The Inadequate Life

“That’s it,” Pansy said, her voice only wavering slightly. “We’re all ready.”

Harry couldn’t help but shudder in apprehension. They’d spent as much time as was necessary, taken every precaution they could think of, and they’d finally finished preparing: they were ready to attempt the destruction of one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes.

The very prospect was terrifying. Everything that they had accomplished so far, everything they were planning, hinged on this one moment. Succeed, and Voldemort would finally be vulnerable enough to take down for good. Fail—and almost anything could happen. It was distinctly possible that if the potion and ceremony didn’t work, Voldemort might realize that something had been done to one of his Horcruxes. No one knew if it was possible for Voldemort to split his soul even further in order to make more Horcruxes, but it I was, he wouldn’t be so careless with them the next time—he might bury one under a kilometer of earth, or sink one into the depths of the ocean, where it could never be destroyed.

And even if he didn’t realize, they would still be in dire trouble. While the Horcruxes still existed, Voldemort couldn’t die—the best that the D.A. could hope for would be to kill his current body and strike down his armies, and hopefully get a few years with which to figure out how to actually destroy the Horcruxes. That was a best-case scenario if they failed that day—anything worse would be brutally awful.

So they couldn’t fail. They simply couldn’t. But Harry was frightened anyway. Despite all of the research, and the experiments, and all of the different opinions and points of view that had gone into the creation of this potion, the destruction of a Horcrux, without a volatile and dangerous reaction, was something that no one had ever succeeded in before—even Albus Dumbledore had failed to escape the destruction of the ring Horcrux uninjured. In his more uncertain moments, Harry thought that they were fools for thinking they could succeed where someone as great as Albus Dumbledore hadn’t.

Still, they did have a lot going for them. Since they’d figured out that the Horcruxes reacted to the method of destruction, they had been able to specifically look for less volatile methods. Harry had studied and studied the theories behind their methods and properties behind the ingredients until his head spun, and he simply hadn’t been able to pick any holes in the logic—and neither had Hermione, or Pansy, or any of the varied intellects and talents involved with the planning. The diversity of thought that had gone into the process gave Harry hope that they hadn’t missed anything.

But he was still terrified.

“Okay,” he said, forcing his voice to remain calm and steady. “You all know what that means—everyone out except for Pansy and I. We’re not chancing this at all. I know some of you are curious and would like to watch,” he said, glancing at Sally-Ann, Padma and Terry, “but your lives would be in danger and we’re not going to risk it. No arguing,” he added as Sally-Ann opened her mouth. “Go.”

Reluctantly on the part of the Ravenclaws, with both relief and apprehension on the part of Ron and Hermione, they all headed out the door. “We’ll be right on the stairs, waiting,” Hermione said tearfully, hugging Harry. “You’ll be fine, Harry—I’m sure of it. It’s going to work just like we expect it to.”

“Sure,” Harry said, although he wished he felt more confident. He let go of Hermione and shooed her toward the door. “Go on. We’ll let you in as soon as we’re sure the reactions are finished. But if you hear a big boom, come running.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but Hermione only looked more worried as she hurried over to the door where Ron was waiting. Harry turned to hug Ginny, but she wasn’t there. “Ginny?”

“Over here,” Ginny said.

Harry turned to look, and saw that Ginny was standing beside Pansy, and was in the process of donning a set of the protective gear Harry and Pansy would be wearing. “What are you doing?” Harry demanded, hurrying over. “You can’t—”

“A word of advice, Potter,” Pansy interrupted. “If you try to tell the Weasleyette—excuse me, the Potterette—that she can’t stay, then the Horcrux’s reactions will be the least of your problems.”

Harry opened and closed his mouth, but couldn’t think of a decent response. “I told you, Harry,” Ginny said calmly, pulling on her gloves. “I told you back at the beginning of all this that I wouldn’t let you face this kind of danger without me. You have no choice here, so don’t bother arguing. Pansy’s already set me up to drop the Horcrux into the cauldron.”

