Chapter 03

~ ~ = Parseltongue

<<<<<<<<<<Harry Potter>>>>>>>>>>

Harry winced in pain as Winky tended to the wounds on his body. Calling Dobby had been the best decision he had made during the hunt. The former Malfoy elf had contacted several of his companions who were in a similar predicament as he and now, Harry was the proud master of twenty very happy house-elves. Of course, many of the elves that had come to him were horrible looking and quite unhealthy. But once bonded, Harry could see that his magic had indeed strengthened them. He had sent everyone except Winky and Kreacher on stealth missions to gather information on the outside world, something he desperately needed to proceed with the task of taking down Voldemort.

However, just a week into his solo mission, he found a group of snatchers camped out near the place Harry had set up the tent, drinking and laughing loudly, celebrating the murders of a Muggle-born and a goblin.

Not wanting to waste such a great opportunity, especially after he recognised Fenrir Greyback, Harry had attacked them, using the Sectumsempra curse liberally, along with a couple of deadly spells he found in a book presented to him by Kreacher that had once belonged to Regulus Black. Harry had not escaped uninjured, but the risk had proved to be fruitful. The element of surprise had definitely worked in his favour as the group of snatchers were all killed.

More importantly, Voldemort's chief werewolf was dead. The sadistic beast wouldn't be infecting any more children again and hopefully, this would thwart some of the Dark Lord's plans with regard to using werewolves to keep the wizarding population under control. Even if it didn't, it would at least send a message to Voldemort and the Death Eaters that there were indeed those out there that were resisting their tyrannical rule.

He and the elves had immediately moved and set up camp elsewhere.

"Master will be recovering in no time at all," smiled Winky. The bond had done wonders for the elf. Harry was happy for her, though he knew that Hermione would be enraged if she were to find out. However, he couldn't bring himself to care what his female best friend thought. They were at war and he needed every advantage he could get and the house-elves were willing to help him.

The rational side of him knew that he couldn't blame Hermione for abandoning him because she had obviously Disapparated with Ron accidentally while trying to stop him, but the bitterness from last year still remained. She had spent the entire year hounding him after that stupid Potions book, acting as though he was beneath her, and not once had she listened to his concerns about Draco Malfoy. That had resulted in Albus Dumbledore's death.

His scar prickled.

The world was spinning … Harry felt nauseous and before he could prepare for it, the pain from his scar overtook all other senses. Suddenly, he was looming over a trembling figure who had dared to bring him this news.

———————

"What did you say?" he hissed angrily.

"M-My Lord, we don't know who," the Death Eater squeaked in fear. "T-They killed Greyback and –"

With a scream of rage, the familiar flash of green light impacted the unsuspecting Peter Pettigrew, making him fall to the ground, dead.

Who would dare kill Greyback? He thought he had crushed all opposition, but apparently, he was wrong. Greyback was important; he was the leader of the werewolves that served under his command. He would have to talk to those filthy beasts and secure their cooperation. A few deaths would encourage the dogs to learn who their true master was. If they didn't want to cooperate, he would obliterate them all.

He kicked Wormtail's corpse as he exited the throne room.

———————

Harry gasped for breath as he sat up, his face white as a sheet. He couldn't even bring himself to smile at Pettigrew's death, the pain from his scar nearly blinding him.

"Master Harry, what happened?" asked Winky worriedly.

"I'm fine, Winky," Harry croaked out. "Scar."

The former elf of the Crouch family snapped her fingers at the scar as she cast a detection charm. She gasped in fright.

"Winky detects dark magic in the scar, Master Harry! It smells like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

Harry frowned. This was the first time someone had scanned the scar. His frown deepened. Actually, why had he never consulted anyone about the scar before? Couldn't a healer do anything about it? Why hadn't Dumbledore done something? Wasn't it widely accepted that he was the most knowledgeable wizard in several generations? Surely the link between him and Voldemort could have been severed many years ago, right?

"Winky, what exactly is my scar? Can you tell me?" asked Harry curiously.

Winky whispered her findings to Kreacher, who was older and more experienced than her. The Black family elf cast his own spells to find out more. After a few minutes, Kreacher's eyes widened in shock.

"Master, your scar is having the same magical signature that was present in Master Regulus' locket."

Harry's face paled rapidly. No, it couldn't be. That was not possible.

