Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows hp-7

by J. K. Rowling

  “Please, I need some help. I need to know anything you can tell me about the lost diadem.”

  A cold smile curved her lips.

  “I am afraid,” she said, turning to leave, “that I cannot help you.”

  “WAIT!”

  He had not meant to shout, but anger and panic were threatening to overwhelm him. He glanced at his watch as she hovered in front of him. It was a quarter to midnight.

  “This is urgent,” he said fiercely. “If that diadem’s at Hogwarts, I’ve got to find it, fast.”

  “You are hardly the first student to covet the diadem,” she said disdainfully. “Generations of students have badgered me—”

  “This isn’t about trying to get better marks!” Harry shouted at her, “It’s about Voldemort—defeating Voldemort—or aren’t you interested in that?”

  She could not blush, but her transparent cheeks became more opaque, and her voice was heated as she replied, “Of course I—how dare you suggest—?”

  “Well, help me then!”

  Her composure was slipping.

  “It—it is not a question of—” she stammered. “My mother’s diadem—”

  “Your mother’s?”

  She looked angry with herself.

  “When I lived,” she said stiffly, “I was Helena Ravenclaw.”

  “You’re her daughter? But then, you must know what happened to it.”

  “While the diadem bestows wisdom,” she said with an obvious effort to pull herself together, “I doubt that it would greatly increase you chances of defeating the wizard who calls himself Lord—”

  “Haven’t I told you, I’m not interested in wearing it!” Harry said fiercely. “There’s no time to explain—but if you care about Hogwarts, if you want to see Voldemort finished, you’ve got to tell me anything you know about the diadem!”

  She remained quite still, floating in midair, staring down at him, and a sense of hopelessness engulfed Harry. Of course, if she had known anything, she would have told Flitwick of Dumbledore, who had surely asked her the same question. He had shaken his head and made to turn away when she spoke in a low voice.

  “I stole the diadem from my mother.”

  “You—you did what?”

  “I stole the diadem,” repeated Helena Ravenclaw in a whisper. “I sought to make myself cleverer, more important than my mother. I ran away with it.”

  He did not know how he had managed to gain her confidence and did not ask, he simply listened, hard, as she went on.

  “My mother, they say, never admitted that the diadem was gone, but pretended that she had it still. She concealed her loss, my dreadful betrayal, even from the other founders of Hogwarts.

  “Then my mother fell ill—fatally ill. In spite of my perfidy, she was desperate to see me one more time. She sent a man who had long loved me, though I spurned his advances, to find me. She knew that he would not rest until he had done so.”

  Harry waited. She drew a deep breath and threw back her head.

  “He tracked me to the forest where I was hiding. When I refused to return with him, he became violent. The baron was always a hot-tempered man. Furious at my refusal, jealous of my freedom, he stabbed me.”

  “The Baron? You mean—?”

  “The Bloody Baron, yes,” said the Gray Lady, and she lifted aside the cloak she wore to reveal a single dark wound in her white chest. When he saw what he had done, he was overcome with remorse. He took the weapon that had claimed my life, and used it to kill himself. All these centuries later, he wears his chains as an act of penitence… as he should,” she added bitterly.

  “And—and the diadem?”

  “It remained where I had hidden it when I heard the Baron blundering through the forest toward me. Concealed inside a hollow tree.”

  “A hollow tree?” repeated Harry. “What tree? Where was this?”

  “A forest in Albania. A lonely place I thought was far beyond my mother’s reach.”

  “Albania,” repeated Harry. Sense was emerging miraculously from confusion, and now he understood why she was telling him what she had denied Dumbledore and Flitwick. “You’ve already told someone this story, haven’t you? Another student?”

  She closed her eyes and nodded.

  “I had… no idea… He was flattering. He seemed to… understand… to sympathize…”

  Yes, Harry thought. Tom Riddle would certainly have understood Helena Ravenclaw’s desire to possess fabulous objects to which she had little right.

  “Well, you weren’t the first person Riddle wormed things out of,” Harry muttered. “He could be charming when he wanted…”

  So, Voldemort had managed to wheedle the location of the lost diadem out of the Gray Lady. He had traveled to that far-flung forest and retrieved the diadem from its hiding place, perhaps as soon as he left Hogwarts, before he even started work at Borgin and Burkes.