Harry swallowed. He wasn’t worried about himself… he’d always known that he’d be risking his life, but he didn’t want to risk Ginny’s—ever. He glanced at Pansy. “Does Neville know you’re doing this?” he asked.

Pansy’s cheeks reddened slightly. “Of course he does,” she snapped. “I wasn’t foolish enough to mention the Horcruxes, but he knows I’m working on an exceptionally dangerous potion.”

“And he’s… okay with that?”

“It wouldn’t matter if he wasn’t!” Pansy snarled, making Harry recoil. “I—I care what Neville thinks,” Pansy relented. “But he’s trusting my judgment, as well as my sense of self-preservation. I’d suggest that you do the same with her,” she added, gesturing at Ginny.

Harry turned back to Ginny, who was ready except for her protective mask, which she held under one arm. “Sorry,” he said weakly. “I—it’s not that I don’t think you have the right to be here, or that I don’t want you here—”

“You’re worried about me,” Ginny said, smiling. “I understand, Harry. But if I was the one who had to intentionally cut myself for a potentially deadly potion… would you be content to stand behind that door?”

“No,” Harry sighed. “Of course not.”

Ginny helped Harry put on his own protective gear, and in short order they were ready. Harry put on his mask, and rolled up his left sleeve to expose the spot on his arm where he would cut himself at the right moment. Wordlessly, Pansy handed Harry the sharp steel knife that they’d chosen for the event. Then she directed him and Ginny to take up spots in front of the cauldron, which was already boiling hotly from the natural wood fire underneath.

Harry looked over at Ginny. She was holding the locket Horcrux in both hands, and staring at it as if it might explode—which it might, if things went wrong. “I love you,” Harry murmured.

Ginny looked up at him and smiled. “That’s the spirit,” she teased. “Happy thoughts.”

Harry couldn’t help but grin. “It’s not as though we’re casting Patronuses.”

“No,” Ginny agreed. “Even better. We’re going to kill Voldemort.”

Harry shivered again, but this time with pleasure at the satisfaction and ferocity in Ginny’s voice. The death of Voldemort, and a lifetime with her. “Damn right we are,” he said just as fiercely.

“If you two are quite through,” Pansy said sharply.

Harry and Ginny turned back to the cauldron, but Harry felt a surge of confidence. This is going to work. “Let’s do it,” he said, gripping the knife handle tightly.

“Ready?” Pansy asked Ginny. Ginny nodded. “Then here we go,” Pansy said. She half-turned to the table beside her, and picked up a small crystal vial, in which was a measured amount of basilisk venom. She turned back to the cauldron. “Remember,” she said, “everything has to be added in quick succession. The Horcrux, then the venom, and then the blood. Potter, step forward the second the first drops of venom hit the water; hold your arm directly over the cauldron, just deal with the heat, and the instant the last drops of venom hit the surface, cut yourself. Don’t be shy about it—the blood has to flow strongly enough that it reaches the water quickly. Weasley, you have the pad to staunch the blood after?” Ginny nodded. “Good.” Pansy took a deep breath. “A statement of intent is standard here—and last words?” she asked wryly.

Harry looked at the Horcrux cradled in Ginny’s hands. Dumbledore had died trying to retrieve that locket, and Harry had been powerless to prevent it from happening right in front of him. And then it had turned out to be in vain, because the locket they’d retrieved had been a fake one. Dumbledore had given everything he had, and eventually even his life, to try and stop Voldemort. Now Harry was going to keep his promise and finish what Dumbledore had started. “This one,” he said, nodding towards the locket, “this is for Albus Dumbledore.”

Ginny’s eyes sparkled, and Harry could see her appreciation in Harry’s choice. “Now,” Pansy said abruptly. “That was it, do it now! The locket!”

Ginny stepped forward with determination, and dropped the locket into the boiling water. She pulled back instantly, making room for Pansy, who’d already uncorked the vial. Just as she upended the vial Harry screwed up his courage and stepped forward, and when he saw the first drop of basilisk venom splash onto the bubbling surface of the water he thrust his arm out, right next to the thin stream of venom still falling.

