Harry Potter and the Simulacrum Seal

Chapter Nine: A Meeting of Minds

The sound of the voice brought the rough stone room, tinged green by the torchlight, into sharper relief. It was littered with small items sitting atop mismatched little tables and peeking out from half-closed cabinets; it seemed to Harry like a parody of Dumbledore's office. In front of him stood a small marble-topped cocktail table, and a Slytherin banner hung on the opposite wall. Another armchair identical to Harry's own sat in front of him, empty. His own armchair was deep red; the other, dark green. Harry's right hand searched his pocket for his wand, but it wasn't there.

He looked closer about the room to locate the voice, but there was no movement save for a few trinkets tilting or turning on their own. 'Where are you?' demanded Harry. His head darted from side to side, then across the ceiling and back again. 'Come out!'

At first there was no response. Then a faint booming sound, like far-off lightning, caused Harry to jolt his head to stare right ahead of him. A dark, wispy cloud hung over the chair, and Harry could hear a distant voice chanting from within it. He stood up and watched the cloud intently, his hands digging into his pockets, begging his wand to appear.

The wisps coalesced into a jagged, lightning-shaped tear. Without warning, the tear blinked silently out of existence, and the soft chanting ceased. In its place was Lord Voldemort, reclining. His voluminous, ink-black robes swallowed all of his thin form save for his grotesquely long fingers and his pale, serpentine face. As the two enemies took in the sight of each other, Voldemort's lipless mouth contorted into a wide smirk.

Harry remembered Mrs Weasley tearfully shaking her shattered husband; Ginny and Bill holding each other; Ron's dead eyes looking up at him. It was all he could think of. Harry shot Voldemort a look filled with fury. 'You.'

At that moment it didn't matter at all to Harry that he didn't have his wand. He didn't need one. Like an enraged animal, he surged forward, jumping onto the table separating him from his enemy and flinging himself forward, his eyes and his hands centred on Voldemort's neck.

In the next instant, Harry was back in his own armchair, blinking and disoriented. He caught a brief glimpse of astonishment on Voldemort's face before it was smothered by another smirk. Snarling, Harry leapt at him again, only to find himself back in the armchair once more before getting near enough to touch his opponent.

'Physical assault, Harry? You've been living with those Muggles for too long.'

'Shut up,' Harry snapped. Mockery gleamed out at him from those cold, red eyes, and Harry launched himself at him again.

Once Harry was back in his armchair for the third time, Voldemort said, 'You're a slow learner, Potter. Are you going to continue to waste our time together? Must I restrain you?'

Harry gritted his teeth and glared, his fingers digging into the armrests. 'What did you do to Mr Weasley?'

Voldemort looked puzzled at Harry's question for an instant before replying, 'Him? What does he matter? He's unimportant.'

'He is not!' Harry said, close to shouting. 'Whatever you did to him, you had better fix it!'

'Or what, boy?' asked Voldemort softly, his eyes locked on Harry's own. Harry turned immediately, remembering that Voldemort was a Legilimens, and that eye contact was important. Voldemort didn't need to know Harry didn't have a wand ...

'Of course you don't have a wand ... that would defeat the purpose of this visitation ...' Harry stiffened in surprise, and Voldemort added, 'Between enemies as close as we are, Harry, eye contact isn't a necessity with such unguarded thoughts ... Besides ...' He gestured to the room around them. 'In this place, a wand is useless ... we are not together in the physical sense. Haven't you noticed that your scar does not burn? We are in a little cranny I carved into the mind of the oh-so-terribly-important Mr Weasley. This room is crafted from thoughts ... my thoughts. It is an elegant mental trap. I knew you would come ... I chose my victim well ...'

'Make him normal again!' Harry demanded.

Voldemort sighed. 'Silly boy ... it is not so easy to mend a mind as it is to destroy one ... and I am not at all inclined to bother.'

'Then we have nothing to discuss.' Harry crossed his arms and looked away. He was determined not to play on Voldemort's terms anymore; he had nothing to gain from it.

'Then you may listen.'

