which was at least as big as he was.

"To Lord Voldemort," he answered loudly and clearly.

"So be it," boomed the statue and froze once more. However, the statue on Harry's left was now beginning to move. Like its neighbour, it was dressed in a hood and cloak, but it held a sword in its hands. Its red eyes glowed brightly and Harry stumbled back in alarm. He was looking at a giant stone statue of Voldemort that raised its weapon and struck down at the ground where another figure was carved. Harry knew without looking who that figure was meant to be. The images from his dream were still too vivid in his mind.

The mighty sword hit the figure and with a loud crack it split into a thousand pieces. Then came the sound of mocking laughter.

"Go and seal your fate, Harry Potter," gloated Voldemort's statue. "Go!"

And the staircase beneath Harry's feet began to move once more - not trembling as it had when the gigantic statues moved, but rather in one direction, like the staircases at Hogwarts. It swung around towards one corner of the room, leading now to a doorway in the left-hand wall. The door opened with a creak.

"Go!" screeched the voice again, almost cracking with scorn and malice. "Go!"

Harry tried not to listen as he walked bravely up the remaining stairs and into a wider but shorter corridor. Its walls were covered with mirrors, and when Harry looked into them he saw it again: the Dark Lord driving the sword into his body and gloating at his final defeat.

"Don't look," he commanded himself, forcing his eyes straight ahead. "Don't look... Don't be scared. Keep going. Don't lose it before he's even touched you... Keep your chin up and keep going..."

And he walked on, his eyes fixed on the end of the corridor. Concentrating furiously he ignored the movements he could see out the corner of his eyes, refusing to look in the mirrors again and watch his own death like a film reel played over and over again.

"You're not going to die," came the echo in his head. "Not if you don't let it happen. Fight. Don't let fear overcome you. You can't allow any weakness in your mind, or your body will follow. You're not going to die..."

He was now no more than a meter away from the end of the corridor of mirrors, which ended in a round doorway. Around the edge, a carved snake was biting itself in the tail. Its eyes were glowing red.

"Keep going..."

One more step.

"Make your choice and choose...to live".