Year 6-15: Rakhaman the Defiler

"Say, Harry! Isn't that your mother?"

Harry looked up from his dinner at the Ravenclaw Table. All heads were turning towards the door, where an uncertain-looking Lily Potter was shuffling into the Great Hall.

He got up from his seat at once and rushed towards her. He and Dahlia got there at the same time, wrapping their arms around their mother in a hug. The Great Hall erupted in cheers as they realized their favorite professor had returned.

"How are you feeling, Mum?" Harry whispered in Lily's ear.

"Much better, dear," Lily said, flashing him a strained smile. She looked tired, with thin bags under her eyes, but otherwise much healthier and more stable than when he last saw her. Harry and Dahlia accompanied her up to the Head Table, where Dumbledore had joined the students and staff in offering her a round of applause.

"Glad to have you back, Professor," Dumbledore greeted her with a smile. "Please, let me know if there is anything I can do to accommodate your return."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Lily said politely. She kissed her children goodbye and headed to her seat at the end of the table. Harry noticed that Snape, seated just to Lily's right, had hastily removed a bottle of wine from the table before standing to pull her chair out for her. She must have confided in him about the true nature of her recovery, Harry realized...his mother's relationship with Snape continued to confound him, but it seemed to be a positive one.

Harry returned to his own seat, glancing over at the Slytherin table as he did so. He spotted Crabbe, Goyle, Mulciber and Nott huddled in their usual corner, watching him warily. He gave them an icy death glare, causing them all to quickly avert their gaze.

I hope for your sake none of you were involved in this, Harry thought angrily. But we'll know soon enough. His Veritaserum was nearing completion – in a little over a week, he would have a finished batch that he could use to determine their true involvement in the poisoning scheme. Whether they'd done the deed themselves, or assisted Malfoy or someone else to do it, mattered little to him.

But having Lily back at Hogwarts was a relief, restoring some semblance of normalcy to Harry's day-to-day routine. Her first Potions lesson back went off without a hitch, catching them up on all the material Professor Grubbly-Plank had tried her best to teach them in her absence. Harry was almost disappointed that he wouldn't be taking his N.E.W.T. in the subject this year – under Lily's tutelage, he felt that he could ace the exam with no difficulties.

Most importantly, it seemed that nobody had caught on to the true nature of Lily's prolonged absence. Harry didn't know how her recovery had gone, but she seemed to be adjusting well...she was always the kind of person who preferred keeping busy anyway. With luck, the rumor mill would move on and Lily would be able to return to normalcy in relative peace and quiet. But it was not to be.

Harry entered the Great Hall that Friday morning to find the room abuzz with chatter. All eyes turned to him as he made his way to Ravenclaw Tower, before quickly looking away and breaking off into hushed gossip as he walked past. For a brief moment of panic Harry thought perhaps Tonks had blown his cover, and his foray to The Spiked Chalice had been discovered. But when he unfolded his copy of The Daily Prophet, the reality was even worse:

TROUBLE IN PARADISE? MINISTER'S WIFE HIDING DRINKING HABIT

By Regina Hornsby, The Daily Prophet

"Frequent readers of this publication will have heard the recent news of Mrs. Lily Evans-Potter, Potions Master and wife of Minister James Potter, falling prey to a poison hidden within a bottle of liquor. Our previous reporting indicated that she recently returned to work at Hogwarts after recovering from her malady, but a source with intimate knowledge of the subject has shed light on the ugly truth of the matter.

Our source (who shall remain anonymous) informed the Prophet that Mrs. Evans-Potter had been struggling with an alcohol dependency prior to her poisoning. The scandal comes amid rumors that the Potters, often upheld as the model family in wizarding society, have had serious issues behind the scenes affecting their marriage.

'It's appalling to think that a witch of her caliber should be driven to the bottle by her husband,' says Muriel Prewett in a letter to the editor. 'What kind of a monster must James Potter be behind closed doors to cause such self-sabotaging behavior?'

'I fear for how this will affect her job performance at Hogwarts,' says Lord Quincy Nott in a statement. 'How can I trust her to give my son the best education possible, when she's getting plastered in between classes? Surely this cannot stand – the Headmaster must take action and have her removed immediately!'

Minister Potter and Headmaster Dumbledore could not be reached for comment. For more on the potential fractured relationship between the Potters, see pg. 8."

Harry's hands were trembling with rage as he set down the paper. What kind of a hit piece was this? Why was the Prophet resorting to such filthy rag journalism? And who had leaked the information to reporters? He could only imagine the embarrassment both of his parents must be feeling at the moment.

He glanced up at the Head Table for his mother, but Lily was absent. He heard a clatter across the room as Dahlia got up and left the Great Hall in a rush, looking upset. Neville got up from across the room to chase after her.

Neville can handle Dahlia, Harry thought. I have to go find Mum.

He marched straight to the dungeons to her office and tried the door, but it was locked. "Mum, I know you're in there!" he shouted, pounding on the door. "Open the door!"

"Go away, darling," Lily said, her voice sounding strained and weak.

"I'm not going anywhere until you let me in!" Harry demanded, continuing to pound on the door. "So you'd best open up before—"

The door swung open, and to Harry's surprise, it was Snape who answered. "You have a knack for showing up at inopportune moments, Potter," he sneered.

"Move," Harry muttered, shoving Snape aside to enter the office. Lily was seated on the floor, legs splayed miserably before her, the torn remains of The Daily Prophet scattered around her. Harry drew his wand and began Vanishing the scraps of paper; Lily did not protest, merely staring at the floor with a haunted expression.

"I'm ruined," she sighed. "I'll be sacked for certain. Nobody wants their child to be taught by a d-dr-drunk."

Harry slid to the floor beside his mother. "Nobody thinks you're a drunk," he reassured her. "This was a nasty thing for them to write, and everyone knows it."

"I'll never have the respect of my students again," Lily sniffed. "They know now that I can't be trusted."

"You have an illness," Harry insisted. "And you're dealing with it. That isn't a weakness, it's a strength. Everyone bloody loves you here and will support you even more because of this."

Lily looked up at him with watery green eyes. "You think so?" she asked hopefully.

"Sure, there will be shitheads here and there," Harry shrugged, casting an accusatory glance at Snape – they both knew which House would be most responsible for whatever abuse she got. "But you saw what happened when you came back earlier this week. Everyone is rooting for you, and this won't change a thing."

Lily nodded shakily, but still looked less than reassured. "Your father will be so upset with me," she moaned. "The last thing I wanted to do was cause a scandal during his tenure."

"If I know Dad, he's going to raise holy hell against the editors for this," said Harry. "And he'll have plenty of support in doing so. Believe me, nobody blames you for this."

Lily closed her eyes and rested her head against Harry's shoulder. He didn't know if his words were helping, but he would wager it was far more helpful than whatever Snape's excuse for comfort was before he arrived.

The room suddenly glowed brightly as a silver Patronus soared into the room, in the form of a phoenix. "Minister Potter is on his way to the castle," the phoenix spoke in Dumbledore's voice. "He will be here momentarily."

