Harry Potter Prediction

This is an entry I made for a competition along the lines of "write a scene from the seventh Harry Potter book" (this was before the book had actually come out). Although I didn't actually believe this was what Rowling would write, I entered it anyway, after squashing what I had in my head to fit with the 1000-word limit.

Draco Malfoy lay in sleep troubled by nightmares. He dreamt of his mother Narcissa, and of his old house-elf Dobby, and of his former Head of House Severus Snape, and others. He saw their faces, sometimes cruel, sometimes scared, sometimes pale and lifeless. He heard their voices, screaming, laughing coldly, gibbering madly. And through it all, he saw the face of his father, which became the face of the Dark Lord, laughing not with humour but with the cruelty of one who had murdered not one, not scores, but hundreds, thousands perhaps, of people—innocents, all of them, undeserving of the punishment that he had brought to them. And cutting through the laughter, the voice of Albus Dumbledore, the last words he had ever spoken to him: You are not a killer, Draco…

These were the things that he dreamt as he tossed and turned and screamed and cried in his bed. And then he was awoken by a cracking sound beside him. He turned his head sharply, and saw a small figure hunched on his bedside table.

“Dobby?” he exclaimed in shock.

But as the figure looked up at him, he saw that it was not Dobby, but another house-elf, uglier and with a different look in his eyes than Dobby. Draco began to reach for his wand, but decided against it on the grounds that the thing was probably quite capable of reaching his wand and snapping it in two if he made any sudden move. So he lay quite still and waited for it to speak. It did.

“Master Malfoy,” it croaked. “This house-elf, Kreacher, regrets having to wake you, but I have urgent news to tell you.”

Malfoy remained silent, but nodded his head so as to signal it to continue.

“As such a devoted follower as you may know, before his defeat at the hands of the accursed Harry Potter, the Dark Lord split his soul into several pieces, and stored them in a number of objects.”

Draco had not known this, but nodded his head mutely.

“I know where they are.”

As Draco lay there wondering if he was still dreaming, the elf explained…


***

Harry Potter, wrapped in sleep just as troubled as Draco’s as he lay in his bed in the Burrow, awakened to the sound of a voice.

“Potter! I need to speak with you!”

Harry awoke instantly. He knew that voice: Draco Malfoy, his old enemy, who had in a large part been responsible for the death of Dumbledore. He reached for his wand, but Malfoy was faster, and Harry felt his arms go rigid in response to some jinx he had performed.

“Potter, this is important.” Said Malfoy. “It’s about the Dark Lord…”

Harry waited for him to finish, curious despite himself, and then said, “So you’re telling me that Sirius’s brother Regulus stole two of the Horcruxes, and then Kreacher found them and he told you where they were, and how to reach the third one?”

Malfoy nodded.

“And you expect me to believe this?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” demanded Harry.

“Because I can prove it.”


***


Harry ran up the stairs to Dumbledore’s old office, rammed the Sorting Hat on his head, and demanded, bluntly, “Are you Voldemort’s Horcrux?”

“Yes.” Said the hat. “Voldemort enchanted me so I couldn’t tell anyone unless asked.”

This took Harry completely by surprise, and he stood stock-still for several seconds before turning to Malfoy and asking, softly, “you do know that Voldemort’s going to kill you for this, don’t you?”

Malfoy nodded, slowly.

“And,” continued Harry, “I’m not entirely sure how much use this is going to be, because I have no idea how to destroy these Horcruxes.”

“Actually,” said the hat, “I think I know the solution to both of those…”


***


Harry stood in front of the veiled archway in the Department of Mysteries, his wand in one hand, an urn containing Fawkes’s ashes in the other, the Sorting Hat on his head, and Slytherin’s locket and Hufflepuff’s goblet near his feet. He listened to the hat’s voice in his head, and then poked the tip of his wand through the archway. He felt contact, not physical, not even mental, but at the level of his soul, his immortal being.

“Deathly Hallows, Guardians of the Beyond, I would speak with thee.” Said Harry, repeating the words the hat whispered into his head.

And, in reply, there issued a voice unlike anything Harry had ever heard. “Speak.”

“I come offering you a trade,” said Harry. “The soul of Tom Marvolo Riddle, in exchange for the soul of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.” Dumbledore, he knew, was the only one who could protect Malfoy.

“We already have two parts of this soul.”

Harry nodded. “And five more remain. I can give them to you.”

The alien voice was silent for a while, and then said: “We do not make it our practice to bargain, but Albus Dumbledore does not rest easily, and the soul of Tom Riddle is indeed a prize. We will consent this once.”

“Wait,” said Harry. “How do I know I can trust you?”

The voice seemed ready to explode with indignation. “WE ARE THE GUARDIANS! WE WOULD NOT STOOP TO TRICKERY!”

“That’s as may be,” said Harry, “I will rest more easily if you agree to these terms: I will give you three parts of the soul now, and then you will give me the soul of Albus Dumbledore, and afterwards I will give you the remaining two parts.”

“Very well.”

Harry kicked the two smaller Horcruxes through the archway, threw the Hat in, and then raised Fawkes’s ashes before the opening. They burst into flame.

“Welcome back, Dumbledore,” said Harry.

Dumbledore’s reincarnation cried out a greeting.

“Guard Malfoy,” said Harry. “I have things I need to do.”

“Wait!” said Draco as Harry turned to go. “What things?”

“I still owe the Guardians two parts of Voldemort’s soul,” Harry reminded him. “and I intend to pay my debt.”

I won, by the way