Harry Potter and the Simulacrum Seal

Chapter Thirty: The Seven Souls

Malfoy Manor was not what Harry had expected. An imposing, creaky, wrought-iron gate did not enclose a towering castle, and there were no bats swooping around to make it seem ancient and haunted. Instead there stood an old but well-maintained cottage of simple red brick with white, lacy curtains that Aunt Petunia would have thought worthy of hanging above the small windows in the kitchen.

Perhaps Draco Malfoy noticed that one of Harry's eyebrows was climbing disbelievingly into his hairline, for he said, 'It doesn't really look like that, Potter,' rolling his eyes as if Harry were a simpleton for thinking otherwise.

Sure enough, when they reached the edge of the little white picket fence surrounding the house, the image of the manor changed immediately to what Harry had envisioned.

'Typical,' he muttered.

'What do you mean by that?!' said Malfoy, snarling as if being called "typical" was equivalent to being called a Mudblood.

'Easy there,' said Hermione, moving to stand between them. Somehow she had developed a way to tell where everyone was; Harry thought it must be a spell, but he was still far too uncomfortable about her blindness to ask. 'We're all on the same side, remember?'

'Are you sure your father won't be in there?' ask Tonks. Lucius Malfoy wouldn't be able to stop them from entering his home - there were too many of them - but if he were to alert Voldemort, their plan would be completely ruined.

'Of course I am!' Malfoy immediately turned back to the gate and worked with the lock to open it. Harry couldn't resist using Legilimency, just to make sure - and he discovered to his dismay that his suspicions were correct: Malfoy was lying. He had no idea whether his father would be inside or not.

'If he's there, we'll deal with him,' said Harry grimly, holding up his wand to illustrate the point.

Malfoy swivelled, betrayal written on his face. 'You have to swear you won't hurt him!'

Ron looked ready to hex Malfoy, and the others were quickly losing patience with him as well. 'I promise,' said Harry to prevent them from being held up by more arguing.

Malfoy looked smugly at Ron before returning to the gate. Harry was surprised his word meant so much to Draco; he wasn't entirely sure he would keep it if he came face-to-face with Lucius. He felt like he ought to be guilty, so he tried to be, and he determined that he'd keep his promise after all, if he possibly could.

'Are you sure about him?' Ron whispered, glaring distrustfully at Malfoy's back.

'We need Malfoy to get in quietly,' Harry quietly reminded him.

Getting into Malfoy Manor was critical. Floo Network access was strictly monitored, and anyone who wasn't a supporter of Voldemort was in danger of being Grounded - transferred to a holding area for interrogation - whenever it was used. If the rumours extracted by Aberforth from the Hog's Head (one of the few establishments still operating in Hogsmeade) were true, Voldemort had become particularly vindictive since Hogwarts' destruction; nearly everyone who wasn't a Death Eater was Grounded if they tried to use the Floo.

That made Malfoy Manor one of the only places from which they could Floo to the Ministry with impunity.

With a soft click, the lock on the gates fell to the ground. Malfoy tapped the bars with his wand, and they slowly swung open.

Harry felt sudden trepidation like a kick to the stomach. They were about to invade the Department of Mysteries for the second time to execute a plan that was even more insane than the hastily scrapped-together one from nearly two years before. It had taken a month to pull the entire scheme together, but suddenly Harry didn't see how he could ask the Order to risk their lives yet again for a potentially futile scheme.

Hermione was the first to cross the threshold, and she did so with ease and confidence that boosted Harry's own optimism. After all, if Hermione thought his plan was good enough to support, maybe it really was.

'Let's go,' she said, and she walked toward the door without fear or hesitation.

***

Harry was the first to toss his handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace.

'The Ministry.'

When his trip was over, he turned immediately to where he knew the Death Eater guards would be standing - but the guard post was deserted. His eyes snapped to every corner of the room, yet he could find no enemies anywhere.

A few fireplaces away, a flare of light preceded Hermione's arrival. She, too, turned her head from side to side searching for opponents.

'There's no one here,' she said to Tonks, who made the same sweep of the room upon her arrival. 'Voldemort must be relying on the Floo Network to weed out unwanted visitors.'

