Chapter - 48 : Fraudulence Part - 6

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The ball showed him the ring horcrux and Dumbledore succumbing to its effects.

He'd known the event was coming of course. Back home Dumbledore's hand had been injured before the man had come to collect him from Privet Drive to bait Slughorn out of retirement. That would be any day now. The hand would blacken, followed by the arm as the curse ate away at the limb and within the year Dumbledore would die.

Part of him was vengefully eager to watch it happen but a small voice in the back of his mind remarked that his fresh start would be quite tainted by negligent homicide.

Suddenly three cords of blue-green magic burst into light around his right wrist like a set of bracelets in the exact same spot where Dobby had gripped him when they made the vow. The cords flashed once before disappearing again, leaving him with spots in his vision.

Harry stared. "You have got to be kidding me."

Wasn't he even going the be allowed a choice? He hadn't sworn anything about helping Dumbledore! Just because the man was the sole obstacle preventing the Wizengamot from kidnapping Iris and tossing her at the Dark Lord...

Oh.

Harry sprung to his feet and started pacing like a caged animal. "Blasted elf," he muttered. "Blackmailing little piece of shit."

What was he supposed to do, walk up to Dumbledore and warn him? That would go over well. "Hey, Headmaster? That Horcrux you're going after? Don't put it on; it has a Withering Curse on it. Bye now, have a good weekend." He could almost taste the Veritaserum that would follow.

No, he'd have to go and steal the stone himself before the Headmaster could get it-

He stopped in his tracks as he thought of the consequences. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards as he imagined the old man combing through the Gaunt shack in frustration, seeking but never finding one of the things he truly valued. After all, Dumbledore was obsessed with the Deathly Hallows. Wielder of the Elder Wand, he had spent a decade with the Cloak of Invisibility doing who knows what to it. That man wanted the Resurrection Stone like nothing else and knew where it was hidden.

And here Harry was in a position to deny him his greatest wish.

He peered suspiciously at his wrist but it stayed nicely skin-coloured, if a little pale from spending so much time indoors. The vow was not objecting.

His eyes gleamed and he grinned viciously. There was no time to lose.

Without much knowledge of how Dumbledore retrieved the ring the first time Harry really couldn't make any kind of plan. He didn't let that bother him overly much, though. After all, he was at his best when flying by the seat of his pants.

Instead, he Apparated to the only place in Little Hangleton he knew: the graveyard.

If nothing else, materialising in a graveyard where you have once been bound to one of the tombstones, tortured and engaged in a duel to the death was a strong deterrent against recklessness. Maybe, he thought, he ought to exercise a little caution. Messing with Dumbledore meant a lot to him, but not at the cost of his life.

The depressing atmosphere that was the graveyard did not lift when he passed the gates and peered down the ill-repaired road. One side was an open field. It looked light and airy, the monotony broken by a few trees here and there. The other side was heavily wooded, though the leaves of every plant and tree looked dark and infected as if disease clung to every bit of life in the area.

Even from yards away Harry could smell the neglect and decay and he had little hope there wouldn't be vermin the size of horses hiding in the shadows.

"Wonderful," Harry muttered under his breath as he started walking, trying to see a hint of human habitation through the trees. "Well, as long as there aren't any inferi it will at least be better than the cave."

Thinking of inferi so close to a graveyard brought back memories of death. He'd seen a lot of it, but he had never felt it quite as deeply as during that awful time just after the war ended when life was filled with funerals and grieving. As he searched for a path leading off the main road to the Gaunt shack it was almost like he was back there again.

Harry tiptoed through the kitchen of the Burrow, heading for the open door leading outside, meanwhile steadfastly ignoring Molly's quiet crying as she cooked. It was a regular theme; something she had been doing for a month now, ever since Fred died.

Outside the sun was bright and the sky mostly blue with a few clouds to playfully highlight what a happy day it could have been. Bright rays of sunlight highlighted the figure of a sixteen year old girl with long red hair in a simple ponytail sitting with her back against a weeping willow looking out over the pond a feet away. The light sparkled in her eyes and on her cheeks because of the tears she was quietly shedding.

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