Voldemort paused. Harry felt eyes boring into the side of his face. He struggled not to look, for the sake of pride rather than for the sake of secrets. Harry was torn about whether to argue or stick his fingers in his ears and sing loudly, but then he remembered how useless his search for Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes had been since Dumbledore's death. If there was a chance, however small, that Voldemort might accidentally reveal something important, he had to let the monster speak.

When Harry remained silent, Voldemort continued, 'It was impossible for us to meet, even in this way, so long as you lived under the protection of your mother's blood. Once you passed into the custody of Hogwarts for the duration of the school year you were, of course, fair game ... but you were protected from me for the summers in this way, and from everyone else by a web of protection and misdirection cast by the late Albus Dumbledore.' Voldemort rolled his tongue around the words "late Albus Dumbledore", his enjoyment of them obvious.

'So you see, Harry, I've been waiting impatiently for your coming of age. I could have sent Death Eaters to attack you at the Weasleys' home before, but--'

'But you wanted me for yourself,' Harry interrupted, turning toward Voldemort, momentarily forgetting that he hadn't intended to participate in the discussion. Embarrassed at his lack of control and annoyed by Voldemort's ugly grin, Harry turned away again.

'Yes. I intend to capture and kill you myself,' said Voldemort calmly.

Harry stood up, furious, and stared him directly in the eye. 'Why don't you, then? Why don't you stop picking on innocent people and come get me? Are you too afraid? Are you a coward, Voldemort?'

Silence fell heavily over the room. 'Do you think you would survive?' asked Voldemort in barely a whisper, focused on Harry's eyes. Harry swallowed, but held his head high and did not break eye contact.

'In a straight duel to the death, you would lose. You should be grateful that I chose to meet you today on fairly neutral ground.'

'I will never be grateful for you harming other people instead of me,' Harry replied coldly.

'Where did Dumbledore take you on the evening of his death?'

The question took Harry completely by surprise, and the answer came unbidden to his mind. He immediately felt Voldemort delving into him, his glittering eyes like grasping hands pulling on Harry's brain. Harry recoiled from them, but the images were torn from his mind ... the cave, the basin, the Inferi ...

The assault stopped so abruptly that Harry fell to his knees in shock, knocking one against the sharp edge of the table as he did so. His skull was pounding, and his lungs would only take in short gasps of air. Compared to this, Snape had been gentle ...

'There there, child, it's over now, shh,' murmured Voldemort, as though he were trying to comfort him. 'Unpleasant, isn't it?'

Harry tried to regain control. Focusing on a hairline crack in the stone floor, he forced himself to push the pain away and took several deep, steadying breaths. Grabbing the side of the table, he used it to pull himself to his feet. Once Harry was confident that he could keep standing on his own power, he let go, and directed a fierce glare at Voldemort.

'I thought up the chair for a reason, you know.'

Harry pointedly did not sit down.

'So you and Dumbledore retrieved my locket ... and you destroyed my diary ...'

Harry forced himself to remain impassive. After all, if Voldemort thought Harry and Dumbledore had retrieved the real locket Horcrux instead of the fake, there wouldn't be any competition for finding it. He waited on edge for several moments for another Legilimency attack, but Voldemort wasn't even looking at him: he was staring at his own hand, counting the Horcruxes off on his fingers.

Voldemort raised a third finger on his left hand. 'And then there's the ring. Dumbledore took care of that one on his own, from what I heard.' Voldemort's mouth twitched in amusement. 'Snape told me all about it.'

His gaze turned on Harry again. Though Harry did not feel any probing into his mind, he did get the distinct, crawling feeling that he was being watched closely for his reaction. 'Snape has told me a good deal,' Voldemort said slowly. 'He knows a great deal about you. I'm rather jealous about all the time he's spent with you for all these years. He was very helpful in having you brought here ... it was he who suggested Weasley as the appropriate target.'

It was as though a fist had closed around Harry's gut. His eyes widened and his jaw clenched shut. A spark of particular alertness lit in Voldemort's eyes. 'Look at that ... hatred ...' He tilted his head and looked at Harry with clinical coldness. Jealousy ringing in his voice, he said, 'Odd, that you hate him more than me ...'