Tonks's lips thinned, and Harry could tell that she was expecting a trap. Hermione, however, seemed confident enough that no one was around to drop her wand to her side.

'He's not expecting us,' said Harry, pleased that their entry had gone so smoothly.

'Ten more,' muttered Hermione. Malfoy had explained that those who were keeping an eye on the Floo Network would probably interpret a meeting of about thirteen witches and wizards as a congregation of the inner circle of Death Eaters, so they'd certainly be left alone. More, however, would increase suspicion.

The Order had grown in number, so slots in the invasion party had been highly prized. Next to appear out of the Floo was Ron, who, along with Hermione, were non-negotiable to Harry; he'd allowed Tonks to decide on the remaining nine participants.

Then came Luna, whose inclusion had been suggested by Hermione. Harry had been initially puzzled by Tonks's automatic acceptance of Hermione's good word, privately thinking that a more experienced dueller would be more practical.

Then Hermione had offered up McLaggen's name, and at that point Harry had objected - only to be shot down after being pointedly reminded that McLaggen had saved Ron's life from Voldemort in the December battle.

Afterwards, Harry had remembered that Luna was responsible for his own escape that night, and he had promptly shut up.

Moody was a paranoid but brilliant ex-Auror, so naturally he was chosen. Malfoy was there to make sure he couldn't betray the Order to Voldemort after letting them into the Manor; despite his attempt on Voldemort's life, none could forget how the last supposedly reformed Death Eater who had earned their trust had turned the tables on them.

After him came Hagrid, who was keeping a particularly sharp eye on Malfoy - the attempted execution of Buckbeak was still a sore spot with him.

Then Bill and Charlie arrived. Next was Fred, who had threatened to betray them to Voldemort unless they brought him along, so determined was he to get revenge for George.

Finally, there was Mrs Weasley, whose demand had been even more impossible to refuse than Fred's. 'That monster has assaulted my husband and murdered my daughter, and two of my sons may be dead,' she had told Tonks, shaking with cold rage. 'I will go.'

The crowded lift dropped to the ninth floor; from there, they made a beeline to the Department of Mysteries. Mrs Weasley shut the door behind them, and those in the room who had never seen the circular wall revolve let out noises of surprise; the rest of them waited patiently for the doors to fall into place.

When they did, Hermione broke ranks and tried the door directly in front of her. She peeked inside and shook her head immediately; as she shut the door, she used their old tactic of marking the door with an X.

The wall spun again, and Hermione tried another door. It was also the wrong one; she marked it, shut it, and opened the next one that appeared in front of her.

She spent longer staring into this room, and Harry held a breath, hoping it was the right one. But Hermione popped her head out, marked the door with another X - though the mark was gold, a different colour than the others - and shut the door.

'What was that for?' asked Ron, indicating the colour of the mark before the doors moved.

'Later,' she told him abruptly, not even bothering to face him. Instead, she stayed focused on the wall, and when it stopped, she again opened the closest door.

'Here,' said Hermione. Harry and Ron moved forward to join her; the others set up a defensive perimeter in the main room.

'Good luck!' Luna called cheerily, waving to them. Harry turned and waved back half-heartedly.

They went into the room and shut the door. Harry knew that it was spinning behind them. Hermione hadn't marked it; they hoped that if Voldemort and the Death Eaters managed to defeat the Order, his efforts to find Harry would still be frustrated by the sheer size of the Department of Mysteries.

Harry looked down into the pit. The pointed stone archway was the same as ever; the veil fluttered invitingly.

The trio walked together into the pit and approached the raised platform. Harry alone approached the archway and touched the veil with the tips of his fingers. The voices behind it were louder than ever, beckoning him. Ginny's in there, he thought, and the temptation to cross over was more than he could resist.

Fortunately, he didn't have to.

Harry turned to Ron and Hermione, who were closer to the archway than he was comfortable with. From here, they could not follow.

'You're sure you'll come back, right?' asked Ron.

'Sure,' he lied.

Hermione moved to hug him. 'I became very good at Legilimency while you were gone,' she whispered, and Harry realized that she knew he wasn't sure what would happen when he walked beyond the veil. 'Good luck.'

'I still need the other thing,' he muttered to her as she broke the hug.

'I'll take care of it,' she said confidently.