"Oh no," Lily said quietly. "He's heard...oh no…"

"It'll be alright, Mum," said Harry. "He won't be angry with you, I promise. Now come on, let's get you up."

He stood and helped Lily to her feet. She shakily walked around behind her desk and rummaged through a cabinet for something. She procured a pitcher of clear liquid – for a moment Harry feared that she was drinking again, but it appeared to be just water.

Lily poured the water into a glass, but her hands trembled so much that it splashed all over the desk. Harry moved to help her, but Snape got there first. Harry watched, amazed, as he steadied her hand and helped her pour with a patience and grace he'd never seen from the man before.

"Thank you, Severus," Lily said softly as she took a deep drink. Snape met Harry's amazed eye and quickly looked away again, as if embarrassed to be seen performing such a tender gesture.

The door burst open soon after, and James rushed into the room, looking frazzled. "Lily?" he said.

Lily looked up fearfully at James, her lip quivering again. "James, dear," she said. "I'm so sorry—"

But James rushed forward and pulled his wife in close. "It's alright, my Lilypad," he said softly into her ear. "I'm here."

"I d-didn't mean for this to happen," Lily said miserably. "I d-didn't want it to get out—"

"I know," James reassured her. "Don't worry about a thing. We'll get this sorted, my love."

Harry felt suddenly that he was intruding on an intimate private moment, and clearly Snape felt the same. "I will fetch Wilhelmina to handle your classes for the day," the man said curtly, before departing from the office.

"Who could have done this?" Harry asked aloud. "Who talked to the Prophet?"

"Probably a glory-seeking Healer at St. Mungo's," James said bitterly. "Same way Remus' condition got out a few years ago."

Harry wasn't so sure that was the case – in fact, he had been the one to leak that info to Rita Skeeter, but he couldn't exactly bring that up now. "What's gonna happen now?" he asked instead.

"I'm going to march into the editor's office and demand Regina Hornsby's head on a stake," James growled.

"James, no, it's not her fault—" Lily protested.

"Figuratively speaking, darling," James corrected. "But they've been bolder about printing libelous things about us lately. I thought we had them on our side, but clearly someone has been feeding them damaging information to hurt my reputation. Probably Lord Nott and his cronies."

I wonder if Theo Nott had something to do with this, Harry wondered. He couldn't think of a way Theo could have known about the drinking habit, but it only added another question to add to the list, when Harry had his Veritaserum ready to get answers at long last.

"Oh, poor Dahlia's probably getting bullied over this as we speak," Lily lamented.

"Her fellow Gryffindors will back her up," Harry reassured her. "And she's with Neville now."

"Will you find her and make sure she's okay?" asked James. Harry nodded, then turned to leave the office. Whatever conversation his parents had to have next did not involve him. He felt terribly that they had to go through this, but at least it was merely their reputations on the line this time, rather than their lives.

Harry found Dahlia in the Hospital Wing, idly cleaning the ward as Neville shadowed her. "I'm fine," she muttered to Harry before he could say anything. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Maybe you should take the day off," Harry offered. "Skive off classes, spend the day outside. No one will question it."

"I told her the same," Neville shrugged. "She won't hear it."

"Will you two bugger off?" Dahlia huffed. "I said it's fine...it'll blow over soon, and I'd rather put my head down and not worry about it." It seemed Dahlia had inherited her mother's philosophy of diving into her work to push through tough times, and Harry could not begrudge her for it.

"Alright," Harry nodded. "Dad's with Mum now, if you want to go see them." And he departed the room, Neville close behind him.

"I think it's messed up what they're saying about your family, Harry," Neville offered as they returned to the Great Hall.

"Thanks, Neville," said Harry. His words didn't give him much comfort, but he supposed it was the thought that counted.

"My Gran says your parents are two of the greatest people she's ever met," said Neville. "They don't deserve this."

"I hope your Gran isn't still trying to compare you to my family?" Harry groaned. "Seriously, Nev, don't do that to yourself."

"Actually, she isn't," said Neville. "She says I'm becoming more like my father every day. She even said she was proud of me after the Order meeting a few weeks back."

"Huh," said Harry, surprised. It seemed that he had gotten through to Augusta after all, and she was finally treating her grandson with respect. "Anyway, if you find out that someone we know talked to the Prophet, let me know so I can give them the Bellatrix Lestrange treatment."

Neville froze, looking struck by this statement. "Gallows humor," Harry chuckled, slapping him on the shoulder. "But seriously, I want to know who squealed."

"I'll keep an ear out," Neville nodded, as they reached the Great Hall.

"Thanks," said Harry. "And keep an eye out for Dahlia this weekend, will you?"

"Er...sure," said Neville. "But where will you be this weekend?"

"I'll be...busy," Harry said evasively. "See you around, Nev." And instead of heading into the Hall, he marched up the stairs towards Ravenclaw Tower.

As it turned out, Harry already had big plans for the weekend. He'd spent the past few weeks exchanging letters with Bill, insisting that they travel to Egypt to visit his necromancer contact. Bill initially refused, not wishing to bother the man during his 'research', but Harry persisted, eventually enlisting Fleur's help in convincing Bill to cave and agree to the journey that Saturday.

Fridays were a light day for Harry already, so he didn't feel bad about skipping class. Potions would be a waste of time with Professor Grubbly-Plank filling in, and double-Defense with Snape didn't sound like his idea of an enjoyable afternoon. That, and dealing with his classmates amidst the fallout of the Prophet article, sounded absolutely nightmarish – he was so worked up that one snide remark at his expense might end in bloodshed.

Instead, he finished up some homework and portkey research in the library before making his preparations to leave the castle. He stopped by his mother's office that afternoon, finding his parents quietly eating dinner at Lily's desk. "Everything alright?" Harry asked, surprised by the relatively peaceful scene.

"Yes, Harry," said James. "We'd just like some privacy for the rest of the weekend."

"Okay," Harry agreed – that was fine by him. It meant he could make his escape from the castle without having to worry about anyone coming to look for him. No one would think twice about his absence, especially given the Prophet article – he couldn't even remember the last full weekend he'd spent in the company of his classmates.

Unfortunately, on his way out of the dungeons, he crossed paths with a group of Slytherins leaving their Potions lesson. "Harry!" called out Tracey Davis, rushing up to him. "Are you alright? How's your mum?"

"Fine," Harry mumbled, awkwardly accepting her hug.

"We all think it's total rubbish," Tracey reassured him. "We love your mum no matter what."

"Glad to hear it," Harry nodded, not really in the mood for being coddled at the moment. "I just need to get something from my dorm—"

"Can we maybe meet up this weekend?" Tracey said hopefully, trailing a hand along his chest. "Let's do something fun to take your mind off of this nonsense."

"Er...thanks, but I'm gonna be kinda busy," said Harry. "Maybe another time."

Tracey deflated a bit, sensing that she was being pushed away. "Okay," she said softly. "Just thought I'd offer." And she turned to return to her classmates heading towards the Great Hall.