  And wouldn’t those secluded Albanian woods have seemed an excellent refuge when, so much later, Voldemort and needed a place to lie low, undisturbed, for ten long years?

  But the diadem, once it became his precious Horcrux, had not been left in that lowly tree… No, the diadem had been returned secretly to its true home, and Voldemort must have put it there—

  “—the night he asked for a job!” said Harry, finishing his thought.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “He hid the diadem in the castle, the night he asked Dumbledore to let him teach!” said Harry. Saying it out loud enabled him to make sense of it all. “He must’ve hidden the diadem on his way up to, or down from, Dumbledore’s office! But it was well worth trying to get the job—then he might’ve got the chance to nick Gryffindor’s sword as well—thank you, thanks!”

  Harry left her floating there, looking utterly bewildered. As he rounded the corner back into the entrance hall, he checked his watch. It was five minutes until midnight, and though he now knew what the last Horcrux was, he was no closer to discovering where it was…

  Generations of students had failed to find the diadem; that suggested that it was not in Ravenclaw Tower—but if not there, where? What hiding place had Tom Riddle discovered inside Hogwarts Castle, that he believed would remain secret forever?

  Lost in desperate speculation, Harry turned a corner, but he had taken only a few steps down the new corridor when the window to his left broke open with a deafening, shattering crash. As he leapt aside, a gigantic body flew in through the window and hit the opposite wall.

  Something large and furry detached itself, whimpering, from the new arrival and flung itself at Harry.

  “Hagrid!” Harry bellowed, fighting off Fang the boarhound’s attentions as the enormous bearded figure clambered to his feet “What the—?”

  “Harry, yer here! Yer here!”

  Hagrid stooped down, bestowed upon Harry a cursory and rib-cracking hug, then ran back to the shattered window.

  “Good boy, Grawpy!” he bellowed through the hole in the window. “I’ll se yer in a moment, there’s a good lad!”

  Beyond Hagrid, out in the dark night, Harry saw bursts of light in the distance and heard a weird, keening scream. He looked down at his watch: It was midnight. The battle had begun.

  “Blimey, Harry,” panted Hagrid, “this is it, eh? Time ter fight?”

  “Hagrid, where have you come from?”

  “Heard You-Know-Who from up in our cave,” said Hagrid grimly. “Voice carried, didn’t it? ‘Yet got till midnight ter gimme Potter.’ Knew yeh mus’ be here, knew that mus’ be happenin’. Get down, Fang. So we come ter join in, me an’ Grawpy an’ Fang. Smashed our way through the boundary by the forest, Grawpy was carryin’ us, Fang an’ me. Told him ter let me down at the castle, so he shoved me through the window, bless him. Not exactly what I meant, bu’—where’s Ron an’ Hermione?”

  “That,” said Harry, “is a really good question. Come on.”

  They hurried together along the corridor, Fang lolloping beside them. Harry could hear movement through the
corridors all around: running footsteps, shouts; through the windows, he could see more flashes of light in the dark grounds.

  “Where’re we goin’?” puffed Hagrid, pounding along at Harry’s heels, making the floorboards quake.

  “I dunno exactly,” said Harry, making another random turn, “but Ron and Hermione must be around here somewhere…”

  The first casualties of the battle were already strewn across the passage ahead: The two stone gargoyles that usually guarded the entrance to the staffroom had been smashed apart by a jinx that had sailed through another broken window. Their remains stirred feebly on the floor, and as Harry leapt over one of their disembodied heads, it moaned faintly. “Oh, don’t mind me… I’ll just be here and crumble…”

  Its ugly stone face made Harry think suddenly of the marble bust of Rowena Ravenclaw at Xenophilius’s house, wearing that mad headdress—and then of the statue in Ravenclaw Tower, with the stone diadem upon her white curls…

  And as he reached the end of the passage, the memory of a third stone effigy came back to him: that of an ugly old warlock, onto whose head Harry himself had placed a wig and a battered old hat. The shock shot through Harry with the heat of firewhisky, and he nearly stumbled.