'But are you -'

He didn't get to finish his question; perhaps to avoid answering it, Hermione pushed him, and Harry tumbled backward into death.

***

He stumbled into an all-encompassing darkness. His feet were on solid ground, and he took a couple of breaths just to prove that he could - though when he thought about it, he couldn't possibly be breathing air here anyway.

Something tapped at his forehead; he stiffened in alarm and looked up to see a dangling cord.

Harry pulled the cord and heard a click; an instant later, a bare light bulb turned on above him, and he blinked against the sudden brightness. Once he could see again, he observed that he was in a small wooden room. Paint cans with rims stained red and gold, a tower of toolboxes and spare parts, and a sturdy wooden workbench cluttered the shed and surrounded him with shadows.

He took a step back and nearly yelped when his bottom bumped into something: it was an old motorbike. He was sure it hadn't been there before...

'Hand me the wrench,' said a muffled voice that sounded like it was coming from right beside him - but there was no one there. The wrench was on the edge of the workbench, so Harry grabbed it and then turned back to the motorbike.

And there was Sirius, squatted next to the bike as if he'd been there the whole time, staring intently into the engine. Harry's heart pounded; Sirius was young again, his hair trimmed and his face as handsome and exuberant as in the wedding photo from long ago.

'Wrench,' he said, holding his hand out insistently. Harry swallowed and leaned in, brushing his fingers against Sirius's as he pressed the wrench into his hand - and Sirius was solid, warm, and real.

'So,' started Sirius as he placed the wrench around a bolt and twisted, 'how've you been?' Then he chuckled. 'I guess not too well, seeing as you're here.'

Harry brushed off a spider as he replied, 'Yeah, things have been pretty awful since you...you know.'

'You're not dead, though,' he said, grunting as he pulled the wrench hard.

'How can you tell?' wondered Harry.

'Hard to explain. Hammer?'

Harry wasn't sure what good a hammer could do for a motorbike, but he handed it over anyway. It was when Sirius started to hit something inside the engine with the hammer that Harry realized his godfather had no idea what he was doing - but Sirius was enjoying working on the bike anyway, so Harry didn't mention it.

'I'm looking for bits of Voldemort's soul,' he said.

The hammer stopped.

'I know it probably sounds weird, but I need to find them -' he pulled the crystal out of his pocket '- and get them to go in here...somehow.'

'Won't be too hard,' said Sirius, grabbing a towel and brushing sweat off his brow. 'You've got plenty of friends to help out. There are lots of new arrivals.'

He sighed and put down the hammer. 'I guess I'm the first. Where are we going?'

'How should I know?' asked Harry.

Sirius shrugged and tossed the towel over his shoulder. 'It's your delusion.' With a warm smile and kind eyes, he added, 'It's good to see most of you again, by the way.'

At first the "most of you" comment confused him, but then Harry remembered with a sick feeling that not all of his soul was there. Obviously Sirius could tell - it must be how he knew Harry wasn't dead yet. 'You too,' he answered with all the genuine feeling he could dig out from within himself. 'You've really been missed.'

'Hey, don't go all mushy on me!' said Sirius, laughing again. 'Now, which way are we going? Follow your instincts!'

'Well...' Without even realizing it, Harry had turned toward the door. 'I think we have to leave the shed.'

They walked outside into a wasteland. The ground was hard and scarred with deep, thirsty cracks leading to lush green mountains.

'We can't go there,' said Sirius quickly as he noticed Harry look avidly toward the mountains. His hands settled on the grips of the motorbike.

Sirius revved up the bike, and Harry got on the back. With him giving commands and Sirius flying them low above the ground, they seemed to fly for hours until a speck appeared on the unchanging landscape.

'There!' cried Harry, and Sirius drove them aground right next to a little black book with a basilisk's tooth stabbed through it. He leaned in closer to examine it. The cracks in the ground seemed to converge on the diary, which was leaking black ink in all directions.

It was being fed upon. Harry was filled with a sudden sensation of unease; he could swear that the diary was moaning in his ears.

Harry took out the crystal and turned to Sirius. 'What do I do now?'

'Feed it.' For the first time he could see part of the sad Sirius in this one's eyes.

'How?'