Harry felt a bit bad for shunning Tracey...it wasn't the sort of thing a good boyfriend did. But I'm not her boyfriend, he reminded himself. This isn't an emotional relationship – we were both clear on that. He knew he oughtn't feel bad for setting that boundary and sticking to it, though he did feel a twinge of guilt for it all the same. But it wouldn't do to have Tracey looking for him while he was specifically avoiding being found, so it had to be done.

The following day, he awoke early for his customary morning run around the lake. Rather than return to his dorm afterward, he summoned Dobby to take him to Raven House. He checked on his potions, particularly the Veritaserum...full moon was in four days, which meant he could add the final ingredient and complete the brew. He then retrieved his stash of Galleons from the tournament the other night, before applying a glamour and Apparating to Diagon Alley to do some shopping.

Fortunately, Harry would not be venturing into the shadows of Knockturn Alley today – his business was entirely legal for once. Diagon Alley still came with its own share of risks, of course – Aurors patrolled the streets at intervals, making random stops and searches to ensure no shady business was going on. That was an interaction Harry certainly hoped to avoid.

He arrived at his destination and entered the dingy-looking shop: Watson's Antique Wares. The place had always struck him as a less-shady counterpart to Borgin and Burke's, selling all manner of trinkets and ornate artifacts. If any place could help him source a Pensieve, surely it would be them.

Harry approached the counter and rang the bell. After a lengthy silence, a middle-aged witch rushed out from the back room, looking flushed. "Morning," she said breathlessly. "Apologies – we don't get many visitors this time of year."

"I see," Harry nodded, glancing around the shop. Many of the displays were empty, while others were blocked by rows of boxes – the shop had clearly seen better days. "Business been slow lately?"

"Aye," the woman said glumly. "Not many people shopping for antiques in war times, I'm afraid."

"Well, what I'm looking for isn't exactly an antique," said Harry. "Do you sell Pensieves?"

The woman blinked in surprise. "We haven't sold one in years," she said. "Usually it's only wealthy pure-blood families, and only if theirs has broken or malfunctioned."

"But you can get me one?"

"Yes," the woman said slowly. "But it will take time. A month or more."

"That's fine," Harry nodded. He was scrutinizing the woman's face – she looked strangely familiar to him, but he couldn't quite place her. "Have you owned this place for long?"

"My husband's family founded this shop decades ago," the witch sighed. "We inherited it in the mid-eighties, and we've been trying to keep it afloat ever since."

"Ah," said Harry. "You have kids?"

"A daughter," the woman nodded with a sad smile. "At Hogwarts – she's in Hufflepuff."

Harry finally realized where he recognized the woman from. She had to be Anna Watson's mother – the girl he and Dahlia had helped in Hogsmeade during the dementor attack, and who Bellatrix Lestrange had impersonated in the Hogwarts werewolf attack last summer. What a harrowing year it must have been for the poor Watson family…

"I see," said Harry, masking his recognition. "Anyway, how much for the Pensieve?"

Mrs. Watson scrunched her nose, doing math in her head. "Fifteen hundred Galleons," she said.

"Done," said Harry at once.

Mrs. Watson's eyebrows shot up. "Oh...really?" she stammered. "Most people haggle us to death, but if you can pay it—"

"I'm sure it will be worth every Knut," Harry smiled. "I trust you'll take extra care in delivering a quality product?"

"I...yes, of course, sir!" Mrs. Watson beamed. Clearly she hadn't expected such a windfall. "Shall I send you an owl once it is ready to be picked up?"

"No need; I'll come back in a month's time," said Harry, reaching into his robes. He withdrew the sack of Galleons and began pouring the gold onto the counter. Mrs. Watson's eyes went wide as he counted out a thousand and five hundred coins, stacking it neatly with his wand.

"T-thank you, sir!" said Mrs. Watson, trembling as she transferred the coins to a receptacle behind the counter. "You've no idea what this means for my family—"

"My pleasure," Harry bowed. "I will return if I am in need of anything else." And he departed the shop, knowing he probably overpaid by a lot but happy to know the money was going to a good place.

Harry checked his watch – it was quarter to nine, meaning it was nearly time to meet Bill and Fleur. He Apparated just down the block from Bill's apartment and made his way through the complex to number 217. Bill answered the door alone, beckoning Harry inside quickly before shutting them inside.

"Wasn't sure if you were actually coming," he muttered grimly. "You sure you want to do this?"

"Positive," Harry nodded. "Where's Fleur?"

"At her apartment," said Bill. "She should be here shortly."

I thought they lived together? Harry wondered. Was this a new development, or had he misunderstood their arrangement in the past? No matter – he wouldn't pry into their relationship now. He sat patiently on the couch, watching Bill restlessly pace to and fro across the room, until the fireplace flared green and Fleur stepped through the Floo into the apartment.

"Good, you are both here," she said breathlessly. "Shall we go?"

"In a minute," Bill muttered. "First, we should sit and talk about what we're about to get ourselves into."

Bill indicated for Fleur to sit beside Harry. Confused, she did so, as Bill perched on an armchair, looking contemplative.

"Right, so here's the situation," he said. "My contact is a necromancer the locals call Rakhaman the Defiler. He's wanted in a dozen different MENA nations for ransacking graves and experimenting on corpses, so he doesn't exactly welcome unannounced visitors with open arms."

"How did you get in contact with him originally?" asked Harry. "How bad could he be if he did contract work for Gringotts?"

"Gringotts turns a blind eye to most of the work we curse-breakers do abroad," Bill said bitterly. "They know our work is dangerous and requires bending the law at times, so they don't ask many questions. One of my colleagues heard of Rakhaman while researching solutions to horcruxes – unfortunately, the number of people who are experts on soul magic are slim, so we had few other options but to hire his services when we needed a soul removed from a tomb."

"It sounds like you did not enjoy working with zis man," Fleur remarked.

"I try not to pass judgment on other people's lifestyles," Bill grimaced. "But I believe what Rakhaman does is...distasteful, to say the least. Experimenting on the dead is among the most vile things a wizard can do in my book. Not as bad as creating horcruxes, mind, but still."

"But he does have experience with horcruxes?" Harry asked.

"Sure," Bill shrugged. "As much as one can have without creating one themselves, I suppose. What exactly do you plan to ask him?"

"We need to see what he knows about living horcruxes," said Harry. "And if a soul fragment can be separated from its host safely. Surely if anyone can help remove the horcrux from Neville's scar, it would be him."

"So, just to be clear," Bill sighed tiredly. "We've yet to find three of the remaining horcruxes, and we're risking our lives to inquire about the one we definitely know the location of, and which has the simplest solution?"

"I'm sorry, are you signing up to use the Killing Curse on a teenage boy?" Harry asked pointedly. "I didn't think so. If Neville's life can be spared, I want to know before we resort to murder."

Bill looked unhappily with this answer, but he did not retort. "Fine," he grumbled, checking his watch. "We should get going while the day is young."