"Kreacher are you absolutely sure?" he whispered, his voice breaking.

"Yes, master. Kreacher recognises the magic as he spent many years trying to destroy it."

His scar was a Horcrux. Harry gripped his head and pulled his hair. Things finally clicked in place. This was the reason he had never been trained. This was the reason Dumbledore always gave him tests at the end of every year. This was the reason the prophecy existed.

'Neither can live while the other survives …'

He was never meant to survive. Dumbledore had wanted him to die. It was so simple. Voldemort could not be killed as long as Harry was alive, making him the only person to kill the Dark Lord.

'Either must die at the hand of the other …'

It fit perfectly. After he died, the prophecy would be fulfilled. Once he was dead, anyone could kill Voldemort without interfering with fate. Was that Dumbledore's plan all along? Was that why he had faced so many challenges during his years at Hogwarts and Dumbledore had never helped him?

Tears stung his eyes as he realised what fate had in store for him. He took deep, shaky breaths as he cried silently into his hands that he held over his face. He was trembling all over.

How long had Dumbledore known that his scar housed a piece of Voldemort's soul?

———————

"You can speak Parseltongue, Harry, because Lord Voldemort – who is the last remaining descendant of Salazar Slytherin, incidentally – can speak Parseltongue. Unless I'm mistaken, and I very rarely am, he transferred some of his powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I'm sure …"

———————

Dumbledore must have guessed that there was more to the scar once Harry revealed to the world that he was a Parselmouth. Harry clenched his fists. The old mage had known, or at least suspected, that the scar was a Horcrux since Harry was a twelve-year-old boy. Why hadn't he done something?

Why had Dumbledore been silent this entire time?

Then again, how do you tell a twelve-year-old that he was supposed to die in order to defeat his parents' killer?

Harry took a deep breath. His scar was a Horcrux. That was a fact and there was nothing he could do about it until he faced Voldemort for the final time. If he could destroy all the Horcruxes by then, with his scar being the last one, then Voldemort would be mortal once he killed Harry. The prophecy too would be fulfilled – either must die at the hand of the other – and if someone manages to kill the Dark Lord after Harry's death, that would truly be the end of him.

With that in mind, swallowing the deep misery, anger and betrayal he felt at Dumbledore, he got to work. He needed to find the next Horcrux.

Harry drew a chart about where the Horcruxes could be. The ring had been in the old house of the Gaunts; the locket had been in the cave where Tom Riddle had tormented those orphans, showing them his superiority; the diary had been given to his faithful follower, Lucius Malfoy …

His eyes narrowed. Why Lucius? Wasn't there someone Voldemort trusted more than Lucius? Bellatrix had proclaimed to him that she was the Dark Lord's most loyal follower, so there was a possibility that he would have entrusted his valuable Horcrux to his most devoted servant. But where could it be hidden?

The answer was obvious – Hogwarts.

Bitterness washed over Harry as he remembered Ron's rants and Hermione's condescending comments over the past few months when he had broached this very subject.

———————-

"I still reckon he would have hidden it at Hogwarts."

"But Dumbledore would have found it, Harry!"

"If there was one place that was really important to You-Know-Who, it was Hogwarts!"

"Oh, come on! His school?!"

"Yeah, his school! It was his first real home, the place that proved he was special; it meant everything to him, and even after he left –"

"This is You-Know-Who we're talking about, right? Not you?"

————————

Neither of them understood Voldemort like he did because he knew how Tom Riddle must have felt, having escaped the orphanage and found solace in the magical world. A place where he was no longer a freak, a place that he could finally call home – Hogwarts.

There was a Horcrux at Hogwarts, Harry was sure of it. But there were still pieces of the puzzle that did not fit completely. There were two Horcruxes missing – Hufflepuff's Cup and an artefact that belonged to either Godric Gryffindor or Rowena Ravenclaw.

So that meant there were two hiding places.

Which place in Magical Britain was safe enough for Voldemort to store of his Horcruxes, besides Hogwarts? A place that had some connection to Bellatrix Lestrange; a secret lair at her house, an underground vault, or –

Harry sucked in a breath.

Underground vault …

What did Hagrid say about Gringotts?

"Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it. Safest place; except for Hogwarts."

"Kreacher, please get me a sheet of parchment, ink and quill."