Sirius rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm. 'No!' cried Harry, though he didn't know what he was afraid of.

'It's all right,' he told him. 'Just enough to distract it.'

Blood dripped from Sirius's arm onto the ground, and the cracks shifted; Harry could feel them roll under his feet. They moved away from the diary and lapped up the blood greedily.

Harry immediately reached out and picked up the diary; he could feel its relief, its tender hope. He smiled tentatively, feeling strangely sorry for it. Then it turned to grains of sand at his touch, and the grains floated gently into the crystal, which glowed brighter than before.

His eyes turned back to Sirius, who was rolling down a sleeve that was now tattered. Long, wild hair fell down to his shoulders, his skin drooped from his cheeks, and his eyes were red-rimmed and older.

This was Sirius after Azkaban.

'Love is the favourite meal of death,' he said in a weedy voice. With a gentle, lonely smile, Sirius faded away.

'No!'

'What's wrong?'

Neville was leaning against the motorbike wearing an uncharacteristic biker jacket and blue jeans. He looked older than he'd been at the time of his death, and he wore confidence with ease, though Neville had always needed to strive to grasp it in life. With that confidence was a half-smile, as if the two of them were sharing a wry joke at Sirius's demise.

But this wasn't at all funny. 'Sirius! Where is he?'

'Don't worry,' said Neville with an unconcerned tone and a wave of his hand. 'He's fine. He just had to leave.'

Neville thumbed behind him, and Harry turned to look at the sparkling mountains. 'You can't go there, though,' he added, repeating Sirius's words. His apprehensive gaze fell up and down Harry's body. 'You can't ever go there like that.'

Harry looked down at himself; he wore plain jeans and a white t-shirt. Was there a dress code he didn't know about? 'Why not?'

'Don't think about it. You've got a job to do, right? Let's get going.'

The motorbike purred underneath them as they flew. The path was clearer than before; he followed the cracks in the ground until they came to an abrupt stop.

When they'd landed, Harry asked, 'Where is this, anyway?'

Neville shuffled toward the ends of the cracks. 'Don't think about it.'

'Everyone keeps telling me that,' muttered Harry mutinously. He held Neville back. 'I want to know what happened to Sirius.'

'He's fine,' repeated Neville. 'If you must know, these are the badlands between life and...' Again, he thumbed toward the mountains.

'So the pieces of Voldemort's soul are stuck in...' Harry searched for an appropriate word.

'Limbo,' supplied Neville, 'and not one of the nicer limbos, either. Come on.'

'And Sirius?' Had Sirius been stuck here all this time? Was Neville trapped too?

Neville seemed to understand what he was thinking; he smiled and shook his head. 'He was just here to help you out. So am I.'

He grabbed Harry's hand, and together they walked through an invisible barrier where the cracks appeared to end. It led to a small, rough-hewn cavern; the cracks hadn't ended at all, but instead crept across the walls. At least a hundred tiny veins connected into them from a shrivelled black heart that screeched weakly into Harry's ear. It sent small pinches of pain travelling down his arms.

The heart was close enough to touch, but Neville pushed Harry's arm back. 'It's my turn,' he said, smiling peacefully as he took off his jacket, handed it to a deeply troubled Harry, and pressed his back into the opposite wall of the cave.

The veins snapped out of the heart all at once, reared up like razor-thin snakes, and struck Neville in the chest. Neville's mouth opened, but no sound came out; he was shrivelling before his eyes.

If this was Harry's delusion, he couldn't imagine how ill his mind must be to conjure up such a vision.

'Heart,' Neville gasped out, his eyes rolling back in his head and his finger shaking as it pointed toward the floor. Harry, unable to tear his gaze from the horrific sight before him, knelt down and blindly felt around for it.

Harry's hand closed around the heart; in the same moment, Neville let out his last, soft breath and faded away. As with the diary, the heart, quivering in Harry's hand, crumbled and fed into the crystal.

The veins were drawn slowly, reluctantly, back into the wall, their meal finished.

Harry shivered; he put on Neville's old coat for warmth and walked back to the motorbike.

...Except the motorbike wasn't there. A deep, loud call came from the direction of the mountains. What was that? he wondered.