"How are we getting there?" asked Harry.

Bill reached into his robes for a small metallic object. It was flat and round, like a coin, but was gray and smooth with an ornate 'G' carved into its face.

"This is a Gringotts Portkey," Bill explained. "It's given only to certain high-ranking employees like myself who qualify for field work abroad. It will take us to the Gringotts branch in Giza, then to the London branch upon our return."

"Won't they ask us questions when we arrive?" asked Fleur. "I am not yet a qualified curse-breaker, and 'Arry is not a Gringotts employee."

"I'll just tell them you two are my trainees," said Bill. "Like I said, Gringotts doesn't ask many questions when it comes to curse-breaking, and will do anything to avoid creating a paper trail in case some foreign Ministry comes demanding names. Trust me, the goblins have seen it all – I've used this Portkey to transport co-workers who were covered in blood and missing limbs, and they just ushered us out the door."

Seems useful, Harry thought. He wondered if he could get his hands on one of these Gringotts Portkeys for himself. Of course, the simpler solution would just be to learn how to make one himself, but that would take further study and practice. And there was no time like the present to learn.

"Mind if I see it?" asked Harry.

"Just don't say the trigger phrase," Bill muttered, carefully placing the metallic coin in Harry's palm. "Not that you would know it, of course."

Harry closed his eyes and studied the coin subconsciously, trying to get a feel for its magic. He sensed multiple, complex layers woven into the coin, but he was able to recognize a few of them from his self-study. Two Locator Charms, presumably to bring the user to the correct destination(s). A triggered Sticking Charm, to prevent the user from falling off the portkey mid-flight. Several transportation-related layers, which he did not quite understand yet, and of course the Activation Charm, tied to the specific pass phrase used to trigger it.

"Waiting for it to bite you, Harry?" asked Bill, bemused.

"Just studying its magic," said Harry, handing the coin back.

"What?" Fleur frowned. "But 'ow could you study it without seeing it?"

"I can feel its magic," Harry shrugged. "Can't you? Isn't that what curse-breakers do?"

"We learn spells to help us reveal hidden enchantments," said Bill. "We can't actually 'feel' magic on its own. Are you saying you can?"

"Yeah, I guess so," said Harry. "Side-effect of all the blood rituals, I guess."

"I don't believe you," said Fleur, folding her arms in suspicion, though the corners of her mouth quirked upwards in amusement. "Prove it."

"Alright," said Harry. "Are we ready to go? I can activate the portkey."

"But you don't know the pass phrase," said Bill, confused.

"Don't need it," Harry grinned. "I can just trip the Activation Charm manually."

Both Bill and Fleur looked skeptical, but Bill held out his palm face-up, allowing Harry and Fleur to place a finger upon the portkey. Harry closed his eyes again, feeling the small object's magic and locating the Activation Charm once more. The pass phrase would release it from its runic bindings, but if Harry just tweaked the runes slightly by sending a small pulse of his own magic to deactivate them—

That did the trick. Harry felt the familiar tug behind the navel as he, Bill and Fleur were whisked far, far away. After a long and uncomfortable journey, Harry felt his feet slam down on marble flooring; he looked up to find himself in the back room of a large building. Based on the familiar architecture, Harry knew exactly where they were.

As confirmation, the door clicked open seconds later, and a goblin trotted in. "Business in Egypt?" it asked in a bored tone.

"Field training," said Bill, flashing a red badge that Harry presumed to be a curse-breaker ID. The goblin just sneered and beckoned them out into the lobby, where Bill, Harry and Fleur blended in with the general population of witches and wizards and exited the bank.

They exited out onto what looked like a large street fair. Only, it was unmistakably magical – Harry saw vendors peddling wares that could only belong to the wizarding world, from flying carpets to broomsticks to suspicious-looking oil lamps whose lids rattled ominously from within.

"Welcome to the Bazaar," said Bill, leading the way through the crowd. "Egypt's version of Diagon Alley."

"Is this where we are meeting Rakhaman?" asked Harry, scanning the crowd for any shady-looking individuals.

"Oh, no," Bill chuckled. "He's just outside the city limits. The kind of work he does is not suited for the public eye."

That certainly sounded ominous. Harry and Fleur followed Bill towards a large stone archway at the far end of the courtyard; when they passed through, they found themselves in a bustling metropolitan area, Muggle vehicles jostling for space in the streets while men and women went about their everyday business.

"Let's find a quiet place to Apparate," Bill suggested, as they made their way through the crowds.

That was easier said than done, however. The streets were bustling with activity – even the cramped alleyways between buildings were choked with foot traffic. Eventually they managed to find an empty alcove in the winding maze of back streets, huddling together so that Bill could Apparate them away.

They reappeared on the outskirts of the city – Harry could now see desert stretching out towards the horizon, as the blazing hot sun beat down upon them in the open air. But the foot traffic was no quieter out here...if anything, it was even more congested. And Harry quickly realized why.

"Mon dieu," Fleur breathed, taking in the majestic sight. Before them stood the Great Pyramids, which Harry had learned about even before becoming a wizard. He remembered watching a VHS documentary with Dudley on the mysterious structures as a child, quickly becoming fascinated with their ancient majesty and iconic shape. And now, Harry felt a massive power radiating from the pyramids, similar to that of Hogwarts...this was a site of magical potency.

"Welcome to the Pyramids of Giza," said Bill. "Built over twenty five hundred years ago, directly over a local leyline, during the reign of Khufu the Wise."

Harry had heard of the pharaoh Khufu, but never the moniker Bill ascribed to him. "Was Khufu a wizard?" he asked.

"Most likely," said Bill. "Either that or he was counseled by one. Otherwise, its location would not make sense, and its construction would have been impossible. No Muggles could have built this on their own back in those times."

"What are we doing here?" asked Fleur.

"This is where Rakhaman is conducting his research," Bill sighed. "If you wish to speak with him, we must enter the Great Pyramid."

"Here?" said Harry, confused. "With so many Muggles around?"

"Come, I'll show you," said Bill. And he led the way towards the pyramids, joining a large flock of Muggles chattering excitedly about the sight. There seemed to be a great many foreign tourists among the crowd – the three Brits blended right in with the other ethnically-diverse groups milling about, taking photos with their disposable cameras.

"Tour groups, over here!" a man shouted, looking like a local. "We are about to begin our excursion through the Pharaoh's tomb."

"They don't actually take tourists through the main tomb chamber," Bill whispered as they joined the queue of Muggles signing up for the tour. "They just set up a smaller antechamber to look like it...the real thing is far below the surface, hidden from the Muggles."

"You Americans?" came an obnoxious voice from behind them; the three turned to see a middle-aged couple with two small children standing in line with them.

"British," replied Harry.

"Ah...jolly good, guv'na!" the man chortled in a horrendous mockery of a Cockney accent. "We're from Nebraska...just had to see one of the Seven World Wonders for ourselves!"