'I'll kill you both!' roared Harry, nostrils flaring.

Voldemort smiled slightly. The torchlight fluttered. 'Will you?' He stood up swiftly, and Harry took a step back reflexively in surprise. 'Why don't you start, then?'

Harry felt, suddenly, the smooth wood of his wand held tightly in his fist. 'How -'

'Perception,' whispered Voldemort. 'My perception, that is.'

Harry didn't understand in the slightest, but he didn't much care to. He had his wand, and he intended to do exactly what Voldemort had suggested. He pointed his wand directly at his enemy's chest; the room felt too small for this, the target too close ... if Harry reached his arm out entirely, he'd be poking Voldemort with his wand, right over the heart ...

'What are you waiting for, Harry?'

'You said magic doesn't work here!' Harry protested, unsure.

Cold laughter echoed loudly, the sound ricocheting off the stone walls. 'Are you completely stupid? What do you think Legilimency is, fool? I lied, Potter.' He stopped laughing, but continued to look at Harry mockingly.

Idiot! Harry thought to himself, embarrassed at not having thought of that. Focus, Harry. You need to think!

'Well, Harry? Can you cast a proper Killing Curse?'

He had never tried. But how could he not now? With Voldemort standing in front of him, how could he not try? What he did to Mr Weasley ... he deserves to die for that, thought Harry, his face set with determination. His nemesis stood still before him but for a tapping foot, waiting. He deserves to die.

Then a passage from one of the Defence Against the Dark Arts books Harry had been reading -- he was not Hermione, so he could not quite remember which passage, or which book -- came to mind. His eyes widened briefly in surprise; then, with a small, superior smile, Harry said, 'No.'

'No?' Voldemort repeated. He sneered. 'Too cowardly to kill me, Potter?'

Harry's icy smile broadened. 'There's no point. It won't do anything. We're in a mindscape; I read all about it. Magic that harms the mind will work here, but not magic that harms the body, since our bodies are not present to be harmed.' His eyes taunting, Harry added, 'You lied when you said you were lying.'

Harry looked down at his wand. 'Perception.' Taking one end in either hand, he snapped it. The two pieces of his wand disappeared in his hands. 'Enough games. Did you bring me here to laugh at me? I would think that you, of all people, would take this more seriously.'

With that, Harry sat back down in his own chair and stared intently into a blizzard that had picked up in a snow globe in the corner, giving off a clear impression of dismissal. When Harry looked again, Voldemort was back in his chair, leaning his head on his hand, and looking at Harry with an indiscernible expression.

'You're taller than when I last saw you.'

'You look exactly the same,' retorted Harry.

Voldemort's face twisted into a very odd and ugly grin. 'Yes.'

Harry noticed that the blizzard in the snow globe was receding. 'I really do have other places to be, you know.'

Quietly, Voldemort replied, 'Yes, of course. I thank you for this chat, Harry ... it has been extremely informative so far. There is only one more matter for us to discuss: the Prophecy.'

Harry's eyes lit up in panicked realization. Voldemort nodded. 'Yes, I could do it that way ... I could rip it from your mind, like an apple from a tree ...' A cocktail glass sprung into his hand; he lifted it to his mouth and took a small sip; lowering it only as much as necessary to speak, he continued, 'Or you could simply tell me, and we could both be on our way with no pain involved ... your choice, Potter ...'

Harry jumped to his feet, balling his hands into fists. 'I will never give you anything willingly.' But he felt far less valorous on the inside; how would he stop Voldemort from just taking what he wanted? Harry was terrible at Occlumency. But I can't let him have it! Harry thought desperately.

Voldemort let out a false long-suffering sigh. 'Such a hero ... Legilimens!'

Harry grabbed his head in his hands as the pain assaulted his senses. I won't think about it, I won't let him have it ... Harry grit his teeth and forced his brain to stop, and it seemed to be working ...