  He knew, at least, where the Horcrux sat waiting for him…

  Tom Riddle, who confided in no one and operated alone, might have been arrogant enough to assume that he, and only he, had penetrated the deepest mysteries of Hogwarts Castle. Of course, Dumbledore and Flitwick, those model pupils, had never set foot in that particular place, but he, Harry, had strayed off the beaten track in his time at school—here at least was a secret area he and Voldemort knew, that Dumbledore had never discovered—

  He was roused by Professor Sprout, who was thundering past followed by Neville and half a dozen others, all of them wearing earmuffs and carrying what appeared to be large potted plants.

  “Mandrakes!” Neville bellowed at Harry over his shoulder as he ran. “Going to lob them over the walls—they won’t like this!”

  Harry knew now where to go. He sped off, with Hagrid and Fang galloping behind him. They passed portrait after portrait, and the painted figures raced alongside them, wizards and witches in ruffs and breeches, in armor and cloaks, cramming themselves into each others’ canvases, screaming news from other parts of the castle. As they reached the end of this corridor, the whole castle shook, and Harry knew, as a gigantic vase blew off its plinth with explosive force, that it was in the grip of enchantments more sinister than those of the teachers and the Order.

  “It’s all righ’, Fang—it’s all righ’!” yelled Hagrid, but the great boarhound had taken flight as slivers of china flew like shrapnel through the air, and Hagrid pounded off after the terrified dog, leaving Harry alone.

  He forged on through the trembling passages, his wand at the ready, and for the length of one corridor the little painted knight, Sir Cadrigan, rushed from painting to painting beside him, clanking along in his armor, screaming encouragement, his fat little pony cantering behind him.

  “Braggarts and rogues, dogs and scoundrels, drive them out, Harry Potter, see them off!”

  Harry hurtled around a corner and found Fred and a small knot of students, including Lee Jordan and Hannah Abbott, standing beside another empty plinth, whose statue had concealed a secret passageway. Their wands were drawn and they were listening at the concealed hole.

  “Nice night for it!” Fred shouted as the castle quaked again, and Harry sprinted by, elated and terrified in equal measure. Along yet another corridor he dashed, and then there were owls everywhere, and Mrs. Norris was hissing and trying to bat them with her paws, no doubt to return them to their proper place…

  “Potter!”

  Aberforth Dumbledore stood blocking the corridor ahead, his wand held ready.

  “I’ve had hundreds of kids thundering through my pub, Potter!”

  “I know, we’re evacuating,” Harry said, “Voldemort’s—”

  “—attacking because they haven’t handed you over, yeah,” said Aberforth. “I’m not deaf, the whole of Hogsmeade heard him. And it never occurred to any of you to keep a few Slytherins hostage? There are kids of Death Eaters you’ve just sent to safety. Wouldn’t it have been a bit smarter to keep ’em here?”

  “It wouldn’t stop Voldemort,” said Harry, “and your brother would never have done it.”

  Aberforth grunted and tore away in the opposite direction.

  Your brother would never have done it… Well, it was the truth, Harry thought as he ran on again: Dumbledore, who had defended Snape for so long, would never have held students ransom…

  And then he skidded around a final corner and with a yell of mingled relief and fury he saw them: Ron and Hermione; both with their arms full of large, curved, dirty yellow objects, Ron with a broomstick under his arms.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Harry shouted.

  “Chamber of Secrets,” said Ron.

  “Chamber—what?” said Harry, coming to an unsteady halt before them.

  “It was Ron, all Ron’s idea!” said Hermione breathlessly. “Wasn’t it absolutely brilliant? There we were, after we left, and I said to Ron, even if we find the other one, how are we going to get rid of it? We still hadn’t got rid of the cup! And then he thought of it! The basilisk!”

  “What the—?”

  “Something to get rid of Horcruxes,” said Ron simply.

  Harry’s eyes dropped to the objects clutched in Ron and Hermione’s arms: great curved fangs; torn, he now realized, from the skull of a dead basilisk.