"Yes, they are rather magnificent," Bill agreed, looking uncomfortable around Muggles. The young boy of the family was peering curiously at Fleur, as though picking up on her passive Allure; she quickly wrapped a scarf around her hair and turned back around.

When they reached the front of the line, they were assigned to a smaller group to begin the tour. Unfortunately, they were stuck with the talkative Americans, who continued to jabber on about how 'rad' the great structures were. Harry hoped they wouldn't be with the group for long.

Their tour guide was a middle-aged man, who spoke excitedly as they approached the base of the massive structure. "The Great Pyramid of Giza was commissioned by the pharaoh Khufu," said the man. "It served as his final resting place, and was shaped to reflect his singular status atop society."

"Actually, it was to maximize its arithmetic properties," Bill whispered to Harry and Fleur at the back of the group, but he was shushed by the Americans.

The tour guide led them to an opening in the side of the rock face, which led to a tunnel carving deep into the massive structure. Harry felt the pull of magic growing stronger as they entered, presumably growing closer to the leyline that Bill said was nearby, deep underground. It was similar to the majestic feeling of Hogwarts, but with a slightly more sinister edge to it...as a place built as a monument to death, he supposed that was fitting.

They reached a fork in the road, with multiple tunnels extending off in different directions. Harry suddenly felt a distinct sense of unease, as though they should not be here. And he was not alone – even the Muggles around them seemed uncomfortable, shuffling and muttering about the confined space.

"Quickly now, this way to the tomb chamber!" said the tour guide, hastily leading the way down one of the tunnel branches. Harry made to follow the group, but Bill held him and Fleur back, as the tourists disappeared around a bend and out of sight.

"Mild Repulsion Charm," Bill explained, waving his wand to remove the unsettling feeling in the air at once. "C'mon, we're going this way."

Bill led the way down the opposite tunnel path, which winded down deeper into the earth. The path was more perilous this way, clearly not meant for tourists, and they had to squeeze through narrow passageways and duck under several rope barriers blocking their path. They eventually reached a dead-end, a flat stretch of limestone marking the end of the tunnel.

"Are we lost?" asked Fleur worriedly.

"Not at all," said Bill, drawing his wand again. He tapped it to the wall and muttered an incantation under his breath. A series of runes carved into the wall suddenly glowed white, and a moment later the wall slid aside, revealing a steep, smooth passageway, winding deep into the ground through darkness.

"Who wants to go first?" asked Bill grimly.

"Not me," Fleur muttered. They both looked to Harry.

"And you claim to be a Gryffindor," Harry scoffed at Bill, lowering himself to the ground and dangling his legs over the edge. "Here goes nothing."

He kicked forward and began sliding down the steep surface, carrying him at a high speed like a slide downward. It felt like the journey to the Chamber of Secrets, only less slimy and more rough and bumpy. Harry was just thinking he should have cast a Cushioning Charm on himself when he was spat out the end of the tunnel, tumbling to a stop and landing in a heap at the bottom, groaning.

Bill and Fleur followed soon after, and both had the foresight to cushion their falls. "And you claim to be a Ravenclaw?" Bill smirked as Harry patched up his scrapes and bruises from the long slide.

"Whatever," Harry grumbled. "After you, tour guide."

Bill pressed onward, lighting the way ahead with his wand. The tunnels were more narrow here, winding haphazardly through rock and dirt, with no artificial lighting to lead the way. Harry was just starting to feel claustrophobic when the tunnel finally opened up, revealing a sight that made Fleur gasp aloud.

They had walked into a massive chamber, reminding Harry of a large Muggle sports arena. It was at least the size of the base of the pyramid, with a limestone ceiling over fifty feet high. The walls were lined with what appeared to be sarcophagi – hundreds of sealed tombs, inscribed with ornate designs and patterns. The chamber was organized like an amphitheater, with stone tiers stepping down to a large central stage, where Harry could see a man at work.

"There he is," Bill muttered grimly. "Rakhaman the Defiler."

The necromancer seemed to be working on a series of statues, suspended upside-down by magic in a semi-circle around him. But as they approached, Harry realized with a jolt that they were not statues at all – they were cadavers, dangling head-down as the man performed god-knows-what experiments on them, blood pooling from their bodies into a large basin on the ground. If there was any doubting he was a necromancer before, it was crystal-clear now.

"If you have come to kill me," the man rasped without turning around to face them, "you will not leave this place alive." His voice sounded inhuman and menacing, sending a chill down Harry's spine.

"That is not our intention, Rakhaman," Bill announced shakily. "I'm Bill Weasley, and these are my colleagues. We corresponded last month via owl, remember?"

Rakhaman turned towards them as they approached the stage. His appearance was even more grotesque than Harry expected: he was gaunt and pale with pitch-black eyes, his skin almost translucent, making him appear see-through like a skeleton. Harry got a deeply unsettling feeling from this man, and he understood now why Bill was so reluctant to meet with him again.

"Weasley," Rakhaman growled. "I thought I told you to stay away from this place. I do not associate with Gringotts any longer."

"Actually, I requested the meeting," Harry spoke up boldly. "I don't work for Gringotts. I simply had some questions for you."

Rakhaman fixed his abyssal gaze on Harry, cocking his head at the teen. "You are rather young to be in a place like this," he remarked. He sniffed the air, as though judging Harry by his smell, only adding to the creepiness factor. "Although, perhaps you are not as young as you seem...your magic is potent, very potent."

"I wish to know what you know about horcruxes," asked Harry, causing both Bill and Fleur to flinch.

Rakhaman looked unfazed. "Of course I am familiar with horcruxes," he sneered. "They were invented here, in this very chamber, you know."

"I thought Herpo the Foul invented them first," Bill frowned. "In Greece."

"Typical European arrogance, claiming such inventions for themselves," Rakhaman sneered. "Herpo witnessed the first successful horcrux creation here, nearly two millennia ago. A necromancer by the name of Qafir al-Jasad sacrificed a virgin girl from the nearby village to place a part of his soul in a goat."

"Why put a horcrux inside a living creature?" asked Bill. "Why not an inanimate object?"

"It was not yet known that it was possible at the time," said Rakhaman. "Qafir suffered such terrible consequences of his actions that he attempted to destroy all his findings related to the horcrux, but Herpo, in his arrogance and greed, stole his handiwork and brought it back to Europe with him, continuing his terrible research."

"What happened to the goat?" asked Fleur.

"It was released back to its flock," said Rakhaman. "But it made the village children uncomfortable, who could sense its evil spirit despite not knowing why. So it was slaughtered, and the entire operation was rendered useless."

"And the horcrux was destroyed along with the goat?" asked Harry.

"Naturally," Rakhaman sneered. "The soul fragment could not survive without an intact host."

"But could the fragment have been removed without killing the host?" asked Harry. "If Qafir wanted the goat to live?"

Rakhaman looked perplexed by the question. "Goats are disposable," he said simply. "Otherwise, one would not have been used for the experiment."

"But say the experiment was done on a fellow human," said Harry. "Could the horcrux be destroyed without killing the human host?"