It happened again, but this time it was closer, and Harry thought he could make out the words, 'Land ho!'

The ground rumbled under his feet as a shape in the distance became clearer. It looked like a boat, but it was chopping through the ground like an icebreaker - and it was heading right for him.

Harry wasn't afraid. Even though the place he was in felt hostile, all the people in it had been friends so far. When he finally saw the captain of the ship, who was standing spread-eagled on the fore rails and waving his arms in the air, Harry was filled with warm relief.

The boat's course halted a few feet in front of him, and Captain Albus Dumbledore jumped off the rails. His hair was thick and auburn and his beard was gone; he wore a tall purple wizard's hat and matching deep purple robes with flashing stars sewn in.

'Hot, isn't it?' He tugged at the collar of his robes and a plume of steam rose up from his neck, sticking onto his half-moon spectacles. He found himself more thankful to see Dumbledore than anyone else; the Headmaster's strong, bright presence obscured the dark moments that lay ahead.

'I guess you're here to help me find one of the Horcruxes.'

'Oh no,' said Dumbledore, tut-tutting and gravely shaking his head, 'they're not Horcruxes anymore, just bits of soul left to be tormented in...this place. I would ask if you truly are sure about saving them, but I can see...'

He regarded Harry with a sad, droopy expression. Harry got the distinct impression that he wasn't being told something important, and it irked him.

Dumbledore's mood picked up. 'Let's see what we can do for you. All aboard!'

He bowed and indicated toward the boat. A plank dropped from the sky; one end settled on the side of the boat, and the other fell at Harry's feet. As he walked up, he noticed the name of the boat written on its side: S.S. Phoenix. He couldn't stop himself from grinning.

However, Harry decided after a few bumpy minutes that he definitely preferred travelling by motorbike. The loudness of the boat as it cut through the rock beneath it was grating on his nerves.

'Why can't we go toward the mountains?' shouted Harry over the din. Dumbledore, who sat in a pink lawn chair and seemed to be using the umbrella in his drink to steer, looked away pointedly, pretending not to hear his question.

The boat ground to a halt with such force that Harry was thrown overboard. 'We're here!' he heard Dumbledore declare as they both tumbled through the air.

They landed in a pool of cool, clear water. Harry took off the leather jacket and let it sink to the bottom; it was, unfortunately, ruined.

'Wonderful!' cried the young Dumbledore, who appeared to have changed into an old-style swimsuit in midair. 'How refreshing!'

Harry was already looking at the small island surrounded by the pool of water. A circle of fire hovered inches off the ashen ground like a vertical hula-hoop, and within the hoop was the ring. Flares crackled off the circle and stabbed at the ring.

Harry felt a ghost of its pain settle in the pit of his stomach and wanted to save the ring right away to put it to an end. Why was he feeling this way?

'Each piece of soul you gather connects you more to the others,' explained Dumbledore without prompting. 'You will come to feel their pain as your own by the end of this journey. Be warned.'

How was he supposed to save the soul fragments if he was writhing in pain alongside them? 'But -'

Dumbledore, it seemed, did not wish to answer more questions, for he sprung out of the pool and streaked like a cannonball into the centre of the circle. As soon as his outstretched hand crossed its threshold, the fire snapped inward, converging on his arm from all directions.

He was frozen horizontally in midair, screaming in terrible agony.

Harry swam to land as quickly as possible and scrambled in panic toward the flames. He knew there was only one way to save both Dumbledore and himself: take the ring.

He grasped it in his hand and immediately sank to his knees, overcome with relief by proxy. As the ring's ashes entered the crystal, he crawled toward Dumbledore, a purple lump on the blackened ground. The circle of fire was rapidly snuffed out, as if it had been abruptly deprived of the oxygen it needed to thrive.

Harry was surprised that Dumbledore was still there by the time he reached him. He placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him around: he was old and pale, too thin, with one hand burnt down to the bone.

'I'm all right,' said Dumbledore slowly. With Harry's help, he managed to rise to his feet.

'Why didn't you disappear like Sirius and Neville?' he asked curiously as they stumbled toward the water. The S.S. Phoenix waited obligingly for them.

'You are not the only one I need to help here,' he said, coughing and wheezing. 'We must locate your next escort. He has been here only a few minutes, and he is badly disoriented, I fear.'

