Chapter Text
The Dark Lady.
Amy Mavolto Riddle -
- I Am Lady Voldemort.
Loathe as Harry was to admit it, there was no denying the fact that she was winning now.
Lady Voldemort - the ungodly goddess of the dark - the one who was destined, prophesied, and largely obsessed to bedevil his life, the one who had made him the chosen one- was calling for him, waiting for him, in the forbidden forest.
"Give me Harry Potter", she beckoned, hissed, almost sung his name like a siren.
"Give me Harry Potter and none shall be harmed."
The quest to hunt down her horcruxes seemed to be fruitless, in hindsight. He sat there in Dumbledore's office, near the pensieve - Snape's memory seemed to have upended his entire life in an instant, leaving him oddly bereft and disassociated - mulling over how he, Ron and Hermione had slaved days and nights pulling out all the stops to hunt down her horcruxes and completely destroy them.
Though not a complete failure per say, they did succeed in finding the vile things, but what was the use of having them in his hand if he didn't even know how to destroy them? Hermione had theorized that the basilisk venom could destroy it and oh how they had rejoiced at finally having a lead.
Gryffindor's sword gave them hope. But that's all in what it succeeded in.
The Locket, currently in his mokeskin pouch, was their first attempt where the sword didn't even leave a tiny scratch on the deceptively delicate figures carved upon it.
The Ring was next. The Ring which had cursed Dumbledore's hand (Snape's revelation of the Headmaster's real cause of death made him feel infinitely worse) was intact as well. Dumbledore had given the Ring to Harry for safekeeping that fateful night at the astronomy tower, which he then kept in the pouch too. It was only recently that he started wearing it regularly. The thought made Harry look at his right hand and he almost saw the band glow for a second.
They had then mused that direct use of the venom might do the trick, and hence their detour to the chamber of secrets amidst the raging battle. When the Cup and Diadem did nothing but slink away on the damp floor of the cold chamber under the force of the slain Basilisk's fang, neither of the three were surprised, after all.
However, it did create a whole set of questions. How did the diary get destroyed then? Why wasn't the poison penetrating these items? Was it because this was jewellery?
And who knew that Voldemort, could be such a bling lover in her youth? Such an odd thought to have at this moment, but was she attracted to jewellery, the way other girls were, when she was still the beautiful and bewitching Amy Riddle?
Harry internally scoffed.
While it was impressive how she claimed the title as the dark's supreme with being a female in a man's world; she was a cruel, power hungry woman, who wasn't a woman at all. Her long pale face with jutted cheekbones and serpentine nose and crimson slits for eyes, often made a presence in his sleep. Long exposure to the horcruxes only increased their intensity.
So here Harry sat, face pensive - in front of a pensieve, among horcruxes - with the fresh knowledge of being one of those horcruxes himself.
His life was a circus. An irony. Some might even be ridiculous enough to say it was poetic.
A part of Lady Voldemort's soul - of the woman who was set on killing him since the day he was born to this day of the final chapter of the war, -
"Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave Hogwarts untouched."
- resided within him. Consumed with immortality as she was, it indeed feel like poetic justice to die while killing the boy she thought was her death.
Two people tangled in a prophecy destined to die together. Harry was eminently angry with Dumbledore for hiding this fact but he sort of understood. It was for the greater good. He had to die. But of course nobody wanted to live with the fact that they carried such a shriveled soul inside them for the entirety of their school life. And Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the others deserved so much better than Harry's angst.
The thought of his friends halted his subconscious mind which knew what to do. They'd be so devastated by his death, but they'll live a better life...
Or will they? The horcruxes still lived. All of them, except the diary. Who was to say she would be defeated if he died? Or who was to say he'd even die at all like the fucking horcruxes. Stubborn, so stubborn.
But maybe, maybe if he could die by the Dark Lady's wand herself, could it be possible...
In any case , nothing could happen with just sitting there. Mind set and jaw clenched, he fixed the gaunt ring in his hand, pulled out the locket and wore it around his neck (the sudden heat made him almost jump), tucked the Cup and Diadem in his pouch and made for the exit.
He was ready.
Or was he?
"Give me Harry Potter"