  “But how did you get in there?” he asked, staring from the fangs to Ron. “You need to speak Parseltongue!”

  “He did!” whispered Hermione. “Show him, Ron!”

  Ron made a horrible strangled hissing noise.

  “It’s what you did to open the locket,” he told Harry apologetically. “I had to have a few goes to get it right, but,” he shrugged modestly, “we got there in the end.”

  “He was amazing!” said Hermione. “Amazing!”

  “So…” Harry was struggling to keep up. “So…”

  “So we’re another Horcrux down,” said Ron, and from under his jacket he pulled the mangled remains of Hufflepuff’s cup. “Hermione stabbed it. Thought she should. She hasn’t had the pleasure yet.”

  “Genius!” yelled Harry.

  “It was nothing,” said Ron, though he looked delighted with himself. “So what’s new with you?”

  As he said it, there was an explosion from overhead: All three of them looked up as dust fell from the ceiling and they heard a distant scream.

  “I know what the diadem looks like, and I know where it is,” said Harry, talking fast. “He hid it exactly where I had my old Potions book, where everyone’s been hiding stuff for centuries. He thought he was the only one to find it. Come on.”

  As the walls trembled again, he led the other two back through the concealed entrance and down the staircase into the Room of Requirement. It was empty except for three women: Ginny, Tonks and an elderly witch wearing a moth-eaten hat, whom Harry recognized immediately as Neville’s grandmother.

  “Ah, Potter,” she said crisply as if she had been waiting for him. “You can tell us what’s going on.”

  “Is everyone okay?” said Ginny and Tonks together.

  “’S far as we know,” said Harry. “Are there still people in the passage to the Hog’s Head?”

  He knew that the room would not be able to transform while there were still users inside it.

  “I was the last to come through,” said Mrs. Longbottom. “I sealed it, I think it unwise to leave it open now Aberforth has left his pub. Have you seen my grandson?”

  “He’s fighting,” said Harry.

  “Naturally,” said the old lady proudly. “Excuse me, I must go and assist him.”

  With surprising speed she trotted off toward the stone steps.

  Harry looked at Tonks.

  “I thought you w
ere supposed to be with Teddy at your mother’s?”

  “I couldn’t stand not knowing—” Tonks looked anguished. “She’ll look after him—have you seen Remus?”

  “He was planning to lead a group of fighters into the grounds—”

  Without another word, Tonks sped off.

  “Ginny,” said Harry, “I’m sorry, but we need you to leave too. Just for a bit. Then you can come back in.”

  Ginny looked simply delighted to leave her sanctuary.

  “And then you can come back in!” he shouted after her as she ran up the steps after Tonks. “You’ve got to come back in!”

  “Hang on a moment!” said Ron sharply. “We’ve forgotten someone!”

  “Who?” asked Hermione.

  “The house-elves, they’ll all be down in the kitchen, won’t they?”

  “You mean we ought to get them fighting?” asked Harry.

  “No,” said Ron seriously, “I mean we should tell them to get out. We don’t want anymore Dobbies, do we? We can’t order them to die for us—”

  There was a clatter as the basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione’s arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet.

  “Is this the moment?” Harry asked weakly, and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, he raised his voice. “Oi! There’s a war going on here!”

  Ron and Hermione broke apart, their arms still around each other.

  “I know, mate,” said Ron, who looked as though he had recently been hit on the back of the head with a Bludger, “so it’s now or never, isn’t it?”

  “Never mind that, what about the Horcrux?” Harry shouted. “D’you think you could just—just hold it in until we’ve got the diadem?”

  “Yeah—right—sorry—” said Ron, and he and Hermione set about gathering up fangs, both pink in the face.

  It was clear, as the three of them stepped back into the corridor upstairs, that in the minutes that they had spent in the Room of Requirement the situation within the castle had deteriorated severely: The walls and ceiling were shaking worse than ever; dust filled the air, and through the nearest window, Harry saw bursts of green and red light so close to the foot of the castle that he knew the Death Eaters must be very near to entering the place. Looking down, Harry saw Grawp the giant meandering past, swinging what looked like a stone gargoyle torn from the roof and roaring his displeasure.