'A few minutes?!' said Harry. 'What do you mean?' The question foremost in his mind was: is it Ron?

'It is not Mr Weasley,' was Dumbledore's calm reply. 'It is Remus Lupin.'

'...Oh.'

He couldn't believe Remus was dead.

'I believe it is a welcome release for him after what he has suffered,' Dumbledore said softly, but Harry couldn't take comfort in that.

He settled Dumbledore into the lawn chair and handed him the glass. 'I'm afraid you'll have to steer.' He held out the umbrella, which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be a tiny wooden wheel. 'That way.' His good hand pointed out into the distance.

After a few false starts, Harry managed to get the boat moving in the right direction. It wasn't long before he saw the edge of a dark emptiness that marked the edge of the badlands.

It also seemed to mark the end of the world.

They drove right into it. 'Stop!' croaked Dumbledore. The boat stopped with its fore in the darkness and its aft in badlands, forming a wedge between the two. Harry walked Dumbledore slowly down the plank, and the two stared out into the vast nothingness.

'What are we looking for?' Harry asked.

'That,' said Dumbledore grimly.

There was a speck in the distance. 'I regret to say that I cannot continue on with you, Harry.' Dumbledore leaned heavily on the boat, his eyes bespeaking great pain. 'Take care of Remus.'

Dumbledore faded away, and Harry was alone again but for the man in the distance.

He walked. It seemed very cold and solitary, and for the first time since he entered, it occurred to Harry that he might not be able to leave. He looked back at the boat periodically to be sure it still served as a bastion against the darkness for him to return to.

Remus was curled up in a silent ball just a few feet away, his head tucked between his knees and his arms wrapped around his legs as he rocked gently. Harry could already tell he was younger; there was no grey in his hair, and he wasn't unhealthily thin.

'Remus? Remus?'

'Harry?'

Remus looked up, and Harry saw a flash of combined hope and worry in his eyes before he sucked up a breath in alarm and leaped backward.

'What are you?!' Remus hissed hatefully with a feral expression. 'Where am I? Is this another trick? I won't tell you what you want to know!'

'I'm Harry!' he insisted. 'Remus, please -'

'Don't sully his name! How could you possibly think I'd mistake you for Harry!' He gave Harry a derisory look up and down, and his lip curled in disgust. 'Go ahead and finish me, creature!'

Harry was both discouraged and disturbed by Remus's expression. 'Please,' he begged softly, 'I need your help. I am Harry!'

'Oh really?' asked Remus with a disbelieving snort. 'So tell me, "Harry", do you need an invitation to Grimmauld? Have you been locked out? Which excuse is it today?'

The sarcasm stung. 'No, it's nothing like that. You remember the Horcruxes, don't you?'

Remus regarded him warily. 'You certainly aren't Harry, but few others would know about Horcruxes.' If anything, he seemed more suspicious than before, and Harry realized that he probably thought he was Voldemort.

'I am Harry!' he insisted once more, gritting his teeth in frustration. He didn't have time to convince Remus who he was - why couldn't he just know like the others had?! 'Remus, please, look at me!'

'I am looking,' he answered immediately, voice filled with scorn, 'and you look more like an Inferius than like Harry Potter.'

Harry's shoulders slumped. Remus seemed to be mad...but he needed him, and even if he didn't, he couldn't, he wouldn't, leave him all alone. He scrambled to find some way to change his mind. 'Well then, if...if I don't look like me, then I must be Harry Potter! Voldemort wouldn't send such a bad copy of me to talk to you, right? It's me, Remus, believe me! Remember what you said in -'

Remus interrupted with an immediate roll of his eyes. 'Not this again. "Remember this, remember that?" I know you've mined every single one of my personal experiences. We've been through this before. You'll have to try harder.'

'You're dead, Remus! Voldemort isn't here! It's just you and me! I need your help to destroy the next Horcrux!'

After much frustrating cajoling, Harry finally got Remus to at least accept the possibility that he might be Harry Potter - particularly since he had no interest in Grimmauld Place at all. And, regardless of the strain between them, they both agreed that they didn't want to stay in the disquieting darkness, so they made their way back to the Phoenix.