"Who would be foolish enough to use a human host for a horcrux?" Rakhaman demanded.

"Harry—" Bill warned, but Harry pressed on anyway. They had reached the critical question he'd been pondering for nearly six years now.

"Say it was done on accident," said Harry. "Say the human was not meant to become a horcrux. Could the soul fragment that latched itself onto them be safely removed, such that their death was not necessary?"

Rakhaman narrowed his eyes at Harry. "Such a specific question," he muttered. "Almost as if it comes from direct experience."

"Purely theoretical," Harry said calmly.

"Naturally," Rakhaman scoffed. "If you plan on making one for yourself, I would not recommend it."

"I had no such intentions," said Harry.

"Good," Rakhaman sneered. "Horrendous objects, horcruxes. But I will humor you. Once a soul fragment has latched itself onto a living host, the only way to remove it is to bring death to the host."

"But...that can't be true," Harry frowned. "Dementors can suck out people's souls without killing them, can't they?"

"Ah," said Rakhaman. "Yes, I have heard of such experiments being conducted by Ekrizdis on Azkaban Island. He once attempted to use a dementor to remove a horcrux from a cursed staff."

"And what happened?" asked Harry, intrigued.

"The dementor wanted nothing to do with it," Rakhaman shrugged. "They have no appetite for partial souls, it would seem."

"But...but the magic must allow for it, somehow!" Harry protested. "Just because a dementor doesn't want to consume a partial soul, doesn't mean they can't…"

"Dementors are some of the foulest Dark creatures in existence," said Rakhaman. "And darkness cannot exist without the light. It feeds only on the purest of souls, those that are whole, those that have hope. A horcrux has no hope. It requires an act of Light magic to destroy it."

"But...that makes no sense," Harry muttered. "Basilisk venom and Fiendfyre aren't Light magic."

"You Brits and your misunderstandings of Light and Dark!" Rakhaman scoffed. "The only thing that can destroy a horcrux is death. Death is the Lightest magic there is. Death is rebirth. Death cleanses the unclean and allows something new to blossom."

It struck Harry as odd that Rakhaman spoke so eloquently and romantically about death. Then again, for a necromancer, it was probably fitting. And Harry could hardly refute the concept, given that his death in the prior timeline had literally caused him to be reborn in this one, cleansing him of the horcrux in the process.

Bill looked more skeptical, however. "But the Killing Curse is classified as Dark Magic," he protested. "It requires an act of pure hatred and anger to cast it."

"That is the most common way, yes," Rakhaman nodded. "But it depends upon the manner of casting. For example: Expecto patronum!"

Rakhaman jabbed his wand, and a Patronus emerged into the air – a raven. But it was no Patronus like Harry had ever seen: it was smoky and dark gray, eyes burning red with malice as it cawed and circled overhead. Rather than the soothing warmth of a typical Patronus, Harry felt deeply unsettled by the raven, wishing it to go far away from here.

"The Patronus Charm is classified as a Light spell," Rakhaman explained, "and yet, it can be corrupted and turned Dark if one's thoughts are of vengeance rather than happiness. Magic is all about intent, is it not? A Killing Curse cast with malice is a Dark act, one we would call murder. But there are other strong emotions that can conjure the spell...one of self-preservation, for instance, in times of war, or even of mercy, to end suffering. The result is the same, but the intent makes all the difference in the world, wouldn't you say?"

Once again, his words hit a little too close to home for Harry's liking. He had long wondered why he didn't seem to suffer any adverse effects from killing Bellatrix Lestrange the year before. Was it because it hadn't been a Dark act after all? Had his magic recognized his intent as one of protection, rather than destruction? His father James had described the Killing Curse as an amazing, addicting feeling, but that was not at all Harry's experience with the spell. And Dumbledore claimed to have never cast it himself...were both men mistaken about the true nature of the spell?

"So to answer your original question," said Rakhaman, "yes, the destruction of a horcrux requires the death of the host. It is a parasite, one that cannot exist without an intact vessel to sustain it."

"Understood," Harry muttered, somewhat crestfallen. He'd hoped, foolishly perhaps, that a necromancer might know of some shortcut, some way to circumvent Death and spare Neville's life while removing the horcrux by alternate means. But it seemed there was no way to 'cheat' fate, and Harry still could see no solution to the Neville problem outside of the obvious one.

"I daresay, I have not had such an intellectually-stimulating conversation like that in decades," Rakhaman grinned. "But you've wasted enough of my precious time with your questions, and now I have a few of my own."

"Such as?" asked Harry.

"I've heard plenty of rumors about a British Dark Lord coming back from the dead in recent years," said Rakhaman. "And given your apparent fascination with horcruxes, might I deduce that is how he achieved such a feat?"

Harry said nothing. That was dangerous knowledge to get out, and if Voldemort somehow caught wind that someone else knew his secret, their task would get exponentially more difficult.

"I've also heard tales of a mysterious infant who defeated him," Rakhaman continued without missing a beat. "Longbottom, is it? The boy who watched his parents die before him, only to survive the Killing Curse himself? How curious."

Again Harry said nothing. Rakhaman was shrewd, and he was catching on much quicker than Harry thought possible, given the meager information he'd been given.

"I have read terrible accounts of wizards who attempted to split their soul multiple times," Rakhaman went on. "Such an act renders the soul unstable, unpredictable. Each subsequent act of killing threatens to fragment the remaining portion, and may even split of its own accord. Of course, this is only possible if there is a viable host present to latch itself onto. Might I surmise that your 'hypothetical' is rooted in reality? Might this Longbottom boy be the human host you speak of in riddles?"

Harry felt a chill run down his spine. He'd clearly underestimated Rakhaman's intelligence, as the man had been able to piece together the truth quite easily based on Harry's cryptic responses. And that was a secret he definitely did not want to become public knowledge.

"Do you know why I agreed to help Gringotts all those years ago, Weasley?" asked Rakhaman, turning to Bill.

"T-the gold?" Bill asked nervously.

"Pah! I have little need for gold," Rakhaman spat. "The truth is, I despite wizards who attempt to subvert death with crude soul magic. It is an inhumane act, a horcrux is, one that defies the laws of nature and our very humanity."

"You're one to talk," Harry retorted, gesturing to the suspended bodies around Rakhaman.

"The dead have no further use for their mortal vessels," Rakhaman said dismissively. "Why should I be demonized for using them to further my research? At least I aim to breathe life into that which already lived, unlike a horcrux, which corrupts that which is neither dead nor alive. I, and most other necromancers I am in contact with, detest such abominations against nature."

In a twisted way, Harry could see Rakhaman's point. The necromancer's work was grotesque and stomach-churning to be certain, but was it truly any more abhorrent than what Voldemort had done? At least he was not harming anything (or anyone) that currently lived...he had the tact to wait until their bodies were empty before making use of them.

"A boy with two souls?" Rakhaman said, his voice dripping with malice. "Walking free with the rest of the population? It is shameful. Repulsive. I must notify my colleagues of this violation against nature. He must be destroyed."

