Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

Leaving the secret chamber of Malfoy Manor, leaving behind Wormtail who was being killed, Harry plunged into endless darkness. He was falling, deeper and deeper. At first, he felt a flicker of confusion, unable to understand what had happened. But very quickly it became clear: Ron had attacked him with a spell.

The realization shocked and enraged him.

A burning sense of betrayal rose within him. Why would Ron do that!

Harry wanted nothing more than to punch Ron squarely in the face, but in this strange emptiness, his anger evaporated as quickly as it had come. Harry quickly began to search for reasons for Ron’s behavior. He might have been controlled by Voldemort’s magic. Considering his strange behavior, it was quite possible. And if anyone was to blame, it was Harry himself; he should have noticed this sooner, he should have taken action earlier.

Upon noticing Ron’s abnormality, he should have cast a Stunning Spell without hesitation.

This was a contingency plan they had discussed many times before; after all, Ron had been controlled more than once or twice!

With Ron’s uncanny talent for getting possessed or influenced, giving him any leeway was practically digging one’s own grave. …

Then, Harry thought of Wormtail, and his death.

This traitor who had betrayed his parents had finally paid the ultimate price for his sins seventeen years later, killed by the master he had betrayed his friends for, and by the evil and terrible power he had devoted his life to serving.

He died in an extremely cruel and horrific way, right before Harry’s eyes.

Unexpectedly, aside from disgust for Voldemort’s vile magic, Harry felt almost nothing. Perhaps the moment he stopped Sirius from killing Wormtail four years earlier, he’d already freed himself from that burden.

Death was not the best way to take revenge, but the most cowardly choice.

Harry continued falling endlessly through the darkness. Soon, his thoughts drifted away from Wormtail and back to himself. Just as he wondered what he should do, the world around him shifted.

He returned to consciousness… no, he had once again entered Voldemort’s mind.

At this moment, Voldemort had already crossed the vast black sea. He seemed unaware that Harry had been captured. He was entering some strange black fortress, heading toward the towering structure that rose into the clouds.

Harry felt a surge of curiosity.

What was Voldemort planning?

And where was this place?

Even in his unconscious state, the pain from his scar still throbbed.

He tried to suppress his pain and other thoughts, examining the tower before him.

Strange power clung to the place; the air pressure was low, and the atmosphere was exceptionally heavy.

Voldemort was also surveying his surroundings, then he quickly rose into the air and flew straight toward the window at the top of the tower…

What was inside?!

The window in the black rock was only slightly ajar, not enough for one person to enter. …

Through the window, one could only see a human silhouette wrapped in a blanket.

Dead — or merely sleeping?

Harry, puzzled, forced himself to slip — like a serpent — through the narrow gap in the window and landed inside, drifting gently to the floor of the chamber atop the tower like vapor condensing inside a cell. At the far end of the room, the emaciated figure stirred beneath its thin blanket and rolled over toward him, eyes opening in a skull of a face. …

The frail man sat up, great sunken eyes fixed upon him, upon Voldemort, seemingly anticipating his arrival, and then he smiled.

Most of his teeth were gone, making his smile look grotesque…

“So, you have come. I thought you would … From the day I first heard your name, I knew you would come to me … one day. But your journey was pointless. I never had it.”

“You lie!”

Voldemort’s icy voice echoed in Harry’s mind. As his anger throbbed inside him, Harry’s scar threatened to burst with pain, and he wrenched his mind back to his own body.

He opened his eyes; the dimness around him had not changed.

He was no longer in the secret room at Malfoy Manor.

The pain from his scar nearly made him faint again. It took him some time to adjust to the new environment, but he still couldn’t figure out where he was. The surroundings were shrouded in mist, damp and heavy, and above him was a strange stone structure.

Ancient rocks were carved with incomprehensible patterns. Harry stared at them for a long time, unable to decipher their meaning, but something else drifting overhead caught his attention; many milky-white, translucent shapes floated above him.

These drifting things seemed like ghosts, yet they were completely different from the ghosts he was familiar with.

Because these ghosts — if they even were ghosts — had no bodies at all.

Only heads.

Each one was a wavering mass of fog-like light twisted into a horrifying face.

And the expressions on those faces were full of agony, as though they were silently screaming.

Looking at those faces, Harry felt the pain as well, a burning pain from his very soul.

The ghostly heads roamed around Harry, their numbers astonishing…

Harry’s scar burned more fiercely than ever, yet something deeper inside, some wound worse than the scar itself, seared with unbearable heat. He felt himself about to faint again, and the strange fortress and tower reappeared before him.

………………………………………………………………………………

Carried by the house-elf, Evan Apparated to Malfoy Manor.

He had asked Hermione and Elaine to tend to Mr. Ollivander and notify Sirius and the Order of the Phoenix, while he went ahead to assess the situation and rescue Harry and Ron.

Evan didn’t think it was a good idea, but he had no better choice. Waiting until the Order of the Phoenix was assembled before acting might not be very effective.

He had considered several possibilities, but when he Apparated into the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor, the situation seemed especially dire.

He saw no sign of Harry, and after following the house-elf’s directions into the secret room, he found neither Harry nor Ron. What did catch Evan’s attention, however, was the strange, shriveled corpse on the floor, and the lingering traces of magic in the air.

Inside the chamber, Evan examined the corpse with great interest.

“Master Evan!” Dobby said anxiously, “Harry Potter is not here…”

“Yes, Dobby, he should have been here, but he was taken away!” said Evan, gently poking the corpse with his wand. “Magic leaves traces. Someone just cast a forbidden spell here, and the result of that Dark Magic is lying right in front of us. It will tell us a lot. Though, I must say, this thing is truly disgusting, isn’t it?”