Then he heard Voldemort's voice in his mind. Tell me, Harry ... I know Dumbledore must have told you before his death ... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... what is the rest, Harry? The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ...

It was as though Harry himself were thinking the words ... as though Voldemort was following a thread in Harry's own thoughts. Harry had gone over the Prophecy in his mind so many times, and Voldemort was invoking his mental reflex to finish the lines.

... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal ...

Harry could feel Voldemort's excitement, his trepidation ...

... but he will have power --

'No!' Harry cried out.

Yes! Voldemort insisted, and Harry screamed, his mind burning with Voldemort's glee. I must have it, Potter! It is not fair, for only you to know ... not fair at all ...

The rest came out in a torrent of thought.

... but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to destroy the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ...

Then it was over. Harry felt like Voldemort had gone at his head with an ice pick centred over his scar. The word inelegant came to mind, and Harry stifled a delirious giggle. Perhaps this was what the Longbottoms had felt like when they had lost their minds. 'So you are the key ...' he heard Voldemort whisper. Yes, Harry was certainly going mad ...

'To your ... underpants drawer!' Harry howled. He rolled out of the position on the floor he had fallen into and curled onto his side, laughing hysterically.

Voldemort sneered in disgust, looking down at Harry as though he were drunk trash on the street. 'I didn't break you. The insanity should be temporary ... the really mad ones don't laugh ...'

Harry just kept laughing ... and laughing ... his eyes were tightly closed, and hot tears streamed down his cheeks ... he dimly heard someone calling his name ...

Still struggling with laugher, Harry opened his eyes a crack. His mouth was sore from grinning; his vision was blurred. 'Harry?' someone said, clearer this time. There was a forceful grip on his right hand. 'Harry ...?'

Warm breath hit his cheek, and wide eyes stared into his own. With a curious mad impulse, Harry's free hand reached up and grabbed at the slim neck, pressing the other's face down onto his. Their lips connected.

'Mmph!'

He was smacked across the face. As Harry let go, his companion sprang away from him immediately. 'Harry!'

The slap left Harry feeling suddenly alert; everything was clearer, and his brain felt like it was working properly again. His eyes leapt completely open and he pushed himself up into a sitting position on his hospital bed. Then he looked at the person standing by his right side; horrified, he said, 'Hermione?'

Hermione was wiping her lips with the back of her hand, looking at Harry as though he were insane ... which he had been, really. 'What on earth was that about?' she demanded.

'Um, sorry, I --'

The door was thrown open with such force that it banged against the door. 'I thought I heard ... Harry!' said Ron, striding into the room. Harry and Hermione both went quiet and very red. 'Thank Merlin! I ...'

Ron stilled, his eyes dead as when Harry had last seen them, and his shoulders slumped; then he said, more subdued, 'I'm glad you're okay. We were worried. I was with Mum ... she ... she wants to take us home now. They didn't want to let you go. She's yelling at them down the hall ... Ginny's with Tonks ... Remus is here ...'

It seemed like Ron might go on, but Harry pushed himself up further, frowning in concern. 'Tonks?'

Hermione swallowed and looked away. 'She was at the Ministry when --'

'Voldemort,' Ron spat. Hermione and Harry gawked at him; Ron glared down at the floor, his entire body tense. 'I hate him.'

Hermione put a hand on Ron's shoulder and looked up into his eyes. 'Ron ...'

'I ...' A cold shudder coursed through Ron's body. 'I hate him.'

Harry moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He grabbed Ron's other shoulder tightly in his hand and looked into his pain-filled eyes with determination. Seeing that pain was a relief, in a way; at least Ron didn't look numb, like he had moments before.

'We'll kill him,' Harry promised.

'Together,' whispered Ron, looking from Harry to Hermione and back again. 'We'll kill him together.'

'Harry!' Mrs Weasley called from the doorway. The three separated hastily as Mrs Weasley and two Healers surrounded Harry's bedside. They peppered him with questions, felt his forehead, and peered into his eyes. Harry cooperated, but his eyes kept turning back to Ron, who stood with his back against the wall a few metres away. His eyes were empty again.