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Who would have thought that Horcruxes and caves would have such an intimate relationship? Or was it just because of Voldemort, the Dark Lord? Because of Tom Riddle, the man terrified by death?
The Diary had been tied to the Chamber of Secrets, a hidden cave under Hogwarts.
Its whole purpose had been to open the Chamber, to let the monster out and wreak havoc while sucking an innocent little girl’s soul to come back to life.
It had also been the Chamber of Secrets where Harry had destroyed the Diary.
The Horcrux.
The first part of Voldemort’s soul.
Of what had been Tom Riddle.
The Locket had been supposed to rest in a cave - considering the cruel protections - until the end of time. The fake locket Harry had retrieved from the cave with Dumbledore had been untouched despite the long years it had been there. The Locket had been supposed to be protected by the surrounding ice-cold water. It could be considered funny, that it had been ice-cold water which almost allowed the Horcrux to kill Harry in its quest to protect itself.
It could be considered funny, that the Locket was supposed to rest protected in a cave, lying on the ground of a stone basin but was destroyed lying on a stone in an open forest.
The Ring, as far as Harry knew, had been hidden in an underground place so small, it could be called a simple hole in the ground rather than a cave but in favour of the great picture - it had rested in a small cave for decades before Dumbledore came along to retrieve it. To destroy it as soon as he had been able to. To be destroyed in return.
The Cup, of course, had rested deep in the belly of Gringotts. The Lestrange Vault had been old, so it was deep, deep underground. And what was a Gringotts vault other than a fancy cave? The Cup had been resting there for more than a decade before Harry came along and forced it into the open. Only to let it be brought back into a cave, into the Chamber of Secrets, and have it destroyed.
The Diadem hadn’t been in a cave. It had been rested comfortably within Hogwarts’ walls, surrounded by the Treasures and broken things of past students in the Room of Requirement. It had rested comfortably until it’s hiding place was devoured by Fiendfyre - flames like a dragon that had awoken to defend its lair - its cave - from intruders, from thieves who dared to take something from within. Just like the old fairy tales Harry had secretly read as a child had suggested.
The Snake, Nagini, was the only Horcrux being free, wasn’t it?
Sure, Voldemort kept it in a sphere now, transparent but indestructible. He kept it always by his side, never alone. The sphere was a cage but it was no cave. The Horcrux was protected but not lonely.
Not like all the other Horcruxes.
Not like Harry.
The Mistake. The Accident. The Unintended.
Harry had been in his version of a cave for a decade. Not to be protected but to be stored. To be hidden. From the Wizarding World of his parents as much as the Normal World of his relatives. To be forgotten when he had no immediate use.
Harry had been in the Chamber of Secrets, in the cave under Hogwarts.
Not to be protected but to be killed. To be eaten by the basilisk.
He had been in there and killed. The basilisk. The Diary. And indirectly the Cup.
He had been saved in there by Fawkes.
And just like the Locket, Harry had to die in a forest. He had to be destroyed in a forest.
Because he was no boy. He was no human.
He was a living Horcrux and nothing else, and for the Greater Good -
Harry just wished Dumbledore would have told him. Would not have let him live a lie. Would not have let Harry find the truth from a tear of a dying man. A man who had detested Harry’s very existence.
Harry just wished Voldemort would have built him his own cave.
Secure and protected.
A place to rest in peace.
He was satisfied. At long last, his plan had finally panned out.
Only in the security of his mind, he allowed himself to be chagrined that it had taken him years to discover that the nuisance that vanquished him once because of his own hubris was more than just that. More than just a boy.
Harry Potter was a Treasure.
He was a Horcrux. Unintentional as his creation might have been, he was not just any Horcrux, no. He was the first living Horcrux ever created. He was the bearer of the seventh part of Lord Voldemort’s very own soul.
Of Tom Riddle’s soul?
It was difficult to bring Lord Voldemort and Tom Riddle in accordance.
Young Tom Riddle had hated his name and created the persona of Lord Voldemort to rise above all the peasants that were shackled by their mortality. He had chopped away part of his soul again and again until Tom Riddle had been lost and Lord Voldemort had truly been born. Only to - trapped in the madness of his fractured mind - fall for a self-fulfilling prophecy. To all but damn himself to more than a decade of painful nothingness.
It had been a relief when the Diary had eventually found him.
Who would have thought that destroying a Horcrux didn’t kill the soul shard within? It only caused them to reconcile with the main soul.
Lord Voldemort had been so weak, so small, so insane.
Young Tom Riddle had been weakened by his sudden release from the diary but he had been big and brilliant.
It had nearly taken a year but in the end, Tom Riddle had stood victorious. He had absorbed Lord Voldemort and his memories. He had battled the insanity.
Mostly at least.
There had been occasions in which Lord Voldemort had risen to the surface, had toppled Tom’s carefully laid plans. It had cost him Harry Potter's demise after his resurrection but it had been for the better. After all, just a few months later, Tom had discovered that their blood, their wands, weren’t their only connection.
They shared dreams. They were able to share a mind.
It had taken the reincorporating of the Ring to discover the possibility that they shared a soul . That Harry Potter harboured a tiny sliver of Tom Riddle’s soul. Had done so for almost all of his life.
Tom had played his part and raged and broadcast his fury for every discovery of another destroyed Horcrux. For every sliver of his old magical strength and brilliance, his little Treasure continued to send to him. For the knowledge, the Locket had brought him after its prolonged touching of his Treasure’s mind.
Now, there was only one Horcrux left.
Despite what he had portrayed, Tom hadn’t created another Horcrux. He hadn’t risked another descent into madness, into magical weakness by tearing apart his soul again after just having found back to himself.
He had let Dumbledore believe that Lord Voldemort would have another failsafe in Nagini. He had protected her excessively and kept her by his side at all times to reinforce the impression. The connection between Nagini and his Treasure had been a lucky conscience - then again, the soul shard inside of him allowed him to be a Parselmouth so why shouldn’t he share Tom’s connection with his bonded familiar?
Either way, it didn’t matter.
Dumbledore was dead.
Tom was alive and continued to be immortal - he had still one Horcrux left. His Treasure.
The knowledge of the Locket burned inside Tom. It had touched his Treasure’s mind long enough to paint a clear picture. A picture only highlighted by tired green eyes looking from a gaunt, pale face.
Harry Potter was exhausted.
Tom would build a new cave - the last cave, protected like nothing ever before - and he would lay his Treasure to rest.