The water in the cauldron instantly turned a bright, vibrant green, oddly enough a color that suggested life, despite the deadly source of the reaction. Harry raised the hand with the knife, and the light glinting off of it cast doubt into him: could he cut himself? Why the hell had he agreed to in the first place? But then the last drops were falling and there was no time left for doubt—Harry raised the knife, and as the final trickle hit he brought it down. The sickening feeling of his skin being sliced made him feel faint, but Harry held his arm steady as his blood gushed out of his arm, over the knife and copiously fell into the cauldron.

Light—blinding white light shot out of the cauldron, so bright that Harry, Ginny and Pansy all yelled in surprise and covered their eyes, but the light penetrated anyway; they all fell back, the knife coated in Harry’s blood flying across the room. Harry felt dazed, the light overwhelming his senses, and he tried not to black out, worried that he would bleed too much….

Harry came back to himself only a few seconds later, with his vision thankfully returned; he was lying on the floor, and Ginny had come over to press the pad onto his cut and slow the bleeding. “Harry?” she said anxiously. “Are you—?”

“I’m okay,” Harry said, sitting up. “Is Pansy—”

“Just peachy, thank you,” Pansy’s voice called shakily from the other side of the cauldron. “I think I bruised my arse when I fell, if anyone cares…”

Ginny helped Harry to his feet, and they stumbled towards the cauldron. Pansy appeared on the other side, walking a bit unsteadily, but apparently fine. “What happened?” Harry asked.

“I’m not sure,” Pansy said. The cauldron was still glowing from inside, although there was no longer a shaft of pure light coming out of it. Pansy checked to make sure her mask was intact, and leaned cautiously over the cauldron; Harry and Ginny did the same.

It took a moment for them to be able to see through the haze in the cauldron, but when it finally cleared, Harry simply didn’t understand what he saw. The water was gone completely, as was any trace of the basilisk venom or Harry’s blood. All that remained in the cauldron was the Horcrux, resting atop a pile of what looked like—“Salt?” Ginny said. “Is that the salt from the water?”

“That’s what it looks like,” Pansy agreed.

“I’m going to let the others in,” Ginny said, and sprinted over to the door. Soon the anxiously waiting crowd had formed a semi-circle around the cauldron, although they all kept their distance. Ginny pushed her way past them and went right back to Harry’s side. “What happened?” she asked. “Is it—”

“It looks like the reaction might have happened the way we expected,” Pansy said, still peering at the locket. She seemed angry that it hadn’t gone exactly as she’d planned.

“How do we know?” Ginny asked. “I mean, it looks the same.”

“It wouldn’t necessarily change in physical appearance,” Sally-Ann called from about fifteen feet away. “If the venom and the blood infused the locket then—”

“Then what?” Pansy interrupted hotly. “All the water evaporated, and we didn’t anticipate that! All that’s left is the locket and a damned pile of salt!”

“That sounds promising,” Hermione offered.

“But we can’t know if it worked,” Terry insisted. “Not unless—”

“It worked,” Harry said softly.

Everyone looked at Harry, who was staring into the cauldron at the locket with a faraway expression. “How do you know?” Ron asked.

“I can just tell,” Harry said. When everyone still looked dubious, Harry stripped off his glove. “Here,” he said, giddy with confidence. “I’ll show you.”

And before anyone could stop him, Harry reached into the cauldron and seized the locket. “NO!” Ginny shouted, ready to pull Harry back, but she pulled up short when Harry straightened. “Harry? Are—are you all right?”

“Better than all right,” Harry said. “Look!”

Harry held out his hand, and several people let slip exclamations of shock. Harry was holding the locket. “Harry!” Hermione gasped. “It—it’s not hurting you!”

“Not even a little,” Harry confirmed, his grin threatening to split his face. “In fact, I think it’s calming me a little—I feel really relaxed and happy.”

“That’s probably from blood loss,” Pansy said sardonically.

Ginny stared at Harry for a second, and then tugged off her glove. “Let me try,” she demanded, holding out her hand.