Harry drew his wand and aimed it threateningly at Rakhaman. "You'll do no such thing," he snarled.

"You think you can intimidate me?" Rakhaman laughed. "What do you plan on doing?"

Harry fired a silent Stunner at Rakhaman, but it struck an invisible barrier at the edge of the stage, creating a bright orange flare before dissipating into mist. He cast several more offensive spells, but each met the same fate, their progress halted by an enchantment field surrounding the stage, preventing Rakhaman from coming to harm.

"You're a greater fool than I realized, boy," Rakhaman snarled. "You dare to attack me in my own domain? Now you will suffer the consequences of your actions."

"Harry, we need to leave, now!" shouted Bill. But Rakhaman snapped his fingers, and the tunnel from which they'd come sealed itself shut. There was a low, ominous rumbling sound coming from somewhere, and Harry felt a sense of deep foreboding.

"I'm afraid I can't let you go," said Rakhaman. "Not only have you interrupted my ritual, you have alerted me to a most urgent matter I must attend to. This so-called 'Boy Who Lived' mustn't be allowed to persist. He is harboring a monstrosity that must be purged."

There was a great scraping noise that grated on Harry's ears, like thousands of nails on a chalk board. He looked around, and to his horror, the sarcophagi around the chamber were opening, their heavy stone lids sliding away. And from within the tombs, slimy hands and legs were emerging, rotten flesh hanging off of brittle bones as corpses came to life all around them.

"Inferi!" Bill shouted in alarm. "What do we do?"

The three stood at the center of the large amphitheater, watching with horror as hordes of the undead began shuffling and crawling towards them. In a panic, Fleur began firing Stunners into the mass of bodies, which smacked loudly against fetid skin but did not slow the assault.

"Use fire!" Harry shouted. "Incendio maxima!"

Hot flames leaped out from his wand, which he directed into a wall between them and the oncoming undead. The Inferi hissed unhappily and flinched away from the fire, but it was not enough to hold all of them. Bill and Fleur added their own flames to the mix, but it was quickly apparent that it would not stave them all off.

"Rakhaman, you must stop this!" Bill pleaded. "You'll kill us all!"

"No...just you," Rakhaman sneered. "And oh, how nice it will be to have wizard corpses to experiment upon, rather than stupid Muggles who got lost in the pyramids!"

Harry realized at once that they were fighting a lost cause. There were far too many Inferi to fight off with traditional means, and Rakhaman was safe behind his wards, waiting out their death before he could depart and spread the word of Neville's horcrux.

They would have to do something desperate to get out of this alive. Harry could only think of one solution, and he didn't like it one bit.

"Get behind me," he warned. Bill and Fleur eyed him warily, but dutifully shuffled behind him as the wave of corpses crept ever closer. Harry summoned as much courage and willpower as he could before uttering the most dangerous incantation known to wizardkind: "Ignis diaboli!"

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end as his wand spouted white-hot flames of an intensity he did not anticipate. Rather than fan out from his wand, it uncoiled like a massive serpent, rolling out across the amphitheater around them. Three great serpentine heads rose from the roiling flames, hissing and spitting angrily at him. Bill and Fleur gasped when they realized what it was: Fiendfyre.

The three flaming heads lunged forward to snap at the three of them. No, Harry growled, directing them instead towards the Inferi. He had to maintain control, or else the Fiendfyre would turn against its caster. It required an immense amount of willpower, and that was something he had in no short supply – he was getting them out of here, no matter the cost. He didn't come this far to get killed by a necromancer thousands of miles from home.

The Inferi screeched inhumanly as they were consumed by the Fiendfyre. The smell of burning, rotten flesh filled the air, as Harry sweat profusely, both from the intense heat and the effort to maintain control of the spell.

"Are you mad?!" Bill shouted. "What if it turns against us?"

"Let me worry about that," Harry grunted. "Find us a way out of here."

"There is no escape," Rakhaman laughed from behind them. "You are in my world now, boy. Even if you kill my Inferi, I will ensure you do not leave this place alive."

Harry turned to face the necromancer, who looked smug within his enchanted bubble. Harry didn't doubt the man – he likely had other traps in store for them if they survived this onslaught. Clearly Harry had underestimated the man's threat level.

Well, no longer. Neville's secret could not leave this place. Rakhaman was too dangerous to leave alive.

Harry turned and backed away from the central stage upon with Rakhaman stood. He twirled his wand over his head like a lasso, directing the Fiendfyre to wrap around them like a mighty hurricane and protect them from the remaining Inferi. The flames brushed up against Rakhaman's wards, which flared and flickered dangerously but did not fall.

"What are you doing?" Rakhaman demanded nervously.

"Keeping our secrets safe," Harry growled, as he continued directing the Fiendfyre towards the necromancer. The serpent heads reared back and struck at the stage, causing the wards to ripple under the stress. Rakhaman looked nervous now – he clearly recognized the power behind Harry's spell.

Harry spotted a series of flashing runes at the base of the stage, below the wards. He directed the fiery heads towards them; they crashed against the stone, causing the runes to falter and nearly fail entirely.

"Wait! Stop!" Rakhaman demanded. "You'll kill us all!"

"No," Harry said coldly. "Just you."

The serpent heads crashed into the stage once more; this time the runic carvings came away chipped and cracked. Rakhaman gave an angry yell as the Fiendfyre smashed one final time into the runes, disintegrating them and causing the wards to fall. The entire stage was consumed instantly, with a screaming Rakhaman and his desiccated corpses disappearing in a maelstrom of mighty flames.

But no sooner had the immediate danger passed did another one appear. An ominous rumbling rose up from all around them, echoing through the cavernous space. The walls around them seemed to be crumbling; chunks of limestone were raining down from above. The chamber appeared to be collapsing in on itself.

"Harry, we have to go, now!" Bill shouted. But Harry had a more pressing issue on his hands: the Fiendfyre was once again trying to turn on him, circling around their heads, heads snapping furiously at them. It took all of Harry's remaining willpower to keep the fire at bay.

"We need to get to the exit!" Harry grunted.

"Not possible!" said Bill. Harry spared a glance towards the tunnel; it had caved in, leaving their lone exit buried beneath rubble. There was no clean escape path – that left only one option.

"Wait for my signal," said Harry as he shuffled closer to Bill and Fleur. "When I say, start firing Blasting Curses on the ceiling."

"But zat will cause it to collapse!" Fleur said worriedly.

"That's the idea," Harry muttered. "On three—"

"Wait, Harry, what are you doing?" Bill shouted.

"Getting us out of here," said Harry resolutely. "One...two...three!"

Harry relinquished his hold on the Fiendfyre as Bill and Fleur began firing Blasting Charms up into the air. He twirled his wand, summoning a gust of wind that lifted them upwards with great speed. The Fiendfyre lunged at them, no longer under Harry's control, but the wind zipped them upwards towards the limestone ceiling and the pyramid beyond.