Shrugging, Harry placed the locket in Ginny’s hand. The moment it touched her skin, her eyes widened. “Oh, Merlin,” she murmured. “Harry’s right—it’s definitely affecting me, too! It’s like a Calming Draught, multiplied by ten!”

“It’s affecting your mood?” Hermione asked, shocked. “But it never did that before!”

“I think it did,” Harry said. “We were always tense and nervous when we handled it before. We just assumed that it was because of the nature of a Horcrux, but I think it was subtly bringing out fear. And now, it’s doing the opposite—it’s calming our fears.”

“If that’s true,” Padma breathed excitedly, “then it definitely worked!”

“I think the fact that Harry can touch it without pain is proof that Voldemort’s soul is no longer a part of the locket,” Ginny said, her voice thick with emotion. “And th-that means that whatever else it is—it’s no longer a Horcrux!”

Everyone looked around at each other in utter shock. “She’s right,” Terry said faintly. “It—if Harry—then the part of the soul that was—it’s gone!”

“We did it,” Harry said, almost overwhelmed with happiness. “We did it!”

With a howl of joy, Harry swept Ginny into his arms and spun her around. “We did it!” He yelled, over and over. Ginny had tears in her eyes, but she laughed and kissed Harry, reveling with him in the knowledge that they were that much nearer, so close to the end of it all.

Then Hermione threw her arms around Harry and Ginny, and the room erupted in cheers and hugs and congratulations. Even Pansy allowed herself to be thanked and congratulated and even hugged while she tried to disguise how pleased she was.

Finally, when everyone had tired themselves with their celebration, Ginny looked down and saw that the front of her protective clothing was stained with red. “Harry!” she exclaimed, “your arm!”

Harry had completely forgotten. His arm was still oozing sluggishly—the pad had stuck to the wound, and it had to be pried off, which was pretty painful. Even so, Harry was still smiling as Ginny tapped the cut lightly with her wand and muttered a Healing Charm. He grimaced slightly at the bizarre feeling of his skin knitting, but it didn’t last. “Thanks, Gin,” he said fondly. “Right. Now we—”

“Hang on a minute, Harry,” Ginny said, frowning. She took his arm again. “That shouldn’t be there…”

Harry looked down and saw that there was a nasty scar, roughly six centimeters long, stretching across his arm. “I thought Healing Charms didn’t leave scars,” he said.

“They’re not supposed to,” Ginny said. She tapped the scar with her wand and said the Healing Charm again, but nothing happened. “I don’t understand,” she growled. “That shouldn’t be there!”

Hermione tried to get rid of the scar too, but she had no better luck than Ginny. “Why won’t this heal?” Hermione asked in frustration.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Pansy said. “It’s just like the scar on your forehead, Potter—created in a blood rite. I bet it’ll be there forever, too.”

Harry stared at her. “But—but I don’t have a scar from when Wormtail cut me…”

“Maybe it has something to do with your proximity to the rite,” Pansy said with a shrug. “Or your role in it. Who knows? No one understood your first scar either, right? Just consider it a battle scar and move on.”

Ron bristled. “Look, you heartless—”

“No, Ron,” Harry interrupted. “She’s right. This—it’s a surprise, but it doesn’t matter.”

“But Harry,” Ginny said shakily, “You-you’re going to have to make three more of these!”

“So what?” Harry said. “Honestly, I don’t care. It’s a small price to pay for killing Voldemort.” He held out his arm to her. “Does this repulse you, Ginny?”

Ginny looked Harry right in the eye. “Nothing about you will ever repulse me,” she said softly.

“Then it doesn’t matter. I’ll take a hundred of these if that’s what it takes.” He turned to the others, who were watching with surprise, trepidation, and admiration. “Come on, everyone. We’re all going to get something to eat to replenish our strength, and then we all have work to do. Padma, Sally-Ann, Terry, Luna—you’re going to take this not-Horcrux to the conference room, and see if you can determine more about its nature. The rest of us are going to come down here and reset everything. And then,” he said with determination, “we’re going to do this again.”