"Bombarda maxima!" Harry bellowed, thrusting his wand forward. A massive explosion ripped a huge chunk out of the ceiling, as pulverized debris rained down on them. He continued firing upwards, carving out a makeshift hole for them to escape through. The wind continued to carry them upwards, the Fiendfyre hot on their tails (literally), the heads snapping angrily and following them upward. Harry began to worry that they would not make it in time...that they would not be able to carve out a path fast enough before the Fiendfyre consumed them—

Then, Harry saw blinding sunlight, and the three of them were launched into the sky out of the side of the pyramid. He heard screaming to his right, as Fleur tumbled head over heels uncontrollably as Bill reached desperately towards her.

Harry flicked his wand to summon Fleur to him, grabbing her tightly around the wrist. He then shot them towards Bill, as their momentum reached its apex and they began to fall back down to Earth.

"Bill, the portkey!" Harry bellowed over the rushing wind. Bill stared at him blankly for a second, before fumbling through his robes for the metallic coin. They were falling at a rapid pace now, back down towards the pyramid – they had mere seconds to spare.

Bill finally reached out his hand, and Harry took it, feeling the portkey trapped between their palms. "Aurum fluit!" Bill screamed over the rushing wind. Harry caught one final glimpse of the Great Pyramid below them, collapsing under its own weight as the Fiendfyre continued to spread, before he felt the hook behind his navel, whisking the three of them far, far away.

They landed in a heap inside a cool, marble room, not unlike the one they'd arrived to in Cairo. Harry gingerly picked himself up, his ears ringing, as Fleur clutched onto him tightly, still trembling. Bill helped the two of them to their feet, as a door opened and a goblin entered to greet them.

"Business in London?" he demanded, giving them a suspicious glare.

"T-training abroad," Bill stammered, flashing his curse-breaker badge. The goblin sneered, but nodded and beckoned them out into the lobby. Harry cast a quick Cleaning Charm on each of them to remove most of the ash, sand and debris from their robes and hair, before they exited Gringotts together.

After a quick walk through Diagon Alley, avoiding the eye of any passers-by, they reached the Apparation point and returned to Bill's apartment. Harry helped Fleur onto the sofa as Bill headed straight to the kitchen to grab a drink.

"What a bloody mess," Bill muttered as he shakily poured himself a glass. "You killed Rakhaman."

"He tried to kill us first, if you didn't notice," Harry shrugged, not feeling remorseful in the slightest. As far as he was concerned, the world was now a safer place without Rakhaman in it.

"I told you never to piss off a necromancer, Harry!" Bill groaned. "They treat death as an opportunity to be gained from."

"Then I did him a favor," Harry muttered. "And hundreds of souls can rest easier now, knowing their bodies aren't been desecrated by a lunatic."

"You destroyed the Great Pyramid," said Bill, frantically pacing back and forth. "That won't go unnoticed, even by the Muggles."

"What will happen now?" Fleur asked worriedly. "Will ze Fiendfyre spread to the city?"

"No, the Egyptian Ministry will have been alerted to the disturbance by now," Bill sighed. "They'll be able to stop the fire, but they can't just restore the Pyramid – there were too many witnesses to its collapse."

"Well, the goblins won't give up our identity, will they?" said Harry. "You said it before, they protect their employees even if they have to break international law."

"I meant like importation laws, not the destruction of priceless landmarks!" Bill shouted. "And why the hell are you throwing around dangerous spells like Fiendfyre?"

"I saved our lives, didn't I?" Harry shot back. "I didn't see you come up with any bright ideas in there."

"My bright idea was to stay the hell away in the first place! We accomplished nothing, except to cause an international scandal—"

"Enough!" Fleur shouted, getting shakily to her feet. "'Arry is right, he only did what was necessary to survive. Even if ze Ministry finds out we were involved, we can claim self-defense, since we were attacked first. We did not cause ze collapse on purpose."

"You—but—you're missing the point!" Bill spluttered. "We're in way over our heads here! How can you stand there calmly and accept this utter madness?"

"Hate to break it to you, Bill, but that was far from the deadliest situation I've been in recently," said Harry. "If you want to win a war, you have to survive a few scrapes like that."

"But it was all for nothing!" Bill sighed. "We didn't get any closer to solving the Longbottom problem!"

"We eliminated a few wrong answers," Harry pointed out. "And I consider that progress."

"That's all well and good, but we're running out of time here!" said Bill in a strained voice. "You-Know-Who won't be idle for long, and if he makes his move on Britain before we destroy all his horcruxes, we're doomed!"

"Bill does have a point, 'Arry," Fleur muttered, turning to him worriedly. "We 'ave not found or destroyed a horcrux in over a year. We need more 'elp."

"Harry, I'm begging you," said Bill, grasping Harry's wrist, "we have to go to Dumbledore. This has gone on long enough. How many more near-death experiences must we endure before you accept that we can't do this on our own?"

Harry groaned irritably, but he did consider the request. It might, in fact, be time to go to Dumbledore with what they knew. For all his differences with the man, their time was running out, and he could help bring a swift end to the war. Besides, if Neville, Ron and Hermione were any indication, he might already be on the trail of the horcruxes himself, and they could pool their resources to find them much more quickly.

But Harry still feared for what would happen to Neville once Dumbledore learned of the horcrux in his head. If there was still a possibility that they could remove it without killing the boy, however remote, it was worth a try. Harry had one final last-ditch attempt, one Hail Mary left to throw before giving up and handing the reins to Dumbledore.

"I have one more idea I want to try before we go down that path," said Harry. "Give me a few more weeks. If summer comes and we haven't found a solution to Neville's horcrux yet, we'll go to Dumbledore."

Bill grumbled unhappily, but he nodded his assent. Fleur also looked uncertain, giving Harry a curious look.

"You do know what you are doing, I hope?" she asked.

"Yes, I think so," Harry nodded. "It's a long shot, but worth the risk."

He said good-bye to Bill and Fleur before summoning Dobby to take him back to Raven House. He hoped to return to the castle as soon as possible to distance himself from the Egypt fiasco, but it wouldn't do to show up to the Great Hall for dinner while still stinking of Fiendfyre smoke and rotting corpses. He would clean himself up and get some rest before returning to Hogwarts to lay low among the student population for a little while.

The outing had been a fiasco, but Harry still felt that he'd learned something valuable in the process. The concept of Death as a force of Light magic intrigued him and warranted further investigation. Could that somehow be harnessed in his favor? Was 'death magic' even a thing outside of just the Killing Curse?

One thing seemed to point to that as a possibility: the existence of the Deathly Hallows. Harry wasn't prone to believing in fairy tales, but perhaps there was truth behind the idea of objects crafted by Death himself. Harry had made Death face to face, after all, and knew that there was some element of agency behind the phenomenon. Was the solution to Neville's dilemma staring him straight in the face? Could becoming Master of Death help the Boy Who Lived avoid a terrible fate?

There was only one way to find out: Harry had to speak to Gellert Grindelwald as soon as possible.